#THE HORROR IN MY EYES WHEN QUEEN OPENED AN EYE IN THE SHOW

[xensmells]

banishment to the void I’m not drawing a bg

[suiana]

this is inspired by inês and pedro from portugese history or smth BUT imagine being a servant to some noble princess and she marries your future yandere! king who falls for you instead of his wife.

you're loyal to your princess and don't reciprocate his feelings obviously. also, you're just a mere servant, not even of any noble blood. you can't dare to imagine being with a king. that doesn't stop the man from wanting you all to himself though.

he's never felt anything like this before. like yes, he's seen beautiful peolple but it doesn't even match up to the feelings that stir inside him when he as much as thinks about you. everything he feels makes him feel like a pre-pubescent boy that wants you carnally. it's a bit embarrassing. he's the king of a kingdom after all. always calm, always composed, never rash or impulsive. not like this.

but you're perfect.

he must have you. he's worked so hard, surely he deserves some compensation in the form of someone he really adores. so what if he has a wife? it was just an arranged marriage anyway. he bets his wife doesn't even like him and has a secret lover somewhere else.

you're the one he wants. not this random princess.

so he pursues you, wanting nothing more than for you to love him back. to love him and only him. all his council men and advisors tell him not to do it. that it's not wise to go after his wife's servant, some no name commoner. he doesn't care.

unfortunately for you, you succumbed to his advances. fortunately for him, you began to show him the love he so desperately craved.

and thus began your not-so-secret relationship. it was... quite wonderful, actually. he was an amazing lover. he treated you to the finest delicacies and spoiled you rotten. he truly only ever wanted the best for you and it showed in his actions. so much so that everyone was aware of how fond he was over you. even the queen (your princess) was supportive of your relationship with him.

however, all good times have to come to an end.

as expected, his parents weren't happy with your relationship with their son. are you serious? this random ahhh commoner is the one their son loves?? no way. this does not match their agenda.

you were charged with treason and sentenced to death not long after. your beloved king couldn't even do anything about it because he was in another kingdom attending to important affairs. truly the most despicable of parents.

you were set to be executed on the gulliotine in the middle of the kingdom. public humilation, is it? you made your way to your death bed, staring at the masses of people who commented about how pitiful you were. alas was the fate of an unlucky commoner.

"thank you, my love."

and you shut your eyes, never to open them ever again as the blade came falling down on your neck.

"stop!"

it was too late. the blade had already sliced your head off your body, blood pooling on the ground as your lifeless body remain limp on the gulliotine.

all was quite, except the laboured breaths of the kingdom's king as he shakily made his way over to your head. his hands were cold, eyes wide open in horror as he mutters to himself as though it would comfort him.

"no, no, no... hey, this is just a joke right? this..."

everyone in the area could only stare silently as their king silently wept over your death. his once pristine white garments now stained red as he cradles your head in his arms.

"why? why you? anyone but you..."

who knew that your death would be witnessed by your lover too? that your death day would coincide with his homecoming?

and just as fast as his despair and sadness came, so did rage.

all was calm except for the screams of his parents as his sword plunged deep into their chests. his face was dark, jaw tight as he gave a mere glance back at the crowd.

"kill everyone. make sure no one leaves alive."

at his order, all hell broke loose. where was the calm and benevolent king they knew?!

screams of pain and agony, cries for mercy... the crowd could only watch as their king stood beside your body. there wasn't a hint of remorse in his face. in fact, they couldn't read what he was even feeling. all they could see was the face of a man who was utterly crushed and desperate for his lover.

...

a few days after his massacre, he had divorced his ex wife and crowned you as his new spouse. he had carefully sown your head back onto your body, not wanting anyone else to touch what was his.

"you're beautiful, my darling."

he kisses your cold lips, helping you get dressed in your coronation outfit. his hands were soft, gentle as they always were with you. he wouldn't let anyone touch you. no, they didn't deserve to touch you. only he did.

he gently carried your body out to the grand hall, not caring about the terrified glances and looks from his advisors and the royal court. right, he had also brutally murdered anyone related to your death. the executioner, the advisors who agreed to your execution... no longer was he the benevolent king he was once known as but a mad dog.

"bow down to your new ruler."

he'll make sure you get recognised as what you were supposed to be recognised as.

how dare they try and kill you like you weren't his one and only? how dare they think so little of you and get rid of you when he wasn't in the country? that is a royal crime. not only are they looking down on you, but on him as well.

"from now on, you will listen to every demand and word that my spouse says."

if the air around the ballroom wasn't so thick, it might have come out as a joke. after all, you were dead. how were you to talk every again?

"welcome our new ruler."

that wasn't a question. it was a demand.

your king will make sure you get the love and respect you deserve. and who knows, maybe he'll get you back with how dedicated he is. he knows a thing or two about dark magic, perhaps the next thing he'll do is bring you back to life.

yes, that is a good idea. that way you and him can truly be together once again.

[felikatze]

listen to me. the Emblems are living existential horror. I am just going to talk about them and you can do nothing about this.

They are. Explicitly. not the people they seem to be. Emblem Marth knows he's not the real Marth. He's aware that he is simply a simulacrum, the personified image of Marth, as seen by myth and history, reconstructed into a person.

Listen to me. Look me in the eyes. What route is Corrin? What route is Byleth?

All of them. It's ALL OF THEM. And that's why they're so vague. That's why they're nigh contradictory. They're every telling of that character, rolled together into a ball.

And in Elyos? That's fine. There is only one Marth, and one Corrin, and one whoever Emblem. But you see, in Askr... There's so many of them. And they're just Another One. Just Another Marth.

But also, now suddenly all too keenly fake.

Any given Corrin in FEH is not filled with contradiction, because FEH is not restricted to having Just the One - you can have one for BR, one for CQ, another for Rev, keep some vague... The multiplicity of the characters can be portrayed in different figures in different stages of life.

But. the Emblems are just "stories".

DOES ANY EMBLEM EVER REFERENCE POSTCANON?

My theory is. the Emblems only remember what is contained in their story, within their game.

Take for example, Emblem Lyn, and Emblem Roy. If Lyn truly is the Lyn-- how come she doesn't recognize one of her best friend's children?

And yes, Sigurd is keenly aware that he dies, but... His death is part of the story, no? It's not something that happens far off and far away, it's part of the plot. Of course he's going to know it.

Whereas Emblem Hector, who dies in a different game to his Emblem's origin, is blissfully unaware of his own fate. It's not part of his story, it's part of Roy's.

(Listen. This first crossed my mind when I read all of Emblem Hector's bond conversations. He references Serra thrice, and his own daughter not even ONCE.)

They are their games, down to the fundamental level. FEH can have a Celica be Queen of Valentia, but that's just one blurb of epilogue, so obviously Emblem Celica is not.

You cannot change my mind on this reading of them. You cannot.

And. The game of course never explores this. But how does it feel for them? To only have this nebulous sense of identity? To remember and feel iterations of you that contradict one another? FEH opens so many doors it is too cowardly to explore in depth.

How does Marth feel remembering both versions of his own past, one with Kris and one without? How does Corrin feel knowing every path she has walked? How do they feel seeing versions of themselves that are specific lived experiences, instead of just legends?

In Elyos, there is no one to contrast them. There are only the legends, only the Emblems. Nobody truly remembers exactly how their stories went, so they never need to specify and show their version of events. They just exist, as the holy, powerful, worshipped Emblems.

Does Lucina know who her mother is? Does Roy? Does Lyn know who she marries? Does Hector know he's going to die? Does Byleth see every student dead or saved?

They are their games and they are every version of their games they are every version of themselves which amounts to being NONE of them.

Which amounts to vague platitudes and allusions to other events and what is a doylist fear of spoilers and an advertisement is also a watsonian nightmare.

This isn't even the worst thing about them.

They're not just simulacra. They're also tools. Literal objects to be called upon and dismissed at will. Sure, in the Somniel, they can move around. But.

They can only affect the physical world in the arena. In combat. Because that's what they are! They are tools of war!

And sure, the divine dragons ask them nicely for their powers, and they get to keep their free will when summoned this way instead of having their souls subjugated.

or well. Do they...?

Do we ever.... see an Emblem say no...?

Of course, the divine dragons are Just and Good and Nice. Obviously the Emblems want to aid them. Obviously the Emblems would rather fight beside Alear than Sombron, saving the world they've been entrusted to. Because the Emblems are their stories, the manifestation of Good and Rightous Heroes, always ready to save the day and slay evil.

Which, of course, leaves us with something unconfirmed.

Could an Emblem say no if it wanted to?

The line between divine and fell is dangerously thin. (That is a conspiracy rant for another day.) Like, we see Alear combine prayers and incantations into one package with just prayer effects. You can use an incantation as a prayer if you put your mind to it and you can probably also do it the other way around.

The Emblems either have no choice at all, or are given a choice with one option they would never pick, which renders having a choice moot in the first place.

They are tools, and they know this. They are swords, and it's all a matter of how nice the sheath is.

And yet. All of them remember being human. All of them have loved ones that do not exist, not for them. And what strikes me about the Emblems added to FEH so far... they're all universally stoked to be able to eat.

It's like a fucking sensory deprivation chamber. Unable to touch, to eat, to decide where you go, and the only physical sensation they DO feel is when someone touches their ring. Like I'm realizing this as I write this goddamn post. An Emblem going "That spot was bothering me" when being polished is the only time they ever express physical sensation. Like feeling the dirt on the metal is all they get.

(Side note: you know you're fucked when you look up the petting minigame for Lore)

Like. They know they're fake. That they never had anything outside of this half existence. But they remember it anyways. Of course these memories are going to be precious to them, as vague and muddled and contradictory as they are.

They're tools. They're literal objects. They're alive. They just want to eat some good food again. They want to be with people they love, with people that are long dead and gone.

And this weird spirit existence has to be enough. Smell good food instead of eating it. Make friends with your wielders, enjoy the scarce scenery you get to witness after every battle.

It has to be enough. There's nothing else for them.

And when their duty is done, they can finally rest.

[flowerandblood]

The sweetest fruit

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, sexual tension ]

[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They've been engaged since they were kids, but he's in no hurry to get married and he's not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Aemond knew this day would come someday. He had known since he was a child. He knew his wife would be a woman from across the Narrow Sea, the blood heiress of Old Valyria of House Vhassar, residing in the Volantis with her family. The thought of her was as distant to him as the continent she was on.

When his mother told him that his fiancée would eventually come to Westeros to marry him, he thought he was going to faint. For some reason he thought that he had more time, at least a couple of years.

He had Alys, who he visited whenever he wanted, satisfying all his needs. He made sure she didn't get pregnant, not wanting to have bastards. The freedom she gave him suited him. He felt like a dragon about to be locked in a dragon pit.

Nevertheless, Volantis was King's Landing's greatest bank and sponsor of some war expeditions. He knew their alliance was of state importance, and he couldn't refuse.

He took his mother's words in silence, clenching his jaw and looking away. He tried not to show how much he disliked this idea and made the decision, that he would fulfill his duties properly.

On the day her family arrived at the royal harbor, a great feast was held in the main hall. He waited until the very end, not wanting to look at her or talk to her. He knew what he looked like. He didn't want to see the bride's look of horror or disappointment that she would have to spread her legs for him in the nearest future.

Finally, however, his mother came for him, saying that everyone was expecting him. He nodded, tense from head to toe, and strode forward down the corridor, his queen mother a few paces behind him. They entered the hall through the side entrance, on the side of the main table.

At first no one noticed them, there was a buzz of conversations, laughter and music to which couples were already dancing. His mother walked over to him and pointed to a girl who had just been talking to Helaena. He felt his throat tighten into a thin knot.

It terrified him how beautiful she was. He thought it would make her even more disappointed with him. His body froze, unable to move, his face completely petrified.

He watched her slender hand go to one of the bowls for a fruit that he had never seen before. A small, dull orange-red ball, the size of an apple, but softer and hairy. She bit into the fruit easily, pursed and licked her lips as she listened intently to his sister. Suddenly her eyes flicked to him.

They stared at each other for a moment, and he felt his heart pounding like a hammer. He felt shivers run through his body as she smiled at him in a way he had never seen a woman smile at a men before.

The corner of her mouth twitched rakishly upwards, her lips tightened and moistened slightly, opening again, now sticky and luminous. He felt his manhood pulse in his pants in shock at the sight and looked away, embarrassed.

Lady Vhassar was clearly not intimidated. On the contrary, she waited for her father who had already noticed the prince. They approached him and the queen together, both bowing low. Aemond dared to look at her again. Her gaze was lowered meekly, there was no trace of her expression from a few seconds before.

She was wearing a thin, translucent dress made of a very delicate material in a shade of lilac. Her light skin went perfectly with this shade, her black hair was partly pulled back in a bun, her bright eyes seemed to glow. His gaze involuntarily moved to the line of her breasts, he could easily see the outline of her nipples.

He looked up and met her gaze, he knew she had caught him in the act. Her lips parted, her gaze expressing satisfaction with his condition. He had no idea what was going on with him or what kind of woman she was, but she certainly wasn't acting like the ladies of Westeros. Her father spoke.

"My queen, my prince. I am glad that our bloodlines remain in a strong bond, which we intend to maintain through marriage. Me, my daughter and the whole family are honored." He said softly, bowing again. He owned the largest bank in Volantis, constantly conversing with outsiders. He had a talent for diplomacy and spoke with ease. The queen nodded.

"We are grateful too, Lord Vhassar, for the tremendous support you give us. Your deeds will never be forgotten." She said warmly.

Finally the king entered the hall and everyone sat down at the tables to start the feast. His fiancée was sitting across the table, with her family. They stole a glance at each other, her gaze showing neither embarrassment nor fear. He was curious what she was thinking.

He had heard that the women of Essos were more liberated and less restrictive about how they shared their beds with men. He thought that he was pretty sure she wasn't a virgin. He felt he had no right to judge her, since he himself had slept with another woman.

Aegon bent over him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"I envy you, brother. Will you fuck them two in turn, or will you introduce them and fuck them two at once? Either way, it sounds wonderful." He said, taking a piece of roast into his mouth. Aemond said nothing, taking a sip of wine, his face expressionless.

***

Lady Vhassar glanced furtively at her fiancé once in a while with a faint smile on her lips. She thought she was lucky. He was handsome but withdrawn, terrified and terrifying at the same time. It was a challenge for her, and she loved it.

