#(as i saw someone on ao3 calling it)
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AHHH!!!
I made some art based off of both yours and Lily’s drawings!!
(I used as my friends and his bsf as a base!)
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(This is the one im talking about btw)
AWWW they're so cute!!! love this <3
#erinwantstowrite#ao3#ao3 fanfic#leap of faith ao3#peter parker#leap of faith catch me if you can#thank you for the ask!#not my art!!!#so so cute im obsessed#interwebs#ned leeds#peter x ned#i saw someone call them interwebs and that is THE cutest name so#im using it forever now
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If you have a moment, you should go check out TricksterMelon on Twitter :) I hope you like it <3
I am speechless
#I saw your comment on AO3 and YOU!! YOU'RE THE ANON WHO COMMISSIONED A COVER FOR SIREN'S CALL THAT TIME#YOU'RE LIKE A MASKED ZORRO SWEEPING INTO MY LIFE WITH THESE INCREDIBLE GIFTS#I...I don't even know what to say#I'm still trying to wrap my head around that you got me this#and for THIS FIC which is so dear to me#and WHAT A BREATHTAKING COVER!!!!!#THE COLOURS#THE *KISS*#THE NAVY FLEET AND THE CANNONBALLS FLYING IN THE BACKGROUND#and SHANKS AND MAKINO#I know this is for Long Live but honestly this could be the cover of Shanties as a whole#it's just...perfect#this is seriously one of THE most beautiful artworks I've ever received#I don't have Twitter but can you or someone please tell the artist how much I love this???#TricksterMelon if you see this I am in AWE#oh my god I need to learn bookbinding so that I can PUT THIS ON THE ACTUAL COVER OF THIS FIC#I am so incredibly touched by this anon THANK YOU SO MUCH<3<3<3#Shanks x Makino#otp: sing me sea shanties#this made me so happy I...am just going to sit here and feel for a bit<3#Shanties art
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Any moment now I will work out the meaning of the meme I just made.
#i think i saw someone say nobody says Man Loki and i do but only to troll people (As We All Know his real name is Man Sylvie)#and then obviously the third one needed to be the alligator because... i dunno it just did.#loki memes#loki series#DID YOU KNOW fanfiction dot net still thinks Sylvie is called “The Variant/Lady Loki”????#they truly surpassed AO3's occasionally dumb character tags with that one: good work there Pit of Voles#(why did we call it that? i never did find out.)
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theo and liam always getting paired together in 6b during episodes where all of the other storylines focus on couples going through stuff together is so funny because when you look at it, the only episode where they really get split up is genotype, which is one of the rare episodes where scott ISN’T paired with malia (because he’s with liam) and mason isn’t with corey (because he’s with theo) aka the canon love interests. like these episodes were cutting from shit like scalia almost dying together to thiam having intimate conversations about how liam processes emotions and morey saying i love you to thiam swearing that neither of them are dying for each other 😭 just very amusing to me. theo raeken: the accidental love interest.
#like 😭#6b eps post theo getting kidnapped go pressure test -> triggers -> werewolves of london -> genotype -> 6.19 which i barely remember ->#then wolves of war aka the finale#pressure test: mason & corey are at deatons. theo shows up at the police station w everyone & shoves liam in the bathroom to berate him for#not being worried ab his own safety enough ??? 😭 & hes pretty much attached to liams hip in the group shots#also while theo & scott are outside doing their lil body bag trick malia and liam are pressed right against the window watching both of them#& during triggers we dont see corey but mason leaves theo & liam alone . & its a major bonding ep for them….#while scalia are also having their major bonding moment when they both almost Die#then during werewolves of london theo just shows up at the school and they end up calling scalia for help 😭#and again genotype breaks all the couples off from each other so its mason n theo / scott n liam / malia with her dad#and during wolves of war i literally laughed out loud because it bounces around from jethan to morey to thiam all having heart to hearts#not saying it was intentional but it was very funny framing TO ME#that ao3 tag thats like ‘they are dating in secret but only one is aware’ LIEKDJENEBR#they basically made theo liam’s love interest on accident just bcuz everyone else was already paired off w someone 😭#thiam#saw someone the other day say they just dont get how people Came Up with thiam and its like#ok if you dont ship it whatever but if you say you cant see why youre just lying 😭 look at the material
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don't mind me i'm just watching some monsterfucker movies for 'research' purposes
#getting some inspiration for this werewolf horror story#when i came up with the idea i had three movies in mind#dracula 2000 obviously because that's the one i was watching at the time#but i was also thinking of The Mummy 1999#and so i watched that last night#and tonight i'm gonna watch a movie i only saw once but has lived in my head rent free#this movie is one i watched because Youtube suggested a review video for it and the review said it was awful#but the reason it was awful was because the monster noncon-ed the main female character#so i of course went 👀 and had to watch it#it is just objectively a badly done movie but it played with some fun ideas#so it helped inspire some things for my own writing#and for anyone worried i'm copying or stealing things for my own books: i'm not making money off my writing and i post it to ao3#which is a fanfiction website#and even if i am heavily inspired by something you can rest assured it's my own take on the idea#i'm not James Somerton emotionlessly reading out someone else's writing#while the spark of inspiration may come from others it's all my own words and imagination bringing my version to life#and i'd never try to hide where i got ideas from#one of my stories (that I may post soon) is literally called Twilight But Better rofl
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Where are all of the Harvey x Elliott Stardew shippers at??? I only know of ya'll from Ao3 but I cant find the ship like anywhere else??
Cmon we gotta come together. Please :[.
#apparently its like a super rare pair?#which is surprising to me because I thought it would be more popular??#Its only got like just over 50 fics on Ao3 its crazy#cmon ya'll Im starved here#Stardew Valley#Stardew Harvey#Stardew Elliott#Harvey x Elliott#I saw someone on Ao3 call them Pomegranate Wine and I have also taken to calling them that#Im going to have to take matters into my own hands and actually draw the middle aged man yaoi arent I?
