#conquest x cassandra

[yameoto]

kiramman motherdaughter double-team

tw; cassandra + caitlyn x f!reader, pussyfucking, voyeurism, masturbation, objectification, gagging, being passed around on kiramman cock, mommy issues, family dynamics, no incest unless you count their cum mixing inside you. wc; 2.8k

“my daughter is quite fond of you,” cassandra muses thoughtfully, like you’re not ass-up, pussy-clenched, bent over on the kiramman desk; two, slender, pale fingers elegantly fucking the juices out of your cunt.

while you’d love to engage in mommy gossip over tea, your pretty little head isn’t quite capable of doing more than blindly rut back against gloved fingers. even if your ears perk up at the mention.

“what does that—ngh— fuck—“

“language, darling.” cassandra slaps your cunt, hard. you hiss, arching back, traitorous pussy deciding it really fucking likes that, and sending a surge of wetness gushing out and dripping over her palm. you arch back, and the retort making its way out of your mouth is rudely interrupted by the way she deftly folds her fingers into a fist. quelled, you settle down, thighs still stinging.

"and i suppose—mmgh—she didn’t—hah.. tell you?”

“no, but i know.” cassandra hums, index hooking. your eyes roll back, as cassandra continues to muse. or, pretend to muse. you’ve been under her thumb long enough to know every twitch of her expression, every dip in her tone, every curl of her finger—is calculated, and intentional. “her gaze lingers."

“she doesn't mind that her mother takes home girls her own age?” you pant, squirming away from cassandra’s hand as she pinches your thigh.

“girl.”  cassandra corrects, gloved hand leisurely grasping you by the chin and pinning it upwards, to face her, unable to squirm away from the steely jade of her eyes. girl, singular. it’s nothing close to ooey-and-gooey affection, but the clarification makes your heart glow nonetheless, heat flooding to every buzzing cell in your body. it also makes you pathetically, impossibly wetter. cassandra smiles as you gush around her fingers, nerves humming under her touch.

“she wouldn’t. so long as i turn a blind eye to the unending stream of conquests she has in and out of her room.” cassandra sighs, flicking against your clit. you arch upwards off of satin sheets, thighs quivering—and cassandra only takes the opportunity to thrust her digits further upwards. you thrash, like puppet thrust upon a stick.

“takes after her mother,” you gasp, and her chuckle is a pinch less poised than usual. “suppose she does, hm?"

you cum all over her gloved fingers, silk soaked to the bone.

to be perfectly honest, you were only half-lucid during that whole affair. can you blame you? one can only concentrate so much when you’re being finger-fucked to oblivion on a councillor’s desk. you hadn’t thought much of cassandra’s words, or caitlyn’s supposed fascination in you. until, well—

“mother, i don't see what could have possibly warranted dragging me out of office just to—”

the moment you come into sight, caitlyn stops, mid-way through flicking the stub of a pen, up-and-down with boredom borne vigour. she’s draped over one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, head tilted back, elbow lent lazily over the side of the seat. she straightens, gaze flickering between you and her mother.

you stare at caitlyn. she stares back, alabaster-cut cheekbones flushing a dark-hued pink.

cassandra slinks into the other armchair, one leg draping elegantly over the other. “i told you it’d be worth the wait.” she teases, easily, superiority exuding out of her every pore. caitlyn is stock-still; a deer frozen in the headlights, because surely her mother can’t mean—

“look at her, darling.” cassandra beckons you closer, and you fall into step, obedient. her cryptic smile, widens—gloved hand outstretching, to skim the silken fabric up your thighs. her nail drags upwards, and both caitlyn and you visibly shiver. “hot, wet and inviting.”

caitlyn bites her lip, conflict playing out comically over her face, like a gargantuan tent isn’t rising at her crotch. for one, she loathes to concede any victory to her mother. on the other..