She wasn't surprised to find out he had a mistress. She had heard a lot about marriages in Westeross, but certainly not that they were successful and passionate.

The other woman didn't bother her, of course as long as he kept her at a distance. She had already spotted several handsome guardsmen who she knew would provide her with wonderful entertainment if her husband turned out to despise her. For now, she has set herself the task of having fun only with her future husband.

She wondered what he had learned from this woman and whether he was a good lover. She felt wetness between her thighs at the thought. She thought she'd go fuck him in the hallway if he wanted to. She saw how he looked at her. How greedily he stared at her breasts and mouth.

She swallowed the last bite of her roast, dipping her hands in the rosewater that was standing nearby. Her brother, Vhogar, commented quietly on what he saw with displeasure.

"They pretend to be saints and bred but I heard Prince Aegon is one big pig. It's a good thing you're not marrying him, but his brother." He said, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, grimacing. "Gods, they have some diluted shit here, not wine. Don't we have our bottles somewhere?"

His sister laughed lightly at his words and placed her hand on his shoulder. They leaned towards each other.

"Hold on a little longer. You'll be home soon." She said gently. He frowned.

"Without you." He said dryly. She sighed softly at his words. They were inseparable from childhood. They were each other's confidantes, telling each other about their adventures, lovers and broken hearts.

"I know." She said softly.

After the feast, it was time for dancing. Her future husband didn't even flinch, but she thought that if he could barely talk, he couldn't dance for sure.

She didn't care, dancing with every lord who wanted it in turn. She saw their greedy glances, escaping to her mouth, breasts and hips. She knew that if they could, they would take her to their chamber for the night.

She stared at the dissatisfied, frustrated expressions of their wives in between. She thought she felt sorry for them and was not going to take their husbands away from them. She suspected that wouldn't stop them from continuing to seek relief in the arms of servants or kitchen wenches.

After another tiring dance, feeling beads of sweat running down her bare arms, she glanced toward the table. She saw her future husband sitting alone, pensive, toying with his goblet. She wondered what was going on inside his head.

She smiled to herself and moved towards the table, walking lightly up the steps, standing in front of him, taking him completely by surprise.

He swallowed loudly and tried to get up, but she shook her head, as she crossed over to sit down next to him. She sat down so that her back rested against the armrest and she was sitting half-side to him. She crossed her legs, her body glistening with sweat, her strands slightly sticking to her face.

She grabbed his goblet and took a sip of wine from it, without taking her eyes off him. He was staring at her intensely, his one hand clenched on the table. She put his cup back in its place, licking her lips.

"Forgive me, my prince. I was thirsty." She whispered and saw him inhale faster, his nostrils flaring.

He didn't say a word, his gaze expressed surprise, horror and curiosity all at once. She smiled warmly at him, got up, and walked back to the dancing couples, leaving him alone.

She knew he watched her dance. She knew he didn't know how he felt about her, wanting to be indifferent, while being jealous and frustrated at the same time.

She laughed inwardly at the thought that perhaps it would be better if that woman were his wife and she his lover. She thought it was a brilliant idea to steal a men form his mistress.

When the feast was over she went to her rooms without giving him a single glance. She asked her servant to follow him and remember where his chamber is. She wanted to be able to recreate this path later.

She changed into her thin, beautifully embroidered nightgown. It was so hot in Volantis that she slept naked. Often she even walked around the chamber like this, knowing that there were only her servants outside the door, letting her know when someone was approaching.

She felt then like a goddess among her nymphs, free and beautiful. Here everything seemed gray and gloomy, devoid of emotion. She wondered if this was what her future husband was like.

After a few hours she went on a journey through the darkness of the palace corridors. She knew his quarters were nearby. She waited patiently for the guards to pass through the corridor and walked barefooted, holding only a peach in her hand. It was her gift for him.

She quickly opened the door to his quarters and closed it behind her. She heard him jump up in his seat by the fireplace, staring at her in disbelief, his mouth parted.

"What are you doing here?" He asked softly and low, the first words he ever said to her.

She smiled at him, walking lightly towards him, unfazed by the fact that her nightgown covered practically nothing. She knew she shouldn't be there, and that if anyone heard them they'd both be in trouble. She stopped in front of him and held out her arm with peach in her hand.

"I have a gift for you. I brought them with me from my homeland." She said gently. She saw him purse his lips, all tense. He didn't know where to look, sucked in a breath.

"You should go back to your quarters." He said coldly. Silence fell between them.

She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly amused. She thought she'd play with him. She had no desire to win his heart by begging him to look at her kindly, giving him a sweet look full of hope and pain. She figured they'd have fun together or apart, but she certainly wasn't going to cry over him.

She lifted the peach to her mouth and bit into it. Its soft flesh yielding easily, the juice running down her lips she licked off with her tongue. She loved this taste.

She watched with satisfaction as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on her lips.

"You're embarrassing me." He said finally. She wanted to burst out laughing at that remark.

"Your lover doesn't embarrass you?" She asked lightly, taking another bite, her face calm and gentle.

He looked at her shocked. He was horrified that she knew about his little secret. He pursed his lips and swallowed hard, apparently completely wiped off the board.

"What do you want?" He finally asked quietly. She looked at him deliberately, wondering why he was so tense. She twisted a bitten peach in her hand.

"I want you to taste my present." She said, looking at him from under her long lashes. He looked at her shocked.

"If I try it, will you leave?" He asked softly, giving in.

She smiled warmly at him and nodded. He reached out to grab the fruit, but she wouldn't let him. He frowned, frustrated.

"I said I want you to taste it, not bite it." She said, biting into the fruit herself again, licking the sweet juice from her lips. When he realized what she meant he shivered, his lips parted slightly.

She approached him slowly, unhurriedly. His whole body was tense like a string, and she knew something violent was going on inside his head. She thought that he was going to hit her right away or fuck her.

She bit into the fruit again, this time deliberately sucking on the flesh for a moment, spreading its juices over her tongue and lips. She slid her hand under his hair, grabbing him gently by the nape of the neck, pulling his face to hers. He leaned back a bit, terrified, his lips slightly parted. He didn't protest.

She stood on her toes, pressing her soft lips to his. She felt him inhale hard and shiver all over. She brushed his lips, waiting patiently for what followed a few seconds later.

Helplessly, he opened his mouth and she slipped her tongue in, letting him taste the sweet fruit. The tip of his tongue licked hers, and they both moaned into each other's mouths, surprised at the intensity of the sensation.

Their tongues licked for a moment, both of them not even noticing when their hands closed around their bodies. Their caresses were drawn out, their tongues rough, sticky and wet, exchanging saliva and the delicious taste of peach each time.

She felt her nipples harden in surprise, wetness trickling down her thighs. She took his hand, clenched tightly around the material of her nightgown in hers, leading her down.

"There are plenty of similar sweet, sticky, juicy fruits in Essos, my prince." She whispered into his mouth, continuing to caress him, their tongues dancing together in a slow, lazy dance. She felt a shiver run through him at her words, and at what she was doing with his hand.

She lifted her nightgown and slipped his hand between her thighs, letting him feel how wet she was. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt it, his lip quivering helplessly. His fingers ran timidly over her sticky, hot entrance, making her moan sweetly into his mouth.

"All the fruits in Essos have this much juice?" He asked low, his voice quivering, his tongue sliding deep into her throat. She moaned loudly, surprised by his words, a shiver ran through her body. She thought with delight that her future husband could give her what she wanted.

"Yes." She whispered helplessly, her hand pressing his fingers to her womanhood, craving more intense caresses, her hips beginning to rub against him, seeking fulfillment. They both began to breathe louder, their kisses one sticky, wet mess.

"If you want, you can try another fruit I brought with me, my prince" She whispered sweetly into his mouth, and he groaned loudly. She knew it was over, that they were about to fuck on his bed.

He lifted her suddenly by her hips. She wrapped her thighs quickly around him, making him moan in her mouth again. He threw himself on his bed with her, laying on top of her.

They didn't stop kissing, licking the tips of their tongues and sucking each other's lips, his hands quickly lifting her nightgown, spreading her thighs shamelessly in front of him.

He pulled away from her, her face hot and smudged, no trace of shame or fear. She saw that he was looking at her with a dark, unpredictable look, that made her feel throbbing inside.

"Let's have a taste." He purred low, suddenly going through a change, as if he wasn't the same person. She thought that she hadn't been aroused so much in a long time.

He cupped her thighs low with his big hands, massaging them leisurely. He leaned in, the tip of his tongue running over her entrance all the way to her pearl, causing her to lean back with a loud moan. Her hand tightened automatically in his hair. She felt him smile, his tongue teasing her clit, swirling around her, then moving down again, licking her juices.

"Delicious." He whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth, gasping sweetly with delight. She felt that if he kept going like this, she would soon come.

Her thighs began to move towards his face, demanding more intense caresses. She moaned loudly as she felt him slide his tongue inside, moving it rhythmically with a wet click. She leaned on one hand, lifting slightly, making his tongue touch her where she felt the greatest pleasure. She moaned softly, looking at him tenderly, her nipples hard with desire.

"Oh gods, yes, lick me!" She sobbed, throwing her head back, her hand tightening on his sheets as she moaned loudly. A wonderful, strong, hot orgasm ran through her body. She came on his face and he, unmoved, licked everything that flowed out of her, making her tremble all over.

"Gods…" She whispered helplessly, laying on her back, panting heavily. She watched, as her future husband ran his tongue over her throbbing, hot womanhood and then up her thigh. She pursed her lips, exasperated.

"Can I taste you too, my prince?" She asked quietly, and he gave her a shocked look, his mouth parted slightly. After a moment he smirked in a way that sent shivers down her spine. He stood in front of her, undoing his pants.

"Come here." He instructed gently. She obediently got up and settled herself on her lap, kneeling at his hips, looking at him expectantly.

"Have you tasted many men?" He asked teasingly, amused, letting her pull his pants down.

She thought that when he was like that, ironic, direct, dark, she could fuck him all night. She thought that she had great lover material. She wondered what his woman would think if she saw them now.

She looked down at his manhood and licked her lips in satisfaction, seeing how big he was. She thought she would make sure he gave her a lot of pleasure in the future.

"I've never tasted a dragon before." She purred, his attention making him smile from the corner of his mouth.

His lips parted in delight as she leaned over him. She licked his entire length with her tongue, glancing at him without a trace of embarrassment. His cock throbbed impatiently, swollen and hard. His hand gently tangled in her hair.

"This is not how I imagined you." He whispered and moaned low as her hand gripped the base of his member, her tongue teasing his tip, licking his own juices. She smiled at his words, popped him into her mouth, wetting him with her saliva, and pulled him out with a loud, wet click.

"Aren't you ashamed of me anymore?" She asked sweetly, shoving his length deep into her throat. She heard him chuckle lightly at her words, his hips moving against her mouth. She sucked him unhurriedly, caressing him with her tongue, taking care of every second of his pleasure.

"No. I changed my mind." He purred low, panting loudly, his hand forcing her to speed up. His member slammed against the wall of her throat, her lips pressed tight against him, driving him crazy. His buttocks pumped his manhood hard between her lips with a wet, sticky sound.

"You have to swallow it all. You know that, right?" He hissed, his hands clasping her hair, he was answered by her purr of satisfaction. He parted his lips, panting heavily, as he felt his fullfilment approaching.

"Oh Gods, swallow it, swallow it like a good girl" He panted, cuming hard deep in her throat, his length throbbing in her mouth. She moaned loudly at his words, swallowing all of his semen patiently, waiting for the last drop to spill out of him.

"Just like that." He whispered, looking down at her, stroking her hair. "Such a good girl."

To his astonishment, he noticed that not a drop had escaped her mouth. She released him from between her mouth with a loud, wet plop, licking her lips.

"Delicious." She whispered.

They stared at each other with hazy eyes, as Aemond pulled up his trousers, tying them back. She wanted to get up and just leave for her chamber, but he closed his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

"What are you doing?" He asked surprised.

"I keep my promise." She said softly, taking her arm away, avoiding him with a light, unhurried step.

"Stay." He said suddenly. She stopped, looking at him in surprise.

"Are you sure?" She asked, trying to hide a smile of hot satisfaction, her eyes shining. He pressed his lips together, sliding under his sheets.

"Come here and go to sleep. I have to get up at dawn tomorrow."

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen

[tipofthemountain]

actress

tags: biker!Simon “Ghost” Riley x actresses!Afab Reader, Fluff, Established relationship, reader is a famous actress. Mentions of sex and sexual acts but no action is taken. Minors should still take extreme caution reading!

word count: 1.5k

summary: Reader is on set of her newest movie and Simon comes to visit!

a/n: First story I’m posting! I’m a little nervous for what everyone will think but I hope you enjoy it!

ps. biker!Simon is my current hyper fixation so bare with me if there’s like a million more biker au stories :}.

edit: adding this in but my requests are open!

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻ ༺𖤓༻

It was a warm Tuesday inside studio lot B. A beautiful facade of a two story house stands in a field of white daisies. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes when you walked onto the set. It looked so real! An exact replica of the real house you’ll be shooting on in a week.

The role you are playing is that of a farm wife with her three children, except your husband is having an affair with the barns keeper and your sleeping with the maid. Neither of you know you’re both cheating of course but the children do. The entire plot of the movie is the children trying to get the parents to find out about the double affairs. It’s a LGBTQ+ romance set in the early 1950s. It’s filled with steamy sex scenes and overly dramatic fights.

It’s the exact kind of movie you love doing. Sappy period pieces. In fact the movie that put you in the spotlight was almost exactly like this except it was the 1860s and you where a young unmarried queen with a “live in maid”.

Your boyfriend of 5 years Simon, or as his biker group likes to call him “Ghost” for the skull bandanna he likes to wear around his face, dropped you off on set on his newly refurbished 1980s Harley Davidson. You swore sometimes you thought he was more in love with that bike than he was with you.

“Make some money baby.” Simon told you after a steamy kiss early this morning.

Simons always been supportive of your career. The two of you met on the set of a Tv show when he was hired as a last minute extra for for some bike scene you can barely remember. For Simon it was love at first sight, but for you it was ‘I’ll wait and see where this goes’. Spoiler: You fell in love and are engaged, set to be married later this year.