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my toxic trait is that whenever someone says that their otp is a rare pair I point to my otps and say YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT A RARE PAIR IS YOU NORMIE
#wttt#welcome to the table#wttt fandom#<- literally every ship in that fandom#but also#inulev#this is because I saw someone call ushioi a rare pair#like. you have hundreds of people in the same boat. my otp has 5 fics on ao3-#-and 1 is in a different language‚ and they aren't the main pairing in any of them#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#fanfiction#fandom
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Jesper calling Kaz "boss" is truly my last straw for exiting out of so many fics
#they're best friends!#Kaz calls him “Jes”#isn't calling Kax “boss” kinda degrading it spells out a completely different dynamic for them#I once saw someone do it in a way where Jesper was obviously pissed and being sarcastic lmao#one of the show's many poisons on our Ao3 tag lmao#anti shadow and bone#anti s&b#it's always a slap im the face ngl
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Another thing that needs to be settled before it really gets started:
Wayne (or whatever tf his name is) loved all of his children. Yes, it is obvious that Richie was his favorite, and I think Quinn was second, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t love Ethan, too. I’ve seen people saying this, or implying this, or outright calling him a shit father (he was shit at parenting, yes); they take his one (1) line about “a special bond between a father and his first son” and decide he was shit to Ethan or something. 🙄
Most parents, good ones and bad ones, will say their child who made them a parent (first child) is extra special. And that makes sense. Most parents, good or bad, with more than 1 child have a favorite, whether they say it or not. They shouldn’t tell the kids, but it’s usually obvious. And just because Wayne said that one line doesn’t mean that he went around saying, “Hey, Ethan, Richie is my favorite!”
That man very obviously loved his children, and I will not hear otherwise! This is like when the little Billy fangirls make Hank Loomis out to be an abusive father when we’ve never seen or heard any indication of such. 🙄 But this is even worse because we are told and shown that Wayne was devoted to his family.
This bullshit narrative also majorly pisses me off because the simps are implying that Ethan didn’t do it for his brother. He was clearly upset about Sam murdering Richie. Ethan already had a good motive (by Scream standards, anyway); you don’t need to make one up!
#And HOW ON EARTH is “I want Daddy to love me as much as he loves my brother” a better motive than “I want to avenge my brother!” ?? 🤨#I saw someone calling him a shit father to Ethan before on AO3. 🙄#And today I read ''Ethan did it for his father's love'' PLEASE! 😭😭#He already has his dad's love. HE DID IT BECAUSE LOVES AND MISSES HIS BROTHER!!#(PRESENT-TENSE. 😤 THEY'RE FINE. 😤)#kirsch family#wayne bailey#ethan landry#richie kirsch#quinn bailey#jack champion#scream vi#scream 6#scream series#commentary#commentary: scream series#rant#text post#scream vi spoilers#scream 6 spoilers
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MARGARET ROGERSON HAS A TUMBLR??????
#blue dragon personal#this was information i did not know#though i absolutely adore sorcery of thorns#i just finished rereading it today actually#went hunting on ao3 for sot fanfic#saw that someone mentioned a sequel called mysteries of thorn manor#and went feral bc i was completely unaware there WAS a sequel#anyway long story short i have read it and i loved it#as expected#and the fact that it's about fairy tales and i LOVE fairy tales is even better#(seriously i could talk for so long about fairy tales)#ANYWAY this is getting long but uh#i have been enlightened tonight
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need to follow some honkai star rail blogs quickly so i can stop going into the tags for stuff bc man. its dark in there
#just saw someone call more than half the female characters in hsr bland and for 'waifu collectors' while gushing over the men's hair#gepard has existed and been blond. and he's interesting compared to BRONYA?#bronya 'i realized i was manipulated by my magically corrupted mother my whole life who tried to kill me at the end'#'and now i have to perpetuate lies abt her being a hero to keep the peace and i only hope she saw the error of her ways in that last smile'#'now i must unite a divided city with the help of my gf and grapple with the eternal winter and monsters that plague our home'#is BLAND?#gepard had an argument with his sister and drew shitty pictures. he's been in like TWO SCENES.#gigi.txt#theres already more m/m fics on ao3 than f/f i'm going to actually start screaming
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jean greyerl and lettie mailer were the blueprint for susarei in this essay I will--
#plvpw#ace attorney#dgs#plvpw spoilers#susarei#greymail#(as i saw someone on ao3 calling it)#...god how many people comprehend this post#none of the pl fans i know have played dgs and none of the dgs fans i know have played plvpw 😔#so LITERALLY no one i know understands what this post means
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While we're here, I just want to add an example of a good response to Harris' video.
In the first half of the video, Harris briefly mentions a creator called Lukeypoo (who now goes by Luke Stephens) who had plagiarised Harris' Bloodborne review, and his response at the time was to deny it, signal to his alt right buddies and insult Harris.
After the video came out, Luke Stephens made a post on his community page regarding it:
For those, who can't see the screenshots, it reads:
A video went up on YouTube last night that showed something I did 6 years ago in early 2017, of which I'm very ashamed. I've talked about it on stream plenty since then and try to be very open about it, but I know a lot of people haven't been watching me since 2017 or have not heard me discuss this before. I don't want to hide from my mistakes or deflect, so very plainly here's what happened:
I was just starting on YouTube and I ripped off a phenomenal video on Bloodborne. It was a fantastic video by hbomberguy and after finding it through a Reddit post I tried to take his 1.5 hour masterpiece and make my own suckier version at around 7 minutes. I copied the premise, jokes, structure, and then pretended like it was all just a coincidence that they were so similar. I was a 19 year old idiot who thought it didn't matter because "he's a bigger creator so it's fine" and "it's just the internet." When I was rightly called out for copying his video I dodged, lied, and even attacked and insulted the appearance of those holding me to account, including hbomberguy himself. I copied someone's video, in parts word-for-word, and I pretended like *I* was the victim and *they* were being unreasonable. Unbelievable. There is no question at all: I was in the wrong, fully.
