#Amongst the Rubble

[vio-starclad]

My most recent read book was written by our own @dadpat-tactual and, full disclosure, he told me that it was in a fairly unedited state and that he was working on revisions.

Now I know how I am about editing my own work, and thought that could take eons if he's anything like me, so I picked it up anyway.

I do think it's appreciable as a series of vignette sections amongst a fairly standard post-apocypse backdrop. But I must be honest to say that there's not really enough going on here. There seems to be a sequel in the works, and a prequel, but I really would have liked a tighter narrative right Here.

Spoilers and extended thoughts be ahead here:

I don't think our main character was actually ever described, nor was our villain. I'm imagining him with a hook for a hand because that's fun! We got more description for a random bartender! Our hero also has very little agency and seems to just stumble into events or be put on paths by other characters. He wants to regain his lost memories but has no good ideas on how to retrieve them and that desire hardly comes up anyway.

He's also a bit of a textbook Mary Sue or Gary Stu in this case, wherein he's great at fighting and every woman is interested in him, completely altruistic with no faults.

There was a section at the docks that, as far as this book was concerned, was inconsequential, only existing to introduce Gentle Crew. Their raid on the ship seems to be the story our author really wanted to tell.

There's also a tone issue where everything is quite serious but also constantly jokey. We got to a Lynyrd Skynyrd reference and I was like okay hell yeah let's get silly. I was full on expecting our gruff manly men to bond over country rock and break out into an impromptu karaoke session. It would have been hilarious. But no they just have a bar fight, which also doesn't serve any overall narrative purpose. Maybe someone knew who Evan was and had this fight staged to eliminate him? Just an idea.

Brother it's okay, get silly! It's an apocalypse, have fun with it! Let our heroes be larger than life. Carl scratched the surface at least. Everybody thinks Evan is a super soldier so just let him be Solid Snake-like. Let him be near superhero levels, why not?

Evan sleeps with Ellie after knowing her for like a day and later she says they're just friends and I'm over here like "WOW savage" but he doesn't react at all? Okay.

There's a scene where everyone in the market is taking shelter from a hail of bullets, including the faceless mayor. And our freedom fighter Ellie is in view of him and doesn't shoot him in the confusion? I guess she's unarmed for some reason or doesn't have a shot. Which would be fine but that needs to be stated. And later there's a plot to snipe him as he makes a speech and I'm thinking why not a Claymore pointing towards him in the podium? That makes so much sense. It doesn't have to work but somebody should have thought about it. It's safe and logical. And he's kinda made into a joke when he tickets a woman for jaywalking??? He's also out on the town by himself walking into a house with people who want him dead and they do nothing but chat with him.

It's an okay book.

This isn't a callout post; I hope it doesn't read like one. Our author is a good man this story is just half-baked as is.

[nicollekidman]

look i would be willing to forgive taylor bad albums for years if they were bad because she was trying something new and it wasn’t working. that’s the kind of bad that leads to growth. but these albums have been bad because they feel stagnant and dull. that’s not a growing pain kind of bad.

[illmoraineakoi]

Had a horrible dream where the AB Team killed the Chosen One off by having him sacrifice himself to allow the Color Gang to escape victim's facility.

And then they brought back Dark.

[ymustutortureme]

God, take all of the women's pain from period cramps and and give it to IOF soldiers 🙏🏼

[xhanisai]

A very haunting thought just occurred to me. Someone that I probably interacted with or has interacted with me and my work could have been from Palestine. And there's very little chance that they could still be alive right now after all that bombing.

[breechingbaby]

At the train station ads are telling me to not blame my lipstick for street harassment, not to let my body or ability keep me from running as long as it is in the right shoes, the giant screen lets us know that Israel killed a Hamas leader before flashing to a brown-ish woman dancing in a field to let me know I could smell this good. Problems solved I guess. Time to run in my new lipstickshoesfragranceconfidenceluxuryitem.