“Where is my Anna Marie?” You hear your director yell out as you sit in your makeup chair getting touches done to your character’s signature red lip.

“Over here Clark! I needed my lips retouched. I think Amy got a little excited!” Clark Russel. You’ve worked with him a few times now and he’s always been a joy and a pleasure to work with, not something you find comes easy in this industry.

“Your needed on set in five. We’ve got to have this last shot of you and Blanche in the kitchen. We’ve got one week of shooting left here in the studio before we all go out on location.” Clark quickly spills out with you barely catching any of it.

Blanche is played by your costar Amy Heart. A talented actress 3 young years older than you. You’ve done several movies with her by now. You consider her one to your best friends and even plan to ask her to be a bridesmaid.

“James, Finn and Blanche are all on set. We just need you.” Clark makes direct eye contact with you as your makeup artist finishes the last touches on your makeup. He always insisted on calling people by their character names and you never questioned it.

James is played by Arther Godwin. The man that’s supposed to be your characters husband. You’ve never met him before this project but a quick IMDB search led you down a rabbit hole of bad low budget horror movies that you and Simon later binged watched. Finn is played by Roderick Grant, a fresh face. This would be his breakout role after a stream of hit indie movies.

“All done.” Your makeup artist releases you and you stand up from your seat grabbing the jacket that goes with your costume. You throw the jacket on around your shoulders and loop your arm in Clarks.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” You say in an over dramatic southern accent to which your director roles his eyes at.

༺𖤓༻

After 3 more hours of grueling take after take of Clark just having to get the tear sliding down your cheek just right, to which you where ready to rip his head off. Your just about to pass out on your trailer couch in nothing but a robe and very thin 1950s appropriate lingerie, when you hear 3 gentle knocks on your door. You get up with a puff of air leaving your lips putting your hands in your hair.

“Who is it!” You yell not really wanting to get up to answer the door.

“Open the door and find out!” You hear that oh so familiar thick Manchester voice behind the thinness of your trailers door.

In no time you’re rushing to the door and pulling your bulky fiancé in to your trailer and lacing your red lips with his. Simon closes the door through your sloppily sweet kisses. He smells of expensive leather and gas but you still drink all of him in.

“You miss me tha’ much?” Simons thick accent lets out through a smirk.

“Always.” You smile up at the tall man resting your chin on his chest.

“How was today? Make anyone else cry today?” Simon jokes but you take serious offense.

“That was one time and I didn’t even mean to yell at the poor guy.” You slap his shoulder as you both take a seat next in the oh so comfy couch in your trailer.

“I was only joking love.” Simon laughs and places a gentle kiss to your temple. He has one hand around your shoulder and the other rubbing up and down your thigh softly. You with one of your hands on his much bigger thigh and the other holding the hand that’s around your shoulder.

“Long day. Completely closed set. Only Clark and the main cast where set to shoot today.” Closed sets are usually indicators that you where filming your sex scenes today. You had one with your on screen husband and one with Amy. You almost never liked doing sex scene with men. It was never because Simon didn’t want you to or that you ever hated your male costar. You had this respect for Simon and you felt like the sex scenes could get too real sometimes. Personally, you never wanted for Simon to watch a scene of you sharing a bed(or even sometimes a kitchen counter) with another man. But every time you would ask Simon he would always just say some form of ‘This is all make believe. It isn’t real. I know you love me and some fake sex scene isn’t going to change that.” You still sometimes denied it though.

“When are you off?” Simon ask softly moving his hand further up your thigh.

You knew the game he was playing, he always did this when visiting. He always got you worked up and sweating before you had to go back and shoot a scene.

“30 minutes my love. We have to finalize a few things for today, but nice try honey.” You push Simons hand down slightly and look up towards him. Of course he has the cheekiest smirk on his face.

“I miss you at home.” Simon says kissing down your neck this time and creeping his hand back up your thigh.

“Simon.” You whisper scold him as he makes his way onto your shoulder planting sweet kisses.

“I miss the way you smell…” He grabs your hips and lays your back flat against the couch hovering over you as he plants kisses down over your collar bone. You inhale sharply when he moves his hand under the thin bra provided by the costume department.

“I miss the way you feel…” He moved his other hand to finish untying to robe from around your waist. He slowing starts kissing his way down your stomach stopping at the hem of the very 1950s lingerie.

“And I certainly miss the way you taste.” Simon has a giant smile planted on his face when he plants open mouth kisses down your thigh.

And just when he’s about to touch your center 3 harsh knocks are placed on your door.

“Miss, Mr. Russel said he needs you.” The voice calls out not even waiting for you to respond.

Simon lets out a laugh and you sit up and push him lightly.

“That’s not funny!” You whisper yell at him only to make him laugh even more. You stand up and tie your robe back around your waist and walk to the trailer door.

“It’s a little funny.” Simon says watching you with a panicked look on your face.

“I’ll be back in 20 minutes. I love you.” You place a gentle kiss on Simons lips and him returning the kiss.

“I love you too.” He says back placing one final kiss to your forehead.

Before you leave however you whisper into his ear “I think you owe the costume designer.” and bite the end of his ear playfully.

Simon watches you with his his cheek drawn inside his mouth as you grab the door handle of your trailer and leave him alone with his nothing but his thoughts for the next 20 minutes.

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻ ༺𖤓༻

final thoughts: i definitely got carried away while writing. I tend to do that. I get caught up on details that most likely don’t even matter all that much. I feel like somethings definitely could have been left out and more things added in but in the end it’s just a story and if you don’t like the first few sentences, just skip the story and move on.

@gauloiseblue for you friend <3

[aesteries]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 1k. series' masterlist.

                 BLOOD AND CHEESE. 

The news of Lucerys Velaryon's demise spread like wildfire over the realm, igniting the fury of Rhaenyra Targaryen and her supporters. Yet, somehow, within the Red Keep, they basked in their perceived victory, blissfully unaware of the plans made against them brewing on the horizon. The Green Council believed that they had secured their claim to the Iron Throne as more houses pledged their support for their side, growing in power. Little did they know that the ancient walls of the Keep held secrets far more dangerous than they could ever imagine.

Helaena Targaryen, as the newly-crowned queen, had long since established a nightly ritual where she would lead her young children to the chambers of the former queen to be greeted with warm milk and storytelling. This routine was well-known throughout the Keep, with even the low ratcatchers making way for the royals as they walked through the halls towards their destination. On this one fateful night, however, there was a change in the formation. The usual maids that accompanied the queen on her routine had asked to be dismissed, and instead she was followed by her younger sister, Haera. The usual guards that kept watch at the front of the room had been changed as well, replaced by newly-appointed young men. As they settled into the warm embrace of the Dowager Queen's chambers, the tranquillity of the moment was soon to be shattered by a darkness that would forever change the course of their lives.

A secret passage in Princess Haera's chambers creaked open, revealing the entrance to tunnels that had once served as a safe escape for the royal family. Two figures emerged from the shadows, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Unnoticed by the guards or ignored by them, they slipped through walls towards their goal. Princess Haera had been teaching the kids a lullaby, an ancient melody from the citadel, when she was silenced by a cold blade pressed against her delicate neck. A rough hand forced her back, grabbing a handful of her head to keep her in place. Blood and Cheese made their appearance, introducing themselves as justiciars, agents of vengeance for the death of Lucerys Velaryon. They demanded a life for a life, a son for a son.

Blood and Cheese allowed the Queen to choose between her sons—to give one of them up and save the other. In tears, she named her youngest, believing him to be too young to understand the situation. Helpless, the younger princess cradled her nephew, Maelor, while the eldest boy stood nearby, fear etched on his innocent face. Helaena, in desperation, offered her own life as a sacrifice instead of the life of her children, but the men's hearts were hardened by a thirst for blood, and so they turned their attention to the children. They taunted the young child before the true horror unfolded. With a swift, brutal strike of a sword, Jaehaerys' head was separated from his body, his blood splattering over the women in the room. The room was filled with the sickening sound of steel against flesh, the muffled cries of the child, and the piercing shriek that followed.

As the assassins vanished into the darkness, carrying the severed head of the young prince as a grim trophy, Queen Helaena wept over her fallen son, her heart shattered. Dowager Queen Alicent, overcome with grief and rage, rushed to summon the guards, but it was too late. The Keep drowned in chaos, with guards swarming the halls with faces taken by fear and confusion as they accused each other of negligence. Swords were drawn, and tempers flared as they searched for answers to the impossible question: How had the assassins managed to infiltrate the heart of the Red Keep, undetected?

Alicent clung to her broken daughters, heavy with grief as she shielded them from the sight of the child's body. Helaena's cries pierced the air, a shattering song that would haunt them for years to come. The younger sister, traumatised by the event, fell to the floor, foam spilling out of the corners of her mouth, yet no one could calm her. King Aegon turned into a shell of his former self, having to be contained in the throne room, where he had been spending the night with his companions while his family witnessed the murder of his heir. He threatened violence over anyone who dared to touch him.

A sole figure emerged from the chaos, strangely peaceful. Prince Aemond Targaryen's presence commanded silence. Was it for the intimidation of his temper or because of the reason why such a crime had been committed against an innocent child? With a single glance, he cut through the throng of guards and made his way to his sister, Haera. Gently, he took her into his arms, only offering her comfort in the face of the tragedy. As he carried her away, his one eye fell upon the lifeless body of Prince Jaehaerys, covered by a white sheet. Some say that a cruel smirk played upon his lips, a silent acknowledgement of his role in the boy's demise, while others claim he offered a sombre apology, taking responsibility for the horrific event. Regardless of the truth, Aemond's presence was a stark reminder of the dark forces at play.

Grief and despair marked the days that followed, with the Red Keep shrouded in sorrow. The city echoed with mourners; people who had never met the prince shed tears for the tragedy of his demise. In an attempt at showing some sort of reaction to the crime, the city's ratcatchers were rounded up and executed, their bodies hung from the walls as a grim warning. Otto Hightower replaced the human ratcatchers with an army of felines, whom he believed to be more honourable than men in the end.

Queen Helaena sank deeper and deeper into madness while the king raged, drank, and raged.

[icey--stars]

Hiiii

I saw your requests are open but feel free to ignore this if it isnt

Oh, Queen of angst

would you please bless us with a story where azriel is engaged but not to Eris

Yes you read that right, but wait hear me out

He is still in love with Eris (no mating bond though just love)

Centuries ago or decades whatver he was forced to end things with Eris because what he thought the IC's reaction was

So he watches Eris longingly at a Highlords meeting and then boom, Eris and his mating bond snaps just like that (prompted or unprompted your choice) And Eris is standing there horrified because azriel broke things off with him and he is still in love with Azriel but he thinks azriel doesnt feel the same

And Azriel standing there shocked but super happy because now no one can say anything about his love for Eris because even the mother belives in it. His fiancee and the rest of the IC are there like 😨 Feel free to ignore this but if you would write this I would be ever so indebted to you 🥺🥺 Okii Thanks 🙏 for reading this far and indulging me

I Could Never Forget You

Azriel is incapable of keeping his eyes to himself and oop... now he's got a mate bond on his hands with Eris who he ended things off with centuries ago. What will they do? - 2k words

Author's Note: Darling anon, I wrote this to the best of my abilities (and actually enjoyed it more than I thought I would so thank you lol). I changed the “Az is super happy” part a tad because I really can’t see them being in anything other than pure shock and horror at the situation even while hope blooms. Hope you enjoy regardless!

I did end things off before we got the IC’s and his fiance’s reactions so if you were especially looking for those, let me know! I can add it in a reblog :) just may take some more thinking

TW: suggestiveness to sexual activities (VERY little but minors beware)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

It had been centuries and that damned face still made his heart flutter like he was some teenage male. It was infuriating. Maybe even more than infuriating. Azriel glanced over at the female who sat next to him. She smiled back warmly, the Illyrian wings behind her twitching some in his direction.

He forced a smile to curve his lips. His fiance. Gods, it was stupid. She was a great female. So amazing that she was practically the only fae Rhysand went to when he needed something handled in the Illyrian camps. She was strong, powerful, demanding, downright gorgeous objectively, and a little bit vain at points. He didn’t know why he felt so guilty.

Azriel’s gaze traveled back across the table. They were in the Dawn Court for the annual High Lords’ meeting to establish trade and peace. And guess who sat directly across from him?

The one and only Eris Vanserra.

His hair was down, which was rare to see. Normally it was worn in complex braids all up and around in Eris’s hair. But the smug bastard still had that smirk on his face as he glanced over at Azriel.

Eris scoffed and turned his head away which was not helpful because it showed off his neck muscles and those damned ears. As per usual, they were covered in jewelry. Chains and rings and dangly little charms. All of it.

And though he was trying to lie to himself, it did look damn good.

Centuries ago, he’d cut things off with Eris. He had to. His family, especially Mor, would’ve hated him. He was sure of that.

And he had a fiance now for the gods’ sake. Why did the damned bastard still make his palms clammy and his cheeks heat up?

It’s possibly the stupidest thing of all time. Yes, he had once loved Eris. But he had responsibilities and loyalties to his court now.

Even if the bastard was way too attractive for his own good.

Azriel sighed and turned his head to try and pay attention to the actual meeting. Thesan and Kallias were having some sort of conversation over trade while Tarquin was trying to cut in with his own plans. Not fighting per say, but definitely close to arguing as usual at these meetings. Nobody truly got along. It was tolerance at best.

Eris swirled his whiskey around in his glass, taking a small sip from it and smirking at the chaos that was being wrought. Likely, it was whiskey brought from Autumn since Azriel knew he hated any other types of whiskey. 

“It just doesn’t burn the same, Az,” He’d argued.

And of course that’s where Azriel’s gaze brought him once again.

His fiance squeezed his hand as if in question and he squeezed back in reassurance. He was fine. He just had to get the redhead out of his mind. (An impossible feat, he might add. Eris had a tendency to effortlessly bring attention to him.)

“Rhys,” Eris suddenly spoke, turning his head away from the arguments beginning. “Was there anything useful you were going to bring to this meeting?”

Rhys sat up a little with Feyre beside him looking exhausted. “Nothing more than news that Hewn City would like to begin trading salt out again.”

Eris’s brows raised in interest. “Salt, you say?” He asked. “Now that’s quite the commodity they’re offering. Shall I talk to Kier?”