(gods, how caitlyn has wanted and wanted. it's shameful. she’s caught glimpses of you, throughout the estate, for the past year. flitting in and out, from her mother’s room—her office, sometimes. the thought should make her nose wrinkle and gaze avert, like it had done so, with all the other women her mother used to bring home. yet, you.

the pull you have is magnetic. perhaps, that’s why she hasn’t seen a single other verdant soul grace her mother’s bedsheets, since you. not that she makes a habit of peeking. it’s just—she’s wondered. she’s wondered, with her hand wrapped her dick and croons muffled by her sheets, how you’d feel around her cock, instead. because she swears that nightgown her mother lent you used to be hers, and the thought of it—skimming up your thighs, dampening against the hot flush of your cunt—

caitlyn is spry, young, quick-witted— and admittedly hormonal. she’s in the prime of her life, and the prime of her libido; too. deathly curious, too, what has made her mother come back to you—over and over and over again. what’s so special about you that you’ve made caitlyn cum into her fist, over and over again, despite never sparing her more than a second glance.)

“you can’t seriously expect me to..” caitlyn splutters, cheeks blooming red. “now? here? in front of you?”

“don’t act all shy, now. for a decorated enforcer, your sleuthing skills are lackluster."

caitlyn burns, bright-red. she's well-aware of the incident her mother is talking about. that was once. besides! she thought someone was being impaled on a stake, in there, for gods' sake. she’d almost brought the guards!

“besides," cassandra rolls her wrist, idly, "you think i’d let you handle precious goods unattended? you could break her.”

both you and caitlyn bristle; you, at the suggestion that you could be broken by this kiramman girl who is certainly fit, mind you—but break? really? caitlyn, at the dig at her self-restraint. through she’d probably smart at any barb her mother threw at her her.

“i can be delicate.” it’s like the implication is the nail in the coffin, and she’s undoing her trousers with exaggerated reluctance, like her fingers aren’t quivering in contained eagerness. “don’t look.” she demands of her mother, like a child slipping into the fitting room. the buckles of her enforcer uniform come undone, and a flash of inky-blue trim sends the hairs raising at the nape of your neck, especially when caitlyn’s fly falls away and her thighs splay open, hand curling around her base and tugging her dick out and—oh.

now, you understand why you might break.

caitlyn is.. well-endowed. (oh, cassandra is rubbing off on you in more ways than one). her length itself clean-shaven, like her mother—and the smooth, erect forth of her cock practically preens under the attention, blue-green veins climbing up its trunk. her tip is flushed a brilliant pink, and for all caitlyn’s feigned nonchalance; precum builds a shiny glaze at its slit, at the precipice of gushing out. she tucks her trousers below her balls, eyes flitting over to meet her mother’s, stare flaring to one of defiance.

caitlyn scowls, but you can't help but notice the shallow pace of her breath—the way her forearms tense, rapid fluttering beating at your chest. can't help but notice the way her cock throbs, tall and aching, and how she can't tear her eyes off of you.

“go on, dear.” cassandra urges, sly, and you startle, because you've almost gotten lost in being a passenger to the kiramman’s family squabbles—forgotten that for now, all you’re sinking onto her daughter’s cock. caitlyn gasps, hips jerking upwards.

she's hesitant, at first; rolling her hips, experimentally, and you suppress a gasp when her cock slips deeper, unintentionally. caitlyn grunts, and when she starts going she starts going, because—fuck—can you blame her? she gets lost in the ocean of your pussy, how it swallows her, and her mother is right. hot, wet, and inviting.

you can't deny you're enjoying this. each moan that caitlyn dislodges from your throat is even more encouragement for her dick to plunge deeper, length to stretch you wider. perhaps it’s unjust—but even as your head falls back and you whine in approval, shivers crackling down your body—you can't help but compare the two, just a little. (cassandra's motions have always been painstakingly controlled. each crook of a finger, curl of a knuckle, thrust of her cock; carefully poised, deliberate, and intentional. caitlyn, on the other hand—is fluid and freestyle and just a little sloppy. her ruts driving with a shaky force, like she's trying her damndest best to keep a rhythm but is trembling with the effort to hold on and not just plow into your cunt like a jackhammer. she's good. you can tell caitlyn has done this before, many times. just, perhaps not as many times, as her mother.)