Let me be very clear: I whole heartedly disown who I was back then and what I did. Politically, religiously, and even morally/ethically I was a person that I hate today. I was an extremist, a bully, a religious zealot, and above all, a prick. This event sparked a spiral in my personal life that I didn't document online, but that has led me to who I am today. Someone who tries very hard to respect my fellow creators, audience, and to uphold a high ethical standard for myself. I strive every day to be a better man for myself, my family and kids, and for the community around me. And that's why I'm writing this, because I don't think we should hide from our mistakes or pretend they didn't happen. I screwed up, big time, and I stole the hard work of an incredibly talented creator and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I was 19, hard headed, and above all arrogant and unwilling to acknowledge I had screwed up. It took a couple years after that before I could openly admit what I had actually done, and that it took that long is all the more shameful.
I don't expect a response or certainly forgiveness, but for what it's worth, I am truly sorry for everything, @hbomberguy
For the last 6 years I've been working my butt off to be someone I can be proud of being and I hope you all can see that the man I am today is not the shameful excuse of a person I was back then.
I've never watched a video or stream by Luke Stephens so I can't attest as to his content, but this is one of the best responses I've seen to any kind of accusation, and so I lean towards believing him to be a better man than he was six years.
I thinks it's important to highlight the good response/s to Harris' video, to remind ourselves that plagiarism is not such an immoral action that from which you can't redeem yourself (though in Somerton's case, I'm less sure of that) if you take accountability for your actions, and to remember that in most cases, we should give people space to grow and become better.
The swiftness and brutality of Hbomberguy’s complete evisceration of James Somerton’s career cannot be overstated.
#i saw this a few days ago and its stayed on my mind#and i havent seen many other people talk about it so i thought i would#also this is unrelated by im not gonna ever put this in an actual post so im going to use these tags to get it off my chest#i rewatched the video yesterday and it aas during harris' speech about how art is difficult and a skill#that i kinda had an epiphany i guess#(have not used that word in a while huh)#because thrice within the last few years#ive come across fics on ao3 where while i wouldnt call it plagiarism the authors did very much steal a considerable amount from my fics#some less than others#one of them used some of the exact same sentences as mine so i guess that one was plagiarism#but they all took a nontrivial amount of ideas or plotbeats or phrasings from my fics#and each time i was in three minds: 1) i found it kinda funny honestly though i cant articulate why; 2) i was flattered because i dont#really think my fics are worth stealing from; and 3) holy shit i baked one of the holy shit two cakes#i wasnt really upset by it especially because i know my work has been inspired by fics i love at times#but after rewatching harris' video#i realised it wasnt that i wasnt upset but that i wasnt allowing myself to be#because i didnt consider my work as something you could steal from? i didnt consider it worthy of that#like not as in ''oh i didnt know my art was that good'' but as in ''oh i didnt know my work was art''#so ive been allowing myself to be upset about it since then#and all those emotions are probably tangled up in the roots of the treehouse luke stephens' response is squatting in#because like#im not going to do anything about it like im not going to accuse the authors of plagiarism#even the one who stole exact sentences mostly because their writing is indicative of a 13 year old and mate im 23#ive been writing since i was 11. i know what its like to be starting out as a newbie writer it just feels mean for me to call them out#and if theyve stolen lines from me theyre going to have done it to other people and im sure theres someone else who feels more comfortable#in approaching them about it#but anyway back to my point#im not going after any of these people in anyway but if i did id want their response to be like this
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I hope this is a safe place because I just can't take the word "loubies" it is just so irritating to look at. It became one of my mutes words, from smol, baby powder, and now this. Where tf are the boobies people are talking about?? Louis doesnt have any mommy milkers like?? I still dont get, even when we are at the year 2023, people still feminize Louis, like are people grasping that delusion so tightly??? Fuck they even made an awards event for being a blouie, wtf is this???
https://twitter.com/blouieworld/status/1672730697319022592?t=9bqZpoJ359jnE8ka6lCNfg&s=19
I just can't...
whuttttttttttttttttttTTTTTTTTTTTTT?
#awards???!! the place where losers win!#i can't imagine how someone looks at louis's double AA chest and then looks at Harry's double Cs and thinks#one of these two is sportin' a huge rack#anon about the gold star larry you follow: yeahhhhh ao3 is a helluva drug i guess? esp 4 albums in whew#anon about the homophobic discourse: it was a gross response to a podcast from so-called 'supportive' people who are anything but#and hell yeah you're so right about the signs#if he's not into it he ignores it#the way i saw someone try to make a meme with him all upset about the pegging#clearly they missed his actual reaction lmao
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⚝ DAY 4 — BODY WORSHIP
kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3
— including. — xiao, heizou
— warnings. — fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), they're obsessed with you, praising and pussy drunk men
⚝ — XIAO
xiao was never one for indulgence—yet, there he was, on top of you with his lips ghosting over your skin, murmuring ancient mantras underneath his breath.
you gasp, each kiss he pressed upon you was meant to "cleanse", that's what he told you, to purge the lingering traces of darkness that dared to cling to your beautiful being— although as his mouth traveled from your shoulder to the curve of your collarbone, his actions became more than just protective— they became slightly possessive.
xiao could feel your pulse quicken beneath his lips, especially when he lapped all the way down to your warmth but stopped right above your clit and fuck, it only spurred him on to do the next following, as much as sinful notion.
his hands, usually so disciplined, traced the delicate lines of your body with a searing touch as they settle on your thighs so he could leisurely place his head between your thighs.
every inch of you called to him, like a magnet for his affection, and he couldn’t stop, fuck he couldn't— just couldn't stop and seeing your cunt all sopping and wet of your own liquids made it hard to process all of this.
