#“it not canon!” yet it's ironically BETTER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onepiece-writting-forest · 13 days

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OMGGG I LOVE UR BLOG .IT'S ACTUALLY SO FUN TO READ ^^

btw I was just wondering if you could write one head canon of law and zoro where reader tries to remove the hickies they gave reader the next day :)

have a nice day.

Characters: Law and Zoro Content: Reader trying to remove hickeys they gave them. a.n.: rising from the fucking dead, had an impulsive urge to write. Lucky day. Hope you like it.

-Let's be honest, this happens really often. Zoro might be calm and collected but once stuff gets heated, he can't control himself. You're pretty used to this by now, but today, you didn't feel like having a hickey right on your neck. The entire crew knew what you two were doing, but you could live without the comments. Just for today.

-With your pocket mirror in your hand and some ointment Chopper had given you, you applied it while sitting in the Sunnys training room. You sighed quietly, observing the spot in the small mirror, while noticing a very familiar green color appear in the reflection. Your beloved swordsman.

-He greeted you as usual and proceeded to climb up while watching you. He wondered what you were doing. Mirror, ointment tube...you pointing the mirror at your neck and not your face...huh.

-Zoro put two and two together. You tried to get rid of the hickey. Right, and why did that bother him somehow? He just stood there for a while, staring at you in silence, contemplating what to say. "Did Nami say something again?" With that, he stepped closer and slightly bend down to have a look.

-"No but she will." You mumbled, while Zoro scratched the back of his head. He liked giving you visible hickeys actually, he liked marking you as his especially in front of the stupid cook. He liked looking at it and getting reminded of the nice time the two of you had. It bothered him that you wanted to get rid of it...

-"Fuck it. Who cares? Just because she's jealous and doesn't get dicked down." He shrugged and sat down next to you, which made you laugh. It gave you some confidence back, wondering why you actually wanted to hide it in the first place, yet you were the one getting the comments, not Zoro.

-"You wear one for a day, lets see how that plays out." You said with a grin and snapped the mirror shut, to which Zoro just smirked back. "Try me." [Click here for more Zoro content!]

-There were times, where Law could be either rough or gentle, whatever it was, it always ends passionate. Especially towards the end, when you both reach your climax and he can't help himself but bury his face into the crock of your neck while he finishes off.

-As much as you liked looking at them in the mirror, you didn't need others to see it, neither the teasing of your fellow crew mates. It was pretty ironic that Law didn't enjoy those comments either, yet he left a god damn hickey on your neck. For a private person he was doing a pretty bad job.

-You were standing in your shared bathroom, trying to remove the mark somehow. Yesterday it didn't look too bad, but now the color darkened slowly, showing off the damaged blood vessels underneath.

-You didn't notice Law stopping in the door frame of the bathroom and watching you with curious eyes. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned in, tilting his head. The bruise looked bad, and he was surprised he had left a hickey. He didn't really notice yesterday.

-"Stop that, you're making it worse." His sudden comment made you jump, while Law sighed and stepped in closer. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to look at the bruised skin better, before clicking his tongue. "Might take a week before that's gone, looks ..."

-"A week?!" You were quite annoyed by his nonchalant answer. Firstly, he was responsible for this, and secondly, of course he would react this way. Law wasn't the one who had a god damn hickey on his very visible neck. You gave him a light slap on his chest, lecturing him on being careful next time or leaving it somewhere others wouldn't see. By the cheeky grin slowly forming on his face you knew he would give you a bold answer.

-Yet he held his promise, especially after your threat of giving him hickeys back next time if he wasn't more careful. It was only fair, since he wasn't a big fan of marks on himself, while he couldn't get enough of you having them. Law simply enjoyed seeing who you belonged to and the aftermath of your night. He wouldn't stop the marks, just hide them for only him to see.

[Click here for more Law content!]

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gummyfang · 1 year

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♡♡♡ | ˗ˏˋ TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT ´ˎ˗

➳　【 S i m o n　‘G h o s t’　R i l e y　ｘ　Ｒｅａｄｅｒ】

❧ Warnings: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛 / 𝐠𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤

[ 𝟑.𝟒𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ]

[ REQUEST BY ANON ] On my knees and requesting respectfully a jealous Ghost fic cos I just wanna be manhandled by that giant behemoth of a man. Just throw me against the wall and break my back daddy 💦😭

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: sneef sneef i actually interp him as a v soft dom or sub but i cant say im not a rough ghost enjoyer on occasion. also this is not a canon-compliant fic don’t come at me im just here for a good time. ft keegan bc i wanted to add him. this kinda sucks lol.

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

It wasn’t like you ever purposely set out to make Simon envious of the men you spoke with.

It was just that, as you’d learned, your Lieutenant was a lot more prone to envy than anyone could have predicted.

When the two of you had spent your first night together and officially gotten together, you and Simon had made the mutual decision to keep your relationship on the down low. Considering Simon was technically your superior at work, you two didn’t want to get into problems with your jobs due to a lack of professionalism.

That, and Simon was not a man who enjoyed attracting much social attention to himself anyways. He loathed the potential buzz that a new relationship on base would spark, and decided it would be better to announce somewhere later along the line.

This, however, came with one very obvious problem.

You were attractive.

Your good looks were not the issue by themselves. Simon could not deny he reveled in how handsome you were when you gave him one of your loving stares, and how pretty you looked beneath him when he fucked you stupid.

No, the problem was that your attractiveness did not go unnoticed to other men either.

All Simon could do was let the simmering sting of jealousy stew in his chest as he watched you talk to Keegan. You seemed to be blissfully unaware of the ways in which Keegan’s gaze lurked over your form, like a dog salivating at the sight of a steak. But Simon noticed. He sure as fucking hell noticed.

“Good job during training today. Your form is getting better.”

The flirtatious undertone of the compliment clearly went over your head, as you just chuckled and thanked him. Simon’s grip on his own crossed arms hardened considerably, earning him some nervous looks.

He was leering at the two of you with a thunderous gaze, the atmosphere practically rumbling with tension. It was starting to become apparent how much this bothered him, some of the soldiers sitting near him sharing concerned but equally confused glances.

If Simon was being honest with himself, he’d probably realize Keegan’s attraction wasn’t as predatory as he was making it out to be in his mind. You’d been friends with the man for months, and you’d been getting along with him very well long before you entered your relationship with Simon.

But the Lieutenant was not being honest with himself, and he couldn’t give less of a damn whether Keegan wanted to propose to you with flowers or just herd you into his bed. His attraction to you was clear as fucking day, and there was nothing Simon could do to stop it without drawing attention to your relationship status.

Lieutenant Ghost was a man of terrifyingly strong control.

And yet, he felt all that control slip from his iron grasp as he watched Keegan extend his hand as he laughed, his fingers intently tracing over your hip.

With that, his patience snapped like a tightly-strung rope. He rose to his feet with an aura so threatening it would make any hostile think twice before approaching him.