"darling, posture." 

caitlyn freezes, balls-deep. her head lifts in gobsmacked disbelief at her mother's voice, hands remaining clamped down over your thighs, dick twitching. you stifle a mewl at the loss of friction.

"posture?"  caitlyn parrots, eyes narrowing, even as her back goes ramrod and shoulders square on instinct, like an automatic response to her mothers’ tone. then, annoyed at her own reaction, caitlyn thrusts, hard, as if to prove a point. the both of them ignore your subsequent whimper. “my posture is just fine, thank you very much.”

cassandra's nails drum against your collarbones, hand still carding through your hair. it takes everything in you not to nuzzle upwards into the offering, because you know cassandra despises your neediness. loves it, too. but you're not quite in the position to test how she feels, today.

“is it just fine, dear one?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, harshly, as caitlyn’s thrusts come in rhythmic slams, the other girl’s pants almost as uneven as your own. “i—nghhm—yes.”

“and is my daughter treating you well?”

caitlyn scoffs, but her hands tighten on your hips, nails digging crescent indents into skin. your eyes flicker open to meet caitlyn’s own, and you’re expecting to find that beautiful, forever, narrowed-eye glare of hers that is so instantly recognisable.

instead, what greets you is fawn-like cerulean; wide and imploring. approval-seeking, under her mother’s scrutiny—under your control. it’s like she’s holding her breath, even as the slams of her hips.

“ngh, caitlyn—“ you gasp, like a prayer, and the kiramman heir seems to dissolve at the sound of her name on your tongue, wobbling as she clings to your hips like she might just die if she were to be separated.

her throat bobs, and her hips shudder, a low groan wracking her body. and, and—

“don't finish.” cassandra interjects, command rolling off her tongue, firm and declarative, leaving no room for argument. “a little practice in self-control would be good for you.”

“mother,” caitlyn protests, elongated and pleading and irrestrainably whiney, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. her cheeks are blossomed red, flushed to the bone—strings of saliva connecting  the plump part of her lips as she ruts into you, grip bruising.

“don’t whinge.” cassandra admonishes, and caitlyn’s hiss is guttural, almost physically pained by the frustration—but she holds herself back nonetheless. “if you think i am having my daughter’s sloppy seconds, you think wrong.”

it’s as if the room has dropped in degrees. caitlyn, livid with the tension of what you can feel, drawn tight against the hot flush of your body. cassandra, whose gaze is as impenetrable and indomitable as ever. the both of them; cut-throat and frigid—like the meeting of stalagmites and stalactites, crashing into one another.

your pussy clenches, because gods, this is hot. caitlyn audibly lets slip a hiss, when your walls tighten around her poor, sensitive dick. it’s almost inevitable when she cracks, first. 

it’s that first twitch in her brow that waivers the white flag, and she her jaw tightens and her eyes go wild—before she forcibly wrenches herself out from you, eyes rolling back as her cock squelches free— promptly blows her load all over the carpet.

caitlyn folds to her knees, black-blue eyes peer upwards, both wounded and aggrieved; like the world has done her wrong by not having her cum inside of you. the way she’s positioned is almost heartstring wrenching—if it weren’t for how her hands curl around the base of her cock and she arches back and hisses, shamelessly jerking the rest of her high, off. thick, white spurts of cum splatter, some on the glossy wooden panels—but most on the carpet. carpet, worth some-twelve families’ fortunes and now marred by fat, creamy streaks of white, clinging to filaments that’ll indubitably harden come sunrise.

caitlyn pants, wiping spit with the back of her hand. her eyes meet her mother’s, satisfaction uncoiling in her gut, along with the leftovers drizzling from her tip.

“are you quite done?” cassandra exhales, as her daughter empties herself out over their living room floor.