"i need to rid you of this," he whispered and you could swear you saw a slight smirk, in fact, it sounded like an excuse, his lips brushing over your folds as if he was addicted to the feeling, "you deserve to be free from harm."
before you could even moan at the way his words are impacting you, your arousal drips at his tongue and cheeks and leaves a mess for him to clean up. his mouth rotates between kissing your clit before his lips eagerly curve around the sensitive pearl as he sucks and nudges his tongue along the twitching spot.
you were the embodiment of purity in xiao's eyes and he couldn’t help but worship you for it.
it’s divine— your taste, and he licks at you, laps and slurps every droplet of your messy slick until your fingers relentlessly grabbed at his roots as your folds quiver, your hole clenching and fluttering around air.
xiao couldn’t stop. he didn’t want to. you were his sanctuary, and every caress, every kiss, every lick and taste only anchored him further to you.
⚝ — HEIZOU
heizou had always been a playful soul and you loved that about him— next to that, you were his favorite puzzle to solve.
leisurely, his fingers danced over your skin with the kind of dexterity that only a detective could have, exploring every inch with the curiosity of someone eager to learn and most importantly, please.
but it wasn’t an investigation driving him tonight— it was sheer delight.
"mm, what’s this?" he teases and furrows his brows, his lips quirking into a smile as he pressed his leaky tip against your slit, watching you squirm effortlessly under his sensual touch.
for some reason— which was actually pretty obvious as though why he was so good at it, heizou had an unparalleled knack for finding every sensitive spot, every place that made you gasp or sigh, most definitely cry out his name.
the detective adored seeing the way you reacted to him, to his cock nestling in your pussy and pulsing through your walls, wrecking havoc when he moves it in and out, slow at first, then rocks it harder and messier until you couldn’t help but arch your body and grind your hips back into him.
you were his to explore, and oh, he took his time, don't you worry about that one— heizou had no need to rush, he could tease you for hours because you see, you were his canvas, and he would paint you with every stroke of his movements and cum.
"you’re far too fun to resist," he smirks, lips ghosting along your collarbones before he buries his face into your neck, groaning like a mad man when he slowly pulls himself into your warmth so your walls could stroke him, welcome and squeeze at his shaft, twist around him until your liquids collide.
©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#xiao x reader#xiao smut#heizou x reader#heizou smut#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#kinktober#genshin Impact drabbles#genshin drabbles#heizou drabbles#heizou x you#xiao x you#xiao drabbles
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Devotion
Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Word Count: 5.7k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, neglect, angst, unrequited love?, kissing, fingering, unprotected p in v, more angst, oral sex (m and f receiving), a mother's reprimand, lots of blood, death, more angst Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @zaldritzosrose for looking this over and helping me this story. I Mushroom-tweaked it to fit the angsty plot. This started as an anon request and unfolded into so much more. It is dedicated to my darling @opheliax98 who encouraged "all the drama" of this piece. I hope it you enjoy it. 💜 You can also read it on ao3.
Your mother decided that you would return to the Red Keep as an envoy, because of your ability to hide in plain sight despite the poisoned word that first followed your steps–ilībōños, bastard. It was the same that was thrown towards your half-brothers, but with a tone as bold as their brown curls and brown eyes; they did not have the fortune of their Valyrian roots to hide under, their features often speculated as too Strong.
You, however, were the first, albeit illegitimate, born of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, conceived the same night that her virtue was called into question.
There was a bitter speculation of your origins that faded away with your birth; you were another nameless Targaryen princess that would decorate the family tapestry, another egg that turned to stone in the crib. Life in the capitol was lonely for you; your father was away in Pentos with his new family, while your mother remained preoccupied with her White Cloak, and then her Gold Cloak and new husband. There was an age gap between you and your brothers, your nephews and your niece, and it was an isolating chasm that placed you as an outsider, a spectator, with the unfocused eyes of the court looking through you.
Your only company was your handmaiden, Elinda, but her loyalties reported back to your mother, and then your Septa, but her complaints were ceaseless, especially as you learned the pathways that Maegor the Cruel had carved into the Keep; they became your escape from her lessons.
It was then your mother requested a knight from the Kingsguard to watch over you, and you mourned the little bit of independence acquired, assuming you would be assigned someone old, doddy, who served as another set of eyes that would only look through you.
You were not expecting Ser Erryk Cargyll.
To begin, he was only three years older than you–it was said his swordsmanship so impressed the Lord Commander that he also recruited his twin brother, bringing them both to King's Landing to serve in the Kingsguard. He was handsome, standing tall behind your mother, long and lithe. His ruddy complexion brought out the blue-gray of his eyes that showed unsure, almost shy with the introductions.
You smiled at him and his lips curled upwards in response, a rose dusting to his cheeks.
You liked him at once.
He was devoted to your shadow, almost rapt to your beck and call. The attention fed your girlish infatuation with the young knight, and you were always teasing him in a way that teetered on the edge of his duty and his oath with your coy questions and smirk. Ser Erryk was rarely rattled by you, but seemed more amused–he would answer you with a frank tone, a welcomed honesty, that ended with your title: it was always, “Yes, princess,” or “I shall see to it, princess.”
It continued on for months until one evening, as he escorted you to your room, you asked him to call you by your name, to set aside the formality. You saw the brilliant blue of his eyes, bright amongst the flush of his features; his tongue wet his lips, searching for his voice. “I could never do that, princess,” he started slowly, his eyes flickering up again to look at you as if for the first time. You saw the dust of his freckles that burned bright against his skin. “My purpose is to keep you safe.”
His voice was low, so serious, and it made your blood rise to the surface. You tried to laugh it off. “My purpose is to wait around until I am able to marry the highest bidder.” It was something that weighed heavy on your heart; your eyes fell away and your fingers grasped into the fabric of your skirts. “I know I will not be missed within these walls once I am gone.”
