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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Dirty Work 49

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: friday... just eight more hours of work

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The world trickles back into existence as it shifts around you. A jarring collison has you groaning as your body slides on the floor, just a few inches. You grumble and sit up, back to the door as it's once more pushed from the other side.

You crawl out of way as Loki enters. You stand, wobbly with fatigue, and face him. He snaps the door shut, blocking it with his lithe figure as he looks at you.

“Pet, what are you doing sleeping on the floor?” He reprimands.

You clear your throat and rub your cheek, “waiting for you–”

“Don't,” he warns tersely, “you will not guilt me.”

“I wasn't,” you pout, “I only… never mind.”

You go to the bed and slip under the blankets. You're too tired and hurt and confused. Sleep doesn't help, it only makes it worse. Every time you close your eyes, you hear Thor's sinister timbre and his demeaning words. You feel his weight on you, suffocating you.

You hear Loki moving around the room. You expect him to come to bed but his footfalls trail into the bathroom. The faucet cranks loudly followed by the splashing of water on porcelain.

You turn onto your back and look at the open door to the bathroom. You stare, waiting. Still he does not emerge. You sit up as your eyes drift over. You should leave it, just for the night. It's late and you're both exhausted.

You hang your legs over the side of the bed and push the blankets away. You get up and pad over to the door, keeping close to the wall. You turn the handle, twisting cautiously as you hold your breath.

You stop and wait. He's not coming. You hear him sighing and muttering.

You leave the door ajar and tiptoe out into the hall. You won't go far, you just want to walk around, to get the kinks out of your muscles. Just to feel that tiny tug on your leash.

Your feet carry you downstairs without a thought. You go to the french doors and peer out through the panes at the night. You flip the latch back and ease the door inward. You breathe in the cool but fresh air.

You let it wash over you, trying to cleanse yourself as you shiver. It would all be easier if you could just say it aloud. If he would just listen.

You hear footsteps on the stairs. You quickly shut the door and back away, hiding in the shadows as the moonlight peers in. Loki rushes over and searches through the glass. He grips the handle but before he can rip the door open, you sniff and catch his attention.

“I was just looking,” you murmur.

“Why would you scare me like that?” He snaps and grabs you by the shoulders, wrenching you away from the wall.

“I didn't mean too,” you whimper, “I just wanted to stretch my legs–”

“You cannot sneak off. You cannot,” he shakes you, “I…” he bites down on his thoughts before they can bubble over. “I only mean well for you, pet.”

“You're hurting me,” you whisper as you touch his wrists, “please–”

“I…” he loosens his grip and brushes his hands down your arms, “come back to bed.”

You try to see him through the dark. With his back to the silver moon, you only find a featureless silhouette. You reach to slip his hand from your arm and cling to him. You know it's better to appease him.

You pull him away from the door and turn back through the silent house. You should’ve known better. You’re not even sure why you wandered that far. Maybe just to see anything but those same four walls.

You go back upstairs and he lets you go as you enter the bedroom. He turns to shut the door firmly, dragging his hand down the wood. You look away. He has become your warden.

You climb into bed and pull the rumpled blankets over yourself once more. He nestles in next to you as you lay back against the pillows. He kisses your shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture. Had he not lectured you hours before for talking too much?

The pendulum of his moods has you swinging just as wildly.

“Pet, I only want to keep you safe, you understand, don’t you?” He tickles along your arm as his gaze sears into you. You stare at the ceiling restraining your exasperation.

“I do but… there’s a gate, you don’t need to keep me in just this room, do you?”

He doesn’t respond as he rubs your arm. He shimmies closer and stretches his arm across you. He holds you close as he sighs.

“I’m tired,” he says and presses his chin to the top of your head. The conversation’s over. Again.

✨

You drift into a black void. At first, there are no dreams. You are nothing, you feel nothing. A rare taste of peace before the fractured visions break through the blackness.

Trees, towering above you, leaves like curtains above, blocking out the sky, casting darkness all around you. You’re running, gasping for breath as the thunder rolls behind you. You hear it, you feel it, shaking the earth beneath your bare feet.

You glance down at your white dress, streaked in blood and mud. You stumble forward, shielding yourself with your arms as the brush scratches your flesh. Your feet slip and slide and tendrils coil around your limbs. The vines wrap around you, restraining you as the storm cracks above you.

The thunder peters out to grizzly laughter. A burly figure emerges from the umbrous space between the thick trumps. It’s him; Thor. His blue eyes glow as the cut across his cheek leaks and he opens and closes his massive fists. He comes closer, until he’s right before you.

He raises his hands to your throat and circles his fingers around it. You squeak as he squeezes, tighter and tighter. He chokes you until your vision speckles. Your eyes lull back in your skull and when you can breathe again, you’re sarong up at the leaves, fragments of the sky peeking between the foliage.

There’s a tremor beneath you. As if the earth moves. Then you realise, it’s you. You’re moving. There’s something atop you. Someone. Smothering you. Rutting into you as your bones split and your insides burn like acid.

You smell wet mud and pine, a hint of sweat seeping into your lungs. Thor’s beastly growls crawl over your skin as he bites into your throat, pinching until you shriek. He holds you down as he snaps his pelvis against you, threatening to break you in half.

Your eyes open and a shadow hovers over you. Reality slowly sets in as you stare at the ceiling, damp breaths puffing over your face. Your chest binds and you choke on your own breath. It’s real.

He purrs as he kisses your cheek, holding himself above you as he lays between your legs. His hand is buried against your pelvis as he pets you, kissing you all over your face and neck. You whimper and hit his shoulders. He’s gentle but unyielding. Your head is pounding and your body aches.

The panic flows up from your stomach and a sheet of ice covers your body. You blink. What’s happening? It’s him. It must be him. How did he get to you?

“Stop!” You cry out, “stop!”

“Pet?” The warped voice calls to you.

“No, Thor! No, please, don’t– don’t hurt me!” You beg as your eyes narrow on the figure over you.

To your surprise, he stops. He lifts himself stiffly from you and a long arm reaches over to pull on the chain of the lamp. The bulb illuminates Loki’s features, his face wrought in terror that mirrors your own. You thought…

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You think I am like him? Like that monster–”

“No, no, I was dreaming, and—”

“Pet, you were moaning, you… I thought you were—” he swallows and pushes himself off you altogether, “awake.”

He sits up and sings his legs over the edge of the bed. He bends forward and holds his head. You don’t move as you watch him. You’re mortified. The bed jostles as he stands abruptly.

“I am not like him,” he snarls, “pet, you know– I… you begged me for more. You were crying out my name and now you treat me as some monster.”

You sit up, lip trembling, “no, I was confused. I was asleep, I didn’t know–” You scramble to the foot of the bed as he strides away.

“You think I would let him get his hands on you again? You wander off and tell me you are safe and yet here you are, screaming,” he huffs as he turns on you, “as if I haven’t taken every measure to keep you safe and you override them, then tell me not to worry.”

“Loki, please, just… I don’t need locked doors, I need you to talk to me,” you stand and rush towards him, latching onto his arm, “I need you to hear me.”

“I heard you,” he shudders as he looks down at your touch, “you called me by his name.”

“Because… because…” you suck in a shaky breath as a sob threatens to spill over, “because you won’t listen–”

“No, you will not listen. Hm? You will not obey me and that is all I’ve ever asked of you. You will not stay where I can keep you safe. From him,” he hisses, “you will not hear me when I tell you it is for your own good. You do not see what I do for you.”

He shakes his head and rips free of your clutch, “I took you away from that ogre you called a father. By my measure, no one ever bothered to do so much. Not even a birthday cake.

"I have given you a home, a purpose. I was a fool, I put you in harm’s way, I acknowledge my errors,” he tilts his head and curls his lips, “but I saved you. I found you and I made sure he did not hurt you. I have kept you safe which you cannot say about anyone else.”

“Loki, don’t,” you wilt as your heart pangs. He is right but that doesn't mean it doesn’t hurt.

“If you hadn’t run away, if you had trusted me,” he accuses as he wags his finger at you. “To think I would ever want her again. After all I’ve done for you, I would not throw those efforts away.”

Your lip quivers and you recoil, pressing your hands above your heart, “no, you wouldn’t throw away all you’ve done, but what about me? I am what you call you, am I not? A pet? A stray you picked up off the street.”

“Perhaps, for you have become rabid,” he retorts.

You flinch and take a step back. You curl your fingers through each other, keeping your hands over your chest. Your tears spill over as you push your lower lip out and croak his name. You shake your head, trying to ward off your despair but it only rains down harder. You sob and cover your mouth.

His brow twitches and his cheek tics. You see the doubt colour his eyes. He reaches for you, “pet, I–”

You back away and turn your back to him, “leave me alone.”

“I didn’t mean… we are both very emotional,” he pleads as his fingertips graze your shoulder.

You shrug him off and keep ahead of him, “no, no, don’t touch me,” you hurry towards the bathroom.

“Pet–”

“I am not your pet!” You spin as you enter the bathroom and he staggers just a foot away, stunned by the swell of your anger, “I am nothing. Just as you say, my own father couldn’t love me.”

“I didn’t–”

You slam the door and throw yourself against it. You flick the lock into place and lean against the wood, heaving painfully as your sadness rattles through you. He slaps the door from the other side and says your name.

“You did!” You holler through, “you said what you meant. You told… the truth.” You sink down to your knees, crumpling onto the tile, “so leave me alone. What do you care anyway?”

He repeats your name, softer and you hear him slide down the outside of the door, “I care… if I didn’t…”

“Be quiet,” you murmur in exhaustion.

He abides, just for a moment before he speaks again, “I will be here… when you require me.”

You lay in a heap. Weak and worn out. You just want him to leave you alone. If he can’t let you free, then he can go away. You don’t need him to remind you that he’s all you have.

You gulp as sobs force their way up your throat. You cry until your head pulses and your throat is hoarse. You cry until you are drained dry. You’re left bleary and broken.