“You can manufacture a deal with us,” Feyre spoke up. “We’ll pass it along.”

And here was even more proof that Azriel needed to get Eris off his mind. It would only end poorly.

Eris chuckled softly and hummed in response. “Shall we spar then, Feyre?” He asked. “I’m certain any deals I offer would be more than satisfactory.”

Feyre sighed. “Let’s hear it then,” she replied. Her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, though. Little Nyx was in his teenage phase where he called his own parents and family dumb in order to get independence. Only “Uncle Azzie” was allowed to talk to him now as long as he didn’t bring up anything the little one didn’t want to talk about.

The usual trade talk commenced with bargains going both ways and Azriel found himself just staring at Eris, watching his hair sway slightly when he leaned over the table. He could just imagine pulling it.

“Azriel, do pick up your jaw,” Eris suddenly said, staring directly at him. “I know I’m handsome, but your fiance is sitting right beside you.”

Azriel didn’t even realize his jaw had dropped. He was practically drooling. What the fuck.

And then something happened. He couldn’t describe the feeling well but it felt like something just snapped between him and Eris, yanking him closer to the male. He suddenly felt worry coming down the mysterious thread within his chest.

Then he glanced up at Eris’s furrowed brows.

Azriel took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Words refused to escape his throat even as hard as he tried.

His fiance rested a hand on his shoulder and he tensed, sitting up immediately.

Rhys seemed to notice now, narrowing his eyes. The daemati knocked on his mind shields and Azriel let them down hesitantly.

What’s wrong? Rhys asked.

He couldn’t respond in words and only pushed the overwhelming feeling towards Rhys’s presence in his mind.

What is it? He asked desperately, hoping, praying that his brother would have the answer this time.

Rhys glanced over at Eris and narrowed his eyes. The other male was also reacting the same way, but he was holding his chest in shock while staring at Azriel.

“Mate,” Eris suddenly breathed in shock.

Azriel’s eyes went wide. That word. It sounded right. Which meant a few things: Eris was his mate. He had a fiance that wasn’t his mate. But he also still very obviously loved Eris despite the centuries. And another thing: his entire family knew. Fuck. How was he supposed to play this off?

“What?” Cassian suddenly asked, leaning over the table. “Did you just say mate?”

“Azriel,” Eris said sharply when he tried to push his chair away from the table to make a run for it.

“What,” he said roughly, his voice scratchy from emotion of some sort. He couldn’t identify it yet. But with Eris’s sharp tone, he also found himself frozen in place.

Rhys had this look on his face. Somewhere between surprise, confusion, and honestly with those furrowed brows, possibly the anger Azriel had been expecting centuries ago when he broke things off with Eris.

His fiance rested a hand on his shoulder again and this time, he flinched violently, letting out a gasp.

“Az,” she tried. “Take a breath,” she commanded.

Azriel’s shadows luckily took pity on his state and rushed up to cover his face while panic creeped up his spine. All conversation had quieted down by now.

“Eris, Azriel,” Rhys began, “let’s go outside for a moment, shall we?”

Azriel pushed himself from his seat at that escape from so many eyes and quickly followed his brother out even as Eris trailed them from behind.

“Azriel, you need to breathe,” Rhys said softly once they were in the hallway alone.

Azriel forced himself to suck in a breath, closing his eyes.

A rush of calm rushed through him suddenly from that string in his chest and his head shot up, shadows falling from his face in shock. It’d been like a jolt to his system to restart and work again.

And Eris was in front of him, tilting his head with concern evident in his facial expression. “Azriel,” Eris began. “Are you alright?”

He let out a sigh before he nodded. “I’m fine,” He managed to get out. He was… not fine, but fine enough for whatever conversation was likely to occur.

Eris scoffed as if he clearly knew it was a lie, but seemed to accept the answer. “Well then, I believe there needs to be a conversation, now doesn’t there?” He prompted.

“Should I let you two handle this?” Rhys asked, raising a brow.

“Go Rhys,” Azriel mumbled. “We’ll handle this. Let my fiance know that I’m fine?” He requested.

Rhys nodded and walked off.

Then he faced Eris and sighed, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “Eris…”

“You want to reject the bond,” Eris finished for him. “It makes sense. You broke things off centuries ago and you have a fiance who loves you. I get it, Az. You don’t care about me.”

Azriel jerked his head back in shock. “I wasn’t going to say that,” He said to Eris, his brows furrowing. He swallowed back his hesitation and sighed. “I do care about you, fireheart.”

Eris’s brows furrowed even more at the pet name. It’d been one of the things that Azriel had called them when they had been dating. It represented his determination, his flames and encompassed part of who he was. Azriel knew he’d gotten the male’s attention with it.

“Then what exactly is your plan, Az?” Eris asked. “You have a fiance.”

Azriel sighed, rubbing his face again as he leaned back against the wall, uncaring of the fact his wings were being partly crushed by the action. “Eris… I didn’t break things off back then because I didn’t want you.”

Eris’s eyes narrowed. “Then why?” He asked calmly.

“My… my family means a lot to me. You know that. I got pathetically scared over their reaction,” Azriel mumbled, a tad ashamed of the fact.

Eris raised a brow, but then he seemed to relax. “So what does being mates mean then?” He asked.

“Maybe it’s proof that I shouldn’t have given up what I loved all those centuries ago,” Azriel admitted, glancing up at Eris timidly.

Eris’s expression softened. “So you were scared?” He repeated. “Are you still scared?”

Azriel paused to think for a moment. Mates were chosen by the Mother. And while he’d met mates that weren’t meant for each other… he also knew how well Eris and he were getting on centuries ago. And though they had changed since then, he doubted it would put a stake through the possibilities of them.

“I can’t be scared if we’ve been chosen by the Mother, Eris. More than half my family knows the significance of the mating bond. I don’t think they’d fault me for trying.”

“And would they fault you if it’s me?” Eris emphasized.

“Going by how Rhys reacts when someone tries to insult Feyre, I don’t think I would physically be able to stop myself if they did try to fault me,” Azriel admitted with a slight chuckle.

Eris rolled his eyes with a smirk. “You do have a fiance, however,” He reiterated. “Are you so certain I’m worth it?”

“I was shocked at first, Eris. But… I want that, Eris. With you. We’d already been planning on how to manage the political situation anyway once you became High Lord. What’s stopping us now?” Azriel asked, a small grin making its way onto his face.

Eris chuckled. “Nothing, I suppose,” he murmured as he took a step closer.

Azriel didn’t try to stop his immediate urge to kiss those lips and practically lunged forward off the wall to grab Eris’s chin and press their lips together.

Eris let out a soft sound of surprise before he melted into it. It was soft. Like coming back home.

It felt like hours before they were forced to pull away to breathe. Azriel panted for a moment, meeting Eris’s gaze.

“You always were a sap,” Eris teased.

Azriel scoffed. “And you aren’t?” He emphasized.

“Oh, I’m unafraid to admit that I am these days,” Eris mused.

For a moment, they just seemed to take the situation in. Then Eris stood up a little straighter. “Speak to your family, Az. Then come find me at the cabin. I think I’m craving a little more than a kiss.”

Azriel scoffed. “Insatiable,” he mused.

“Oh you know I am,” Eris said with a smirk. After a moment, he asked, “Are you really going to end things off with your fiance for me?” There was a little insecurity in that tone.

“Fireheart,” Azriel began. “The only reason I was attracted to her was because she reminded me so much of your spark. She’s become integrated into the family. I think she’d understand. In fact, she might be useful to Rhys while I take a break to deal with the inevitable frenzy.”

Eris scoffed. “And you call me insatiable?” He asked.

“I could never forget you, Eris. You and I are fated.” Azriel replied with a genuine smile.

EXTRA CONTENT: Part 2 w/ reactions of IC and Fiance (only reblogged)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

A/N: Shh… yes I used “fireheart” as Az’s petname for Eris. IT FIT TOO WELL SHHHHHHHH.

Also, this was not edited. I am lazy. Apologies for any and all mistakes. If I ever reread this, the facepalm I'll give myself is plenty punishment.

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies, @skyesayshi, @lilah-asteria,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

[ilynpilled]

Bran

He was clinging to a tower miles high, and his fingers were slipping, nails scrabbling at the stone, his legs dragging him down, stupid useless dead legs. "Help me!" he cried. A golden man appeared in the sky above him and pulled him up. "The things I do for love," he murmured softly as he tossed him out kicking into empty air.

He thought of the golden man and the three-eyed crow, remembered the crunch of bones between his jaws and the coppery taste of blood. "I don't have dreams. Maester Luwin gives me sleeping draughts."

"Is that what scares you, the falling?" The falling, Bran thought, and the golden man, the queen's brother, he scares me too, but mostly the falling. He did not say it, though. How could he? He had not been able to tell Ser Rodrik or Maester Luwin, and he could not tell the Reeds either. If he didn't talk about it, maybe he would forget. He had never wanted to remember. It might not even be a true remembering. "Do you fall every night, Bran?"

Jaime

Jaime curled up beneath his cloak, hoping to dream of Cersei. But when he closed his eyes, it was Aerys Targaryen he saw, pacing alone in his throne room, picking at his scabbed and bleeding hands. The fool was always cutting himself on the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne.

In his dreams the dead came burning, gowned in swirling green flames. Jaime danced around them with a golden sword, but for every one he struck down two more arose to take his place.

Jaime saw green flames reaching up into the sky higher than the tallest towers, as burning men screamed in the streets. I have dreamed this dream before. It was almost funny, but there was no one to share the joke.

Bran

He was so skinny, just skin stretched taut over bones. Had he always been so thin? He tried to remember. A face swam up at him out of the grey mist, shining with light, golden. "The things I do for love, " it said. Bran screamed. The crow took to the air, cawing. Not that, it shrieked at him. Forget that, you do not need it now, put it aside, put it away. It landed on Bran's shoulder, and pecked at him, and the shining golden face was gone.

Jaime

"You don't feel your wounds then, or the ache in your back from the weight of the armor, or the sweat running down into your eyes. You stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop being you,"

"the steel of his breastplate turned cherry-red before the end, and his gold melted off his spurs and dripped down into the fire. I stood at the foot of the Iron Throne in my white armor and white cloak, filling my head with thoughts of Cersei"

"let them have the meat, and you go far away."

Yet he heard himself whisper, "Let them do it, and go away inside."

"The world is full of horrors, Tommen. You can fight them, or laugh at them, or look without seeing... go away inside."

Jaime lost himself in her flesh. […] The pale marble was smeared with blood. Jaime wiped it clean with his sleeve, then bent to pick up the candles he had knocked over. Fortunately they had all gone out when they fell. If the sept had caught fire I might never have noticed.

Bran

Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him.

Bran nodded, trying not to let his fear show. He had not been outside Winterfell since his fall, but he was determined to ride out as proud as any knight.

Broken, Bran thought bitterly as he clutched his knife. Is that what he was now? Bran the Broken? "I don't want to be broken," he whispered fiercely to Maester Luwin, who'd been seated to his right. "I want to be a knight."

And he would never walk, nor fly, nor be a knight.

Jaime

And me, that boy I was...when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys's throat? That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead.

[romsabombs]

Malevolent part 49 The Suspects notes!!

i dont remember who any of these people are

harlan french accent💀

"i did not kill langward" ok trust🙏

"i fucking hate cultists" he says in a room full of cultists

ohhh horig smart as hell

azatoth??

i have no idea whats going on

"do you think theres someone here pretending to be someone theyre not" wuh oh

ya hes too crumpled up to be a prince

avoiding the question by yapping

its among us

"if you find anything you'll tell us" yeah...... sure....

HAHA he cant even stand up from a chair

hes dying from the plague

eat the elephant mentioned

being a coward is prolly the only way to survive this

ok maybe not

omg he's lying arthur taught him how to be a detective

"im sure you'll make a handsome corpse" OKAYY

OKAYYYY white boy queening out

WOAH

"let this show that if i was, you'd be dead" hot

are you kidding me . pulling a candle and the wall opens😐

dumbass tries to pull out the lighter

after YOU 👺

"i have no dagger, you do😐" "i INSIST👹"

how did he not notice isnt there a big echo here

HAHA not the painting with the eyes cut out to spy on people

scooby doo ahh mansion

hmmmmmmm strange symbol . im sure that wont be a devastating revelation later

OH 😨😨😨

oh . . oh no

any excuse to kill a cultist

oh :( blud is dying

quietlyCOUGHCOUGHCOUGH

HAHA "perhaps we should split up"💀

i think arthurs gonna get this guy killed when they're trying to be sneaky and he starts coughing

WHAT

NOO OWHAT WHAT WHAT HWGWTAN NOOOOO OHHH OH MY GOD OHH

ohhhh that is WORSE

if barnabas doesnt kill him the plague certainly will

imagine having faced horrors and monsters beyond comprehension and then dying to just a Guy . embarrassing

ohhhh nooooooooo😟😟😟

ohh hes gonna Die asf

saved by plot armor yet again

"i saw barnabas vent"

aw :( "im sorry for this"

oh no. .. . . . ..

"ill survive" will you???🤨

HAHA HE FELL DOWN ANOTHER HOLE

a forest?????

their bag is in a tree💀 throw another rock at it or something

these boys have the worst luck imaginable

why didnt he kill him?? he just left

KELLAN? omg kellan mentioned

"we're not getting out of this one" oh:(

yorrick is stuck in the tree😭

he doesn't care coz hes gonna die anyway

oh hes Hopeless hopeless

arthur cant keep up with the lore

OHH DONT DO THIS TO ME DONTT

COME ON NOT MARIE :((((

can we read oscars letter now . no wait its in the bag

bluds just giving up🤨 bro we have promises to keep and miles to go before we sleep

HAHA hes so pathetic

YAAA OSCARS LETTERRRRR YESS

HE REMEMBERSSS :333

THIS ISAWESOME OSCARS LETTER

whatever is in that letter is gonna give him hope and determination to keep going

ITS A POEMMM WHAAT :((((

gay as hell no straight explanation for this

I AM TJE MASTER OF MY FATE I AM TJE CAPTION OF MYSOUL☹️☹️

:( OH :((( HAHAA THATS SO AWFUL

:((((((( oh :( :( :( man . thats terrible

hes crazy hes a madman

MILES TO GOOOOO MILES TO GO

"woke me up too" 💀

guyss what about the creature

we'll never get to know what he wrote what if i jump off a bridge

is it a wendigo

this is what the symbol was about wasnt it

DUDEE😭 insane

OH THE DARK YOUNGGGGG OHH

ohhhh my christ the dark young

loving the references in this episode

motherless behavior

YESSS ARHTUR👹👹

oh OH oh no

GET UPPP

jumpscare in 3 2 1

OH 💥💥💥💥 KILL ITTT

the bullet bounced off💀

WE DID ITTT :3 YIPPEE

oh ya hes still dying

OH !! 😨

WHAT Barnabas was it the witch

YAA women in male dominated fields

bring yorrick back🙏🙏

hand of malevolence is still crazy to me

OH the coin

OH COME ON can we just get a break

personal hunting grounds💀

so what he kills awful people .