“That’s not true, princess.”
It startled you, and you peered back up from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating against your skin. You watched Ser Erryk choke on his boldness, his regret knotting into his face before he settled on silence. You watched him go, the muted ensemble of his armor as he returned to the barracks below.
That moment created something palpable that pressed overhead. You were too young, too rash to even know how to tactfully touch the subject again. The forced return to your norm left your bones aching; Ser Erryk doted on your steps, and you rambled on to drown out the incessant screaming of your heart within your chest.
It spilled over at Driftmark. Your family went for the Velaryon funeral procession for Daemon’s wife, feeding further into the resentment that rifted within the house of the dragon. You slipped away and found Aegon in his cups, deciding to steal some of the liquid courage. When Ser Erryk found you, your eyes were glassy and your cheeks flushed.
He sighed, shaking his head, reaching to help you stand, but you swore you saw the hint of a smile touching his lips. Ser Erryk said nothing, but wrapped his arm around your waist and matched his gait with your staggered steps to your room. You rested your head on his shoulders, enjoyed his smell of olive oil used on his sword and how it mixed with his perspiration.
At the door, you felt his breath tickle your ear, “I will not speak of this to the crowned princess, but you should get some rest–”
You spun to face him, your hands pushing on his breastplate to steady yourself on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to meet with his. Ser Erryk froze with your kiss, his White Cloak tightening like a vice. His palms were rough, but he was gentle to wrap your elbows and pull you back, his gaze rooting you to cobblestone.
Moments ticked away with your beating heart that was now bruising against your bones before he finally said, “I cannot give you what you truly deserve, princess.”
He said nothing else and your embarrassment fed the fire in your blood. You pulled away from him and slipped into your room, careful to close your door. Your back pressed against the carvings of sea creatures into the oak and you melted to the floor, your tears spilling to ease your girlish heartache.
Elsewhere on the island, a dragon was claimed and bloodshed followed. The walls rattled as the king proclaimed his true loyalty and it ended with you being whisked away to Dragonstone. It was for the best, you decided, to leave your broken heart behind. You felt the tinge of hope when you learned that your mother and your father were finally together, and decided to set aside your infatuation of the White Cloak, but instead focus to aid your mother, to help solidify what your grandsire, King Viserys, had proclaimed to the Seven Realms.
That she was to be queen.
It had been six years since you last been at King’s Landing. It was now a place both familiar and strange. The same architecture rose above, shadowing over Blackwater Bay, though inside your ancestry of Old Valyria had been replaced, the Keep becoming a shrine to the new gods who had not yet paid their dues for such a show of devotion.
As you entered through the Barbican, you smirked at the memory of the girl you were before, only ten and five, on the cusp of womanhood that required your gowns to be stitched to fit your slender frame. Now your figure filled your dresses, your curves pressing to the seams and your hair twisted and styled to showcase the dragonblood in your veins, that shined in the amethyst of your eyes.
The queen was first to come and greet you. The handmaidens selected were controlled by Elinda, who watched their flurry to unpack. You looked up to see her lips pursed, her dark brown eyes washed over like you were a specter coming to haunt, like she wished for the earth to swallow you whole.
“It has been requested–” her tone was queenly, but you noted that she would not mention how it was your mother that penned her a letter, “–for you to have a knight assigned. I was advised that Ser Erryk has served this role before.”
His name caused your blood to roar in your head as you turned to watch him enter the room. Ser Erryk seemed taller, or perhaps that was how he now held himself, his pride set on his shoulders and onto his features that sharpened. He was still sinewy, though he seemed to fill out the armor hammered to fit his frame, polished and gleaming in the sun that streaked through; it burned bright in his copper hair that was brushed back to show his beard trimmed to fit his jaw.
The coloring brought out his blue-gray eyes that shined almost unsure, almost shy.
It kindled something within you that you believed to be gone, a feeling that washed away on the shores of Dragonstone and swept to the depths of the bay, buried in the sand.
Ser Erryk looked at you and you could not help your smile. His lips ticked upwards and you felt your pulse flutter anew, seizing your heart again.
Your iron-clad shadow followed after your steps, a devotion renewed, and it returned the muscle memory of his constant and comforting presence as you reacquainted with the old castle. Ser Erryk accompanied your rounds to visit with Helaena and her children, watching your brief exchange with each prince, and even briefer with the king who smiled when he called you Rhaenyra. Your knight then escorted you back to your room without a word, just the chink of his armor with his steps, echoing off the stone.
You paused in the doorway, looking back to see his stance. As he watched you, your mind flittered with words but none could knit together. “Sleep well, princess,” he finally spoke with a small bow, excusing himself.
The room had also been stripped of your Targaryen history, almost unfamiliar despite your chests unpacked. Elinda and the other handmaidens helped prepare you for bed, and a cup of wine was poured but your stomach would not hold it down. They left you alone and your quarters were now a gilded cage to contain you; you pulled on your pale, silk robe and finished half of the goblet, summoning your old courage to slip away.
The same panel opened with ease, but inside, basked in the amber light of torch set in a sconce, stood Ser Erryk with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Your mouth fell open and he grinned at you. “I take my oath with my heart, princess,” he reminded you.
“How did you know–?” You stammered, licking the wine from your lips.
He only shrugged, his eyes glittering in the fire. “You seem so very different, but also are still the same.”
You pulled the panel closed to silence his chuckle. You finished the rest of the wine poured and returned to your bed.
Your days at Kings Landing were idly filled. Your old Septa returned with her scrutiny of the woman you had become, her brow furrowing to find fault as you showcased your refinement of a lady mastered over the last half decade. Your afternoons were spent in the company of Helaena and her children, the only ones welcoming your return, with the littlest one, Maelor, especially taken with you.
The time was spent in the gardens with a blanket sprawled out. Helaena would hum songs while the twins played their games. Maelor was content to sit in your lap, his eyes wide to discover whatever came within his chubby grasp.