Walpurgisnacht is supposed to mark a new beginning but everything is just as bleak as it always was.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dirty work #series #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #au #maid au #avengers

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suzukiblu · 16 days

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Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit. (and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction.

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”.

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides.

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever.

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit.

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.”

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–”

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite.

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though.

And as for Tana Moon . . .

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable?

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact.

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter.

Even if it is legally salvage.

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.”

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.”

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird.

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.”

“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it.

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering.

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.”

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it.

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head.

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal!

Normal.

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off.

Ew.

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap.

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually.

Really definitely it’s a trap.

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too.

“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.”

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically.

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught.

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on.

She frowns.

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with.

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store.

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week.

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly.

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures.

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too.

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics.

Fuck that guy, seriously.

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates.

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.”

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts.

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah.

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks.

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway.

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah.

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal.

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point.

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly.

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?”

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen.

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all.

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever.

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . .

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills.

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious.

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing.

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too.

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed.

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah.

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it.

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is.

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to.

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii.

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah.

Soulmate thing, he guesses.

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were.

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.”

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up.

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.”

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red.

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses.

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all.

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?”

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.”

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means.

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether.

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . .

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like.

So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman.

One or the other, probably.

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman.

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.”

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over.

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly.

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?”

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!”

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either.

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen?

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else.

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work.

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end.

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice.

Hopefully it was, anyway.

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right?

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense.

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses.

Not a thought he’d really had yet.

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses.

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . .

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority.

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe.

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute.

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway.

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe.

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else.

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down.

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.”

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog.

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again.

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off.

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward.

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly?

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six.

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way.

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout.

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably.

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none.

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased.

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them.

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit!

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best.

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either.

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway?

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah.

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little.

Or a lot.

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary.

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering.

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face.

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure.

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe.

Somehow.

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again.

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption.

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse.

Yeah. Definitely worse.

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that.

Jesus.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water.

Well. Less worried, anyway.

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore.

Definitely camera next time.

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse.

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway.

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . .

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird.

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face.

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?”

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself.

Maybe global warming or something, though.

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point.

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering.

Or flustering.

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!”

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly.

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly.

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this.

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah.

Something like that.

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe.

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination.

Kissing him, maybe.

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . .

He could kiss him. That’s all.

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back.

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved.

eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that.

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly.

Actually, he just fucking hates it.

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk.

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even?

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.”

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is.

“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?”

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.”

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones.

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping.

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?”

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.”

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity.

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete.

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly.

Why didn’t he do more research?

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting.

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order.

“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats.

“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”.

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?”

“I don’t,” Superboy says.

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says.

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure.

“Ah,” he says.

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . .

“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.”

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement.

He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though.

Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good.

Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all?

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #wip: kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit

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leiatalon · 22 days

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Ink and Intrigue: Romantasy IF (WIP)

The title for my upcoming interactive fiction game with Heart's Choice is official: Ink and Intrigue!

Sail to a lush island of warrior-mages where dragon runes grant immortality and love runs deep. When mystery tempts, how do you answer?

Ink an Intrigue is a standalone Heart’s Choice IF fantasy WIP set in the same world as my recent game, Their Majesties' Pleasure.

Play the three-chapter demo of Ink and Intrigue on Dashingdon.

Plunge into a world where magic calls the passion in your soul. Join a clan of immortal warrior-mages and choose your kindred: a powerful dragon, a shapeshifting griffin, or a blue-lightning phoenix.

As you train to become a warrior-mage, do you romance or befriend a tattoo artist, a feisty initiate, a playful sage, or a maverick with an unfulfilled quest?

You’ve been a spy for the kingdom of Minare since you were ten, when the king deemed you too clever and sent you off for training. Now a seasoned spy, you’re sent to infiltrate the Kitherin warrior-mages, whose tattoos give them supernatural abilities and whose blood rites bond them to powerful creatures from another world.

When the call of the Kitherin sounds in your soul, what paths will you take as an initiate?

Shop from the finest market in the nine seas, surf azure waves, and dance at a full moon celebration where you might indulge in magical elixirs and intimate moments. Get dragon rune tattoos and learn to wield their power, show your prowess on the sparring field, and soar in the skies of the otherworld. Arrange a marriage alliance, meddle in the affairs of the mage council, incite a lawful rebellion, or resort to poison to get what you want.

Will you confess the clandestine role you’ve played for your king, or keep your secrets and let the past die? No matter what you’ve done, your lover will stay by your side. When you pass your initiations and bond with your kindred, you will be joining the ranks of the Kitherin warrior-mages who bring balance to the interconnected worlds.

Romance a passionate artist, a Fae-blooded sage, a sassy diva, or a master warrior.

Play as male, female, or nonbinary; gay, straight, bi; asexual; monogamous or polyamorous.

Choose high-heat or sweet options, or avoid spicy scenes entirely.

Dive through portals and explore other worlds.

Bond with a dragon, a griffin, or a phoenix.

Indulge in magic elixirs and delectable food.

Apprentice as a tattoo artist and learn about dragon runes.

Go surfing with your friends beneath a full moon and watch the sun rise over the sea.

Explore a steamy island paradise crowned with temples, magnificent gardens, and a hidden library.

Forge alliances as an emissary, gather intelligence as a spy, decide the fate of a maleficent mage, and shape the leadership of the Kitherin.

Uncover the mysteries of the Kitherin and discover the soul-deep love that awaits!

Keep an eye on this blog for updates or check out the CoG forum thread. I'm currently writing chapter seven of nine, right in the thick of the story.

WIP word count is up to 155k so far.

#heart's choice #if wip #interactive novel #amwriting #fantasy #romance #Ink and Intrigue #choice script #choice of games #magic tattoos #dragons

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tackytigerfic · 2 months

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Tagged by @wolfpants and @oknowkiss , read their truly excellent lists here and here!

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Mornings After - 2.5k, Dron

This is trickier as this was a collab and @sweet-s0rr0w wrote the start, so my first line isn't the opener. Still I'll post it here, I think it was this one.

“She was alright about it,” Ron continued, matter-of-fact, hooking a finger into the elastic waistband of Draco’s underwear, “all things considered.”

Wield Me - Drarry, 10k

“You’re not an easy man to track down,” Harry said from the doorway, where he was leaning like he was meant to be there.

Fledgling - 2.7k, pre-Drarry

Harry hadn’t thought the sling thing through before he left the house, and now his whole back is aching and he keeps whacking people with the unwieldy changing bag that won’t stop slipping off his shoulder.

I Fall on Grass - 3.1k, Drarry

Harry has a garden.

Let Be, Let Be - 10k, Dronarry

The international portkey to Svishtov deposited them right beside the Danube, under the squatting legs of a cargo crane.

Howl - 9k, Drarry

Draco woke up on a Friday morning in a field hospital in Grasmere, without a single memory of how he had got there.

Take the Moon - 15k, Drarry

“I’ll do it, of course I’ll fucking do it,” Draco was saying, which didn’t make any sense, because he was supposed to be at work; maybe Harry was hallucinating him.

The Edge of Something - 1.4k, Drarry

“Well, the good news is that I’m not dead,” Malfoy said, the voice so very much his that it brought Harry out of bed and to his knees.

Far Side - 1k, Drarry

Harry has a photo on his desk; he says it’s his favourite.

Snow on Snow - 1.1k, Drarry

On the first night in the safe house, Harry was woken every hour by church bells.

Conclusion: hmmm I'm not in love with some of these tbh. I have been trying different things in the last year as my main focus is on a long WIP. So no real stylistic coherence. I'm reasonably happy with most of these fics (though not all, i say, eyeing one or two resentfully) but not sure that any of that necessarily translates into the first lines.

Tagging anyone who wants a go! And @boxboxlewis @elskanellis @fluxweeed @maesterchill @mintawasalreadytaken @myrtlefics @skeptiquewrites @sleepstxtic @stationintern @sweet-s0rr0w @teledild0nix if you fancy it?

#drarry #first line tag game #rowing and chatting #pls tag me i never see anything on tumblr

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adrift-in-thyme · 14 days

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I've got so many wips rn and what do I do? Start something new. I'm hopeless. But how am I supposed to resist the chance to write more fairy Time? ;)

CW for blood and injury

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He drags himself to the fountain.

The battle would have been difficult for nine heroes. For one — even one as experienced as himself — it had been nearly impossible. A fight hardly even worthy of being called a battle.

No, Time thinks, grim and dizzy, as he digs his fingers into the dirt and attempts to sit up, it had been a pathetic struggle at best. He had barely escaped with his life.

The Shadow, it seems, has a vendetta against him. Not that he doesn’t have one toward all of the Links, but…

Time’s efforts land him back on the ground, shuddering as wet coughs tear through him.

…but it had felt like something beyond his usual distaste for the Heroes of Hyrule. As he had poured monster after monster through those cursed portals, as he had attacked with a sneer on his lips and a glint in his eyes, it had felt personal.

Perhaps, that is not so surprising.

Wavering, Time grits his teeth. Blood trails down his chin. Its warmth is in stark contrast with the icy chill that has taken root in his bones.

The Shadow’s sentiments hardly matter right now. It is not as though he could decipher them correctly if he wanted to.

His thoughts are scattered and panicked, his body failing, his vision going gray. He is mere inches away from salvation, from safety, and his time is running out.

Another stab of pain imprisons him in its steely grip. A muffled cry breaks through his tightly closed lips. His vision whites out for a moment, before returning fuzzy and distorted.

Desperately, he reaches out. Trembling fingers slip, slick with blood and monster gore. He collapses with a small splash.

The effect of the sacred water is instant. A ripple of magic runs through him, warm like a blanket and sweet like the sugar water he offers in hopes of regaining his fairy. In the next second, wings unfold from his back, his body shrinking to fit them.

He slips fully into the embrace of the shallow waters.

Time ends up on his side, liquid seeping in through the chinks in his armor and beading upon his wings. He blinks, slow and agonizing, trying to drag himself back to some semblance of awareness. But whatever delirious strength had born him here has fled and taken everything with it.