[partylikemajima]

Everything smells so good when fasting 🙉 inner peace inner peace dinner please

[buttercuparry]

Gazan fundraisers are not tumblr/ social media novelties that should wear off, just because you have come across the 5 or 75th post about them. These fundraisers are someone's life. The colonizers- the government of the imperial core- made it so; of course then, if something so unimaginably cruel is happening in the world, you are going to feel the recoil of it or the reverberation of it wherever you are. Because this is not normal. You understand that right? The Notre Dame catching fire caused more reaction amongst the government of the West; in Gaza tents with human beings are burning! Tents they had to go live in after their houses came down on them and trapped them under the rubble- there's still no genuine attempts from the world powers to stop this. They want you to think this is normal, so it is your duty that you don't normalize this. The gfms of families surviving genocide is not normal-> this sentence should be an abnormal sentence to you. It is because of this you should not turn away. In fact you should make more of an effort to go through them- to read, to donate. The engagement with fundraisers is going down! Don't let them become just another post on tumblr please- it is not even a year; Palestinians have been fighting this fight for 76 years!!

EDIT: if you are going to reblog this, reblog it with the addition of Siraj Abudayeh's fundraiser that is given in the notes.

[vampiricvenus]

Let's help Fadel heal and evacuate!

Verified! #197 on this spreadsheet.

I was contacted by Fadel, a third-year student in Information Technology. Him and his family have been displaced 5 times already. Not long ago, he and his family were injured in an attack amongst the rubble that used to be their home. They were almost martyred.

Him and his family were transferred in extremely dangerous conditions to a hospital in southern Gaza after that. Once there, the doctors were able to remove some of the shrapnel from Fadel's body, but there' were still shrapnel stuck inside me that they's more they could not remove. The surgery he needs is very complicated and cannot be performed there due to the lack of medical resources.

Now he lives in constant intense pain. He needs to leave Gaza as soon as possible. The cost for travel is €7,000, and then there's €3,000 for the treatment he needs.

We can do this!! Fadel's goal is a lot smaller than most other campaigns and his hasn't surpassed even the first thousand euros!

€538/€10,000

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

i love reading an article and coming to "[x police officer] stated they could not intervene when giving the arson site back to the owners" followed by no expansion or explanation.

what law prevented the police from intervening? i dont know and apparently neither do the journalists or the police officer because that information is just in neither article i read.

genuinely, both articles just move on without at all expanding on it, or explaining what law it was and why it prevented them, or even just fucking naming the law.

like thats just fucking hearsay? im not obligated to believe it just because a fucking bobby said it yet its presented like that in one of the articles, and the other reads like chatgpt wrote it and has no journalist/writer listed.

the first article was in the fucking guardian and its not like i expect them to be bastions of far left ideals, but i expect them to be good at journalism. it reads like a damn tabloid.

[yeyinde]

the morally questionable relationship between John Price and the darling little starlet he picks up off of the street during the golden age of Hollywood would be such a treat.

because producer!John Price is known as the best of the best in Hollywood. He has an eye for talent, they say, and a keen ability for spotting the diamonds amongst the rubble.

And of all the stars in the world, he sets his sights on you. Pretty little thing. Bright and blinding—Betelgeuse glimmering on the precipice of a supernova. All you need is a little push. A backer. A chance. And he gives it to you. Ushers you into stardom with a crooked grin around the butt of a cigar and a wicked gleam in his eyes that you—in all your artless, sheltered naivete—chalk up to pride.

The problem with sweet little darlings like you is that they all sing the same song. Yearn for the same thing. And it's so easy to mistake his interest as fatherly when the name on your birth certificate reads John Doe. And when he tells you his name is John Price, well—

It's fate, isn't it?

He told you he's been married once but had no children, and the longing in his eyes must be for the family he's never got a chance to have. So, you promise to give it to him.

Problem is: the devil lives in Hollywood and drinks his whiskey neat. You told him you'd be his family, giving him the one that left him behind. Signed your soul to blue eyes for the big screen.

Not that you'd know this, of course. To you, John is a sad widower with a heart of gold. Your overprotective bear who snarls at the directors and actors who get a little too handsy with you on set. His darling little star.

It's easy to wave everyone off when they express concern about these blurring lines between employee and employer. Boss and—

Father figure.

They just don't know him like you do.

And how funny, you tell him one evening with a wry twist to your lips, eyes swimming with sheltered mischief. They thought we were lovers, Mr Price. Isn't that just the damnedest thing?