"remarkable performance" okayyy

OHHH THE COIN

whaaat hes an ally now

no bruh they didnt talk at all😭

ohhh shit . they both hate cultists

dang . it all comes together

ohhh hes just giving it to us??

:3 arthur "curious name" 😭

ohh ya hes still dying

"humanity in all of its forms" ☹️

oh shit she can heal us

ALMOST any affliction

so the answer was friendship 🎀🙏

BRO HAHA we're his enemy asf . working for kayne

insane episode actually

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sandor Clegane x reader

1 — 2— 3 - 4

Chapter 3

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for this chaper- Cursing, 18+ themes and langues, mention of consumation, joffrey (yes hes a warning we all know why), brief mention of suicidal thoughts. Alcohol consumption.

You open your eyes, the soft plush covers engulfing you as you arise. Your vision catches sight of a dress that has been laid out for you. You sit up and look at it frowning. 

“Lucinda?” you call tiredly to one of your maidens. The door opens and a guard comes in. 

“Apologies my lady, your handmaidens were interchanged.” he says bowing to you. 

“By who?” you ask slightly annoyed with waking without sandor and now without your maidens.

“Her grace the queen, my lady.” he says.

“C-could you tell me who brought this dress in.”  you ask 

“H-her grace the queen…mylady” he responds. You  nod at his comment and sigh, noticing him uncomfortable being in your chambers as you're still in bed. 

“Could you send someone in to help me dress?” you say. He bows before speaking. 

“Of Course my lady.” he rushes out closing the door behind him.

Minutes pass as four ladies walk in and curtseys to you before you get out of bed and begin dressing. As you step into the dress your mind remembers the events of yesterday. The wedding, sandor leaving. 

“Was he kind to you my lady?” one maiden asks. 

“Pardon?” you ask looking down at her as you step into the dress.

“Ser clegane? Was he gentle.” she asks Nodding her head towards the bed. 

“W-we didn't…he left.” you say.

“You didn't rest together?” she says 

“No.” you say 

“If it's not above my saying so, I feel it is for the best. I've heard many horror stories from the women of the pleasure houses who've played with the hound.” she says. 

“Horror stories? “You ask her to continue. 

“Yes my lady. How he's too big and how they fear him not only in the face but fear of being ripped apart.” she says. 

“O–oh…” you answer. 

“A man of good size is a luxury but one that could hurt is one of fear…if i were milady i'd run away never touch the lord hound. He's frigenting.” she says 

“Now that is above you.” you scold. 

“Apologies my lady.” she says 

“I dont think hes scary…he's just…tough he hasn't had a good life is all.” you say

“Yes milady.” she says. You sigh, you continue to get dressed, sitting down having the others clean up the room, making the bed and doing your hair keeping it down as it's beginning to get colder in king's landing.

“Apologies my lady, her grace the queen requests your presence.” another lady walks in. 

“Oh.” you say and walk over to her. 

“When?” you ask. 

“Now my lady.” she says. You sigh and nod. 

“Could you tell me the whereabouts of ser clegane?” you ask brushing your hands down the dress smoothing out the skirt.

“He's out on a hunting day with his grace.” she says you nod as you walk out of the room with her as she follows you to cersi’s chambers. On the way countless people congratulate you on your wedding and wish you many sons which to say the least makes your stomach churn in fear once more bubbling up into your throat. 

The door opens to the queens room as you see you standing there waiting for you. She opens her arms to you as you walk in taking your hands. 

“My dove..” she says pulling you into a hug.

“Your grace.” you say 

“Are you well this morning? I do hope last night was…satisfactory for you?” she asks. 

“The food and song were very much enjoyable. I thank you for your showing of kindness, and for the dress this morning.” you say not bothering to mention the staff change and the lack of sandors presence. 

“Good..and it might not be my place but. The hound did treat you with respect I presume.” she says 

“I regret to tell you that Ser clegane did not spend the night.” you say 

“You did not consummate?” she asks her brow furrowing as she walks to a table with her books and wine. 

“N-no your grace. He was called away. He's still a member of the king's guard.” you say lying knowing full well he did want you.

“Hmm, it's not a wedding until now. I shall have the master sent to your chambers tonight to oversee, king's guard or not, consummation is very important. King Robert consummated ours and I was just ... .so..happy.” she says through her teeth as she looks down at the book. Before she speaks again. 

“And i hope your chambers are suitable speaking of the matter of fact?” she continues. 

“Yes, your grace.” you say. She smiles and glassy smiles as she pours herself a cup of wine offering you some but you refuse not liking the taste. You then watch as she chugs the glass.

“My brother Tyrion has sent my daughter off as a peace offering to dorne…my only daughter, my flesh and blood, my love, my life.” she speaks before pouring herself another glass of wine. 

“I wish her good fortune.” you speak.

“Would you do it?” she aks

“I beg your pardon?” you ask

“Send your only daughter off an ocean away…” she says coldy.

“No your grace. If I may speak freely my mother did not want to send me here, only that it was my duty as a princess to be part of a royal family and ro carry out the blood line.” you speak. 

She nods her head taking another sip of the wine. 

“That dress you're wearing I had made just for you. I wish nothing more than to see you in fine colors and wear just as I did my marcella.” she speaks 

“It would be my pleasure, your grace.” you answer she nods. 

“A tribute will be held for her in 3 hours as we see her off. You will attend, yes?.” she says

You nod and she smiles waving her hand as the guards open the door. You curtsy to her before exiting out of the room but not before glazing at her seeing her chugging the rest of the wine in her cup.

—---

The entire is filled with boredom and the same repertoire over and over, passing in the halls as some other court member has to congratulate you on the marriage, counting the doors and windows in the red keep then once again roaming the castle halls and courtyard, then back to count the red keep, visit the library read the same three books and then back to castle courtyard and the routine starts again all the while your new ladies in waiting following you closely. 

On your way back to the courtyard you view sansa. She stands with two guards as the gates open and Joffrey rides in with Ser merryn trant, three other guard the dogs and sandor. He hops off his horse and gladly shows Sansa, who is disgusted but hides it, the large deer boar sandor no doubt killed so Joffrey could say he killed it himself.

Looking down, making a mockery of joffrey in your head, you don't realize that sandor had been looking up to you. But when you look over at him he's hauling the pig over his shoulders and Joffrey mutters the words. 

“Come along dog.” 

You watch as they disappear from above view. You stand there for a few minutes only feeling like a second , the overwhelming feeling of something making your heart race as your vision seems to blur as you step closer to the edge of the railing.

The gasp of your ladies brings you back as you feel a hand on the small of your back. You look to your left, seeing Sandor as he leads you back slightly from the edge. 

Your eyes glaze over as you look up at him. He frowns at you as he scans your face. 

“Your cheeks are blotchy and your eyes are red,” he points out. 

“Spring daze.” you say. 

“It's fall. You were crying? Why.” he barks not meaning to sound rude but it comes out as such. 

“Like you care.” you say turning away but grasps your arm keeping you in place but you refuse to look at him. 

“Look at me,” he says. You don't.

“Look at me!” he demands. You finally obey and look at him woefully. 

He looks at the ground of your handmaid's not recognizing them from the ones before, your hair is also done differently and you're wearing a color dress that he knows you wouldn't have picked for yourself. 

“Cersi dress you up like a doll?” he asks gruffly you don't answer which gives him more of an answer than he needs. 

“Mm.” he answers in response letting you go as soon as he does you turn and walk the rest of the way to the library leaving sandor in his place. Continuing the cycle or keep courtyard library you end once the bells ring as the time for marcella’s send off to begin.

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

The Cat's Mother (1/3)

Did someone say mommy issues? Congrats, Narinder, you lose!

CW: Stillbirth, death by burning. [Next]

His mother protected him.

Her litter was cursed. Dead kit, after dead kit, after dead kit. Six dead daughters and one all-black son who came out half the size of the corpses and barely breathing. In their matriarchal colony, he was a travesty.

He let out a single mewl, his first and meant-to-be-last breath.

His mother’s nurse, her sister, took the ill omen for what it was and placed him in the water to drown him. Better to let seven kittens go back to the River Eater together than the incomplete six. Grief would cleanse the poisoned womb. Next time, there would be daughters.

Mother disagreed and took him from the water. She protected him. She held him and groomed him and gave him his first taste of life while his sisters lay cold in a basket and hers lay dying on the floor.

They left the colony before his eyes (only two, Heket teased) opened.

Mother was a warrior. Her fur was the colour of bright sand under the spotless blue sky, her coat thin but sleek over lean muscle that let her twist and strike like lightning. She killed every member the colony sent after them asking her to return, breaking the Wrath Bringer’s prohibition on striking messengers. For this, they became strays, and he wore the blood of mother’s victims as if she’d pulled off their skins and wrapped him in them.

He should not have been a warrior. Every omen, card, tea leaf, entrail, and star said his claws should have folded against sand, never-mind stone. His teeth should have rotted out of his skull. His ears should have been filled with pus. The hatred of seven dead kinswomen should have doomed him to a feeble, terrified existence. The River Eater should have supped on his blood and spat out his deformed bones.

Instead, where mother was the wind, he was her shadow. Where her eye went, his darts followed. Where her sword struck, his claws sank. When she showed her fangs, his already held flesh. There was little she could teach with blade or chain or claw that he could not master, and she loved him for it.

“My little lord,” she praised, purring deep in her chest over every kill, every triumph, every show of power. She loved his midnight dark pelt, grooming him to an oil-slick shine and taking every opportunity to procure the oils and waxes to give him the texture of smoke to go with his flawless grace.

They stayed nowhere, and lived richly (as bandits, Shamura complained). If Mother said they would eat from the Thunder Mother’s table, then they would scale the temple walls and gorge themselves on honeyed meat and rich wine and fill their bags with trinkets and tributes. If she decided the Tortoise Keeper’s tax men demanded too much, they would make a game of slowly cutting around their shelled heads to peel off the shell—only to realize, delighted (and to Kallamar’s horror), that the entire brain came out when they pulled.

Mother adored him, and made his life a paradise. He bathed in her favour, supped on her devotion, and grew tall atop the pillar she raised for him. Six prized daughters had died to bring her one son; therefore, the omens must be wrong and the gods who peddled them equally blind. Their peoples’ colonies did not need another queen, they needed a Lord of Lords to rule them, and she named him appropriately.

“Narinder--!”

It was the last thing she said before she died.

They were, in the end, only bandits in the eyes of the Green-Eyed Queen. Thieves, stealing both from her altars, and her divinity.

Mother had begun to gain uncanny power. He hadn’t notice it, or else he had not been old enough to understand it. The way people whispered of a gold sphynx; a flash of light on the road that became a rain of copper darts and sharp stone; how travellers at midnight could avoid her wrath by offering a pot of lamp oil, or a clever riddle. Whispers, rumors, and—sure enough: prayers.

Prayer, faith, devotion, love. Four names for the same energy, the same power that the Green-Eyed Queen wanted back from them. Theirs was a land of gods and demigods where the love of the many empowered the few. While his mother was never kind to their victims, she never struck the young or their mothers either. She left the elders alone in their beds. She was, in some small corners, to a very lucky few, a grace. A blessing.

So, the Green-Eyed Queen sent her hunters.

A fortnight later, his mother was in chains with nails driven through her wrists and ankles, locked in an iron cage his claws and knives could never break through. He tracked them for three days, twelve years old and trembling with hunger, rage, and terror. All he needed was one chance to spy the key among the knights and hunters. Just a moment’s distraction to get through the lock and cast off the chains and hide her, protect her, feed her fledgling divinity the way she had been trying to spark the same in him.

They dragged her deep into the forest, built a great bonfire to their queen, and hurled his mother’s cage into it.

He fought better than he should have. He killed more than any other twelve-year-old could have hoped for: at least two. In his furor he didn’t see the other figures strike the camp to flank him, he just saw the cage. He just heard Mother screaming, and burning, and dying.

The iron was glowing red when he threw himself at it, but the spider caught him in three strong arms while the fourth kept swinging their weapon. His throat tore with every emotion made sound. He forgot to fight the spider, he needed Mother and he fought for her with hisses, snarls, and yowls.

“It is enough,” said the spider.

He’d dropped Mother’s sword. He’d run out of darts. He unsheathed his claws on all four paws and screamed, shrieked, wailed at the creature holding him. He lashed out in a flurry swipes and kicks and they, understandably, slammed him into the ground.

“Shamura!”

“At ease—he is frightened.”

They pinned him there and no matter how much he clawed and kicked and fought their flesh never wept blood. The spines of their carapace were thick, snaring his claws and tearing two of them out. Their armor was like nothing he had ever seen, liquid black and gold links that flowed like water under his claws. He fought until his throat was bloody, and his arms went feeble, and his eyes were blinded by sweat and tears and smoke. He fought until three horrible days without sleep or food or peace fogged his mind and yet he could still see. He could see his life running thin, the thread of it spun of something almost different but now fraying from abuse.

He saw the moment where Shamura weighed his flesh against the hunger of their brother and soldiers. He understood that if he did not tip those scales in his favor, they would eat him, and at least his flesh would go to better use than the smouldering char of his mother.

He could not die here. He could not let the Green-Eyed Queen take his mother and then be devoured in turn.

He sheathed his claws. He let his arms fall. The spider eased their weight on him until he could roll to his side and see the smoking cage atop its doused embers. He curled up tight as he had been in the womb, and lay there.

He let out a single mewl, his next but never-to-be-last breath, and wept.