And Ser Erryk, your shadow, would stay close by, always.
“He will draw his own blood to protect you.” The princess spoke suddenly, jarringly–it was a common happenstance with Helaena, you learned. Her every impertinent thought spilled off her tongue in riddles.
Maelor’s eyes widened with his beginning grasp of the spoken word. You blew a raspberry onto his cheek to distract him, and he fell into a fit of giggles. “He would draw blood, but only if it was needed,” you corrected her, your voice low.
Helaena only hummed in response, falling back into whatever song as she looked over the flowers that surrounded you both, watching the insects that lived amongst them. Her words remained with you, echoing in your head long after the moon began its silver stretch overhead. It guided your steps back to the panel in your room and you pushed it open.
Ser Erryk straightened at once, his hand back on his pommel. “Princess? Why are you still–”
You stopped him with a gentle touch on his breastplate, steadying yourself to rise on the balls of your feet until your lips pressed to his once again. But this time he responded, melting against–his lips were soft and warm, and his beard tickled your skin.
You fell flat-footed to the floor with a smile spreading across your face; he was enraptured to watch the words that spilled from your lips. “I thought I had forgotten that night at Driftmark, but it seems what you said has embedded into my bones.” You felt light-headed, but also embolden by his gaze and the black that swallowed his murky cobalt eyes. “You once said that you could not give me what I deserved, but did you ever think you could give me what I want, what I desire?”
It was a dam broken and he surged against you, pressing until your back touched the other side of the corridor. He reclaimed your mouth with a honeyed fervor that warmed your blood. Your fingers pull away the tie that held back his hair and combed through his silky copper spill. His fingers bruised into your hips, holding on as if you would slip away.
You broke the kiss, breathless, your fingers knitting with his own and pulling him back into your room. It was a quiet exchange, littered with soft kisses, as you helped him remove his iron armor piece-by-piece, stacking the plates aside.
He draped the white cape over a chair and looked to you. Underneath he wore a pale tunic and cream slacks, his outline pressing to the seams in a way that made your thighs clench. He stepped closer, his desperation more controlled, and pulled you into his chest, his thumb pressed to tilt your chin for a slow and searching kiss.
You sighed and his tongue curled to taste, his fingers peeling away the bedtime silk that covered your skin. He worshiped every inch shown with his mouth, blooms of color decorating your skin.
You helped him pull his shirt over his head, wanting to feel the heat of his skin, to feel the golden hair across his chest. His heart was vibrating beneath, and his arms wrapped around your waist with another kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. Ser Erryk tightened his hold to lift you and walk you backwards until you felt the edge of the bed touching the back of your knees; you sat down, your thighs plush and pink.
His hands cradled your jaw, tilting your head back to look at you. “Beautiful,” he whispered before leaning to capture your lips again.
Your fingers curled at the nape of his neck to pull him towards you, moving back against the mattress. He followed, his skin flushed red and his eyes wide as you laid back into the pillows. He moved on top of you, gentle to touch you with soft caresses and lingering kisses, following your guide as you led his hand lower towards the intimacy between your thighs, wet and wanting.
He trembled with his exhale as his fingertips split apart your velvet folds, his calloused touch careful to map the bloom of nerves above. You gasped with his testing touch and his smile curled into his blood stained cheeks; he moved softer, but quicker, until it elicited a sweet sigh.
Ser Erryk was responsive, attentive to you. He was aware of your breathing and soft sounds, matching his ministration to pull something deeper within you, sparking at the base of your spine. It felt different from your own touch, this passion he pulled without your control, and you squirmed from the pressure building in your core.
“Erryk,” you whined, your hips lifting against his hand.
He grinned, shifting to press a kiss underneath your jaw, and your skin rippled over in response to the contrast of his lips and his beard. “That’s it princess,” his husky tone was hot against your skin; your hands moved to hold him close, another pitiful mewl spilling. He shifted his hand, moving to curl two fingers within your cunt while his thumb pressed to your swollen pearl.
“Erryk–!” you gasped, and your nails pressed red crescents into his shoulders.
His brow was knitted with his concentration, moving to litter kisses along the column of your neck and to your collarbones–a gentle nip that bolted the length of your spine. He does not stop, his fingers coated with your slick with his rhythm that curled upwards into you, sparking a euphoria that poured white-hot into your blood, your heart bruising until you feel it rattling your bones.
His other hand touched to return you back to your body; his palms rough but kind, following the curve of your stomach and resting to feel the rise and fall with your bated breath. You felt dizzy, blushing, and you blinked, looking down to see him watching you. He moved to give you another searing kiss that rekindled the same warmth pooling between your thighs.
You kissed him back and spread your legs for his slender waist to slot in-between. He pulled his slacks lower, allowing the underside of his cock to spread your velvet folds, a heady but delicious pressure against your cunt. You pulled him in for a kiss and he groaned into your mouth as you canted your hips, your heart pulsing against his heavy cock.
He was flushed. “I will be gentle, princess…”
You swallowed his words with another kiss, your legs knotting around to rut your hips against him. He panted into your mouth, his arm dipping to line himself with your entrance, and you clenched with your anticipation.
Erryk pressed into you with a trembled control as your heat enveloped him fully. You were split apart with the most delicious fill; you mewled, pitiful, and his head fell forward, tucking into the curve of your neck. “Gods be good…” he rasped.
Your fingers dimpled into his waist, encouraging his thrusts. His pace filled you sinfully, a slow roll of his hips that spurred a pleasure coiling within. You gasped against his chest, your nails biting into his skin as he quickened, going deeper, almost bruising. You felt your walls flutter around him, pulling another guttural groan from the back of his throat, his rasped whisper of your name buried into your hair.
The euphony trilled your spine and you clenched with your second release. It pulled him over that precipice of pleasure, crashing like a tidal wave. Erryk melted against you, hot, pulsing deep within you, and you breathed in his skin, the same intoxicating scent mixed with olive oil and wax.