The water flows around him, glittering and cool. Gently, it soothes his injuries, carefully, it numbs them. But it’s not enough. He knows that now.

This fountain has been weakened. This fountain has no fairies left — save for himself — to imbue it with blessed strength.

No doubt, the monsters have driven them away. He can feel their distress, can imagine their flight, away from here and the encroaching darkness of evil and night.

Time gazes at the surrounding trees. They are mere shadows now, hazy and grayish. Twilight is long gone, bringing with it its brilliant purples and pinks and oranges. Storm clouds cloak the usual speckling of stars and block out the dismal light of the moon.

Not that Time minds that. Without its depressive glare, he feels calmer.

If he has to fade away, he would rather do so beneath an angry sky, curled in the fountains that have always been his haven, in the form he feels most comfortable in. The form he cannot comprehend, yet treasures all the same.

The waters turn black with his blood, feathery wisps of it floating out and away from him. He watches it with disinterest. Everything feels far away now. Even his need to survive, to return to Malon.

He tries to grasp for it, to bring it back to the forefront of his mind. But his efforts are for naught. And what good would it do him anyway? He is too weak to move. He spent his remaining energy on the desperate gamble of stumbling here. Hoping, praying that the magic he felt calling him was still active. Was still alive.

Something rustles in the bushes. A creature, most likely, scampering about, unperturbed by his wavering presence. He is so small now he would be surprised if anyone could see him. Or hear him.

His blood, however, is another matter altogether. Who knows what beasts have tracked the scent?

He shifts slightly and a groan slips out before he can stop it. It doesn’t matter though. Whatever horrors seek him cannot measure up to the pain he is already enduring. The Shadow has the power to turn one’s own body against them. No wolf or bear has that ability.

Something large and dark emerges from the shadowy foliage. Piercing blue eyes glare into his. Time tries to focus on them, tries to decipher their strange familiarity. But the world seems off-kilter, pain turns everything distant.

I’m sorry, Malon. He thinks as the form moves toward him, looking to his fading eye almost like the clouds that hover above them. I’m sorry that I broke my promise.

And pup…I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.

“Time?” He hears the voice from very, very far away, growled more than spoken, a rumble like thunder before a downpour of rain. It cracks at the end, splintering like his bones when the Shadow had swung his sword too high, too fast for him to evade.

Time wants to drag himself up, wants to comfort this being he is certain he knows. But he lacks the strength to so much as raise a finger.

And when he is lifted with a gentleness he cannot comprehend, when something soft and warm envelopes him, something that murmurs, “safe” in tones he knows — he doesn’t even attempt to break free.

If this is death, it is wonderful. ---------------------------------

He must lose himself soon after that. Because when he opens his eye it is an act of awakening, surfacing from the unfeeling deep.

Time stirs, sighing as that same warmth of before embraces him. The pain that had torn him apart has dulled greatly, leaving behind only a ghost of what it once was. And though he isn’t certain why it’s gone — or even if that is a good omen or bad one — he can’t truly bring himself to care.

He is comfortable here, drifting in this haze of dark, and he doesn’t want to disturb it. It has been so long since he felt like this (perhaps, since the start of the heroes’ journey). It has been so long since he slept, actually slept.

“Old man?”

Something damp and cool nudges at him. His bed of plush fur (fur? His mind questions blearily) quivers at the movement.

“Hey, old man. Can you hear me?”

Time hums, a low sound that grates on his abused throat.

A sigh of relief. His sanctuary shifts again.

“Thank Hylia. I thought we’d…I thought…”

Time frowns. There it is again — that voice he knows, usually so strong and joyful, not shattered like broken panes of glass. The voice that ignites something in him, a protective instinct as strong as he feels toward Malon. The voice that reminds him of their love and the miracle that will come of it.

Reluctantly, he drags his eye open.

At first, he can make out very little. But a few blinks and his vision clears enough that he can see the thick gray fur that surrounds him. He is nestled on Twilight’s back, he realizes, sluggishly, situated so his pup can keep an eye on him, even reach him if he cranes his neck.

Those crystal blue orbs meet his and there is something broken in them. Time has never seen such emotion in a wolf’s eyes before.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

He shouldn’t be able to understand that sorrowful growl, and yet, Time can hear the words as clear as day.

That…is a mystery he will decipher later.

“‘M sorry, pup,” he croaks. His wings flutter gently. “‘M sorry.”

Twilight must have found him lying there in his own blood, hardly clinging to life. To have come upon such a sight…

Guilt wells within him. Time swallows against it.

Twilight shakes his proud head.

“You can’t scare me like that. I can’t even scold ya like you can me.” He narrows his eyes. “Not that that’s gonna stop me from trying.”

Time huffs an attempt at a laugh. “I don’t…don’t doubt that.” He grows somber once more. He feels unconsciousness tugging at him again. But before he falls, he must at least say this. “You saved me. You shouldn’t-shouldn’t have had to. But I thank you for it.”

Twilight gazes at him for a long moment. “Of course. I love you, old man. Malon loves you. I never would’ve left you there. I never even entertained the thought. So, no thanks are necessary.” He cocks his head. “Although, gotta admit I’m a little sore about the fairy secret.”

Time resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You keep your own transformation a secret. Why…why should I not keep mine?”

“Oh, you can keep it from everyone else if you want. Just not from me.”

“What makes you s-so special?”

“I’m your descendant,” Twilight answers drily. “So, how do you do it? This isn’t an after-effect of what they…what happened to you…is it?”

Time shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, struggling to stay alert. “I’ve always been able to do this.”

Twilight is silent for a moment. Then, “I came across a stray fairy when I was trying to get you back to camp. She was the one who healed you. She called you a child of the fairies. Not ‘brother’ like Hyrule. Their child.”

Time stares dazedly at the shrubbery surrounding them. They have always called him that. Even Tatl had. But hearing it now, from Twilight, raises new questions. Questions he supposes have always been there, hovering in the back of his mind. But that he has never bothered to ponder.

The quiet stretches and Time can’t decide how to break it. So, he merely lets it be and snuggles deeper into Twilight’s fur, suddenly immeasurably grateful that his descendant’s secondary form is a wolf.

Powerful and gentle in equal parts. It fits his pup well.

“But never mind that now,” Twilight says, as though sensing Time’s exhaustion. He sighs. “You need your rest. You comfortable up there, old man?”

Time nods. “Soft,” he mumbles, drowsily.

Twilight nuzzles him again and humor is in the movement.

“Good. Go to sleep then. I’ll watch over you.” His tone grows serious, unyielding. “Nothing will touch you while I’m here.”

A slight smile lifts the edges of Time’s mouth, even as a voice cries out within him, protesting this display of weakness, this terrible burden he has put on his descendant. But he is so, so tired. Too tired to rise and be the stalwart leader he knows he should be.

His wings spread flat upon his back, like a shield. Darkness crowds his vision, numbing his thoughts and weighing down his still-sore limbs.

“Thank you, pup,” he whispers, with what little strength he has left.

He is gone before he can hear Twilight’s reply.

#the ending got unexpectedly soft XD #there's something so good about the leader/parental figure getting cared for #especially by someone they usually care for and protect #also #someday i'm gonna have to write about fairy time falling asleep on twi's head #while he's in hylian form #like the fairies do in game #that would be adorable lol #trin writes #fairy time au #linked universe #linkeduniverse #linkeduniverse fic #lu time #lu twilight #angst #hurt/comfort

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picnokinesis · 4 months

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plottier / character focused thirteenth doctor fic recs

Ipseity by WalkerLister (43k, 10 chapters, gen) summary: Eight months since the Doctor sacrificed herself on Gallifrey, and Yasmin Khan is still struggling to move on. However, when she comes across a familiar face who is not acting like herself, Yaz may finally get the answers she has been looking for surrounding the Doctor. However, those answers will be revealed in a way a bit more dangerous than she had been anticipating. //Okay, so no one is surprised that I like the amnesiac!divisioned!13 fic, but in my defence, it's absolutely fabulous. This one was written waaaaay back in mid-2020, so we all knew that 13 was in prison and everyone was pretty sure that Jack was coming back due to some bts detective work, but that was about it - so, for obvious reasons, it doesn't align with ROTD, but it's such a fun one, guys, I love it a lot. Also, y'know, thirteen in a leather jacket and snarling at people? What more could you want?

don't have to make it to the moon by Ymae (28k, 7 chapters, gen/thoschei) summary: After New Year's, Ryan decides to stay traveling in the TARDIS for another little while. Only, the Doctor's rarely alright, and between experiencing the wonders of the universe, Ryan wants to figure out what's happening to his friend, too. //I love Ryan so much. He's such a wonderful character and I always love it when fics focus on him, or have him as the pov character. Unfortunately, fics like that are a bit few and far between, but this is one of them, and it's absolutely fantastic. It really delves into his character, but also his dynamic with the Doctor (especially after he talks to her in ROTD and she admits that she's scared and angry), and it's just auuuuuuugh so good!! And, it's also go some great whump and psychic content, with the Master showing up to cause trouble, alongside some gorgeous world-building, so I enjoy it very very much.

Ghost War by riptheh (25k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: All the Doctor wants to do is pass the time, and help a friendly face. So when a young man with a strange tattoo and a psychic wound shows up, she dives right into the mystery - and finds herself flung far into the future, mindwiped and alone, fighting a war that by all rights, shouldn't exist at all. A war she could help end, if only she could figure out who she is. //Oof, this one. It's absolutely stunning. This author really has a way of taking some absolutely fascinating and mind-bending concepts and just running with it, and just nails it each time. I feel like the less I say about the plot of this one, the better, because it sort of unfolds as you go, but please just trust me when I say that it's absolutely fantastic.