Two thousand years later on a hazy bonfire dawn, Narinder will kneel in a circle of gray stone and let the memories come for him. He will remember disciples, and siblings, and priests, and knights. He will remember temple halls and celebrations. He will remember camaraderie and wine and soldiers and conquest. He will remember his mother’s purr and her gentle claws grooming behind his ears. He will remember six dead sisters and understand, for the first time, how his mother’s life was a tragedy and that he had never wept for her, only for himself.

But on that day, in the distant past, on a battlefield swiftly stripped of gold and armor and weapons, with the corpses left to lay in the grass, Narinder limped with Kallamar’s help to his mother’s cage. The squid merely touched the cool iron with a word and it corroded away, letting him inside with a nervous word that anything of value had been taken from her already by her captors.

All he wanted was one more moment with her, if the charred husk flung against the bottom of the cage was anything of her at all. He wanted to make a promise. He wanted her to know he would do it, as he knelt beside her and placed both hands on the corpse.

“I will kill the Green-Eyed Queen,” he whispered, his voice still raw and wet from screaming. “When I am done there will be no more queens.”

When he saw the glint of red he knew she heard him. The corpse was just a corpse, so even his young hands could reach into the charred meat and pry out the sharp edges of a dead womb.

Theirs was a world where faith and prayer could change fate. The cycle of devotion from a mother to her son crafted a crown with a single red eye. The memory of six dead daughters crystalized with intent to preserve one perfect son.

He put on the crown and went back to Shamura.

His mother protected him. Always.

[Next]

I have the Cat's Mother, the Worm's Mother, and the Lamb's Mother all written. Trying to get a full fic to work but at least this "prologue" bit is done. If I actually reach the plot I'll post this to AO3 with its actual title.

[joezworld]

They re-laid the ballast and sleepers on Sunday, and by mid-day Monday, the last of the temporary rails were bolted together. It was, to quote a workman, a “hack job”, but it could be replaced after the busy winter hols. 

Douglas pulled an inspection train across the newly repaired section shortly after supper, and it was with great jubilation that the Fat Controller deemed the line “fit to re-open.” 

That night, Duck was the first to come back, running the last (and only) train of the day. He was ecstatic to be back in his own shed, and there was much merriment and joy as he shunted Alice and Mirabel into the empty carriage sheds. He whistled gaily to the engines on the small railway, who yelled at him to keep the noise down, didn’t he have any idea how late it was.

Then he turned to the yard, and his gaiety died down significantly. “Wha-what?” He stuttered, staring in confusion and slight horror. “What have you done?”

Bear rolled his eyes, having endured quite enough of Duck’s personality in the last ten minutes. “I needed trucks for the track work.”

“Yes I see that. Did you fetch them with your eyes shut?”

Bear growled. The yard was only a mess if you had been indoctrinated into the Great Western Shunting System - which, in fairness, he had been - but he’d been told that the first train would arrive in the morning, not tonight. “No, the work just finished early, is all. I’m fine, by the way.”

“That’s no excuse!” Duck ploughed on, getting into a proper strop. “You should’ve been cleaning as you went! Single Workings 3:7 clearly states-”

“I know what it says, and I don’t care.” Bear snapped. “If we’re going to get into this, what about Emergencies 12:5, hmmm? Shouting chapter and verse at me isn’t going to make the yard cleaner.”

Duck tripped over his own tongue while Bear smiled spitefully. “Now, I was going to offer to help you clean the yard while my driver is still on shift, but instead I think I’ll let you fix things to your exacting specifications.”

Bear’s driver, who had been performing an inspection on his engine, looked at Bear in surprise, Duck in shock, and decided to reverse Bear into the shed to end the confrontation. In a few minutes, snoring could be heard through the closed doors. 

“Well..!” Duck said, thoroughly surprised. “What got into him?”

“The fact that you haven’t figured it out is, quite frankly, appalling.” boomed a voice from across the goods yard. Duck glared, but the glare quickly turned to surprised suspicion when the trucks didn’t start laughing. They always laughed after someone got a one-liner in. 

Instead, a sea of surly faces stared back at him. “What are you looking at?” he asked, suddenly off-kilter. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” A flatbed scowled, backed up by a wave of agreeing murmurs.

Duck didn’t know whether to scowl or be frightened at the show of unity, and shunted the worryingly quiet trucks until the end of his driver’s shift. 

When he was backed in next to Bear, he thought about saying something, to see if the diesel was still awake, but in the end he went uneasily to sleep. 

-

The next morning, Bear woke up much later than he usually would. Duck was gone, the yard was organized, Oliver was receding into the distance, and there was a long line of trucks sitting by the goods shed. 

His driver came over, train orders in his hand. “Right-o, first we’ve got these to take, then we’ve got passenger trains with Truro for the rest of the day. Excited?” He wasn’t one of Bear’s usual drivers, and he completely missed the smile that hid a scowl. 

The trucks didn’t miss it. As he rolled past the train, the brake van - the SR Queen Mary, finally on his way back to whence he came - eyed him with sympathy. “Keep your guard up, once you’re with him.”

“Back to reality…” the low loader rumbled. 

The Fish Van didn’t say anything, but gave him a look of sombre understanding. 

A long line of hoppers, full of tunnel debris, were somewhat more cheerful. “You’ve got us, remember.” their leader whispered. 

Bear felt somewhat uplifted by this, but, as he waited for his driver to perform a brake test, his spirit began to wane. There was a crowd of passengers on the platform, already waiting for the next train. A large group of them were wearing shirts with the Great Western Railway logo stitched into them. They had cameras, of course, and were taking pictures every which way, except his. 

One pointed a lens his way, and was promptly shoved by several friends. “Don’t waste your film,” they said, “on that box on wheels.”

By the time the signal dropped, Bear felt deeply morose. He set off, leaving the station behind, each turn of his wheels bringing him closer to the big station, and City of Truro. 

-

The train halted at Haultraugh station. The inbound train was Duck’s, and as more passengers flowed in and out of the train, someone made a comment, loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle, that “this was straight out of the sixties.”

As the last passengers boarded, someone else replied, “yeah, the 18-60s.”

Bear stared at the GWR branding covering the station. There’s no place for me here.

Next to them, Duck was off in his own world. One of the porters had asked him how Truro was doing, and this had led to a lengthy and animated description of how bored and disrespected Truro felt in the yard at the big station. Gordon was the apparent ringleader, finding great fun in pushing Truro’s buttons. Bear’s engine note took on a notably staccato beat, and the trucks began grumbling to each other. The porter paid this no mind, but Duck began looking quizzically across the platform, trying to figure out what, if anything, was the matter. 

Meanwhile, Bear’s driver was looking up and down the platform. “What’s the holdup? Where’s the signal?” He scoffed, climbing out of the cab and knocking on the door of the signal box. 

Inside he found the signalman, looking quite aggrieved and holding a pair of flags. “Signal lever’s jammed. Points are good. Go out and I’ll wave you through.” He kicked the lever for good measure, a resounding clang emanating from the lever frame. “Piece of junk…”

 Bear’s driver exited the box, noting for the first time that anything seemed to be amiss with his engine. “You alright?” 

“Are we going?” Bear’s short, clipped tones could be mistaken for anticipation if you weren’t that bright. 

“Yeah! Yeah, hold your horses.” The driver jumped back into the cab, and set off the instant the annoyed looking signalman waved the green flag. 

Bear set off sluggishly. He didn’t care if he got there, or how long it took.

Behind him, the brake van could sense the disappointment and despair radiating down the brake line, all the way at the end of the train. Slowly, steadily, and stealthily enough to not alert the guard, he began slipping on his own brakes. 

The other trucks in the train felt this, and realized what was happening. Slowly but surely, the train began to get heavier and heavier as Bear kept going. 

-

The train made it halfway up the tunnel before grinding to a halt on the grade. There was no radio reception in the tunnel, and with Bear’s engine belching out more diesel exhaust every second, the driver made a quick determination to back down to Bulgy’s Bridge and try again. 

Slowly, with the brakes mostly released, the train rolled back into the clear air, slowly click-clacking over the new jointed rails as it rolled back towards Bulgy’s Bridge. The tunnel mouth was now a jagged hole in the side of the rock, scarred and pitted in spots where the decorative portal had been chiselled away.   

“So,” Bear addressed the train, taking care to not be heard by his driver. “Does anyone want to explain why we stalled out in the tunnel? Something that hasn’t happened with stone trains that are twice as heavy?”

There was a moment of guilty silence on the brake line, then: 

“We can’t let you go without a fight.”

“You shouldn’t go back to that.”

“We like you too much to subject you to the snake.”

Bear was struck absolutely dumb by that, and felt a warm and fuzzy sensation in his fuel tanks. As his driver brought the train to a halt by the bridge, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly… honored? Was that the correct word? Liked? He pondered on this for some time, and was finally brought back to reality by his driver banging on the control desk in the cab. “Wakey wakey! Time to do some work!” 

Bear chose not to dignify that with a response and instead allowed his engine to rev up to full power, to get the train moving up the hill and through the tunnel at a sufficient speed.

Then, nothing happened. 

Or rather, nothing seemed to happen. Bear was pulling against the train with quite a lot of force, but it just didn’t move. His engine revved, his wheels slipped, and the train went nowhere. 

It did not take a brain surgeon to figure out what was wrong: the trucks were quite serious about not letting Bear go back to Truro, and were doing everything in their power to stop him. 

“We’re not joking…” came a low voice up the brake line. 

Bear didn’t think they were, and was quite willing to sit out here for some time. It was a nice day compared to most of last week - the sun was out, and it was a few degrees above freezing - and if the railway had to send another engine to help him up the hill, then so be it. 

“Ah, for the love of pete!” Unfortunately, Bear’s driver was a dedicated sort, someone who had a lot of interest in doing his job to the best of his ability, and someone who had no interest in being labelled as “the one who stalled in the tunnel”. He was going to get this train to Tidmouth come hell or high water, and so he didn’t let off the throttle, much to Bear’s annoyance. 

“We’re not going anywhere like this. Call for a banker.”

“Absolutely not!” was the retort. What happened instead was that the train was put into reverse, and backed up even more to let the slack in. Bear knew what he was doing, and also knew that it wasn’t going to work. The trucks did too, and there was a bit of light laughter from most of the train. They even let him move the train a bit, rolling well beyond Bulgy’s Bridge without a fight.

The exception was the lead truck, who was looking at the coupling chain with worry. “That’s starting to stretch a little…”

Then, as has happened many times before, there was trouble. 

Bear’s driver released the brakes, set the reverser to “forward”, and then jammed the throttle as far forward as it would go. 

Bear set off with a great cloud of smoke and clag, his engine roaring like a wounded animal. The first five trucks on the train, realizing that something very bad could happen to them if they kept the brakes on, had let up. The slack went out of the train with a quintuple bang! as those trucks were yanked into motion. Then, the coupling to the rest of the train, who were not going to move under any circumstances, was pulled on. 

They did not move, and the train screeched to a halt, Bear’s wheels spun furiously, sparking on the rails. 

Then the coupling chain snapped. 

Bear shot forward, suddenly free of the rest of the train. Fortunately, the vacuum brake hose also separating meant that his brakes came on automatically, and he came to a shuddering and screeching stop less than a hundred feet away, atop Bulgy’s Bridge. 

“Now look at what’s happened!” He barked at his driver. “I told you to stop hammering on the throttle like a neanderthal!”

Then, things got worse.

When the rails had been re-laid after the derailment, the workers had done everything properly… except on Bulgy’s Bridge. The bridge, which still bore its scars from when Bulgy had gotten stuck underneath it almost twenty years ago, was known to be a fragile structure, and couldn’t withstand heavy or sustained vibrations. 

“Heavy or sustained vibrations” is exactly what would happen when a ballast tamper machine was brought over the line. It “tamped” ballast by extending vibrating rods into the gravel and shaking them until the ballast had become smooth and level. This wasn’t possible on Bulgy’s Bridge, and so the workers had smoothed everything down as well as they could by hand before re-opening the line to traffic. And, for the trains that had gone over it so far, it had been fine - mostly because it had been light engines like Duck and Oliver, who moved over it quickly. 

Bear, on the other hand, weighed as much as Duck and Oliver combined, and had just come to an abrupt stop directly on top of the mostly un-leveled ballast.

As Bear began to berate his driver for the problems that he had most certainly caused, the gravel underneath the sleepers began to shudder and shake.

Suddenly, and with distressingly little noise, the gravel on the right side of the line subsided, the sleepers and rails sagged as one, and Bear found himself tilted at an extremely worrying angle on top of Bulgy’s Bridge. 

His driver closed his eyes in horror, and didn’t open them again until everything in the cab had stopped moving. 

Bear, meanwhile, was so utterly overwhelmed with what was happening that he couldn’t even muster up a bit of shock. “Driver, this is your fault.”

-

Having already dealt with a calamitous derailment on the Little Western once this week, the railway was extremely quick in responding to the accident, and both a crane and the Fat Controller were there before lunch. 

“Bear,” he said seriously. “I mean this in as non-insulting a manner as possible, but the fact that this was not your fault astounds me.”

“Don’t worry sir, the others will find a way to blame me for it anyways.”

“I-” The Fat Controller didn’t know how to respond to that, and had to choose his next words carefully. “I see.” He paused again. “I would actually like to mention something, now that you’ve brought that up.”

“Sir?”

“Yes.” Again, he had to choose his words carefully. “Due to… recent circumstances, British Rail has agreed to let us trial City of Truro on his own merits.”

“Sir? Does that mean that I don’t have to run trains with him anymore?” Bear’s tone was suddenly ecstatic, which the Fat Controller unfortunately didn’t understand the full connotations of. 

“Indeed.” he said, eyes twinkling slightly. “Apparently his ability to be “more reliable than a diesel” was quite a point in his favor.” A pause. “Not that it is a mark against you in any way.” 

“Of course sir, thank you sir!” Bear looked like Christmas came early, which did not mesh well with the fact that he was perilously close to falling off of a bridge. 

“I’m glad you understand.” Charles Hatt smiled warmly. “And one more thing - I have been informed by the foreman that… removing you from this situation will involve damaging your paintwork in some way. Obviously, that cannot stand, and so I will have you sent to the works tomorrow or the day after for a temporary touch up. Once the holidays are over, you will receive a new coat of paint in any color you like. You’ve earned it.”