Keegan’s steel gaze turned icy as it moved from you to the Lieutenant’s hulking figure behind you. The corners of your mouth dropped slightly as you noticed the abrupt change in Keegan’s demeanor, before feeling the cold zipper of an open jacket brush against your neck. You turned around, faced with your boyfriend’s chest that was practically in your face right now.

“You are needed in my office.”

For a moment, you thought Ghost was talking to Keegan. It was only because he placed his hand firmly on your shoulder that you knew he was talking to you. The two men were locked in what appeared to be a staring match. You swallowed thickly as the tense, uncomfortable atmosphere became more noticeable to you, prickling at your skin.

Finally, it was Keegan who relented, his gaze moving down. “See you later then.” he said, voice devoid of the playful edge it was filled with earlier. He gave you and Ghost one last wary glance, before heading off to a group of people in the corner.

You watched him leave, slightly baffled, before feeling Simon’s iron grip pull you away.

You eyed him with confusion and slight annoyance. Simon, on the other hand, was staring straight ahead, refusing to look at you as he pushed you along. You had never seen him act like this.

“What’s all this about?!” you hissed in a hushed tone. “We’re being stared at!”

You didn’t receive a response. Whatever he had on his mind, he was too focused on it to pay you any mind right now.

Things became even more confusing when he headed straight past the door to his shared office, your brow furrowing even deeper now. “Lieutenant?” you tried, a hint of concern laced in your voice.

Suddenly, the grip on your shoulder moved down to grasp at your wrist instead, large hands clamping down around your flesh. It didn’t hurt, Simon always had the wits not to hurt you, but his grip was still unrelentingly tight. With his other hand, he unlocked the door to his private room, dragging you in with him.

Before you could question him any further, he’d ripped off his mask and hungrily sunken his lips against yours.

Your hands froze at your sides, too shocked to respond as his tongue aggressively pushed at your lips. Sighing out a quiet moan, you opened your mouth, met with the overwhelming feeling of Simon wrapping his tongue around yours.

Simon rumbled out a low groan as you finally started to regain control of your senses, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck. You held onto fistfuls of his hair, tugging at it lightly as his tongue danced with yours feverishly.

You managed to break away after a few minutes of his hurried and rough kisses, only for him to possessively start teething at your neck.

“Simon…” you mewled, head tipping back to grant him more access. You were so confused but god, you didn’t mind this. Simon was usually incredibly careful and gentle with you. This was new.

You grabbed onto his shoulders shakily, stabilizing yourself as Simon continued his merciless onslaught on your skin. You sucked in a breath when you felt him teeth at your neck, switching between feverish licks, harsh sucks and bites. You definitely knew that was going to bruise.

“Si, they’re- fuck- people are gonna see that!” you breathed out, tapping him on his side. “Good.” his deep voice rumbled in response, the first word he’d uttered to you since you left with him. His voice had an uncharacteristically dark edge to it, at least when it came to you. “Maybe that’ll keep those fuckers off of ya next time.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Oh.

It was only then that the quarter fell in your mind. Not once in the short month you’d been together had it occurred to you that Ghost was capable of jealousy, much less one to act on it.

Honestly, you felt a little bad for him. Not that you really could have done anything about it, the idea to keep your relationship hidden was Simon’s idea and mutually agreed upon. But you honestly hadn’t considered how it was possibly affecting him.

Still, you were pretty sure you knew how to make that up to him right now.

Besides, it wasn’t like you hadn’t imagined what it would be like if Simon fucked the living hell out of you before.

You hiked up one of your legs intently, hooking it around his as you hung off his body. You’d hike it up to his hip if you could, and you sure as hell tried, but God, were you reminded of how Simon easily towered above you in moments like this.

Nonetheless, he seemed pleasantly responsive to your advance. His hand found its way to the small of your back, fingers digging into your skin so harshly you were sure they would leave light flushed marks.

You could feel his prominent, rock-hard erection prod against your belly. Your hands slid down, fingers circling around his belt slowly and gently. Your fingernails dug themselves against his toned stomach, crescent-shaped marks glaring right above the place he wanted your hands most. Simon did not seem to reciprocate the slow, patient teasing you were trying to coax him into. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt his thick thumbs roughly force their way past the waist of your pants, roughly tugging at the material. Then it stopped. You blinked, looking up at Simon, realizing he was staring straight back at you. He was a damn sight to behold. His balaclava had been roughly tugged down to pool around his neck, revealing those pretty swollen lips and that sexy stubble he usually kept obscured. You could see a dimly glistening trail of spit trailing down from the corner of his lip, undoubtedly due to the tilted angle he’d been ravaging your neck at. He didn’t move his hands, his head instead inching a little closer. “You can tell me to stop.” he responded in that gruff tone, lust dragging his voice down by at least an octave.

“You can tell me to stop, or that you don’t want this, and we can stop. But if you don’t-” His grip tightened on your trousers, the pull of the fabric drawing you in closer. “-I will have my way with you.” Fuck. Even when he wanted to do nothing but jump you and rail you until your legs gave out, he still waited for your word without fail. You felt a wave of arousal pool between your legs intensely, your clit throbbing gently at the dark promise rumbling in your ear. Your eyes were almost glazed over as you just stared back at him for a moment, puffy breaths seeping out through parted lips. “You may, please-” Your plea had only barely tumbled off your lips when Simon crashed his own on them again. Wasting no time getting down to business, those thumbs hooked around the waist of your pants were yanked down, taking the fabric down with them. Your underwear soon followed, all while his tongue was still firmly pressed against yours.

Simon wasn’t kidding when he said he’d have his way with you. You felt his large hands clamp around your sides like a vice, bending and molding you to his liking as if you were clay. His mouth began its second onslaught on your sensitive neck and shoulders, this time biting from the back.

You felt him twist you around, effortlessly as if you were a doll, his left hand leaving your waist to clamp around your wrists instead. You were at his mercy, and the thought made the slick sensation between your folds even more apparent.

It was as if Simon read your mind. The hand that had momentarily remained on your waist trailed down quickly, your shirt curling under his fingers as he kept them pressed tightly against your body.

Simon was a man who enjoyed taking his time with you, most of the times he’d have sex with you being preceded by extensive foreplay, but he was in no such mood right now.

His index and middle finger dipped down smoothly, squeezing your clit between them just perfectly. Your mouth opened in a quiet gasp as you instinctively pressed your body into his chest, though the grasp on your wrists ultimately held you in place firmly.

The pressure on your clit was rough, deliciously so. His movements were swift and controlled as he rubbed up and down just perfectly, fingers occasionally dipping down to prod at your entrance before sliding back up. “Simon, oh God, mmmf…”

You whimpered, your head leaning against his shoulder for any semblance of support. “‘S that good?” The bass of his voice rumbling in your ear made you shudder, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, mm… Simon… Simon-” His name drifted off your lips in broken moans and whines, and the Lieutenant absolutely reveled in it. He was the only one who would ever get to hear you moan his name like this, only his name.