“yes.” caitlyn says, petulant. her expression is as still as stone—yet anybody could see the smug gleam in her eye.(of course, a day doesn’t go past in piltover nowadays that that kiramman brat isn’t uttered. perhaps, the moniker has more truth to it than you’d thought.)

cassandra seems to torn whether this is the right time to discipline her daughter, though she doesn’t account for you and your incessant neediness, because you’d just been so full and now you’re so empty. it’s burning a hole right in the pits of your stomach, and you need to be filled. you need it. cassandra, for all her patience— has waited long enough.

your pussy opens up to cassandra’s cock with an obscene squelch, walls stretching, thighs quivering outwards as you welcome the familiar girth, and isn't that something? that coming home equivocates to cumming over her cock.

cassandra cants her hips upwards, just barely— and after the (sloppy, but earnest) viciousness of which caitlyn just fucked you; it's not enough.

“more—need—more, cass—“

poor choice of words. you should know better than to throw nicknames around so flippantly, around her daughter, no less. cassandra’s grey-tinged stare turns glacial. if there's anything she's has ever taught you—it’s how to be good.

"and just where did your manners go?” cassandra’s head slants, lips curling, and you know you’re in for it, now.

through glassy eyes and a heavy head—you watch as she peels the glove from her hand and—ah. they’re the ones from earlier. still filthy, drenched in your residue. it brings flush of shame to your cheeks—mouth opening to whine; yet you’re cut off by the way she swiftly stuffs them in your mouth. the salty proof of your lust shoves down the back of your throat. you choke. it stifles your mewling like a charm.

heavens. cassandra is struck by just how much she adores you, as she rocks you on her dick. your gaze; so glossy and starry and bright, tears burning behind your eyes around your gag. she goes slow—lulls you into a false sense of security with the gentleness in her pace—before she viciously drives her hips upwards every so often, and pounds. the push-and-pull is undoing. you gasp around your make-shift gag each and every time, making the most delicious sounds as you do so.

caitlyn has long since sulked back to the armchair at the side, watching the scene with as her dick twitches, still standing tall and proud as your slick glistens, coating its length. cassandra takes her time. not sparing a glance at her daughter, the pace of her teasing out the both of you. caitlyn grouches, grumbling to herself all the whole. the sounds that come out of your mouth are much less becoming.

“take it,” cassandra orders coolly, into your ear, weathered hands clasping your jaw. she twists herself in, and you buck with a gasp when you feel hotness flood through every being. cassandra grunts, and the slip-up is barely decipherable through the cotton in your head, but you can feel the way she pumps you full with her cum with complete clarity, spasming around her cock.

when cassandra finally empties herself–pushes you up, and off of her, her movements are gracious and dignified, as if she didn’t just fuck and fill you full until your pupils slipped back and your cunt oozing with white. by the time she's done, caitlyn has made another mess against mahogony, and the younger is too fucking desperate to even bother with the illusion of control. too desperate to give a single flying fuck about the fact her own mother's cum is pulsing out from your pussy in sticky waves, that the second you're out of cassandra's hands—you're in caitlyn's. she shoves you back on the rug, fireplace licking warmth against your cheeks—though its nothing compared to the roar of sheer, blinding sensation that blazes up your core when caitlyn rams her cock inside you. groaning, girth splitting you open as she mounts you, just like that, in the middle of the living room.

cassandra reclines, back against the armchair, cock hanging between her legs. her lips curve, upwards, and she takes a sip of her tea. she has more to give you, after all. she'll just have to ensure caitlyn doesn't snap you in two, first.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (23)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Lucerys Velaryon had unwittingly contributed to her success − her father was so enraged by his visit and the manner in which he sought his support, that she knew he would not help the Princess out of pure spite.

Her father's masculine pride was fragile and easily damaged − his lack of education meant that his strength and prowess were the qualities that he could train best and was most proud of.

He wasn't well-read, but he was intelligent and knew when he could afford what and for that she valued him − it was from him that she learned when to speak loudly and when to be silent.