Lifelines by Sue_Denham (40k, 11 chapters, gen, wip) summary: Lifeline: a thing on which someone or something depends, or which provides a means of escape from a difficult situation. Set just after the events of Spyfall, the Doctor has a few things to work through. //Okay this fic is one of my favourites that's been posting over the last year or so - it's a brilliant exploration of Graham and Thirteen, and how different races deal with loss, guilt and death. I honestly think the best kind of sci fi takes concepts that we sort of take for granted, and then shows them in a completely new light. That's what this fic does. Also, Graham is just wonderful for the entire thing - though, as a note, Yaz and Ryan do end up somewhat side-lined, so bear that in mind if you're particularly looking for fics about those two, but I forgive it because it's such a great look at Graham and the Doctor. It feels like a character focused tie-in novel, y'know? Also it's pretty angsty in places, naturally, but that's what I'm here for haha.

Disordered by Echo (44k, 7 chapters, jack/13) summary: Messing with memories is always a risky business. Messing with your own memories, now that's just asking for trouble. The Doctor is very good at asking for trouble. And Jack is very good at finding it. //Ohhhhh okay so. This has been one of my absolute favourite Doctor Who fics for a long while. Definitely the shippiest of this list, but it's so lovely and such an excellent look at the Doctor facing the consequences of trying to get back her Division memories in the aftermath of s12, as well as the relationship between the Doctor and Jack across multiple regenerations. It's just so so good, flowing smoothly from very angsty to very soft, and the Doctor and Jack's voices are just spot on (especially considering that we see different versions of the Doctor, this is a particularly impressive note). Highly recommend!

The Trial of the Doctor by wreckageofstars (20k, 5 chapters, gen/thasmin, wip) summary: Haven is a planet at the edge of time, on the brink of destruction. Ravaged by the Time Lords and a war that time forgot, its people are desperate for justice before it’s too late, and the Doctor might be the only being left in the universe who can provide it — because she was the one who started it. So why can't she remember doing it? //Okay okay so, this one has only recently started posting but I've known about it since about 2020 and ohhhhhhhhhhh my goodness, GUYS. If you're not following this one, you need to be. It's a mix between Doctor Who at it's finest, Kafka at it's most unsettling, and Douglas Adams at it's most absurd, and it's delightful. There's so much in this one, and as always this author is just spot on with all the characterisation - especially Thirteen, who suddenly finds herself being prosecuted for a crime that she can't remember, and is forced into a situation where she's physically incapable of telling a lie. It. Is. Marvellous. Also there's a cockroach lawyer, whom I adore HAHA

lighthouse keeper by BlueLillyBlue (57k, 12 chapters, gen) summary: The Doctor is missing, and the fam is concerned. Featuring Yaz being a badass, Ryan being a cutie, Graham being a granddad, Jack being Jack, and the Doctor's complicated moral code. Also: space prisons, galactic war, the Doctor's time war trauma, the Doctor caring about people in her own weird and repressive way, and, most importantly, Thirteen wearing Jack's coat. //Oh, this one is such a favourite of mine. It's very angsty, so if that's not your schtick then - well, then you're kinda scuppered for all of my recs, to be honest, but this one is a bit on the dark side. Oh, but it's fantastic. Again, this one feels like a tie-in novel, and this author (as I think I've said before) is just incredible at crafting these very vivid worlds and really hard-hitting stories. The situation is pretty dire and desperate, and the Doctor is often faced with the fact that not every plan works out, and sometimes the only choices are bad ones. It's just really excellent guys (also! Thirteen in Jack's coat!!)

angel ellipsis by SleepyMaddy (36k, 8 chapters, gen/thoschei) summary: When the Doctor and Yaz find a planet in ruins, they’re only half surprised to discover the Master is responsible. But when his plan backfires, suddenly they have no choice but to work with him to stop his former allies from tearing the universe apart. It goes about as well as one might expect. //OKAY SO. This one is SO much fun and SO great - in particular, if you like the Master being a tricky bastard, but also getting screwed over by his own plans? You'll love this one. Everything about it is so vibrant and brilliant, and aaaaaahh man it all comes together in such a satisfying way. As with many of the authors on this list, this author just really gets these characters and how they tick, with some absolutely beautiful prose, and it's just such a joy to read.

nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light by river_of_words (6k, 1 chapter, thasmin) summary: Two weeks since Yaz got the most confusing rejection she ever hopes to get and the Doctor seems to have decided to blame Yaz for every single one of her furiously conflicting emotions. At this point she’s sort of asking to get hit. And at this point Yaz is sort of curious to find out what the Doctor is going to say that’s going to make her meet that request. //These next two fics are a lot shorter compared to the others, but I really wanted to include both of them because they're great and SO interesting to me. With this one, it digs into the Doctor and Yaz's relationship in the aftermath of LOTSD, and the ways that the Doctor does not actually talk about anything but does also tell Yaz more than anyone else. It's about the frustration that builds between them and the way that they're still finding more comfort in each other than anyone else. It's also a little feral, which as a thoschei shipper, definitely had a lot to do with why I liked this one haha. Anyway, it's really fantastic - really quick paced and emotional, and packing a LOT of punches with mostly dialogue in a very effective way. Go read it!

we'll do it right by daring_elm (3k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: She's never really noticed Yaz's perfume before. Shoulders relaxing, nausea subsiding, the Doctor inhales again, filling her lungs with jasmine and sandalwood, steel and glowing crystals and her box out of time. She can be back with Yaz within minutes of her leaving. She can save the child, change the foundation of Gallifrey and still return to have a picnic on Soria T4. //Okay so I loooove love love this one because I just adore it any time someone explores the Doctor's reaction to the Timeless Child stuff after the fact, and this one is just so wonderful. The characterisation is just fantastic, and then just the progressive spiral of the plot as we follow the Doctor on a mission that is doomed to fail by the nature of her own timeline. It's about how by trying to change the past, all you do is mess up your present and your future, and I love that a lot. Augh, it's a gut punch and a half - highly recommended!

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angryschnauzer · 2 years

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By The Waning Crescent Moon

Summary: As an Omega you know you need to get home before your Heat starts, but when your car breaks down in the woods you need to seek refuge somewhere safe... surely a Convent will be the best place? Little do you know the nuns have long since left, only to be replaced by the worst possible thing; a pack of Werewolves. Even worse, its a full moon. Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle - Movie.

Wordcount: 4949

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Syverson x Omega Female reader (no race or body type specified)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Desecration of Religious artefacts, Knotting, Werewolf Sex, Monsterfucking, Unplanned Pregnancy, ABO Dynamics

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

Henry Cavill Masterlist

A/N: This story has been stuck in WIP hell for a couple of months, i originally got psyched to write an entire werewolf gangbang, but then all the bullshit in the USA happened and yeah, forced pregnancy wasn’t at the forefront of everyone’s to do list, even in fanfic. Furthermore the wolf gang was originally going to be a biker gang, but another amazing writer @sillyrabbit81 has since launched a truly amazing biker gang reverse harem fic, i decided to shelve that idea and instead sit on the original thought of werewolves for a while. I then had inspiration to make this a Syverson story, so here we go. The Were sex scene is heavily inspired by the graveyard scene between Lucy and Dracula in Bram Stokers Dracula movie, which in my opinion is one of the greatest creature feature/monsterfucking movies in the history of cinema.

By the Waning Crescent Moon

You waited at the stop light, the remote intersection of two highways high up in the hills of logging country. It was dusk, yet the sky was hidden behind obsidian clouds, heavy rain systems waiting to release their downpours in sporadic outbursts. Despite the cold rain dulling the summer evening, you were burning up. You’d stopped at the last gas station and had stocked up on a huge slush drink and a popsicle, but neither had done anything to quell the growing warmth within your body. Sat in your flimsy sundress you were at least grateful that in a moment of optimism that morning you’d dressed for good weather, even if you’d spent the day wrapped in the cardigan you’d found on the back seat. However now as you felt a droplet of sweat make its way down your neck and cleavage, you cursed and opened the window, grateful for the cool damp air against your skin.

The red light finally changed and you muttered under your breath to yourself as you pushed your old Nissan into gear;

“C’mon, lets get home” you said to no-one except yourself.

The highway grew narrow as it entered the woods, just a single lane in each direction, tall cedar trees closing in on both sides. The rain wasn’t as heavy beneath the thick canopy above you, instead there were wisps of mist clinging to the roadway’s edge.

As you continued along you felt the first pang of pain in your stomach, a cramp that grew with intensity like an old lightbulb trying to illuminate but suddenly extinguishing.

“Oh fuck…” you cursed, resting your hand on your stomach as you rubbed to ease the ache. You drove on cautiously, ignoring the rattle that was emanating from the engine, your mind elsewhere. You had only finished your last period a little over a week ago so it wasn’t that. You could feel another cramp starting to build, your concentration far from the road. That was more than likely the reason you didn’t notice the pothole, the car shook and the suspension made a deafening thunk as you hit the flooded crater without pause. With a scream you pulled your full attention back to the road, ignoring the cramp pulling at your gut as you struggled to keep the car on the road, slowing gradually until you were able to pause. The sudden understanding hit your mind as the realisation of what was happening registered. You scrambled for your phone, opening the calendar and scrolling back to the cold winter months.

A cold chill ran down your back like icy fingers against your spine. Six months. Almost to the day. Six months since your last heat.

“Shit fuck FUCK” you shouted at the rain splattered windows. How could you have missed it? As another cramp hit your stomach you curled over and rested your head against the steering wheel, at which moment your phone chimed. Peering out of one eye you looked at the screen and the reminder that had just popped up;

*Heat starting soon!!!*

“Yes, THANK YOU. 24 hours too late”

As an unmated Omega you set yourself reminders for when your heat was due, coming every six months you generally made arrangements to work from home, and ensure you loaded your purse with suppressants and painkillers so to deal with the build up. It would seem this time however you hadn’t set the reminder early enough, as you had neither medication with you, but would also explain the hot sweats and the reason you’d woken up that morning tangled in the sheets after dreaming of faceless intimacy.