“Could anyone else touch you like this? God, you’re so fucking wet for me. All for me.” He growled possessively. This time when his hand slid down, they encircled your hole before plunging in fully without warning.

You whined quietly as you felt his thick digits curl against your g-spot expertly, filling you up nicely and leaving no room for small casual pleasantries. He plunged in harshly with a grunt, and you let out a loud moan. “Speak up.”

“Jus’ you. Only you, Si- God.” Your boyfriend kept ramming his digits into your cunt at a merciless rate, as your breaths started to come out in high-pitched whines and pants. He peered at you through the holes of his skull-shape mask still resting on his face. Simon reveled in watching you lose your composure and whimper like a bitch in heat for all the ways in which he could make you feel good.

“I can’t understand you when you sound like that.” Your glazed eyes snapped open, looking up at him as he looked at you darkly. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you.

“You’re th’ only one. The only one. Nobody else. Nhh… Si… only one who can make me feel s’good…”

You were struggling to think straight, struggling to form a cohesive sentence as the loud squelching of Simon’s fingers abusing your pussy echoed off the walls. Your head lurched forwards with a loud breathy moan as he changed his angle, somehow hitting your G-spot even more precisely.

You looked back at him, lust clouding your vision as your voice lowered to a more devious tone.

“Keegan could never… make me feel like this…” Instantly, the movements inside you stopped, his fingers stilling inside of you and his other hand finally releasing your wrists. For a second, you thought you fucked up royally and actually hit a nerve.

This was not the case. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You heard aggressive rustling and the rumble of a zipper being undone. You tried looking back at him but gasped when you felt his hand clamp down on the back of your neck, torso pressed firmly against the wall.

His other hand quickly pulled out of you, instead roughly realigning your hips to be further back. The whimper humming softly in your throat suddenly burst out as a loud squeak as the feeling was soon replaced with that of his weeping tip prodding at your cunt, his erect cock pushing its way between your folds.

Simon roughly shoved his way inside, hand roughly keeping you from instinctively lurching forwards. His warm breath puffed against your ear with rumbling grunts as he pushed himself in deeper, until his pelvis was pressed snugly against your ass.

The man did not give you much time to adjust to his girth before starting to move. Not that you needed much time after the rough way in which he had prepared you with his fingers.

By now, the slick was generously coating your walls, lubricating your hot cunt enough for Simon’s cock to slip in and out effortlessly.

Your mouth fell agape, your cheeks flushed as you struggled to keep your wobbly legs from collapsing, Simon’s rough and fast thrusts throwing you off balance. But nothing slipped past Ghost, you soon remembered, as you felt his tattooed muscular arm clamp around your middle harshly to keep you stable.

You quickly lost control over your volume, whines and whimpers steadily turning into loud and broken. This was usually where Simon would shush you, shove his fingers into your mouth or kiss you. But not this time. “You’re so fucking loud… Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” he growled into your ear, adjusting his pace until he was brutally pistoning his dick into your cunt, his balls audibly smacking against your skin.

“God… you fit so fucking perfectly around this cock. Your pussy was made for this cock.” Simon was usually not one for dirty talk, the words leaving an odd and cringeworthy taste in his mouth after he’d say them. But he couldn’t stop himself, his brain just rolling out the word vomit to subject you to like an assembly line.

You sure as hell weren’t going to complain.

“Simon, fuck- Fuck! Please, just like that. I need- I need you.”

The consistency of his thrusts faltered at that, something that almost sounded like a whimper erupting from his throat.

A drop of sweat rolled down your forehead as your eyebrows scrunched together, starting to feel the familiar knot in your stomach tightening. Your boyfriend fingering you had already gotten you halfway there, and with the pace at which he was drilling into you you weren’t going to last much longer.

“C’mon, love. My name- let them know. They can all fucking know. Please. I need them to know who’s fucking you. Please…”

He groaned loudly as his hips stuttered, unable to resist you. Goddamn you. You could metaphorically get him to his knees even when he was fucking you against a wall like he wanted to wreck you.

You whimpered, tongue swiping over your lips before obliging him. “Simon- mmm, Simon…” You were hesitant, your boyfriend’s wishes upon establishing your relationship ringing in your mind. But the rough smack you got to your hip told you he couldn’t give less of a fuck right now. “Simon, fuck- God, Simon! Simon!” His name continued to tumble off your lips like a mantra, each thrust into your spongy cunt leaving you less able to think. He was the only thing on your mind, just Simon, only he could fuck you like this. Finally, the coil that had been building came undone accompanied by a loud scream of his name. Your pussy clenched harshly around him as you came on his cock. You were goddamn grateful Simon was holding you up right about now, as you were sure you would have sunken to the floor had it not been for his arm keeping you secure.

The feeling of you clenching around his dick finally sent Simon over the edge too. He let out the most delicious guttural groan as his movements stuttered for one final time, cock quivering before shooting his seed deep inside of you.

He continued to sloppily fuck his cum into you a few more times before his movements stilled completely, stabilizing himself against the wall with his hand. A silence fell over the two of you as you just took a moment to catch your breaths, Simon’s other hand rubbing over your stomach almost apologetically. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence by any means, but it was also one filled with the realization that there was no way nobody had heard you.

It wasn’t going to be long before everyone knew who the Lieutenant had been fucking in his room.

“Si, I gotta- I gotta sit.” you finally broke the silence. He responded quickly, pulling out of you with a shaky breath before guiding you to his bed, helping you sit down as he took off his mask and placed it on his nightstand. He eyed your cunt, gently reaching down to half-heartedly shove some of his oozing cum back into your pussy. You whined softly, but didn’t have the energy to do anything else, instead just leaning against his chest. “You sure you don’t mind?” you whispered, fingers tracing the dark lines of his tattoo gently. Simon just grunted.

“It was bound to come out sooner or later.” he said gruffly. “I was growing real sick of it anyway. About time those shitbirds learned you’re spoken for.” You chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around his waist to sleepily tug him into a hug. “You found one hell of a way for them to find out, though. Fucking hell, Si.”

That earned you a gruff chuckle from your boyfriend, who started to guide you to lie down with him on the bed and pulled you tighter against his chest. His lips gently pressed to your forehead as you closed your eyes, the finger drawing figures on his arm slowly coming to a halt as you dozed off in his arms.

You’d both deal with the consequences of this in the morning.

Pinglist:

@rahmown (ty for being the first and only one so far <33)

#mdni #♡.nsfw #♡.mlw #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #jealousy #simon riley #gummyfang #ghost #ghost x reader

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targaryen-dynasty · 1 year

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WHAT NOURISHES ME, DESTROYS ME.