Two days before she returned to King's Landing she found him sitting in their dining room by the fireplace, gazing into the flames; she sat next to him on the stone floor, just as she had when she was a child and he told her of his and his ancestors' conquests.

Her father looked at her, sighing heavily, and smiled tiredly − she knew that, although he feigned indifference, the conflict in the kingdom was keeping him awake at night, and she, as his daughter, was right in the middle of it.

"Would it not be better for you to wait out this storm here?" He asked, muttering under his breath, ashamed of his weakness and the fact that he feared for her safety. She reached for his large, rough hand lying on his armrest and squeezed it.

"I will not leave my husband." She said softly, looking at him calmly. Her father snorted, frustrated at the mere mention of him.

"Don't remind me of that insolent, spiteful man. He would be nothing without his dragon." He said impatiently, but squeezed her hand. She involuntarily smiled at his words.

"I have really grown close to him, Father. He is a good husband." She said sincerely, and her father looked at her surprised. He twisted restlessly in his seat and grunted quietly, as if he wanted to ask something but was ashamed to do so.

"Is he… is he hurting you?" He asked in a low, hoarse, breaking voice. She understood with pain what he was asking her.

Her father thought that her husband was taking her by force.

That he humiliated her every day, just as he had humiliated him that evening when he took her from her home.

She swallowed loudly at the thought.

"No. I experience a fulfilment with him, every kind a woman could dream of. He is impulsive and has a complicated nature, but he has never intentionally caused me any harm." She said, looking into her father's eyes − she saw him breathe loudly, pressing his lips together, his large, rough hand clamped tightly over hers.

"That's good… that's good…" He whispered. She pressed her cheek against their entwined hands and she closed her eyes, her heart filled with love for him.

She knew that her father would support them.

Not the King.

Her and her husband.

She lay in her bed that night satisfied she had succeeded in softening her husband's image in the eyes of his father.

What's more, after what Floris had done, Cassandra and Ellyn began to speak with her again. The three of them went for a walk along the edge of the cliff, taking advantage of the fact that it wasn't raining and the sun came out from behind the clouds for a while.

"I would never have suspected that Floris could do something like this." Cassandra said, looking away, their gowns swishing in the wind. Ellyn nodded, sighing heavily.

"I swear, neither I nor Cassandra knew that she was planning something like this. We would have told you." Ellyn said, grabbing her arm, looking at her pleadingly.

She didn't know why, but she believed them.

She nodded and smiled, walking on.

Cassandra and Ellyn said that they would support her and her husband, convincing her father after her return to The Red Keep not to support the Black's. She felt a sense of relief that she could count on some women in her household − winged by this thought, she tried to sleep, dreaming that she would see her husband soon.

She shuddered and roused herself when in the middle of the night when someone suddenly walked into her chamber − she stared ahead, still half asleep, unsure if she was truely seeing him for real or if it only seemed that way to her.

"Aemond?" She asked quietly, feeling her heart beat hard with joy, desire and longing − her husband, all wet from the rain, breathless and tired, had evidently come a long way to see her, to take her with him.

"Did you speak to him?" He asked indifferently, his face cool and cold, though she could see that desire was burning in his eye. She was confused − she didn't understand what he meant. A cold shiver ran through her as she finally comprehended.

Luke.

He'd found out that he'd visited Storm's End.

She swallowed loudly and pulled back, as she saw him take a step towards her, the posture of his body was tense and menacing − she knew that all the aggression he had inside him had summoned up.

There was something in his expression that frightened her, his eye wide open, anticipating her response.

"We only exchanged a few words, I didn't expect him to come here." She whispered truthfully, looking at him pleadingly, her body trembling under his gaze.

He had never looked at her like this before, and for the first time she was so afraid of him.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his pupil narrow at his words.

"What did you discuss, sweet wife?" He hissed sweetly, making her part her lips, trying to catch her breath, her heart pounding in her chest like crazy.