He pulled away, the tender moment passing as duty resurfaced.
You made a noise, pushing to sit upright and your head tilting to watch his heavy sway between his thighs as he walked back from the basin with a clean cloth in hand. Your eyes met with his and his brow arched in return, teasing; you caught his wrist and pulled him back into the bed, against your heart.
Erryk twisted his face until it pressed into your skin, licking and kissing whatever his mouth could touch. You giggled, squirming until you could rest your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you.
You did not want this night to end. “Do not leave me, Erryk.”
“I am sworn to you, princess.” He reminded you, pressing his lips to your hairline.
It was not what you wished to hear, but it was all you would get at this moment. You hummed, burying your face until his chest hair tickled, listening to the low thrum of his heartbeat.
That night changed the monotony of the Red Keep. You thought of any reason to pull Erryk away from prying eyes; stolen kisses and touches that lingered, heating your skin. Your eyes now would flit to find him and see that he was always standing close, his gaze piercing through, settled onto you.
When the sun tucked away into the horizon, he would slip through the passageway and back into your embrace, the intimate tangle of bare limbs abed with breathless kisses and secrets shared. He learned your body, an instrument to be mastered and a passion to taste you on his lips, staining his beard. He became your confidant, sharing the mutterings of the court; he was the one to warn you about the claimant for Driftmark.
You wrote your mother at once.
It had been months since you left Dragonstone and you were excited to see her, your father and your siblings again. You were deciding on what gown to wear while Elinda was cleaning up, pulling your sheets away with a scowl on her face.
You laughed at her expression. “What is it?”
She was perplexed. “I cannot recall your last moonsblood, princess,” she admitted, her lips pursed. “I feel that time seems to run itself together within these walls.”
Her words ripped through you, but you said nothing, your expression as solid as the stones stacked to create the walls she referred to. Elinda finished tucking the corners before she noticed. “Princess! Are you okay–?”
“I am fine,” you lied. “Help me with my dress.”
Underneath you were rattled, frightened with the revelation of life within you. Your disquiet settled away, disappearing once your mother arrived. You rushed to greet her, seeing her swollen with another heir in the making. Her silver brows knitted as she looked over the state of the Red Keep, and you wrapped an arm around your side, pulling you close to whisper: “It is even worse than what you described!”
There was comfort in your mother’s arms and you pressed a kiss to her cheek. She looked at you a moment before her gaze fell back to Erryk, your ever dutiful-shadow noted. “Good ser, you have my eternal gratitude for keeping her safe.”
He was pink with her words. “Thank you, princess.”
Her focus remained on him another moment before she looked back to you, her eyes now careful to comb over. You swallowed, unsure, and she said nothing as her attention was whisked away to her purposeful return to the Keep.
The days that followed were tumultuous in the least, with a tension that spilled crimson on the floor of the Throne Room. Your stomach dropped from the wet sound of the two halves of Ser Vaemond hitting the stone floor, the smell of iron thick around you; Erryk moved in front of you to shield you away.
King Viserys called for a supper that evening to mend the ever-growing rift, but instead emotions imploded, splitting the room in half.
Erryk moved to wrap his hand around your arm at your mother’s command. Your father escorted your siblings and their betrotheds back to their rooms, his silver brow furrowing at you and your knight.
Your footfalls echoed to keep with his pace, a numbed process of what had just happened. “I will have to return to Dragonstone,” you whispered when you felt certain it was just the two of you. “Wait for me.”
Erryk looked at you before he stepped closer, cupping your jaw. It rooted you as he leaned to give you a chaste kiss, the warmth of his mouth searing through you. You stifled a sob when he pulled back to place another kiss to your hairline, another secret whispered against your skin. “I always have, princess.”
Dragonstone was gray and dreary as you remembered, becoming a beacon for awful when the news came that the king was dead and that Prince Aegon II Targaryen now sat upon the throne.
It wrenched through your mother and her hands pressed to her abdomen. The day waned with your father plotting at the very table the Conqueror laid plans, while your mother’s screams echoed throughout. You waited in the shadows, your hands pressing to protect your stomach; you prayed fervently to the gods, the old ones and the new, but they did not answer.
A pyre was stacked for the bloody swaddle and you watched the flames swallow it, the heat licking your skin. Your mother was pale, her eyes empty as she watched the curl of smoke rise above, her morbid farewell to her child unborn.
It was the swords unsheathed that pulled your attention, your heart pounding at the sound of his voice: “I mean no harm, brothers.”
You swallowed your tears, watching as Erryk kneeled to the earth with his vow renewed. The setting sun gave an amber aura that reflected off the crown he pulled from his satchel, the same as King Jaehaerys’ and your grandsire after, the same that was placed on top of your mother’s head that commanded a rippled bow of respect from everyone around.
Back inside, any unease was settled once Princess Rhaenys spoke of how he helped her escape from the Red Keep. Your mother forced a smile, her pain still haunting her features. “Your vow is to me, and to my family. You are to keep them safe, like before, like always.”
And he nodded.
With war burning on the horizon, its imminent threat that would swallow the Seven Realms, there was no moment spared where you could speak of the life created. You kept it cradled to your chest when you saw how war-wearied Erryk was already. His heart had been cleaved in two and one-half remained in charge of the usurper.
It allowed a new desperation in the passion shared, a clash of teeth and tongues to taste whatever intimacy could be spared amidst the bloodshed. This ever-threat of life so fleeting is what pushed you to be bolder, which was why you were waiting for him outside the bathhouse one evening.
You reached as he moved past you, your fingers tucking into his waistband to pull him into the shadows. Your royal apartment had a path that weaved as an escape, and tonight you used it to bring him back with you, to allow a moment to forget the inevitable that was coming.
“Princess…” he started, but you stopped him with a kiss.
“I missed you,” you confessed against his lips. “I need to feel you.”