Maegor I Targaryen x little sister!Reader

You and Maegor have always been a good team, but when he sits on Iron Throne after your older brother‘s death and doesn't allow you to come to war with him, you have to remind Maegor that he wouldn‘t be where he is without your help.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; DUB/NON CON, spit kink, humiliating, size kink, size difference, power imbalance, hate sex, canon typical incest/targcest, fighting, violence

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: This was written for @fairysluna and @borikenlove and is based on the scene in Vikings season 1 episode 2 where Lagertha fights Ragnar.

Maegor was only half dressed as you stepped into his chambers. The stool he sat in looked ridiculously small underneath his bulky presence, just like the castle’s barber did. His head was tilted back, allowing the much smaller man to attend to the grooming of his neat beard, and despite his eyes being closed, the smug smirk on his lips gave away he knew it was you barging into his quarters.

“Why must mother inform me that I cannot come to the Blackwater with you, brother?” You all but spat the words out, hands formed to fists at your sides with your knuckles already blanching.

“It is Your Grace for you,” Maegor’s voice drawled as he did not move, voice uncharacteristically soft but still determined to put you back in your place.

Your level of anger did not allow you to pay any attention to it, not caring enough to respect the courtesies. It was surprising that Maegor managed to keep his temper at bay, considering he was far more quarrelsome than you were.

“This was going to be the most exciting battle of my life,” you hissed. “To fly upon Dreamfyre’s back, alongside Balerion.”

“I do not want you to come,” he said, still in the same position as before, though you could hear just a hint of irritation in his tone. “I need to leave the castle in the hands of someone I trust, and there is no one else besides you and mother.” It was a poor attempt of him to lessen your anger, but caused quite the opposite.

Having brooded over it ever since you broke fast, your patience ran thin, and in moments like this, you felt the Blood of the Dragon coursing through your veins.

With quick strides, you headed over to where Maegor sat and snatched the sharp knife out of the barber’s hand, pressing it to your brother’s throat. That seemed to stir him enough to open his eyes, and the familiar purple quickly flickered up to meet your matching pair. You could feel his pulse quickening through the blade, yet you did not apply enough pressure to draw some blood.

“I have dreamt of this many times, and in my dreams, Dreamfyre and Balerion were always together. We were always together,” you tried to reason.

Maegor had your wrist in a painfully tight grip within seconds without giving you any chance to react. The tight impact caused you to sharply draw in some air, before you found yourself being pulled into his lap with an equally tight grip capturing your throat.

There it was. He had snapped.

The sharp blade clattered to the ground as you clawed at his large hand with both of yours, panic settling in your bones. “You would do well to follow your King’s orders,” his hot breath fanned across your face when he brought yours closer to his.

In the distance, you faintly heard the door to Maegor’s chambers fall shut, indicating that the barber had left without a word.

A lightheaded feeling spread throughout your mind with you choking for air, not getting better when his lips captured yours in a kiss that was shy of gentleness and chasity.

When your teeth harshly bit down on his bottom lip, he released you in surprise, seizing the chance to bring some space between your bodies. Upon a closer look, you spotted a few droplets of blood on his pale skin, and your panic was replaced by pride, even if it only lasted for a few seconds.

As his bull-like body rose from its seat and proweld towards you, your head craned upwards to meet his purple eyes. It was a good thing he was not able to see how your heartbeat quickened at his movements, and though he was your brother and twin, Maegor still was unpredictable and always in control.

For a split second, you thought he would actually do something, however, it had merely been an intimidation tactic, a clear warning. He stopped just a few inches shy of you, crossing his rippled arms in front of his chest.

You grabbed a hold of the closest item you could grasp–a candlestick in this case–and proceeded to try to swing it at him, but someone as skilled as Maegor had an easy game ducking and grabbing something to block your attack.

It was obvious that he held back, because otherwise you would’ve been flung through his chambers by now. What you did not notice was that he slowly but surely backed you up against the bed, stalking closer towards you with each step, practically herding you.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” You asked, swinging the candlestick at him once again. This time around, Maegor did not try to lessen your blows and just ducked. “Am I not strong enough for you?” When there did not come any objection or reaction from him, you moved to kick him with your foot, which didn’t do more than barely pushing him back. It was clear you did not have anywhere near the physical strength required to move someone of his caliber, more without his compliance.

“Don’t you remember?” You asked–no spat. “I fought with you in the Stepstones. I saved your life.”

By the look on Maegor’s face, he seemed to find a certain liking in your outburst, not because he had not seen you like that before, but because he always enjoyed putting you back in your place after. In that moment you truly were your mother’s daughter, and Maegor loved your mother just as dearly as you. A smirk that dripped with malice was etched onto his features, sending shivers down your spine once you noticed it.

The realization was short lived, because your next blow was seized by him getting the candlestick from you by twisting it, recklessly throwing it aside and demolishing some vessels standing on a chest of drawers. “Without me, you would not sit on the Iron Throne!” A harsh kick of him pushed you down to the bed behind you with him following shortly after and settling between your parted legs, immobilizing you. You grunted at the impact, but where quickly shushed by his proximity.

He had your throat captured once again, but not as tight as before, and allowed you to actually breathe. “How could I forget!” His deep voice rang out, resembling more an animalistic growl than an actual human’s voice. “You keep reminding me,” each word was emphasized with a tight squeeze to your throat, inevitably pushing you deeper into the mattress beneath.

His bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, the entirety of your neck covered by his hand though he hadn't even splayed out his fingers. Your hand clasped around his wrist with your nails digging into his skin, but he did not hiss at the pain, effortlessly keeping you pinned beneath him.

“I am so angry with you.”

Maegor made it no secret that the whole act aroused him, and shamelessly pressed his bulge against your womanhood, causing you to take in a sharp breath, as you felt your own arousal coating the inside of your smallclothes.

Upon seeing the smug grin that adorned his features, you had never longed more for Dreamfyre to unleash her flames, because Maegor knew you could never say no to him - regardless of how angry or sad you were.

Your eyelids lowered as you looked up and down his stern face, trying to observe his darkened eyes. They met yours, trying to guess your next move.

“Are you sure?” Came as a reply, and within seconds, his large hands had grasped your waist and flipped you over onto your stomach. One of his hands applied a good bit of pressure to the back of your neck, while the other pushed the skirts of your dress up and pulled down your smallclothes in one motion.

As his calloused fingers dragged through your mound, you refrained from bucking your hips into his touch and opted to try to wiggle out of his grasp. Maegor just chuckled dryly at that, and when two of his digits eased into your core, every sense of restraint left your body.

Your face was pushed into the bedcovers, though the moan you released still was perfectly audible to him.

“That’s what I thought,” your twin replied smugly. “You would not be so wet if you really were angry with me, Y/N.”

While you felt ashamed he had noticed your body’s reaction to him, you could not deny that the silence between you was thick with tension, both of you obviously longing for more. And with Maegor being a bit blunter than you were, he had no shame wording his desires.