This little quip has the opposite effect, and if only you looked a little bit closer at the gleam in his eye, the clench in his jaw, you might have seen the storm gathering on the horizon before it hit. Instead of laughing with you at the director's gall, this hilarious joke, John feels you slipping through his fingers just a little bit more. And that simply won't do.

You want a father figure? Then fine. That's what he'll be. Convenient, of course, because he's been thinking about fatherhood a lot lately, too. It's only natural that he decides to cash in on that promise you made all those years ago to make him a proud dad.

[boyakishantriage]

Wait I was thinking something but now I'm starting to think the opposite

Here's the thing though

Potatoes are nummy

Indeed they are.

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Who Started The Fire?

From the prompts list:

“That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

Batman stared down the two teens standing before him. The boy was pointedly looking anywhere but the Bat’s face, finding more interest in the dirt and gravel crunching under his shoes. Meanwhile, the girl stood with her arms crossed, head held high, meeting Batman’s gaze with a defiant glare that wouldn’t be out of place on any of his own children’s faces.

Behind them lay the smoking remains of what was once a warehouse that had been used as a front for a weapons smuggling operation that the bats had collectively spent the past few weeks investigating. Although their investigation had taken longer than anticipated thanks to this group’s rather impressive security, they had been so close to a breakthrough…when the place had gone up in an inferno.

When the Gotham vigilantes had first arrived on the scene the fire had been so intense that they’d had to put in their gas masks to avoid any inhaling any of the thick black smoke from not only the fire, but also whatever chemicals may have potentially been within the building that would have been released into the air.

Batman’s initial hypothesis had been that the group had become aware of their investigation and burned the place to avoid any evidence being discovered while they moved locations. However, that theory had been shelved when Red Hood had announced the presence of charred bodies amongst the rubble, and evidence of explosives having been used in multiple area where the building’s structure had been the weakest. Whoever had been inside had not had any warning of the blaze that had swallowed the building too fast for them to get to safety, and with the structure being compromised from the explosions all exists had been blocked, preventing the inhabitant’s escape. Red Hood and Nightwing had been discussing potential suspects as Batman and Red Robin searched for any evidence that could have survived the destruction, when a clattering sound followed by the sound of voices hushing each other had altered all of the on scene bats to the presence of possibly several unknowns.

The two teens had been apprehended quickly and ushered to the side, far enough away from the scene of the fire to avoid them overhearing details of the investigation and to prevent any potential tampering. Accidental or otherwise. The teens had been stubborn in their refusal to answer any of the bat’s questions to their presence. Nobody knew why they were there, where they had come from, and they had even refused to disclose their names. Oracle, unfortunately, was sick with the flu and had been gently ordered to rest by Agent A. Batman was nevertheless confident that they would be able to discover their identities quickly either once they had returned to the cave or if they could get the kids to talk.

He would have asked Red Hood to speak with the teens, he was the best with kids. And if caught up in anything illegal they often seemed to respond better to him due to his more ambiguous morals and reputation for ensuring kid’s safety. Both from rouges and in some cases, the rest of the bats and birds. But he had been needed in Crime Ally after he had been alerted to a gunfight breaking out between two gangs who had been more hostile and antagonistic in recent months. Nightwing had accompanied him, and Spoiler had diverted from her patrol route to assist. That left Batman and Red Robin behind to deal with both the police and the frustratingly stubborn teens.

Batman resisted the urge to punch the bridge of his nose as yet another question was blatantly ignored by both kids. The boy had begun fiddling with the sleeved of his letterman jacket and the girl had taken to checking her manicured nails for any dirt or imperfections.

Just as he was about to turn the questioning over to one of the on scene police officers, a writhing mass of shadow had emerged from the girl’s shadow. Two tendrils of black smoke reached out to wrap themselves around the wrists and hands of both teens, who had in turn glanced down at their hands and smiled.

“We’re fine,” the boy had muttered quietly, “no need to worry.”

“What is that?” Batman asked, eyeing the mass with a cautious suspicion. He wanted to believe it wasn’t hostile given the kids reactions to it. But this was Gotham.

The girl shot him another glare, one hand on her hip while the other remained in the hold of whatever the shadowy mass was.

“That sir,” she spat out the first word with such venom to her tone that Batman almost flinched, “is our emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

[inknopewetrust]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.

Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon

“Knee deep in the [throne room] and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

“Do you always look so smug after killing your own blood?”

In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.

Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.

You could see him in the shadows of the throne.

Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.

In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.

The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.

Aemond’s arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.

He wanted to be someone who was remembered.

Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terror—someone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.

In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.

So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenys’ demise and ultimately Aegon’s injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.

But he didn’t answer you—Aemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.

And that enticed him.

You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.

How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?

“Ah,” you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. “You see, My Prince, when you allow a dragon’s head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.”

“Power is power. We needn’t parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.”

“At the ill will of a sacred creature?”

Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.

“It does not take a Targaryen to understand that.”

“What would you know of Targaryen customs?” He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. “You will never know.”

“I apologize… for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.”

You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.

It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.

“His ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.”

“Is that not why there are whispers of what you have done?” You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. “Small folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.”

The omen hovered like the storm above. The God’s were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.

“Yet I speak nothing of it,” he eyed you solemnly. “You talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?”

Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.

He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Vale—to the Greens you were a key.

And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.

“No,” you replied, keeping your head tall. “I live in a gilded tower.”

“That has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.”

“They do not seek me,” your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. “But you know that.”

Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.

You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.

He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brother’s stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.

“Men will seek anything if they are given the chance.”

You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.

“And what is it that you seek?” You questioned quietly. “Is being a ruler not enough?”

In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well… It was a dangerous thing.

Aemond’s hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.

Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.

One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.

Aemond’s other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.

“If someone came looking for you,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. “What would you let them do to you?”

You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.

Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.

“What about me, hm?” There was a faint smile on his lips. “What would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?”

His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.

“I-I-I,” your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands. 

“Poised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.” 

“I am not a fool,” you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. “I know what I want.” 

Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours. 

“Tell me,” he repeated. 

“I want you to touch me,” you instructed him. “I want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.” 

“Oh?” Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. “I may not hold the title of King-” 

“You are a King, Aemond,” you said assertively and his hands stopped. 

“You rule in the place of Aegon’s incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed at the reality. 

Aemond’s power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys. 

“I wish to feel your lips elsewhere,” you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours. 

Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his. 

“I want to see a King on his knees.”

Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemond’s hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.

You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.

You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.

This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleep—sans the King he would never fault himself for burning.

“Aemond,” you spoke with a voice that shook. “What if someone were to see us?”

He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.

“Let them see then,” he kissed the front of your thighs. “If they see, then I will marry you.”

Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.

He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.

If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you. 

“Drop your dress,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.

But you could feel him.

You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.

But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself. 

Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly. 

There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips. 

You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemond’s tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements. 

“Aemond-” you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed. 

The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away. 

Aemond wouldn’t marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth. 

He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his head—a delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself. 

Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth. 

“Shit.” The words fell from your lips freely. 

“Aemond, I don’t think I will fare much longer,” you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge. 

Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder. 

In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg. 

“Wha-” 

You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you. 

You wished he would marry you. 

“I am not done,” he broke the kiss and admitted. “But I could not hold that in any longer.” 

His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest. 

Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldn’t marry you. 

He couldn’t marry you. 

But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner. 

He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more. 

As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless. 

His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release. 

“Fuck, Aemond.” 

He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush. 

It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate. 

And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling. 

He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should. 

“Darling,” he murmured from below. “Let them all see what a King can do.” 

And you did. 

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.

[essenceofarda]

Sometimes a family is an elf, a dwarf, and the human orphan infant they find amongst the rubble after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields,, whom they decide to raise together,, 🥹

Anyway, yeah! Introducing Gigolas' daughter 👧🏻

(I still need to figure out her name--I want something that is a blend of dwarven and elvish, so suggestions from those more knowledgable about tolkien's languages/etc would be super appreciated! Also I have SO many fanart ideas for this lil' family, idk, let me know if you wanna see more art of them 🤩🥰)

[inupibaldspot]

Film through Shoko’s Lens

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : You’re looking through Shoko’s perspective:) clumsy!reader

Shoko grumbles as rubbles and specks of dust fly over, a tornado forming as a foreign force destroys the house. “He is going too far again…”

“I mean… He is a show off.” Geto, who had a smile on his face, hand shading his eyes which were squinted. The debris finally stopped flying and was now settling down. “I guess he is done. Let’s go.”