With a sigh you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, before peering out of the windshield at the dark and twisting road. Engaging first gear you set off but were immediately reminded that something terminal had happened when you’d hit the hole in the asphalt, your car now leaning on the kerbside. For a moment you considered calling for a tow truck, but then the rapidly failing rational side of your brain reminded you that the truck would likely be driven by a man, and the last thing you needed when you were about to come into heat was to risk being stuck with an Alpha you didn’t know. No, you needed to try and limp your car home, at least close enough to town that you could call your roommate to come help, she’d know exactly what to do. You made it a good couple of miles at a slow pace, the road straight and gently downhill, until a hairpin bend meant you had to sharply turn the wheel. Something loudly went ‘twang’ like a spring being violently recoiled. It was quickly followed by the sound of hissing air, and the car dropped even further on the kerbside. The tell-tale thud-thud-thud of a flat tyre could be heard as you freewheeled to the side of the road, before coming to a stop on the gravel side of the highway.

You took a deep breath and let out a scream, yelling at the windshield, before your stomach cramps hit back again. They were getting closer together and you knew you needed help. Checking your phone hopefully you were still disappointed when you saw that there was still no service, more than likely due to a combination of location and the bad weather. With a sigh you stared out of the windshield and you noticed a sign on a wall;

“The Sisters of St Augustus’ Refuge” you paused, the synapses in your brain firing and finally connecting; “A CONVENT! That’s just women!”

Climbing out of your car you grabbed your purse and cardigan, holding the latter over your head in a vain attempt to keep the worst of the rain off as you started to trot up the long driveway towards the building that loomed on the horizon. You failed to notice the other sign that lay on the ground, one put up by the real estate company handling the sale of the building but has since fallen.

The driveway was considerably longer than you anticipated, and by the time you were halfway your pace had slowed, your cramps now even worse. The large wooden doors of the convent came into view as you staggered closer, the rain and sweat mixing and running into your eyes, blurring your vision. You stumbled, your no longer white Converses catching on a pebble, righting yourself before you fell flat on your face. Another two steps and another pebble, you were falling when suddenly a pair of arms caught you, the dark robes fluttering in the storm as you blacked out.

Sy sat back in his chair, his boots resting on the large table as he picked at his nails with one long claw, being able to control the change to his advantage. Walter was pacing the room, pausing to glare at the clock on the wall before returning to pacing. Sy let out a small sigh, the entire pack was antsy, anxious and ready for the turn of the full moon, however this summer storm obscuring its silver rays was turning the pack into an angry mess. August had wisely disappeared into the depths of the building and Sy was thankful for that, he and Walter would always argue over the smallest thing. Sy also glanced at the clock, his stomach growling;

“Where is Mikey with that takeout?” he muttered to himself.

A sudden increase in background noise caused both Sy and Walter to pause and look up, their nostrils flaring. August entered the room from the door that led to the private quarters, just as the large double doors to the chapel opened. The two youngest members of the pack came bustling in, Will holding the doors open as Mikey staggered along, his long black duster raincoat still dripping with rain, a now soaked bag of takeout hanging from one hand, but what caught everyone’s attention was what else he was carrying; a young woman.

The room fell into an eerie silence as Mikey stood still, waiting to gauge the reaction from the rest of the pack;

“I…I found… she passed out on the doorstep…”

There was a pause before everyone sprang into life, the men helping Mikey carry the unconscious woman in, Walter lifting her and setting her down onto the makeshift workbench they’d commandeered when they’d moved into the old building.

Sy’s eyes widened before he cursed;

“Fuck…” he dragged his hand over his face before clearing his throat; “Aug, Walt, gotta talk. Will and Mike, make sure she’s ok”

August simply raised his left eyebrow before following, Walter trudging closely behind as Sy pushed the door partially closed behind them;

“Shit, this is the last thing we need, especially tonight…”

Walter nodded;

“I agree, whatever she’s doing here, we need to get her out of here before the storm passes”

August stood in the corner of the room, his silence eventually what drew the others attention;

“August, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet on this” Sy questioned

“Maybe she’s not an Omega?” he simply shrugged; “Could just be lost or her car broken down”

“Then why is she unconscious and reek of heat scent?…” he paused… “And why…”

Sy fell silent, all three elder members of the pack’s attention rising to the tall stained glass windows, the pale light from the full moon spilling into the dark room as the clouds started to part. A simultaneous chorus of ‘fuck’ sounded around the room, before they started to change, the moonlight triggering the lupine curse within them.

They grew broader, their shoulders filling out their shirts. Jaws clenched as canine teeth elongated. The flick of fire in their eyes started to burn as the silvery rays of moonlight spread throughout the room. At first they didn’t notice the wisp of orangey vapour that curled through the small gap in the door, but as it moved around the room like a lost serpent August was the first to notice;

“What the hell is that?”

Sy and Walter followed his gaze before noticing more tendrils of the vapour, watching as it sparkled gold and copper in the moonlight. Sy gritted his teeth and pushed back the urge to fully transform, the skill he’d accomplished once he became the full Alpha leader of the pack;

“Stay here” he all but growled, stalking towards the mist and out into the hall, the sight before him stopping him in his tracks.

The young woman was awake, but was clinging to Will as she nuzzled against his neck. One of her hands curled through Mikey’s hair, pulling him to the other side of her neck. Wisps of orange vapour curled around them, seemingly emanating from her.

“BOYS!” Sy barked, both younger men trying to turn to the pack elder, but looked punch drunk.

“Uncle Sy…” Mikey muttered; “She’s… there’s something…”

Sy crossed the room lightning fast, pulling both younger men from her grasp before pushing them into a ray of moonlight as it spilt in through a side window, knowing that although the moon would turn them, it would also clear whatever was happening due to the vapour from their minds. August and Walter helped the two boys up, both elders now having almost completed their transformations, the younger turning as they stood. Sy gritted his teeth again and pushed back the urge to transform, knowing four, five full Were’s would destroy this young woman, and that someone needed to find out what the hell was happening;

“August, Walter, take Will and Mikey, go run, go hunt, anything, get all of you out of here”

The other’s paused, seemingly torn between the draw of the full moon and the pull of the young woman, but as Sy turned and growled, his eyes flashing golden they finally retreated.

Sy listened, his acute hearing picking up four sets of padded feet running across the gravel driveway and into the woods, before he turned to her;

“What the hell am i going to do with you?”

You sat on the hard surface, the blanket beneath you doing little to pad out the cold stone underneath as you watched the hulk of a man approach. You could immediately tell he was an Alpha, strong and virile, he was extremely broad with thick arms and thighs, he seemed to be 250lbs of solid muscle. Beneath the scowl on his face you could see stormy blue eyes that sometimes had a flash of gold in them, and hints of red in his thick beard. Your entire body was sweating, desperate for the touch of an Alpha. The two young Alpha’s you hadn’t been able to control yourself from scenting with had done a little to sate the heat hunger burning within you, but as this beast approached you your body burned for him.

Reaching for him your body immediately calmed the moment your hands grasped at his muscled forearms, breathing in his scent as he looked you over. When he spoke his voice was deep but soft;

“Miss, i gotta ask, but what are you?”

“Just an Omega… and i fucked up, my heat started…”

“Then why’d you come in here?”

“It said it was a convent… Nuns are women… i woulda been safe here…”

The man let out a long sigh;

“Oh honey… this wasn’t a convent of Nuns… it was a refuge for Moon Makers” he looked you up and down; “They shouldn’t have put ya on the altar…”

You were confused, you had heard the term Moon Maker before but it was so long ago you couldn’t recall exactly where. It was as if it had been a whisper you’d eavesdropped as a child, of something mothers and aunts had gossiped about with a sense of sordid envy.

Before you could dwell on that thought the storm outside blew wild, the crack of a tree could be heard and as it fell to the ground it let in a stream of moonlight right to where you lay. Bathed in the silver light the tendrils of orange mist started to swirl with vigour, and the Alpha before you let out a groan;

“Sugar, i gotta see the mark…”

He pushed you back as he stood between your legs, his large hands on your thighs as they crept beneath your short summer dress, pushing it up until your panties were visible and the fabric of your dress was bunched around your waist. His nostrils flared as he picked up your scent, the dark patch of wetness between your legs drawing him like a moth to the flame, but instead he hooked his thumb over the waistband of your underwear and tugged them down just a little until he saw your birthmark on your hip.

“The waning crescent…” he muttered

“What’s… huh? Moon Makers… Waning Crescent… I don’t understand” you were struggling to concentrate through the heat cramps, pulling the Alpha closer to you as you’d wrapped your legs around his thighs.

“Moon Makers are a special kind of Omega… the only one’s strong enough to bear the pups of a Were… the waning crescent is the shape of the birthmark they carry… shaped that way as if you breed on a full moon you’ll know if you’re carrying the pups by the time of the next waning crescent… It’s old lore, there hasn’t been a sighting of a Moon Maker for, well, almost twenty five years…”

You pulled him close, not even knowing this beast’s name, but were drawn to him. You hooked your nose beneath his chin, his soft beard rubbing against your face and you could feel him shake with restraint;

“You’re testing big Sy to the limits Sugar…”

“Sy…” you muttered, his name like a syrup on your tongue; “Sy… i’m still an Omega, and i need your help. This heat isn’t going away… i need you, as an Alpha”

Nodding, Sy cradled the back of your head. He knew what he needed to do. He just needed to get you through your heat, long enough to get you back to your home. He also had a secret, one that he’d brushed over many times when his brothers had joked about it, but an injury when he’d been in the army had meant he could no longer sire any pups with an Omega. It was something he and only he knew about, not even confessing this to Walter or August, and it had been safe in that knowledge that he’d been able to concentrate on leading the pack, without the distraction of offspring. Countless Omega’s had warmed his bed, but he’d insisted it was never the right time, not on a full moon, not the right point in their heat. Right now though, he needed to fight off his hind-brain, the part of him that wanted the Were to take over. He didn’t even consider things would be different with a Moon Maker.

He pressed his face to your neck, inhaling deeply against your scent gland, the soft dip in your clavicle, and let your scent wash over him. You were grinding against him, the slick in your panties dousing the front of his old combat pants, the thick cotton straining against his growing erection. His lips brushed against your neck as he spoke;

“Will you let me taste you? Get you ready with my tongue? Sugar… Omega, you want me to eat that pussy?”