Your room was basked in candlelight and you pulled him through the passageway, turning to dip your hand below his waistband, your hand pressed on his half-hard cock. It pulsed against your palm and you moved closer to place a kiss on his neck.
He sighed his pleasure and his torment. “Princess,” he tried again, but you would not let him.
You nipped at his skin, halting his words, and he smothered a groan while your other hand pulled at his drawstrings. “Let me,” you breathed, and his skin rose in response.
He felt heavy in your hands that wrapped around him. You stole another kiss before your chin dropped to your chest, your spit falling from your tongue and onto his cock.
Erryk hissed as you stroked his length, watching as he jerked with another low moan. Your hand held onto his hip to lower to your knees, your other wrapping around the base and bringing his flushed cockhead against your tongue. You pressed a kiss and were rewarded with a groan that rumbled through him; your tongue trailed the side of his cock, feeling every vein and ridge, and you placed another kiss on the underside.
His fingers combed through your hair, watching as you pulled back to watch you take him inch-by-inch, with your hand holding onto what could not fit. His hips bucked into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat, and you groaned, a heat pooling between your thighs.
Your mouth and hand worked in tandem, working his cock until you felt it twitch with his pearly spend, his briny taste against your tongue. He shuddered, pulling back to sink to his knees, cupping your face and pulling you close for a messy kiss.
“My turn,” he whispered, standing and pulling you to follow, his eyes lust-blown.
You sank into the mattress and Erryk kneeled before you, an altar to be worshiped. His palm pressed to your cunt and his fingers spread your folds, allowing his tongue to run along your slit. You shivered as he pressed further, his tongue now carving into you with a well-known intimacy that made your toes curl.
Afterwards, Erryk curled into you and your fingers ran through his still damp hair, the occasional pause to press another kiss to his scalp. “I am sworn to you,” he was quiet, his voice barely above your heart beat. “But you are so much more to me.”
Your heart swelled in your chest. “I know,” you kissed your knight again. “I… love you too, Erryk.”
He hummed against you, burrowing into the softness of your skin. His words replayed in your mind, giving you the courage that you needed, but your mother already called you to her chambers the next night.
When you entered, she dismissed Ser Lorent, who locked the door behind him. Her eyes settled on you and your throat tightened. Her face was drawn, thinner, a woman shattered by all the blood spilled and plagued by the fact that more was yet to come.
You remained standing, waiting as her eyes poured over you. She took a breath before she said, “I already know.”
It was a relief, it was terror. Your stomach dropped and you looked to see Elinda busying herself with whatever her hands could find. Damn her. “I wished to tell you myself,” you admitted, your fists balled at your sides until your nails pierced through to the bones.
Her eyes steeled in return, her jaw set. “Who is he?”
Instead, you answer with, “I love him.”
“That was not what I asked,” she snapped in a way that both you and Elinda flinched with her words that were scalding with her anger. “Your queen asked who is the father of the child that you carry.”
But you saw her tears were threatening to spill, her face blotched with her anger. You pressed your hands to your stomach, the new habit formed over the last few weeks. “It is Ser Erryk Cargyll.”
She closed her eyes, a fury now thrumming. “I should have fucking known…”
“And how is it any different from what you shared with Ser Harwin?” You could not stop your tongue, her temperament reflecting.
“You truly wish to repeat the follies of my heart, you daft girl?” She hissed, her tears spilling. “We are on the cusp of a civil war because… I allowed my heart to choose instead committing to the duty that I am bound to by my blood, the very same within your veins.” Her hand pressed to her chest, a sob caught in her throat. “And that choice is the consequence that I now suffer every day.”
You wanted to glare, to fight back, but you saw her torment. Her tears spilling called to you and you moved to her bedside, melting into her. She fell into your arms with sobs that wracked her body. She held onto you and you remained, allowing her grief to pour over.
Behind, you heard the other door opening. Your mother looked up from your chest, wiping her face. “Ser Erryk?”
A cold-fire twisted into your stomach when you saw him, knowing at once that he was not the man you were in love with. The imposter knight stepped closer, unsheathing his sword. He sounded pained. “Believe me, I had no choice.”
“Brother!”
Over his shoulder, you saw Erryk, his sword drawn and his eyes wild. “Do not do this. I beg you.”
There was a clash of steel, of heartbreak and betrayal. Your mother screamed at Elinda, but she remained cemented to the cobblestone, stricken with her fear. She grabbed your hand to pull you from the bed, your legs buckling and your heart screaming to stay. You followed after your mother, remembering too late that the door was locked, and you looked over the room for a weapon, an escape.
Erryk yelled when the sword cut through his thigh.
Your fear pulled you outside of your body to see your hands resting to shield your stomach, the smell of blood rich in the night air. You prayed to the gods, a cursed habit, and again, they ignored you.
You blinked to focus. Arryk fell first, a sword splayed through his stomach, and you looked to Erryk, your relief fleeting when you saw the dagger buried between his ribs. He looked at you, his knees buckling, collapsing to the floor with the clatter of iron.
Your mother ran for the door, screaming for the maesters, for anyone to come and aid. You rushed to his side, your slippers slick in the blood that was pouring out on the stone, staining the pale silk of your nightgown. You lifted his head to rest on your lap, your trembling touch unsure if you could even staunch the scarlett flow.
“I cannot do this without you,” you pleaded, your hands pressing around the hilt; his blood bubbled between your fingers. “I need you, Erryk. Our babe needs you!”
Erryk looked at you as if you were the sun itself, a dawning realization that washed over with your words. Your heart wrenched from your chest when you looked at him, a choked sob when you saw the red that stained his smile.
His lips parted, but no words would come. Instead you watched as the blue of his eyes faded to gray with his last breath.
You leaned over him, your tears spilling, and you pressed a kiss to his brow, your blood-stained fingers gentle to cradle the head of your devoted knight.
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