Bear’s smile was the biggest it had been in almost a month, and it stayed there throughout the cleanup process, even as the lifting chains gouged long silvery stripes all over his paintwork. 

-

It took until well past dinnertime for the tracks to be put right again, and once Bear was checked over by works staff (again), he was immediately put to work with the permanent way gang, who worked throughout the night. Finally, at one in the morning, the work was declared “done!”, to much celebration, and the workers went home to bed. 

Bear still had a job to do, though, and it wasn’t until two-thirty that he arrived at Tidmouth station with his now very contrite goods train, who didn’t say a word as he shunted them into the goods yard. 

The diesel shed was empty, and Bear was asleep before his driver could fully set the brakes. 

-

The next morning was cold but sunny, with still, crisp air soaking up the sun’s weak rays. 

Bear, who had been woken up at seven in the morning after less than five hours of sleep, quite frankly could not bring himself to care about that, and grumbled all the way to the fuel depot, the station, the goods yard, and then most of the way to Haultraugh. He only stopped grumbling once he was awake enough to remember, as he burst into the sunlight at the end of the tunnel, that he was finally free of this wretched branch line and could go to the works soon!

This massively improved his mood, and he almost forgot how tired he was, as he rolled across the temporary speed restriction at Bulgy’s bridge, and through Haultraugh station. As he rolled into Arlesburgh, he was almost smiling. 

“Well well well,” A stern voice immediately quelled any chances of enjoying the morning. “Look who shows his face around here!” Duck, a distinctly upset expression on his face, puffed into view. “You break my branch line, leave me stranded here all day - let’s not even get into what the passengers had to endure - and then just waltz off to the big station without so much as a by-your-leave? What sort of Western work ethic is that?” 

He was really getting into full flow now. “And this is after you leave my yard a complete and utter disaster for more than a week! Whatever do you have to say for yourself?”

Bear was a patient engine, he really was. He could understand Duck’s position, he really could. He was even willing to hear him out, and talk with him like an adult. After all, they were both what people would call “grown-ups”. For goodness’ sake, he was twenty years old - far older and more mature than most of the diesels on the mainland!

But then… he looked behind Duck. 

There, in the shed, was City of fucking Truro’s smug fucking face. He looked thrilled at what was happening. 

And something in Bear went snap.

“Duck.” He said firmly, cutting the steam engine off mid-word. “You can take your Great Western work ethic and you can shove it down your boiler tubes. I do not care any more.”

Duck’s face moved like he was trying to say something, but he seemed unable to process what was happening. 

“Furthermore,” Bear continued. “I didn’t break anything.” He glared daggers at Truro, who blinked in surprise. “The great green disaster over there is responsible for all of that. Unless you think that I shattered my gearbox out of a sense of whimsy.”

“I… I… I…” Duck couldn’t seem to put syllables together. 

“In a similar fashion, I didn’t derail the Siphon wagons - if we’re really going to hand out blame like Christmas presents, it was Donald’s fault for not checking anything before he set off down the line with a bunch of plain-bearing equipped vans like it was the 1930s. Although, to go even further back, it was that one’s fault for moving the Siphons across the yard for no clear reason other than that he felt like it!”

Truro could hear everything, and blinked like he was offended. Good. 

Duck looked like someone had smacked him across the face. 

“Of course, let’s just blame it on me, why don’t we?” Bear could feel the indignation coursing through his systems, and let it flow. “As I can do nothing right, and only bring about confusion and delay! Yes, of course I wanted to almost fall off of Bulgy’s Bridge yesterday; it was part of my larger plan to learn to drive on the roads like an automobile, leaving the rails to wither and die on the vine like Doctor Beeching!” 

“Bear, I-”

“Oh no! Don’t you “Bear” me! For all you know, that’s true! You’ve not taken your eyes off of Truro for a month now! “Truro” this and “Truro” that! If you like him so much, why don’t you give him the branch line and spend the rest of your life licking his buffers like the obsequious toady you seem intent on becoming! I thought you were my friend, but you can’t even notice something going on right in front of you!”

Truro was now glaring. The signalman had left his box, the trucks were silent, and Duck was so confused he was almost in tears. On the platform, the passengers started looking in their direction. 

“Bear-”

“No, no.” He snapped, fire blooming in his eyes. “Use my goddamned number. You don’t have the right to use my name!”

Duck looked horrified. Good.  

Bear pressed on, a month’s worth of frustration and aggravation spilling out uncontrollably. “So you know what, Montague? I’ve had it. That’s what this is. If you and Truro and Oliver want to play pretend in some fantasy recreation of a time that died a long time ago, be my guest! But I will have no part in it.”

The stationmaster appeared out of the station building and began making a beeline across the tracks. 

“You can take your Great Western Railway, and all its idiotic traditions, and you can shove it someplace unpleasant!” He roared, engine growling menacingly. “But I’m done!” “And before I go…” The stationmaster was getting closer, and Bear could tell that he was going to be silenced one way or the other. He tried to think if there was anything else he wanted to say, but all he could see was Truro, looking so unjustly offended on Duck’s behalf. “Oi, you! Domeless wonder! I wish that they’d kept Great Bear, and scrapped you!”

[hernakedmuse]

Punk!Bimbo Reader Headcanons Part I

She moved to Hawkins from Queens in her Freshman year

When she arrived everyone was mean to her, she showed up with chopped off cropped hair styled a little Betty Boop, a Sex Pistols t-shirt that had her thrown in the principal's office, and maroon doc martens all beat up.

Girls would hit her in the locker room and call her derogatory names and guys would call her a slut especially because of her well endowed breasts and punk appearance.

One day, Horror!Bimbo is in the girl's bathroom skipping class to have a smoke, she's fixing her lipstick when she smells smoke, sees the bathroom window open and hears crying.

She opens the stall of the handicapped one to see Punk!Bimbo sitting on the toilet, just sitting, with headphones on, tears messing up her mascara, clutching a cigarette with chipped red nails in a cute, ripped Iggy Pop shirt, a small jeans shorts, ripped fishnet stockings, and docs, oversized army jacket around her elbows and a cool homemeade nose piercing.

She liked this girl and eyed her cadillac red lipstick, she wants it. "You're crying, is the song very sad?"

Punk!Bimbo was ready to cuss out and fight the bitch who interrupted her when she saw it was the Whore of Hawkins High, that was what they called her but Punk!Bimbo thought it was misogynist and ridiculous, and who gave a fuck what anyone did with their own life, God forbid! Oh how she hates the midwest.

The girl had a vacant yet kind look in her eye and looked unbothered and intrigued, so Punky answered. "No, it's angry, it's um--Black Flag, Rise Above by Black Flag."

Horror!Bimbo took out her own cigarette, wrapping her black cherry lips around her own and lit up with her lavender colored lighter. To Punky she looked like a stripper rendition of a corpse bride and she LOVED it, who was she? Truly? "Can I listen? You can listen to my tape, it's uh- *giggles* Nina Hagen--"

"I love Nina Hagen!" Punky exclaimed interrupting the gore whore.

Horror!Bimbo sat on Punky's lap with ease and took her head phones while giving hers to Punky. "They steal my panties and tell everyone I give blow jobs for 50 cents-- one time the principal tried to look up my skirt, I asked him why he was looking up there and I got suspended and a rumor of me fucking him went around, now his wife gives me dirty looks at my dad's grocery store." Her wispy, ghost-like voice explained which horrified Punky, how could anyone treat someone like that? Especially someone so sweet. "They call me a slut and a dyke, I don't care about that though those aren't insults to me, but it's the hitting you know? They like to fuck with me and- I'm so tired, I'm not sad I'm tired, fucking tired and something's gotta change."

Horror!Bimbo blew a smoke ring. "So hit back, bash them in the head for once, you're gonna get in trouble anyway. Bash their brains in watch the blood run." She giggled like a maniac.

Punky laughed. "You're crazy."

"I know!" She moaned "Please try and tell the mental hospitals I've been applying at that!'

They've been best friends ever since.

Punky decided to follow in Moth's footsteps and played up the bimbo look. Cut her hair in a blunt, China bob, dressing revealing like California's Angelyne and spin some Debbie Harry into her look which was absolutely lethal with her va va voom body, her overdeveloped hips and tits, makeup always vampy, clothing rockabilly.

She really started fighting back when her mom's boyfriend tried to molest her in her sleep one night, she put a cigarette out in his eye. Her mom kicked her out, this was junior year, and Horror!Bimbo took her in for a month until her mom begged her back and told her she was right that Rodney was no good.

She blamed Punky though for looking so easy, Punky bit back her feminist rant and let bygones be bygones with her mother but when school came, when Carol tried to grab her by the hair because her boyfriend wanted her to blow him, she took Carol by the hair and slammed her head against the locker and pushed her to the ground and kicked her in the stomach with her thrift store, leopard print stilettos, she beat the ever living shit out of Carol as she let out bloodcurdling screams in the hall, she never forgot when Carol tried to set her up to get gangraped at a party and never forgot when Steve Harrington saved her that night.

Carol had to be taken to the hospital, she had two broken ribs, one missing tooth, a broken nose, broken arm, and a concussion from Punky's rage alone.

Nobody messed with her again.

She started an apprenticeship at the only beauty parlor in town and sings lead for a punk band started by community college students from the next town over, they call the band Hellcat, which was a nickname Punky earned.

The Beauty Parlor is a couple doors down from Family Videos

A certain big haired employee was enamored with the vixen in the tight pin up clothing and the vampy bob who swayed her hips down the street to her job. He'd bring her food sometimes from Benny's, give her his employee discount when she came in for videos, sometimes just pay for it himself.

"Let me know when you wanna book an appointment with me Stevie" She'd tell him with a smirk on her cadillac red lips, a wink, and a saucy little hip sway. She was like Elizabeth Taylor, Vikki Dugan, and Elvira wrapped in one, she was a centerfold come to life, he'd do anything for her, let her do anything to him.

If only she knew after that terrible night at the party, he would follow her home every night after that to make sure she got home safe.

Her silent protector.

[flowerandblood]

The sweetest fruit (7)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Valyrian! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fluff, mention of rape attempt, violence ]

[description: (Anon Request) Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They’ve been engaged since they were kids, but he’s in no hurry to get married and he’s not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Namyss spoke to her Lady, stroking her head, her other servants hugging her. She couldn't get a word out. She was in shock, her breathing ragged and unsteady. She was unable to cry. Men in Volantis had tried to steal a kiss or touch her against her will, but no one had ever tried to rape her.

She did not look up from the floor even when her husband entered her chamber, alerted by the guard that there had been an incident between her and his brother. He froze for a moment when he saw her red, puffy cheek, which was turning more and more blue.

"Leave us." He spoke softly, and her maids released her, speaking comforting words to her, leaving one by one, looking at her worried and terrified. Aemond approached her slowly and knelt in front of her. He wanted to grab her chin to make her look at him, but she pulled away. She heard him swallow hard.

"What did he want?" He asked with a slightly trembling voice. She was silent for a moment.

"You know what." She whispered, her eyes empty.

He knelt beside her, silent. She felt his entire body tense in the air, but she didn't look at him. After a while he left, opening the door of her chamber with a loud slam.

He stormed into Aegon's bedroom with a fury he had never felt before. Before his brother could say anything, he punched him in the face, knocking him to the table. Aegon elbowed him in the stomach, and he snapped in half. They started to wrestle and scuffle.

"I'll fucking kill you." He hissed, slamming his body against the wall, knocking over a small table with dishes on the table which shattered with a clang. Aegon tried to wrestle away, kicking him in the calves, but it seemed to him that due to his rage and adrenaline he felt no pain at all.

"I didn't do anything to her, you moron!" He panted, but Aemond didn't care.

"But you fucking wanted to." He hissed, lifting him up by his clothes. "You wanted to rape her."

Aegon laughed, blood trickling from his nose in a thin stream.

"You can't rape a whore."

Hearing this, Aemond pulled a dagger from his belt and put it to his neck. They were both breathing heavily, Aegon staring at him in horror. Aemond thought that if he killed him his mother would stop grieving, Helaena would have peace of mind. After his father death he would become prince-regent and his wife would be his queen.

It would be as it should be.

"Aemond!" He heard his mother's distressed voice. He shuddered and hesitated, pressing his lips together. He still held the blade to his throat, before his eye a vision of his brother, pinning his sobbing wife to the floor, pulling down his pants.

"Please!" She said imploringly.

"Leave him, my prince." He heard a second voice, Ser Criston's. "What happens to him is up to the king."

***

Lady Vhassar was summoned with Namyss to the small council hall. Her maid was terrified, but her Lady assured her that she would not lose a hair on her head. She would never let them hurt her.

She walked inside with her head held high, fearless, showing off her bruised cheek, which was now completely swollen. Aemond looked away at the sight, unable to look at her, barely sitting still. The king, seeing her, sighed softly. Aegon tapped his finger nervously on the table, sitting across from the queen. Ser Criston stood over them all.

"Tell us what happened, sweet child." The king said softly, nodding encouragingly at her. Lady Vhassar decided that she would tell everything in detail. After what he had done to her she was no longer afraid of anything.

"While I was in my quarters this morning, Prince Aegon came to me unannounced. I got up and said that if he didn't leave, I would scream loudly. He said: maybe you'd rather moan with me in pleasure instead. I know the women of Essos like such games. For example, having two brothers at once." She spoke in a clear, slightly trembling voice.

The queen hid her face in her hands upon hearing the last sentence. Aemond looked at Aegon as if he wanted to pounce on him and strangle him in front of everyone with his own hands. Lady Vhassar continued.

"I screamed. He punched me in the face and I fell. I was on the ground and he…" She hesitated for a moment, the memory painfully hitting her.

She felt tears in her eyes, but she didn't want to cry. She pursed her lips tightly, holding back her convulsions at the memory of his hands on her thighs. She wanted to vomit. She felt her husband looking at her intensely, his trembling fist clenched on the table in front of him.

"…h-he pulled my legs to him and he said: 'I wanted to do it in a nice way." She said, her voice breaking at the end. She felt her heart start pounding, she couldn't get the next words out.

"Enough." The queen stood up, seeing her condition, her eyes full of pain. She walked over to her and hugged her tight, like a mother hugging her daughter.

Lady Vhassar felt as if her own mother were hugging her, and only then did she allow herself to sob loudly. Aemond looked at them as if he was about to cry himself, shaking with rage and helplessness, his jaw tense and petrified. There was silence in the room.