“Sy… Alpha, please… I need it. I need you”

You were desperate; desperate for relief, desperate for pleasure. You watched as his massive hands curled around your panties as he gripped the thin cotton before with a low growl he tore the thin fabric to shreds. Licking his lips he fell to his knees between your legs, his face between your thighs as his tongue found heaven. That long thick tongue dove through your folds, lapping at your slick as he eagerly tasted your essence. Your hands fell to his head, the short buzz cut soft beneath your fingertips, but without anything to grip onto you felt lost, unable to anchor yourself. As if sensing your need Sy lifted one hand to yours, curling his fingers between your own as his piercing blue eyes never left yours, all whilst his tongue delved deep into your velvet channel. The more you cried out and wriggled the quicker he fucked you with his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to pleasure before with a final wide swipe of his tongue you came with a scream, calling out to the stars above as white hot pleasure coursed through your body and lifted your soul. Sy eagerly drank down your slick as it gushed from your channel, growling at the taste on his tongue before you finally fell back limp on the altar.

He pressed a kiss to each of your inner thighs before he moved to stand, and you watched as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside, before unbuckling his pants and let them drop to the floor. Toeing off his boots he was standing naked before you, his cock hard and rigid, thick and uncut, the knot at the base already starting to swell. You had been with an Alpha before but never one as big as Sy was, he was almost grotesquely huge, his girth as eye watering as the length. It was an angry red, his skin flushed and he was already dripping with need;

“Omega, I need you as much as you need me, you gonna let me fill that pussy?”

You nodded, and as Sy stepped forwards you saw there was hesitation in his step;

“Sy… what is it?”

“You ever been with a Were Alpha before?”

“A Were?” you shook your head; “But i want to. I need you Sy…”

“Not sure how much longer i can hold back the change, gonna have to be quick”

“I don’t want it to be quick, i want you… all of you”

What you were agreeing to was unheard of usually, very few had ever been with a full Were, let alone a Were Alpha, you knew the pheromones could drive an Omega crazy; “Do what you need to do Alpha”

With a growl Sy pushed you back, his body covering your own as his hands grasped your wrists;

“Hold still Sugar… need to tie you down so you don’t go flying off the altar”

“Altar?! Tie me down?!”

Sy paused, his face inches from your own;

“Say so now and i’ll stop, otherwise you’ll get as you asked and i will ‘do as i need’”

Swallowing nervously you nodded, wide eyed as you watched him pull ceremonial silk ropes from two corners of the altar beneath the blanket, tying your wrists in place. You could see his fight against the change was already starting to wane, his eyes burning like fire as his elongated fingers ran down your torso before grasping at your hips. He knelt between your parted thighs, pulling you up his thighs until his tip was poised at your entrance, dousing the bulbous head with your copious slick. With a growl he pushed forwards, stretching your tight walls as he slowly filled you. The pressure in your belly was intense, a white hot heat surging through your body as your mouth fell open in a silent scream. With your back arched you struggled to let your body adjust to his size, but then you felt the rough brush of the blunt tip of a claw circle your clit, carefully teasing the sensitive pearl from beneath its hood. As the moonlight poured down over your joined bodies you felt Sy start to change, of the Were taking over.

You moved your hips, realising you were now completely stuffed with his thick cock and eager for more, opening your eyes you let out a gasp, he had changed fully. Covered in a thick layer of auburn brown fur, his body was that of a Greek mythical beast. Though his features had changed, you could still see the same eyes that had burned for you just moments before. Shoulders as wide as the altar you were being defiled upon, which continued into enormous arms, thick with muscle as massive hands gripped at your hips as he started to thrust into you. You could both watch as he filled you before pulling out and repeating, his angry red shaft glistening in the moonlight with your slick before he’d plunge deep into you again and again. Each thrust stretched you so well you knew you’d be ruined for any other man, Alpha or not.

The pleasure coursed through your body, coming with a sudden force but the Were between your thighs just fucked you straight through it, now Moon drunk and high on the literal cloud of your scent surrounding the pair of you as you were carnally joined. With his biceps and forearms bulging the beast pulled you onto his thickening shaft repeatedly, his body arched as you were stretched on your tethers, legs bent at his thighs as you felt another orgasm chasing after the last. As your body squeezed him tight he let out a mighty roar, howling at the moon as you all but pushed yourself further onto him, your fragile body a plaything for his pleasure. Through the haze of lust and sin you felt the pad of his thumb move from your hip to brush over your birthmark, your gaze immediately drawn to his fiery eyes and you realised what would happen;

“Alpha, give me your knot, i’m ready”

With a growl the Were fucked into your plyable body harder and harder, pulling you to one final orgasm, and as that crested you felt the push and plug as he filled you, his seed pumping into you as his knot plugged you tight. Your scream echoed around the ancient chapel, and the world turned black.

A loud knocking at the door pulled Tina from her bed, glaring at the apartment as she strode through it, ready to give whoever dared disturb her at this ungodly hour of the morning a piece of her mind, but as she violently opened the door she was stopped in her tracks. In the morning light a hulk of a man stood on the doormat with you - her roommate - sleeping peacefully in his arms;

“Hey… I got her address from her driving licence”

Tina immediately scooped you into her arms, carrying you to the couch;

“Where has she been? Who are you?”

“Syverson… Her car broke down outside our place in the hills. She stayed out the storm with us but was up all night, she’s completely exhausted now”

Tina checked over your pulse and it was calm and steady, pulling at your eyelids which caused you to grumble and bat away her hands before you went back to snoring on the soft couch. Turning back to the giant Alpha currently standing in your doorway she held out her hand, to which Sy gently took it, surprised at how firm her handshake was;

“One of my brothers will bring her car back in the next couple of days if that’s alright? Got a lot on for the next two days”

“Yeah, that’s fine, but if i can take your number so i can check in, i know she drives a heap of crap but it’s still hers”

“Absolutely”

Tina watched as the enormous mountain of man carefully bent down and in neat cursive writing wrote his name and number onto the small notepad on the hallway console table, before ripping it off and handing it to her.

“I’ll… i’ll be going now”

Tina narrowed her gaze;

“You… you didn’t do anything to her, did you?”

Sy turned and met Tina’s glare;

“She spent the night” he turned and paused; “You might want to check her calendar, mentioned her heat is due soon” he let out a sigh before turning back to the doorstep; “Anyway, gotta go, the moon waits for no man…”

Tina watched him go, toying with the piece of paper as his truck pulled away, before she stashed it in her wallet.

A couple of weeks later you were irritable and snapping at anyone that crossed your path. The only thing that had gone right was your car had been returned to your apartment three days after your night in the hills, the suspension fixed, the engine running beautifully. It was like it’d had a complete overhaul by an entire team of mechanics. You weren’t going to question it as it was the one stable thing now in your life. The young guy that had dropped it off had practically thrown your keys into your hands, before sprinting off and climbing into a truck driven by someone that looked so similar he could have been a brother. You vaguely recognised them, but your only clear lingering memory of your time in the hills was Sy. You weren’t even sure how to even find him again, having taken drives through the forest a number of times but never able to find that same route again.

That night you were hungry, pulling a pint of your favourite ice cream from the deep freeze. You stepped outside into the warm summer night to eat it on the pallet wood seating Tina had built on the porch outside your apartment, watching the fireflies float into the air. After a while she joined you, a beer in her hand as she sat down silently. She was your best friend and had helped you through so much, but she’d been very quiet for the past couple of weeks, almost avoiding you.

“Hey Tiny” you used her nickname, one she’d very much grown out of after 5th grade when she’d grown a foot taller than you in the space of the summer break; “Everything ok?”

“Yeah yeah, i’m good… how are you doing? You’ve been… different recently”

You stabbed at the ice cream before setting it aside;

“Haven’t felt that great to be honest. Not sure what’s up, thought my heat was coming a few weeks ago but it seemed to end abruptly after i got back from…”

“Gotcha”

Tina looked up at the sky and you followed her gaze, seeing the thin crescent of the moon;

“Looks kinda like your birthmark, the waning moon…”

She didn’t finish what she was saying as you’d suddenly bolted to the bathroom, your retching clearly audible. With a sigh she rested her elbows on her knees… fuck, what the hell had you gotten yourself into? She’d been able to tell that Syverson was a Were the second she’d opened the door, counting the days back on her fingers she finally realised that you’d been with him the first night of the full moon, when its at its most powerful, and how your heat hadn’t appeared, yet she’d been able to pick up your bonding scent as you’d slept on the couch.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” she muttered to herself, the piece of paper in her wallet almost burning a hole in her pocket. She had sworn to your mother that she’d protect you, that she wouldn’t let you continue the Were bloodlines… but she’d failed. Now she had a decision to make… but first she’d go help you throw up, no doubt there would be another eight months of it to follow, the child within you already growing.

Pulling the paper out she held it between her fingertips as she stood, heading towards the bathroom where you were, you had a phone call make.

#syverson x you #captain sy x reader #werewolf sy #alpha sy #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #captain syverson smut #Alpha sy x omega reader

1K notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 9 months

Text

In the mood for a fic...

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1. So after reading A Matter of Time by mrcformoso from your recent IITMF post, I'm now craving some dark LWJ who's protective over our bunny as well. You know, like the *touch her and I'll kill you* vibes but make it WangXian. FemXian is fine as well, also modern aus are definitely okay. But if there's any canon era fics similar to above-mentioned fic, then please do rec ^^ @tinyfoxpeach

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2. LOVE YOUUUUUUU Thank you so much for the work you all do! 🧡💛💚💙 I am ITMF fic where Lan Qiren is blindsided by love, like, unconditional-love-at-first-sight, Lan-chosen-one style! Preferably happy ending, canon or modern AU, pre-, during, post-canon okay. I just want our grumpy old man to find him some unexpected happiness!