“Must I fuck some sense into you, sister? Must I treat and fuck you like a common whore to remember you of your place again?”

Even with your head barely turned to the side, you could see the way his bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, covering its entirety in a mere display of dominance. That alone almost was enough to put you into submission, but a few threads inside of you still clung to the initial hurt of him not wanting you to join him in battle, hence you tried your best not to give in to him.

But still, his condescending words put a bright blush to your cheeks, the color even running down your neck and spreading along his large hand clasping the back of it. “There-There is no-no need for that, brother,” you stuttered, voice not louder than a whisper.

You should’ve seen it coming, but his fingers quickly were replaced by his hard cock. When the bulbous tip of it prodded against your entrance, you already tried to prepare yourself for it, but to no avail.

Being as rough as always, Maegor practically forced himself into your tightness, causing you to cry out - but not in pain or dismay. The daunting size of his cock always rendered you speechless, though it was very much in proportion with his large body.

The pace he set up was reckless and harsh from the very beginning, and whenever the tip of his member brushed the sensitive spot within your core, the breaths hitched in your throat, hiccuping and trying to fill your lungs the short moments he used to draw his hips back.

Instead of being propped up on your hands and knees, you just laid on the bed, unable to move even in the slightest. Maegor seemed to relish in the dominance he held over you, and your body seemed to keen at the realization, too.

Your bodies were an interesting contrast, despite you being twins. His broad and powerful form, even larger than your father Aegon The Conqueror, was towering over, driving into and domineering your delicate body in every possible way.

You fisted the silken bed covers as if your life was depending on it, knuckles blanching from the force in an attempt to keep your body grounded and strong for his reckless assault. “G-Gods… be… good,” you whined through particularly harsh thrusts, your voice increasing in volume.

The sounds of his heavy stones slapping against your slick core and the creaking of the bed probably could be heard by anyone that passed by the King’s chambers and even further down the corridor, but neither of you cared. Maegor and you were dragons, true blood Targaryens that were determined to rule the Realm together. If it was up to him, he’d take you in the Throne Room atop the Iron Throne and have everyone of court watch–or at least hear–the pair of you.

“I am your King, and I expect you to treat me as such,” Maegor growled through gritted teeth, emphasizing the meaning of his words with harsh thrusts of his hips and a tight squeeze of his hands on yours. “Am I understood?”

“Y-Yes, Your Gr-Grace,” you stuttered out, clearly cock drunk.

“Good.”

You were so lost in the bliss your twin granted you, that you had not even noticed your eyes squeezed shut with tears brimming in the corners–until his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks and turned your head to force you to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Not so bold anymore, mh?” Maegor asked, though it was obvious the question was outright sarcastic, not expecting an answer from you. “Where is your confidence now, silly girl?”

As your lips parted in an attempt to hiccup something in return, Maegor seized the chance and spat a thick puddle of his saliva straight to the corner of your pouty lips. A bit of it dripped into your mouth, whereas the rest stayed exactly where he had spat it to.

The second your tongue darted out to gather the rest of his saliva, he pushed his hips into yours harshly and immediately stopped in his tracks while buried to the hilt inside of you, a loud tsking echoing through the chambers followed by a “No.” You stopped–of course you did–and only gasped once you noticed the fullness within you and the warmth of his saliva spreading all over you flushed cheeks with his thumb smearing it.

Shame rose within your body, fighting with the despair you felt at him not moving anymore. You figured it was time to take your pleasure into your own hands, and started to rock your hips against his, though your movements were far slower and much more sensual. Maegor chuckled dryly at that, and released your face in order to serve a stinging slap to your arse.

You squealed and inevitably clenched down around him, resulting in the bull behind you drawing in a sharp breath. “Just as desperate for my cock as any of the common whores in the Street of Silk, I see,” he remarked snakily, the smirk on his chiseled features perfectly audible.

“But I will be no cruel man,” with that, he proceeded to impale you on his hard cock, snapping his hips into yours over and over again, until the familiar coil in your belly seemed to tighten.

There was no one else that knew your body better as your twin, and as if he was spurred on by the reaction of your body to his ministrations, he snaked his large hand flatly underneath your lower body and started to circle his deft fingers around the sensitive bud at the apex of your legs, amplifying your pleasure and your following peak.

Your core was clenching around him so tightly with whines and moans spilling past your lips like prayers, that Maegor barely was able to declare his own approaching peak, only noticing he reached it once his warm seed filled your body and added to the overall fullness you felt.

Without another word and not even the repercussions of his peak fully subsiding, Maegor pulled out and laced the front of his breeches back up. Picking the knife of the barber up from the ground, he trimmed the rest of his beard himself, only sparing you a scarce glance through the mirror.

You rearranged your smallclothes and dress, despite his seed oozing out of your core, and slowly stalked towards him like a hunter. The emotions within your body had calmed, clearing your mind again.

“So, I assume I am allowed to join Your Grace on his flight to the Blackwater?” You asked in the sweetest voice you could muster and even paid attention to the damned courtesies, determined to get exactly what you wanted.

But without even turning to look at you, Maegor retorted a stern “No,” before placing the knife down as he was finished. “You are dismissed now–I have to sit on Dragonback in an hour.”

#maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #hotd smut #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #maegor i targaryen

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arctrooper69 · 1 month

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As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 14:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Canon violence

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

The trip back to your small shuttle seemed to take twice as long.

“... yeah the shuttle’s still there…”

The subtle echo of voices and gear drifted across the rocky terrain and you froze. For a moment it disappeared and you’d almost convinced yourself that once again this moon was playing tricks on you.

A haggard, hacking cough sounded from around the corner where piles of slag leaned and stacked over each other creating some sort of natural shelter beside the mouth of yet another cavernous mineshaft.

You dove behind a large boulder. Kriff. Cid had said the planet was uninhabited.

Is someone else after the jewels too?

Cid hadn't mentioned that either. You were going to have a serious talk with her when you got back.

If I even make it back in one piece. You rubbed your aching shoulder. From the way this mission was going, you weren't sure just how intact you'd be.

This place is a death trap. At least I have the jewels. Hard part’s over.

The roving light of a headlamp flickered against the rocks before blinking out.

“Karabast!” came a growling curse, “Those kriffing rocks better be worth as much as you say they are, woman!”

“Relax, Nakan.” a female voice snapped, sounding exasperated. “You’ll get your money.”

Two other voices squabled further away.

“Enj! Rico! Get your asses over here!” the female shouted. She sounded human, or at least humanoid.

Crawling slowly, you peered through the cracks of the boulder, to get a better look.

A human woman paced the ground and a large Nikto crouched a few feet from the edge of a mineshaft beneath the craggy overhang of shale. Nakan, the woman had called him.

The ones she’d called Enj and Rico were Weequay - male and female. The female spat on the ground. “We’re wasting our time out here, Boss. There’s nothing here.”