Shoko walks over to see Gojo peer over the ledge as the first thing he decided to do was squabble with Utahime, she could also see Mei Mei sitting on amongst the rubble. Mission complete.

She suddenly feels a force as she peers over to see you hold her hand, fingers intertwining and a wide smile on your face. Shoko smiles back as guides you near the rubble. “Utahime— you okay?”

“Shoko—!”Utahime gleamed at the fact her friend was also on this mission as she ran up the stairs and then pulled her into an embrace. “Never become like these two.”

Shoko could almost hurl imagining to be as egotistical and shameless as her two mentioned friends. “I won’t become scums like them.” Her eyes wander to you where Gojo was now standing next to.

She watches you saying something which makes Gojo grumble and him proceeding to pull on your cheeks as you complain.Utahime and Meimei had already left the vicinity now probably headed back to Jujutsu Tech. “You guys can go ahead. I need to do some shopping in town.” Shoko says.

Geto turns around and looks over to Shoko. “Oh alright.” She hears footsteps come closer to her. “I’ll come with you, Shoko—woah-” You smile at her while walking towards her , before almost tripping over nothing as if you have two left feet.

“Holy shit.” Shoko hears Gojo shouts before he is quickly beside you, propping you up straight in the air with his hands on your collar. “I’ll come along too then. y/n might get into an accident.”

Shoko shrugs. “Ehh—? Stop being so clingy Gojo.It’s pathetic.” She says as she takes a cigarette piece from her pocket, while Geto throws her his lighter. “I can take care of y/n just fine.”

You jump in, one hand in the air, made into a fist; the other hand on your hips. “I can take care of myself just fine!” You chirped.

“The fuck you mean, Shoko?” Gojo shouts back while Shoko huffs, lighting her cigarette both completely ignoring your earlier statement. You were incompetent in taking care of yourself! “The last time I let her out with you, she roamed around the park alone and got lost!”

“I needed to go pee. What was I supposed to do?!”

“They completely ignored me, Geto…” You cry as you hold onto the tall dark haired boy’s shirt comically making him laugh. Geto brings his hands up to your head as he tousles your hair.

He turns to the side to find Gojo fuming, stomping his legs on the ground while Shoko smokes, completely ignoring the other boy. “It was kinda funny how they make you seem like a kid who can’t go unsupervised.”

“Argh— Come on let’s go.” Shoko watches Gojo walk over and grabs your hand making you give him a confused look. The white haired boy doesn’t say anything, his hands feel as if they are burning and his heart seems to accelerate at an inhuman pace. He grumbled something Shoko could not hear before she watched you smile at him.

Shoko puts down the cigarette bud on the ground and stomp it under her feet before she follows the bunch. She noticed Gojo dig out a packet of gummy bears from his pocket and wave it infront of your face.

You gleam with excitement as you jump clapping your hands together as you wait for Gojo to open the packet of sweets. Gojo smiles before he brings it up to himself to feed you the sweets, and if Shoko was seeing it right she swears she sees your cheeks bloomed with the faintest shade of red, making Gojo take a step back with mouth slightly agape. How cute!

“Satoru, don’t feed y/n too much. She has been having dental problems.” Shoko hears Geto say, making her look in your direction; there was Gojo his head placed on top of your head nuzzling into you with his arms slinging from your shoulders cooing ‘how adorable you are.’

While you were there with your face grouchy over Gojo’s weight on you and your cheeks filled to the brim as if resembling a chipmunk. This made Shoko let out a quiet laugh as warmth spewed into her heart.

She is sure in due time, Gojo will finally win you over and are sure to date; if there is any indicator last night she found you both snuggled together under a blanket on the sofa of the common room, you asleep leaning into Gojo while he plays with your finger, face full of fondness.

Geto will become stronger with well deserved respect. She will also graduate and quickly become a doctor. When she is done, maybe Gojo and you will probably be living together somewhere with fingers intertwined yet— She doesn’t want this moment to end, a moment with all four of them as she then brings her phone up to her three friends already squabbling about something followed by a thud of you falling on the ground and Geto and Gojo shouting ‘y/n—! She passed out!’ and ‘call an ambulance!’

*click*

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