Yearning for Miles by Murahi (M, 378k, WangXian, LQR/SiSi, Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Mutual Pining, seeing the future)

The Untamed: For the Love of Two Boys by YenGirl (not rated, 181k, wangxian, 3zun, LQR/SiSi, yin metal poisoning, weddings, supportive LQR, supportive LXC, acupuncture, golden core reveal, yunmeng siblings reconciliation, wedding nights)

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3. Hello For the next itmf I would like to ask for soulmate au fics. I don't mind if it is modern or original time line. If you don't mind I would prefer top lwj and bottom wwx. Thank you very much in advance 😊

pastel by antebunny (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Soulmates, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love, but not actually, no courtesy names)

it goes like this by moonsteps (T, 15k, WangXian, College/University, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Humor, Fluff, Oblivious WWX, in which wwx is jealous… of himself, some drunken lwj shenanigans, two idiots in love, side sangcheng)

Deconstruct by flowercity (FaoriE) (T, 11k, WangXian, Soulmates, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, they’re so in love)

Zero by theladyofravenclaw (G, 19k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates AU, Musicians, Friends to Lovers, Reincarnation)

Soulmate AU Comp

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4. hi!! for the next itmf, i'm looking for fics where modern!wx meet canon!wx or even just one of them meeting their parallel counterparts

a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 81k, wangxian, modern w/ magic, parallel universes, post-canon, getting together, pining, case fic)

so when you go wherever it is you will go, take the moon with you by comforting_monachopsis (T, 97k, WWX & WWX, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, JC & WWX & JYL, past WWX/SS, past WWX/XY, canon divergence, time travel, dimension travel, modern, private investigator WWX, professor LWJ, trauma, serial killers, strangers to lovers, BAMF WWX, hurt WWX, WIP)

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5. Hiii 👋 , How are you guys doing? I would like to request some fics in which wwx gets jealous/insecure of mxy - it can be modern or canon era (prefer it to be canon era) Thank you💓

Achievement Unlocked 🔓 by UseMyMuse (E, 84k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Transmigration, Crack, Sassy System, Canonical Character Death, Reincarnation/Transmigration, Bamf wwx, mild to major violence briefly mentioned, Mild/brief mentions of torture, Kidnapping, Accidental Child Acquisition)

To Share You With Others by Asmayi (M, 3k, wangxian, ABO, mpreg, heavy angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, WWX pov, jealous WWX, alpha LWJ, omega WWX, omega MXY, beta LXC, rutting, married wangxian, wangxian endgame)

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6. Hey there, mods! ITMF canon universe fics where either WWX or LWJ has to do a walk of shame & it's obvious that's what they're doing. Like maybe they had to borrow clothing because theirs got destroyed in their haste to get naked (or in WWX's case it's obvious simply because he's awake suspiciously early & that attracts curiosity). @thispatternismine

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7. Hi! Can you please suggest some fanfics where book wangxian meet novel wangxian. I really like this theme? But so far I have only come across only one fic like that. @mrmrsasr-blog

Sorry. I meant to ask book Wangxian meet drama wangxian. Thanks for the recs.

could the asker for #7 maybe specify what they mean by book wangxian meeting novel wangxian?

💙 feel better love by Anonymous (T, 8k, WIP, WangXian, implied WangXianXian, Post-Canon, Crack Treated Somewhat Seriously, in a haha jk…unless? way, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Crossover)

To Him, Love Is You. by Nanami731 (E, 16k, LWJ/WWX/OMC, wangxian, parallel universes, novel & CQL wangxian, post-canon, fluff & humor, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, love confessions, fix-it of sorts)

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8. Hello lovely community! Could you recommend some canon-era fics where Wei Wuxian or Lan Wangji get injured, causing the other to realize their feelings? Thank you ❤

all the silver moons by milkcrates (E, 10k, wangxian, post-canon, hurt/comfort, getting together, first time) Not quite feelings realisation (more just getting together) but maybe close enough to scratch the itch

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9. hi, i hope you have a good day.

a) do you know any fics where juniors sees wwx and lwj as their parents?

b) can you recommend any fics where wwx turns yiling patriarch to protect/save junior/lwj? thankyou!

9A)

you are my chosen family by jinyinhua (T, 14k, WangXian, 5+1 Things, Good Kid LJY, Good Kid LSZ, Blood and Injury, Night Hunts, Drinking, Age Regression/De-Aging, Married WangXian, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics)

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10. heyyooo can you please recommend me lots of fics wwx & lwj + juniors. im so addicted to their story latelyyyy @oceanfl0wer

unhappy stories with happy endings by Last_for_Hell (M, 30k, wangxian, the junior quartet, watching some memories not the whole series, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, references to torture, PTSD)

Lan Sizhui’s Got a Crush! by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 46k, Junior Quartet, LSZ/OFC, Humor, Fluff and Crack, Case Fic, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Body Horror, Mild Gore, Post-Canon)

cherry lingers on the stone by ThreePlums (M, 26k, WangXian, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Case Fic, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Starvation, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Cannibalism, Dom/sub Undertones, PTSD, Mild Gore)

🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)

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11. Asking for the impossible here, but are there any fics where WWX kills LWJ? I know there are a few where LWJ kills WWX but I’m wondering if the opposite fics exist too.

When the heart grows cold by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 30k, wangxian, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, modern, vampires au, reincarnation, vampire WWX, found family, blood drinking, suicide as self-sacrifice, implied/refernced torture graphically) this might qualify as wwx killing lwj...

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12. I’m in a mood for BAMF ladies! So please recommend ladies kicking ass, taking names, etc. (with exception of YZY, I do not wish to read about her, sorry)

💖 With Surgical Precision by metisket (T, 20k, WQ & WN, WQ & WWX, WangXian, Time Travel, Families of Choice, sibling bonding through murder) BAMF WQ

Every Mother’s Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, WangXian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & Qingheng-Jun) BAMF Madam Lan

Heart of the River by meyari (T, 23k, JYL/JZX, JYL/MM, JYL/MM/WQ, wangxian, JC/WQ, major character death, implied/Referenced child abuse, no yin iron, fire manipulation, water manipulation, drowning, war, most people live au, BAMF JYL)

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13. Hello! Can you recommend me fics wherein the blindfold that covers wwx eyes in Mount Baifeng slip off and saw Lwj is the one kissing him? (Any fics where wwx knew lwj is the one kissing him because of his smell)

not a maiden by cannotsleep (examtomorrow) (T, 2k, wangxian, canon divergence, baifeng mountain kiss, open ending)

Take my breath away by laniakea314 (M, 6k, wangxian, canon divergence, phoenix mountain kiss scene, blindfold kiss, switched roles, kissing, feelings realization, confessions, fix-it, dry humping)

Nonsense Does the Trick by septune (E, 4k, wangxian, canon divergence, dub con, consensual sex, phoenix mountain hunt, praise kink, PWP, getting together, fix-it of sorts, first time)

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14. hiii i'm itmf autistic lan zhan fics!

leave sooner, drive slower, live longer. series by thelastdboy (M, 26k, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, Madam Lan & LWJ, wangxian, modern cultivation, canon divergence, LWJ pov, character study, coming of age, past character death, implied/Referenced suicide, implied/referenced rape/non-con, neurodiversity, autism spectrum, situational mutism, hurt no comfort, YLLZ WWX, natural disasters, earthquakes, aftermath of natural disaster, politics, slow burn, miscommunication, taxi driver WWX, getting together, sentient burial mounds, mistaken identity, no major character death, names are magic, horror elements, references to depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, anxiety, pining, angst w happy ending, WWX has ADHD, case fic)

The Martial Arts Instructor Fic You Didn’t Know You Needed by enbysaurus_rex (M, 423k, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, WWX & Wen remnants, WQ & WWX & WN, modern, martial arts, everyone lives au, not canon compliant, WWX has ADHD, autistic LWJ, pining, enby WWX, implied/referenced alcoholism, PTSD, slow burn, chronic illness, found family, polyamory negotiations, JC & WWX reconciliation, Single Parent WWX, Single Parent LWJ) a favorite! Lwj is chefs kiss autistic rep. Story is queer, neurodivergent and disabled joy/love !

For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm, 1st in series (E, 170k, wangxian, modern, getting together, pining, porn, onlyfans au, sexworker WWX, minor angst, mental health, therapy is good) for the spicy enjoyers! Lwj is late diagnosed. Has a series!

The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly series by Onomatopoetikon (T, 28k, wangxian, modern, coffee shop au, college/university au, LWJ pov, barista WWX, tease WWX, flirting, meet-cute, WWX pov, WWX is a Mess, first dates, autistic LWJ, WWX has ADHD, neurodiversity, developing relationship, twin jades feels, fluff, supportive LXC, autistic meltdown, autistic meltdown aftercare, intimacy, non-sexual intimacy, non-verbal LWJ)

Time Kept Flowing by notoneforreality (T, 201k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, major character death is wwx, who comes back, Family, Autistic LWJ, Kid Fic, JC and LWJ raise the kids, Co-parenting is hard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

💖 WWWWXD (What would Wei Wuxian Do?) series by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 55k, wangxian, modern, high school and forward, fluff, panic attacks, angst w/ happy ending, autistic lwj, grief/mourning)

The Bunnysitter: a Post-it Romance by theLoyalRoyalGuard (G, 9k, wangxian, modern, fluff, ace lwj, autistic lwj, adhd wwx, hacker wwc)

Extraordinary Attorney Wangji by PaidSubscription (T, 57k, wangxian, JC/WQ, LXC/NMJ, modern, fluff, slow burn, getting together, autistic LWJ, WWX has ADHD, angst w happy ending, lawyers au, Extraordinary Attorney Woo storyline, LWJ loves rabbits, neurodivergent love)

The Passion of the Cut Sleeve by Afriendlyenigma (T, 25k, wangxian, modern, teachers au, loneliness, LWJ loves rabbits, getting together, romance, autistic LWJ, ADD/ADHD WWX, intimacy, fluff, cuddling & snuggling, touch-starved, slow burn, panic attacks, WIP)

You Helped Me (Wangxian) by Sheneadra (T, 11k, wangxian, modern, autism, autistic spectrum, autistic LWJ, ADHD, WWX has ADHD, teenager, teen romance, sign language, WIP)

Bunny Baby by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, LWJ Has Feelings, Soft WangXian, Gender-Nonconforming LWJ, Protective WWX, Bad Parent LQR, Fluff and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft boys being soft, POV WWX, Autistic LWJ, [Podfic of] Bunny Baby by frostedhearth)

Make The Fireflies Dance Silver Moon's Sparkling by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Friends to Lovers, Teenagers, Childhood Friends, Growing Up, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Slow Burn, First Kiss, First Love, Autistic LWJ)

a new kind of silence by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, Autistic LWJ, Communication Disorder, Trans LWJ, Protective WWX, Pregnant LWJ, Panic Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Soft WangXian, POV WWX) and actually I would say check out all of this author's fics in their autistic lan zhan tag cause I rec them all!