“There will be!” The human crossed her arms, “You just have to trust me!”

The male Weequay said something that you couldn’t quite hear and she nodded. The Nikto got to his feet and followed the others as they continued to search for a different mine.

The voices faded off into the distance, but you waited a little longer before coming out of hiding.

Dust floated through the air, forcing itself deep into your lungs and you choked. Eyes watering, you instinctively reached, pulling the fabric of your shirt to cover your mouth and nose.

Even the air is getting worse. It burnt your lungs. Almost there.

A brief flash of alarmed confusion was the only warning before you found yourself violently acquainted with the ground once again, head forced into the dirt and arms wrenched painfully behind your back, drawing a pained squeal as air was forced from your lungs.

“Hey, boss! Look what I found!” Scaled hands dragged you to your feet, maintaining the iron grip that trapped your arms painfully behind you.

“Get off, asshole!” You spit dirt from your mouth, throwing your shoulders forward to try and yank yourself free.

A sudden click and your jaw snapped shut. The hot dedlanite barrel of a blaster burned into the skin of your forehead. Muscles stiffened as the woman from before brought the blaster down your face, resting it just below your chin, forcing it up so that she could see your face.

“Just when I thought my luck had run out!” she chuckled, “You look like shit and you know what that tells me?”

You glared.

She continued anyway, “That tells me that you’ve been spelunking around here. You find any shiny rocks?”

Any fear left in your worn out mind hardened to a spiteful anger.

Get your own shiny rocks, bitch. These are mine.

Despite the dryness of the air or how your lips cracked and screamed for relief, you spat. “Kriff off!”

Pain exploded from your cheekbone, radiating down your neck as she whipped the blaster without warning.

She slowly wiped the spit from her cheek. “Fine. We’ll do this your way then.”

She turned to one of the Weequays. “Search her. Take what you want then get rid of her.”

The Nikto merely grunted as you kicked your foot back, struggling to gain some semblance of control as he pulled already screaming shoulders ever tighter, binding your hands behind your back.

Nausea flooded passages already inhabited with the adrenaline fueled struggle. It made you dizzy.

A hand jerked the pouch from your belt, renewing the fight to aching muscles. You threw back your head, connecting with the face of the Weequay who’d stolen the stones from your belt. He cursed, dropping the stones, hands flying instinctively to his broken nose.

You reached desperately for the bag of jewels, fingers just barely brushing the fabric.

If I can’t have them, then you definitely can’t.

Another tremor rattled the ground and you watched with numb satisfaction as the small bag tumbled from the ledge into the abyss below.

The woman slammed your head into the ground once more and your vision went white.

“Go in there and get those damn stones!” she snapped over her shoulder, “I’ll take care of her myself!”

The ground began to rumble. A larger quake this time. Stones and dust were violently tossed into the air.

“Shit, just go! Get out!”

Everything was silent then, so slow that it felt as if you were floating - propelled from the edge not by a boot, but by a gentle wind.

***

The Marauder lay so peaceful after that mission.

The memory came to you suddenly as if you’d slipped into a dream, mind desperately grasping to cushion a cruel reality as you tumbled down into the dark.

Omega and Wrecker were laughing because a stray piece of Mantell Mix had landed directly in Tech’s unruly curls and stayed there unmoving. Tech had moved on into the cockpit, yet still that sticky sweet stayed put. It was only when Hunter could no longer keep the grin from his lips nor the laughter from his eyes, that he’d noticed.

That’s the part that played like a holofilm over and over again. The subtly raised eyebrow at Omega’s joyfully hidden giggles. That spark of laughter in eyes that had been serious for too long. The muscles that rippled along his neck and jaw as he held back laughter that soon broke loose and the way he breathed so easily again - momentarily free from the weight of an ever changing galaxy. He was happy.

Oh, what you would do to give him that once more.

I’m sorry, Hunter.

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@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @the-rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades6 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rogue @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @sev-on-kamino @sol-the-otter @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @ghostlyembassy @skellymom @freesia-writes @trixie2023 @jedipoodoo @reader6898 @all-mights-babygirl @arcsimper5 @red-robin-yum08 @wintersnnowie @whore-of-many-hot-men @theeyesofasoldier @griffedeloup @starswhores @totallyunidentified @waytooldforthis78

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

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laikabu · 6 days

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You've mentioned before that you prefer Karbu to Laios, is l/bru the your favorite ship of his? And if so what do you like about it more than the other ships?

i've reblogged and posted a lot of stuff i like about it but to give the simplest explanation; they complete each other in a narrative sense; kabru survived being stranded in the dungeon by following laios's way of thinking, and laios will forever keep taking kabru's advice until they die LOL. laios learns to embrace his humanity from kabru, and kabru learns about being authentic and vulnerable from laios.

everything about them is the opposite down to their eye shapes, the tips of their noses, their star signs(gemini and sagittarius are opposite signs) their stats are almost identical except for the top stat) etc. they are constantly shown learning things from each other, they have a lot of things they don't agree on but they like and respect each other still, so that's why they bounce off each other very easily. even if you don't ship them you'd have to be ignorant to not acknowledge they are very good friends by the end of the story.

kabru helped the touden party achieve their goals by actively became an obstacle for the elves (they would all die if not for his laios nightmare!!!), laios ultimately subdued the demon and kabru will forever be safe around him because of his monster repellent curse. they are objectively important to each other's story.

you could pull the "why can't people let two characters just be friends!" or the "they work better as just friends" card but then again you can say that for literally any friends to lovers ship.

i guess this is also why i greatly prefer their post-canon dynamic as a ship over their dynamic in the story. i don't really care that much about armored labru, i like it more when they're wearing tunics or modern clothes. i really do prefer it as something happening ~2 years post-story, and not right away. same goes for f/rcile, i want the feelings to marinate.

which is ironic because, as much as i love pre-relationship stuff, i havent made content of it yet. i shall rectify...

also they. just look aesthetically nice together. that's a nice bonus.

#ask #sorry for the long post wtf #dungeon meshi spoilers

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user2872 · 28 days

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Context: This thread was about that infamous video of Bryke making fun of a bunch of Zutara fanarts.

This kind of people is why adults like Bryke exist and why most Zutara shippers are so bitter toward the canon events. The fact that 2 grown-ass men decided to sit down and make that garbage, and throughout the process of editing, recording voice-overs and posting the video for the whole world to see, not once did they actually stop and consider how messed up what they're doing is.

"some fans keep harassing me about going the way I wanted" Yes, "some fans" meaning not all the fans who were made fun of and minds if I point out that to one person in that "some fans", they just got publicly humiliated by the ppl they looked up to, after sending like 2 or 3 fanarts that they worked hard to make. Oh yeah, and these fans were mostly teenage girls, btw.