Aegon laughed, shaking his head, looking down at his fingers.

"Nice theater. I didn't do anything to her. I just came to tell her that a brothel is no place for a lady and that she shouldn't bring my brother down to her level. That's all." He grunted, her words having no effect on him. His mother looked at him with contempt.

"You still have the audacity to talk? Hm?" She asked him enraged, no one in the room dared to speak.

"You bring me and your father nothing but shame and disappointment. Look at you. How are you not ashamed of yourself?!" She screamed the last sentence with pain, looking him straight in the eyes.

Aegon pursed his lips, tears now welling up in his eyes, only with fury. The queen laughed helplessly and shook her head.

"You are not son of mine."

***

Lady Vhassar was able to leave the council and return to her quarters. The king and queen were to decide together what to do with their eldest son and what punishment to give him. Knowing what he did in the past they didn't believe his lies. So did her husband.

He followed her, catching up with her, taking her arm gently. She couldn't look him in the eye. Even though Aegon hadn't touched her in the end, she felt dirty.

"I want a bath." She said softly. Aemond swallowed hard.

"I will command that it be prepared for you in my chamber." He spoke softly. She shook her head.

"I'll take a bath in my chamber, alone." She replied.

"I want you to move into my chamber." He answered her quietly. Only now did she look at him, surprised.

Spouses of their status always lived in separate chambers, according to good custom.

"My mother consented. No one will hurt you in my rooms."

She stared at him for a moment. She placed her forehead on his chest, finally allowing him to really touch her. He wrapped his arms around her painfully tight, his hands clenching the fabric of her gown, his nose pressed against her flower-scented neck.

"Let's take a bath together."

***

Aemond had several bowls of raspberries from the royal garden and vases of wildflowers brought to his chambers. Her maids brought her favorite bath oils. He wanted her to feel better after the horror that had befallen her in his absence.

He thought he had failed as a husband and a men. He didn't protect her. He didn't want to think about what Aegon would have done if Namyss hadn't heard her scream.

When she entered his chamber she looked around in surprise, remembering that the first time she had visited him everything was different. Her vanity table and chests were moved into his room, her things and books were arranged around. Aemond saw, looking at her resignedly, that her cheek was all blue, a limo appeared under her eye.

She approached him hesitantly, lowering her eyes. They stood in awkward silence for a moment. He pulled her gently to him and hugged her to his chest, burying his hand in her soft hair. He kissed her head gently once in a while, inhaling her pleasant scent that had been driving him crazy for the last few days.

He felt her hands from his back slid down to his chest, undoing the top of his robes. He let her, looking at her sweet face, full, glossy lips, glowing eyes, long, black lashes.

"If my mother had not entered his chamber I would have killed him." He said softly. His wife froze, looking at him in surprise. She swallowed hard at the seriousness of his voice.

"I'd slit his throat, cut off his cock, and I'd bring it to you on a silver platter." He whispered. There was something terrifying in his eye, that made her shiver with both terror and desire. She touched his cheek with her hand, and he immediately buried his face in her hand, kissing her skin.

"I know, my sweet husband." She said tenderly and he looked at her, pain and despair in his eye.

"If you don't want me to touch you for some time now, I'll understand." He spoke low, almost in a whisper. She blinked, swallowing softly. She shook her head.

"No. Let's take a bath and make love. I want to get rid of the disgusting feeling of his hands on my thighs. I want you to make me forget." She whispered pleadingly.

They kissed, tenderly and helplessly, touching the tips of their noses, running their hands over each other's faces. They touched each other as if they were fragile china, carefully and subtly, comforting each other.

They took a long bath, relaxing. She lay in the water pressed against his chest between his thighs, feeling how hard he was because of the closeness of her naked body. His fingers traced up and down her wet back, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. They enjoyed each other's closeness and scent, trying to forget about the morning.

After bathing, Aemond took her to bed, drying them both thoroughly. Their hot bodies touched the pleasantly cold sheets, giving them a sense of comfort and relief.

His kisses on her face, neck, shoulders and breasts were like the touch of a butterfly, soft and subtle, full of respect and devotion. She thought, looking at him that she couldn't lie to herself any longer. She was falling in love with him. She stroked his long, white, slightly damp hair, feeling the desire rising in her.

Neither of them was in a hurry. They kissed and touched for a long time, running their fingers over each other's bodies, breathing faster and faster, panting into each other's mouths, licking each other with a sweet, sticky sound, sucking and massaging each other's lips. His lips brushed against hers with a wet, loud click.

He touched her long and meticulously between her thighs, slowly caressing her clit in circular motions, sliding down to her entrance once in a while, tasting how wet she was. As her hips finally began to respond to his movements, he laid down on top of her, nestling between her thighs, pressing his chest against hers. He kissed her forehead and asked if she still wanted it. She nodded.

He entered her gently and didn't move for a moment, kissing her. He began to move slowly and tenderly, his manhood pushing against her throbbing, hot, wet walls, making them both gasp with pleasure. She thought it was wonderful that he was inside her now, that he would come inside her and make her feel like she was his alone again.

She pressed his face against hers, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, her hands intertwined in his hair. She felt that they were one flesh, literally and figuratively. That she really was his wife, his destiny, chosen by the gods. She moaned in pleasure as he sped up, his cock penetrating her harder, unable to stop himself.

"Do you want me to stop?" He gasped, thrusting his cock into her in a quick, intense rhythm, his thighs slapping loudly against her buttocks.

"No, it feels so good" She whispered, feeling that this was what she needed. Him deep inside her, making her feel safe again in his strong arms, holding her tight. Her hips responded greedily to his every thrust, her core tightening on him, eliciting soft moans from his mouth.

"I'm about to cum in you, sweet wife" He whispered in delight, panting low. She felt her nipples harden at his words. He slid his hand again to her clit, which he had stimulated to the limit earlier, sore and swollen from caressing. She leaned back, moaning softly.

"Please, I need it" She mumbled loudly. He moaned helplessly at her words, surprised. He thrusted in her for the last time and came inside her, panting low, pumping his cock into her for a moment longer, continuing to massage her.

"Oh yes, Aemond, yes" She whispered, leaning back, feeling his hot cum spill over her insides, filling her wonderfully, making her feel clean again, filled only with him. She came after a while, her orgasm hot and sweet, spreading in waves, relaxing her aching muscles.

Aemond turned with her on his side, without putting his member out of her. They snuggled into each other's wet bodies, breathing fast. She felt, pressed against his chest, how hard his heart was pounding.

She kissed the place where she felt his heartbeat, tender and long, sending a shiver through his body. He stroked her hair, swallowing hard, as he hugged her tighter. She felt like telling him. That she feels ready for it.

"I'm afraid I fell in love with you, my sweet husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondsfavouritebastard @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @bellameshipper

Others: @ethereallocs @bellameshipper @tssf-imagines @menaosama @it-is-getting-better @danielle-leah1997 @czegochceszlol @strangersunghoon

[hobiebrownismygod]

Yayyy asks r open! Could you write a one shot of Hobie with an insanely flexible spider reader? Like a drops-into-splits-like-it’s-nothing, can hold a scorpion pose for an almost unnatural amount of time, almost contortionist-level Spider-person. Whether they’re dating, one of them are catching feelings, or they’re just meeting for the first time is completely up to you!

omg I love this!!

I headcanon that Hobie is probably the least flexible person you’ll ever meet. Like his bones crack when he walks. I doubt the guy can even touch his toes.

Sorry this took me so long to write, I was pretty busy :/

I hope you like it <3

Hobie Brown x Flexible!Spider-PersonReader

Can be read platonically or romantically!

____________________________________________________________

"AAH!"

Hobie let out a screech and stumbled back, falling onto his bottom and looking over at you with a terrified look on his face. His expression slowly morphed from completely horrified to a look of amusement as he realized what he was looking at.

You were hanging off the ceiling and looking at him, your limbs contorted into what could only be described as a jumble of body parts, your hand holding on the web that was keeping you from falling flat on your face.

"How do y'even do that?" he asked incredulously, ignoring the annoyed look on your face as you twirled around, returning to your normal position and hopping down onto the floor with a little jump.

"Do what?"

He pointed his finger at you, waving it around as if he was gesturing to all of you.

"The whole Eldritch Horror kind f'thing."

You tilted your head at him, rolling your eyes and scoffing. "You mean this?" You asked, bringing your leg up and pulling it up to your head, straightening it out and balancing yourself on the tip toes of your single leg. He looked at you in awe, a grin spreading across his face. "Thas' bloody terrifying"

Feeling a bit proud of yourself, you went back into a bridge position, then into a handstand, looking up at him from your position, your legs in the splits. "You're telling me you can't do this?" You asked cockily, tilting your head to the side slightly. "Aww bloody hell no. Can't even touch my toes" he said with a grin, reaching down and showing you. His fingertips just barely touched his ankles and he let out a small groan as he straightened himself back up again, clutching his lower back like an old man. It was a funny sight, and his annoyed smirk let you know that your amusement was quite obvious.

"Maybe you should stretch more. Its not good for your joints to be so stiff" You giggled out, putting your hands on your hips as you watched him approach you. "S'not my fault. I was born like this"

You shook your head at him, trying not to laugh at his sheepish expression. "I can do this though" he said, his eyes lighting up as he motioned toward his knees. He straightened his leg out and then bent it, eliciting a quiet pop noise to come from his joints. You winced at the noise. "Yeah...that isn't normal" You said, suppressing a giggle. He did it again with his elbow, straightening it out and then quickly bending it, another pop noise coming from it. "Really? 've been doing it for ages, mate"

As he reached toward his other leg to do the same, you stopped him. "Yeah, let's not do that anymore." You said, grabbing his arm before he tried to pop another joint, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face as he looked down at you. "Aww, y'scared I'll hurt myself?" he teased, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes. You gave his arm a smart smack and he winced. "Ow!"

You rolled your eyes at his reaction. "That hurt more than you popping your joints? Drama queen."

"Popping 'em doesn't hurt!" He retorted. He feigned a stab to his heart, mockingly staggering backwards before he looked back at you. "You not believing me hurts more"

"Do you want me to hit you again?"

"No thanks."

____________________________________________________________

This was really short, but I didn't know what else to add 😭

I hope you liked it!!

[ohraicodoll]

i absolutely love the feral reader x joel fics

omg like yaaas give me a murdering queen

Thank you! I use to primarily write a lot of action and horror and stuff so it's fun getting to go back to that and write someone who doesn't get hung up on "being good" lol.Have this little snippet I had written!

Joel wasn’t waiting for her to come back.

No, he just happened to be doing a crossword puzzle near the entrance because Tommy was working nearby and the house was too quiet. No other reason. Not because this was the first patrol their little group was separated for and he was feeling anxious. Not because he knew she didn’t exactly get along with the others in Jackson, a little too feral for settlement life. Definitely not because he was worried since the person she’d been sent with was fuckin’ Grant of all people who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes in his fucking head.

He tapped the pencil against the paper, eyes scanning the gate and the patrolmen up top to see if they would give any signal of an approaching party. “Fancy seeing you here,” Ellie joked and hopped up on the crate beside him, legs dangling over the edge. Joel grunted and turned his eyes back down to the page, doing his best to appear busy. “They left pretty early so it shouldn’t be long now,” the teenager hummed, eyes following the same path his had done moments ago, “Like I get we’re supposed to integrate, but maybe you can pull some strings with Tommy so you and her only do patrols together.” “And why would I do that?” he muttered, staring at the black and white squares that didn’t have a single letter in them. Ellie raised a brow, “I’m sorry, did you want her to murder fuckin’ Grant?” “He can handle her,” Joel bit out though the words tasted like shit leaving his lips. The cocky asshole couldn’t handle her. Hell, he could barely handle her sometimes. The laugh that abruptly left her was enough to cause him to look up at her, “Okay, sure. Keep acting like you don’t care that you’re here and she’s out there with someone else.” He set the pencil down fully, hands going to his hips, and stared at the girl, “Ellie, do you have a point to make or are you just here to annoy my ass? I’m not worried about her and I’m not going to pull any strings. We gotta do our part here and all that shit.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah cause you happen to be casually doing a fuckin’ crossword of all things right where you can immediately see when a patrol comes back. Dude, you’re so obvious.” Ellie chuckled and jumped down to her feet off the crate, “Which is Seven Down, by the way.” He glared as she cackled and walked off, glancing down at the page once her head was turned. Fuck if she wasn’t right. 

Joel wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being right though and snapped the pages shut right as the upper patrolmen signaled a party's arrival. No, he wasn’t worried at all as they went through the process of opening up the gate. It couldn’t only be the three of them. They did have to integrate even if it felt like being eaten alive by ants. It didn’t mean he had to like it though. Didn’t mean he liked her being away from him. Grant was the first through the opening and he struggled not to grind his teeth, keeping the anxiety down even as he took in the man’s black eye and split lip, the way he limped through. Fuck, had they been attacked? He knew he should have argued with Tommy- But then she walked through behind him, perfect and intact as if she had only been on a stroll. Still the same wild girl as always, eyes taking everything in. She dumped the large canvas bag with the gatekeepers to take inventory, going through the process even as Grant limped away into town without a glance back. Joel tried to get a good look at him, but the man keenly kept his eyes to the ground as he trudged past. “Hey,” she greeted, giving him a nod and not showing any surprise at seeing him waiting, “Run went smooth. Found a decent enough stash that had been skipped past a few times. Some of these people are shit searchers. Didn’t run into any infected.” Joel nodded, eyes following Grant again before turning to her with a raised brow, “Went smooth, huh?” Her eyes darkened and she scratched at her chin, giving him a glimpse of slightly bloody knuckles, “Yeah, smooth.” Well that explained why she didn’t have a hair out of place and Grant looked like he fell down six flights of stairs. He chuckled and shook his head, any anxiety left over finally leaving his body. Of course she could take care of herself. Throwing an arm around her shoulder, they both headed back to their house, “Atta girl. Ellie was worried you would murder him.” Joel wasn’t going to mention that he was worried about the opposite, as improbable as that was, lest he wanted to get his ass handed to him. “Nah, threatening castration seems to work just fine. Didn’t feel like getting rid of a body today.” Suffice to say, Tommy stuck her with Joel for all patrols going forward. He didn’t complain.