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)

End Racism On The OTW - In my quiet sea, waves would sometimes rise by jiejieaini (T, 3k, WangXian, Autistic LWJ, meltdowns, Fluff and Angst, Adoption, Happy Ending, Established Relationship)

Falling Headlong by floraidh (T, 35k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, skater au, First Meetings, First Kiss, Getting Together, autistic lwj)

as fearless as by thistleghost (T, 12k, WangXian, XiYao, Modern AU, High School, Coming Out, Protective Siblings, sensory processing, SPD LWJ, Implied Autistic LWJ, Misunderstandings, implied 3zun)

Silence Spell by unnecessary (E, 4k, WangXianJue, WangXian, Modern AU, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M, BDSM, dom LWJ, Sub WWX, Collars, Impact Play, Deepthroating, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Overstimulation, Dom Drop, Aftercare, Autistic LWJ, (It's not mentioned directly but it's there), Spitroasting)

Petrichor by SunBlueSun (E, 8k, WangXian, Top/Bottom Switch WangXian, heat exhaustion, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Sex, Playing Doctor, Praise Kink, (mild praise kink), mention of past torture, Canon-Typical Violence, h/c meta, Autistic LWJ, Mention of switching, Dirty Talk, Soft WangXian, Cuddling & Snuggling)

Pocket Too Deep for Play by bigamma (E, 57k, Female WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Vibrators, Easter Eggs, Sex Toys, Autistic LWJ, Female WWX, Female LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Lacrosse, Christian Themes, Sports Medicine, YZY’s A+ Parenting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Christian Holidays, Easter Egg Hunt, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Bible Quotes (Abrahamic Religions), Cunnilingus)

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15. ITMF where Lan Zhan is a househusband @yupkook

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16. Hiiiiii so for the next ITMF do you have any « 🪷 lotus pier Wangxian date » like I remember reading some but i can’t find them 😅 so lwj taking wwx’s ofer to visit ??? Thanks ✨✨✨✨✨✨ @ihaveasoftspotfora-yuan

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17. Hello Please recommend chengqing fics, anything apart from modern. Love you, Thank you, God bless you @dramaqueenrolf

The Needle and the Nail by littledust (E, 119k, ChengQing, WQ Lives, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Memory Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Golden Core Reveal, First Time)

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, ChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It) While not a focus, definitely a goodread

Honestly you could choose pretty much anything by snowberryrose

For example Understanding by snowberryrose (G, 11k, JC/WQ, wangxian, JYL/JZX, fix-it)

Blame by snowberryrose (G, 12k, JC/WQ, wangxian, fix-it)

Sacrifice by snowberryrose (G, 12k, wangxian, JC/WQ, NHS & WN, friendship)

Apology by snowberryrose (M, 17k, JC/WQ, wangxian, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, fix-it, golden core reveal)

With Such Impossible Conveyance by Comfect (T, 99k, JC & WWX, wangxian, JC/WQ, major character death, fix-it, brotherly bonding, angst w happy ending, anger management, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, romance, everyone lives au, humor)

A Bell That Tells Us to Rise and Fight by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (T, 120k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, SL/XXC, canon divergence, arranged marriage, everyone lives, women being awesome, content warning for JGS & XY & JGY, minor character death)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 7 months

Text

untitled zoro x reader WIP

working on this long one shot. I know it's going to be a zoro x reader.

Reader is an ex-marine who happens to be Luffy's nonbiological older sister. She hadn't seen the crew since Alabasta and last seen Luffy at marineford - where she betrayed her duties to help him escape. Now, years later, she's reappeared and has come to see Luffy. In Alabasta, Zoro and her had a fling...a budding romance and maybe there is something still there....

this is what I have so far. please leave feedback and comment if you want to be tagged once it's done!

There was a cold breeze coming from the west as you crossed the dock; body so tired, it was ready to collapse right on the planks below you. Casting glances among the various ships docked, your eyes pinned to the one furthest from the shore. Having never seen the ship in person, you strode with sudden urgency because it was right there – he was so close. Boots echoed against the ocean silence as you finally stood in front of the Sunny. So magnificent against the moonlight and a great smile pulled from the corner of your mouth. Now, all you had to do was get on the ship. “Well, shit.”

Several of the Straw hats slept soundly on the grass knoll of the ship; the vessel rocking them into an endless lull as Nico Robin stood watch above in the crow’s nest. It was her turn, and everyone had been star gazing after a night of drinking. The only ones that made it to their actual beds were Nami and Chopper – the rest lay sprawled on the grass. Robin was focused in on a book she was reading by candlelight when she heard boots echoing from what seemed like the sea, but when she stood up to get a better look – a shadowy figure was mounting at the side of the ship. Curious, Robin watched with soft but focused eyes until she crossed her arms and whispered fleur; clutch. The would be stow away didn’t startle or yell as Robin’s hands formed a chain like express, bringing the person right into eye view. Once the light of the moon fell onto the captive’s face, Robin gave way to a small but satisfied smile. “Well, what a surprise.”

You sighed but gave the archaeologist a grin. “Mind putting me down?”

She just nodded and gently floated you down onto the lower deck; the bottom of your boots quietly hitting the deck. Kneeling to catch yourself, hands pressed firmly onto the ground. Staying in position, you looked around the faces and spotted the man you came for – the one you had traveled so far to get to. Heart racing, you got up and tip toed around the others; eyes lingering on the vice-captain. He was sleeping against one of the trees and you couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t who you came for, no, the man you were looking for was sleeping a few feet away. Moving past the second in command, you finally stood over the captain of the Straw Hat crew. Kneeling beside him, your hand wavered over his cheek, and you smiled sadly at the sleeping man – no, boy, he would always be a boy to you. He looked so peaceful in slumber, and you hesitated before touching his cheek. Luffy stirred as your devil fruit power surged through him but then he settled with a smile on his face.

“What the hell are you doing to my captain?”

The voice was stern, venom filled and familiar. Removing your hand from Luffy, you hoisted to your feet and turned to face Roronoa Zoro. He couldn’t hide the sheer shock in his eyes as you smiled headily at him, trying to drive down the nerves. Sheathing his sword, he just stared until he could form words.

“We thought you were dead.”

Right.

“I was.” You laughed but he just stared. “I flatlined. That’s what I was told but by whatever gods are out there, I was revived. I wanted to come see Luffy sooner but you guys sure make it hard to track you all down. Plus, honestly, there was a lot of shit I had to do before I could get here.”

Zoro seemed to relax with your answer and asked what you were doing to Luffy. The smile faded from your face, and he looked down at his feet when you told him you were making him dream. “Memories of us as kids with our brothers. I wanted him to be happy.”

“You ate a devil fruit?”

“I did…I can explain this all later…” you promised, eyes moving back toward your little brother. “I want him to rest, mind offering me something to drink. Preferably sake?”

The last word brought an eager smile to Zoro’s face, and he motioned for you to follow him to what you presumed was the kitchen. He walked in first and turned the lights on, telling you to take a seat as he fetched two cups and a bottle from the fridge. As you sat at the dining table, your body seemed to collapse into itself – the traveling had finally gotten to you but then Zoro placed a cup of sake in front of you and everything seemed slightly better. Sitting across from you, the swordsman explained how your vivre card had burned out a year ago and how much of a mess Luffy was. The thought made you tear up and Zoro quickly refilled your cup, uncomfortable, as always, with any signs of emotions. Thanking him, you downed it and dived into where you had been for the few years.

“The last time we had seen each other was after I left you guys in Alabasta, right? God, that seems like so long ago. I-I had a tough time after Ace died.” A quietness fell between the two of you, eyes on your hands. It was a turning point in your life. “I got in real trouble for helping Luffy that day, but I couldn’t just watch my brothers like that. I couldn’t…I had to fight with Luffy, I didn’t care that I was a marine.”

The word marine came out in a hushed whisper, a shame casted your eyes. Zoro just leaned back and listened – he was always a good listener, mostly. Not so much with directions but he understood honor – he got that much. “Then that…asshole killed Ace right in front of Luffy. My kid brother, I couldn’t believe my eyes. All I felt was a burning rage and just had to get him out of there. Our grandpa held me back once I helped Luffy escape. He was afraid to lose another kid, but I got reckless afterwards.”

“You were angry.”

You nodded. “I was furious. Everything I had thought I was – a good marine, a good person, none of it made sense. I started acting out, even after I was given a second chance to redeem my status. I was Garp’s granddaughter! He is a legend, but I was out for blood. I became too reckless with my own life and that’s when it happened….”

“You died. How?”

On a mission, you recounted. “I was fatally wounded. I should have died. I wanted to die.”

Zoro’s eyes faltered for a moment, and you thought he was going to reach out for your hand, but he didn’t so you went on. “I was shot right in the chest. My grandpa was there, and I died in his arms. I remember him shouting for me to be strong, to hang on and then I remember seeing Ace. Sabo wasn’t there and I was panicking because I didn’t know where he was. He should have been there…. The last thing I remember was Ace’s kind smile. I woke up later in a hospital room.”

#roronoa zoro #zoro x reader

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witchmoon · 1 year

Text

by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.

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