The fact that someone would actually try to justify this type of behaviour while if this were to happen now, the whole show would've been scraped off existence, regardless of how amazing it is, makes me feel sick to my core. Yeah, like Avatar is the only show with a large fanbase and obsessive shippers. Surely no other shows had the same issue and there's totally no other more appropriate way for an adult to deal with it.🙄

And of course, ppl saying their ship is better is such a nasty and hurtful thing but 2 grown men making fun of minors are "understandable" to this person. Ironically, they even admitted that this topic is highly subjective, so why is it soooo wrong for people to express different opinions on the ship?!!!

Honestly, the fact that Atla is a show revolving around minors overcoming their trauma and being understanding and kind toward others and yet, two of its producers actively brought out fanarts to make fun of their underage fans publicly is just baffling.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zutara #anti bryke #we Zutarian stay strong 💪💪

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skania · 1 month

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OnK Chapter 150

Honestly, the naive part of me wants to believe Aka is doing this in purpose, because this chapter alone highlighted like half the reasons why I find romantic!Aqua and Kana so poorly written lmao

Compare that to this:

The writing in Aqua's and Akane's is so much better it's unreal 😂

I'm so glad to have confirmation that Goro's regrets were appeased by knowing that Sarina is living her best life as Ruby. Goro acting like an over-protective dad and Aqua reaffirming that Ruby is his precious little sister were the highlights of the chapter for me. Figures that once Aka finally gives us some Aqua insight, he immediately makes it clear where Aqua stands in regards to Ruby lmao

Goro is often personified as the guilt and regrets Aqua carried into this new life, but he is much more than that.

He is an entire framework of thoughts, complexes and experiences right there at the center of the individual we have come to know as Aqua. He is the entire base Aqua is built on, because when he reincarnated, he was just Goro - albeit a Goro thrown into a completely different situation, and a completely different life.

Of course, the longer Goro lives as Aqua, the more Aqua he becomes. He has been developing a new framework of thoughts, complexes and experiences that are more befitting of his situation and based on his current life. This all results in the Aqua we've come to known.

Up to now, Aqua has been simultaneously existing as the man he once was and the young boy he has become. But the man he once was is now feeling at peace knowing that Sarina-chan has gotten a new chance at life, which leaves the young boy he has become with one less reason to cling to a painful past.

But things aren't that easy, as evidenced by the fact that even after being "freed" by his past guilt, Aqua still has his black stars. As Aqua, he has regrets, guilt and issues of his own to overcome.

But it isn't just the revenge and the guilt, really. This, for example, is a confusion that has followed Aqua into his new life:

Which takes me to...

It's so incredibly ironic that it's "Goro" of all people who brings up Kana 😭 I've mentioned before that Kana has a lot of parallels with Ai and Sarina, and I theorized this may be one of the reasons why Aqua seemed so drawn to her from the get-go. And now we have Goro himself, the one who originally admired all of those traits, saying that Aqua likes Kana. It's like clockwork, except the clock may be broken.

The reasons Goro cites are so shallow and superficial, too. Perfectly fitting for an Oshi or a teenage crush, but hard to think of as anything deeper than that (for me, at least).

Which is even more ironic, because we end the chapter with Kana declaring herself as "seriously in love" with Aqua, when she herself does nothing but describe him superficially 😭

Kana has been basically living a shoujo manga in her head and Aqua is her chosen Male Lead 😂 It's like that time she thought Aqua was "straight and sincere", or when she thought Akane was a "goody-two-shoes".

Meanwhile, Aqua and Akane:

Poor Kana is out of her depth in this manga, but maybe that's the point. Kana is perfectly normal and that's just what Aqua needs am I right?

Seriously though, that's why I've always said that to me it doesn't really matter if Aqua and Kana end up together, because their writing is just... not it 😭 It's always just one giant trope without any depth of substance. It's no coincidence that these last three chapters are filled with tropes and forced writing. That's the way this ship has always been written in my eyes, and that's why it does nothing for me regardless of whether it's intended to be canon or not 😭

Even this, for example:

Aqua confirming (yet again) that he has been aware of Kana's romantic feelings all along could back-up what I said here and here. But at the same time, this could just be part of something as simple and unsubtle as this:

It's like there are two wolves within Aka. One is great at subtlety and organic development, and the other completely sucks at it 😂

But enough about that, I'm sure Aka will give me plenty to complain about next chapter so I'll save it until then lmao

Hmmm where have I seen this before?

Oh, right!

Funny how Akane is magically not brought up this chapter. If we assume Aka is just writing obvious stuff without deeper meaning, then Akane isn't brought up because Aka considers Chapters 97 & 98 as their romantic closure. Or maybe all the theories about Aqua being a scumbag that only dated Akane because Kana wasn't available were right. But considering that would make Aqua trash not worth discussing, I can only hope Aka won't stoop that low lmao

If we give Aka the benefit of the doubt (does he even deserve it at this point tho), then Goro not bringing up Akane can be pretty fitting. Because if Aqua likes Akane, it wouldn't be because she fits the ideals and tastes of the man he once was. It would be because of everything they have been through together as Aqua and Akane.

Case in point, when Aqua thought of Kana and Akane back when he first thought he was free, he did so as fully himself. But I digress! 🤡

Another thing that caught my eye is that Aka deliberately changed the number of chapters in the previous volume just so these Aqua-Kana focused chapters can be in the same volume as the Aqua-Ruby focused ones. Ruby, who mainly loves Aqua because he once was Goro and Kana, who just loves Aqua. Maybe he's doing it to contrast them (in favor of Kana, duh), or maybe he wants to show they're two sides of the same infatuation coin. One can dream, at least!

Speaking about not nice though, what the fuck is this 😭 I know Akane is trying to push Kana's buttons, but baby girl is switching from I-only-see-him-as-a-son!! I swear!!! to Haha actually! so swiftly that she's going to give herself whiplash. Plus, can't Aka let Akane push Kana's buttons while saying less OOC stuff? Granted, it's not like Kana knows Akane well, so of course she doesn't think it's weird for Akane to say that she wants to be with a boy on Christmas lmao

Poor Akane has gotten her eyes shut so tightly close that it's a wonder she doesn't walk into walls. She's really acting like a robot on auto-pilot 😂 When in the world will you be allowed to have a chapter of your own, Akane? When will we be able to look into your heart?

#my aquakane meta #except not quite again buuuuuuut old habits die hard #me: aqua and kana #I can foresee I'll be using that tag a lot even though when I started discussing OnK I said I'd rather talk about the ship I ship #rather than about the ship I find boring #alas Aka is forcing the content sooo discuss the content I shall lmao #fandom: onk #the next few chapters will either make or break aqua's character tbh #say a few prayers for the poor dude to make it

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foursaints · 8 months

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ok the topic of barty crouch jr and the bone motif came up, but his specific phrasing here is what really sticks in my brain & is the basis of my stance on barty’s story as an allegory for bodily autonomy. yes there is something obviously satisfying in a character who spent 12 years under imperius, his body used a puppet, choosing to murder his abuser through transfiguration rather than a more conventional method like the killing curse. this is the only instance of death-by-transfiguration in the series. but i think the way he phrases this (became a bone, not ‘turned into’) belies a deeper understanding of barty’s relationship to having a body in general.

barty crouch being denied bodily autonomy goes far deeper than the imperius curse. i see it as sort of a haunting refrain that characterizes his entire life actually. he goes from servitude, to imprisonment, to switching bodies with his mother, to the imperius curse (kept under an invisibility cloak— he can’t even see himself), to the polyjuice potion, to that ironic “death” by the dementor’s kiss; his body goes on without his soul. it’s worth noting that the only time barty appears on-page as himself his body is controlled (yet again!) and forced to speak under veristaserum. do you think there was a strange comfort in that, for him? i just mean that he’s never known anything else.

i want to look at this through a hypochondriacal lens, where the experience of having a body (or being embodied) is a contestatory relationship wherein the mind strives for order/structure/immutability but the body is inescapable— it brings disorder, change, and a continual loss of control. the body is both fundamentally unknowable and hurtling towards death and illness: the hypochondriac seeks to rationalize & control this, but it’s ultimately an exercise in futility. i see these anxieties really present in barty crouch jr’s character: someone whose body has been puppeted or transformed into a different shape more than it has actually been his own.

i’m not saying that barty IS a hypochondriac (he’s not), but that his character arc functions inside the same epistemological framework: one where the unruly body is a prison because of how it’s subject to/harbinger of continual change. but this relies on a really clear division of the body and mind as separate entities. or even, like, a division between the body and this more ephemeral idea of “the self”— a soul that resides in the body but is somehow separate from it (and we know the soul is canon in the world of harry potter). barty crouch collapses this dichtonomy in a really interesting way with his statement: his father became a bone. as in, he is no longer himself and he is just that bone now. barty is introducing the idea that the soul doesn’t really matter or even exist, and that once your body takes the shape of something you fundamentally are that thing, for better or worse.

and i don’t know! this strikes me, especially coming from a man who has lived twelve years as an empty vessel— why would he believe in a soul if his has been erased and overwritten so many times? his own sense of self is too stifled and warped and stunted. this is the same character who was able to embody moody so fully and convincingly that it was impossible for even dumbledore to tell the difference. i think this was possible because of barty’s weird relationship to embodiment, where his actual “self” is hazy and loosely defined— perhaps the result of so many years having it denied, stifled, or unable to develop— but he becomes whatever shape his body is taking. (it’s interesting to note, too, that barty didn’t say that he transfigured his father. rather, he “transfigured [his father’s] body”, and this was enough for his identity to dissipate and him to become something else). to barty, the “self” is not an independent entity that is subject to the body’s change and disorder— his “self” is the very body itself, and all the fear, and change, and loss of control that comes with it.

this is why the ending with the dementor’s kiss gets me so bad. if the body is all he really is, then this fate is the perfect closure. barty is finally reduced to all he has ever been: erased. an empty vessel. just the image of himself, with nothing inside it. what’s really changed?

#t #barty crouch jr #how do i even tag this. mucho texto #UNDERSTANDERS WILL UNDERSTAND!#barty meta tag

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 3 months

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Attempting to get to where we were, I got an incredibly unlikely success on the Rhetoric check. I think this scene is also really good so consider this a little bonus.

RHETORIC [Heroic: Success] - The question you mean to ask is both very complicated and incredibly simple...

"If the whole theory we're meant to believe is completely unfalsifiable..."

"If we can't even agree whether communism is about plasm or psychology or beans..."

"If we can't escape the doom that's coming..."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - The young man waits patiently for you to finish.

"... and the rest of world conspires to invade and massacre us when we dare to stand up for our beliefs..."

"... and whenever we *do* try it just devolves into a corrupt farce..."

"... and we waste all our time arguing over who's secretly a liberal or not..."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Yes?"

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Say it.

"..what's the point?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - The young man considers your words for a minute.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - You're witnessing his ironic armour melt before you. This is his *true self* you're seeing now.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Failure] - There's something going on in there, but his innermost sanctum is still beyond your reach...

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "The theorists Puncher and Wattmann -- not infra-materialists, but theorists nonetheless -- say that communism is a secular version of Perikarnassian theology, that it replaces faith in the divine with faith in humanity's future..."

"I have to say, I've never *entirely* understood what they mean, but I think maybe the answer is in there, somewhere."

"Wait, you're saying communism is some kind of religion?"

"But what if you don't believe there *is* a future?"

"But what if humanity keeps letting us down?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Only in this very specific sense. Communism doesn't dangle any promises of eternal bliss or reward. The only promise it offers is that the future can be better than the past, if we're willing to work and fight and die for it."

2. "But what if humanity keeps letting us down?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Nobody said fulfilling the proletariat's historic role would be easy." A tight smile. "It demands great faith with no promise of tangible reward. But that doesn't mean we can simply give up."

"Even when they ignore us?"

"Even when they laugh at us?"

"Even when they shoot at us?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Especially then."

ECHO MAKER - "And of course, we'll be shooting right back."

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - So young. So *unbearably* young...

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - Why do you see the two of them with their backs against a bullet-pocked wall, all of a sudden?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Their faces, blurred yet frozen as though in ambrotype. You were never *that young*, were you?

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "I guess you could say we believe it *because it's impossible*." He looks at the scattered matchboxes on the ground. "It's our way of saying we refuse to accept that the world has to remain... like this..."

"Broken."

"Unfinished."

Say nothing.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Yes, that's a good way to think of it, broken, but not irreparable."

"It's a nice thought."

"I don't know if I believe it, though."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "You've got to believe in *something*. Otherwise, what are you doing?"

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - His words aren't really directed at you. He's wrestling with himself now...

ECHO MAKER - "Steban, it's getting pretty late."

Ok, that's the end of that diatribe. Rejoin me for the canonical version of events shortly.

#disco elysium #harrier du bois #steban the student communist #echo maker

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huramuna · 2 months

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banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.0k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

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The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh.

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.”

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room.

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon.

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they?

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father.

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?”

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream.

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing!

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable.

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean…

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him.

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.”

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her.

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time.

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream.

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever.

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time.

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured.

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words.

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?”

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile.

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her.

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four…

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode.

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.”

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.”

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises.

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss.

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons.

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her.

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.”

The swing of a sword was all she heard.

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor.

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard.

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses.

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness.

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room.

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding.

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.”

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.”

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way.

Targaryens and their queer customs.

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.”

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.”

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right.

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.”

They were so close, yet so far.

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down…

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give.

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys.

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size.

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air.

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world.

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust.

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax.

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.”

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke.

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering.

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly.

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.

#aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc #my writing #banshees lament #fic: banshee's lament

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