She didn't know what to say − she wondered if she should lie, but she was afraid that he would hear it and immediately recognise that she wasn't being honest with him.

"I told him to send my condolences to his mother for the death of her child." She whispered helplessly, shivering all over as if from the cold, cowering within herself, waiting in horror for his reaction.

She felt a cold sweat on her back and a tightening in her pit as he smirked as frighteningly and maliciously as never before.

"I'd rather you concentrated on giving an heir to me, instead of considering the offspring of others. You're not very successful at it so far, are you?"

Silence.

She could feel her heart pulsing as the blood drained from her arms and legs.

You're not very successful at it so far, are you?

She felt tears burning under her eyelids, her chest squeezed with pain.

"Forgive me for being a disappointment to you, my Prince." She muttered, feeling as if she had gone deaf for a moment, the awareness of all the humiliation of this situation and the pain she felt still not reaching her mind.

She lowered her gaze, letting the tears leave her eyes, running down her hot cheeks.

She felt as if he had hit her, spit in her face, as if he had told her that she was a whore.

He knew that no other words would hurt her as much as this, the fact that she was not yet carrying his offspring inside her womb.

And he took advantage of this just because she dared to feel compassion for his nephew.

She turned over, laying on her side with her back to him, embracing her legs with her arms, sobbing soundlessly into her pillow.

She no longer wanted or desired anything.

Everything was indifferent to her.

She heard the creak of the floor as he took a step towards her.

"− please, don't touch me −" She whispered helplessly.

She couldn't bear it if he took her now.

She couldn't bear the feeling of him inside her.

She heard him swallow loudly, clearly only just realising what he had said.

"− return with me to King's Landing −" He choked out with difficulty − she could hear by his tone of voice that he was well aware of what he had done to her.

She pressed her lips together at his words, a single tear running down her cheek again onto the bedsheet beneath her.

"− no −"

Silence answered her and then she heard his unsteady, slow footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing with a quiet clatter of wood.

Only when she heard him leave, did she sob out loud, hugging her pillow to her chest, devastated and alone in her misery.

On the day before she left Storm's End she felt like a ghost − she spoke with her sisters, brother and father, pretending that nothing had happened.

They all asked her about her husband's sudden arrival and disappearance − she only told them that he must have convey her something and returned to King's Landing immediately.

She felt a squeeze in her stomach and discomfort every time she spoke of him.

She couldn't believe in what he had said.

At how perfidiously he had chosen his words to stab her straight in the heart, punishing her for her disobedience − she wondered if whenever she did something against his will she would face something similar.

Humiliation.

As she bid farewell to her father she could see that he feared he was seeing her for the last time − he embraced her tightly, kissing her cheeks.

"Stay away from the affairs of dragons, let them burn in their own fire. You are my daughter and you are to survive." He said with emphasis and let her go − she nodded to her siblings and stepped into the carriage that would take her to King's Landing.

Across the road she wondered what to do with her husband.

She decided that he would probably try to pretend that nothing had happened, to soften her up somehow with affectionate gestures or words.

She concluded that she would not allow herself to be manipulated in this way and would avoid him.

She would sleep in her chamber.

She did not know what he would have to do to make her forgive him.

When she arrived at her destination she felt anxious and tense.

She dreaded meeting him again.

She went straight to her chamber, where she was greeted by Lyanna − she surprised her by saying that the King wanted to see her without undue delay. She looked at her surprised.

"Just me? What about my husband?" She asked indifferently, pulling off her heavy cloak. Lyanna looked at her, pressing her lips together.

"The Prince was sent to put down the rebellion in Harrenhall. He set out yesterday morning with Ser Cole and the army by order of the King." She muttered, lowering her gaze − she felt a cold sweat run down her back.

Her husband was not there.

She did not know when she would see him.

Her fury at him mingled with despair and longing.

Lyanna reached for a rolled parchment tied with a thin ribbon lying on the wooden table and handed it to her. She swallowed loudly as she unfolded the letter, her heart trembled as she immediately recognised her husband's distinctive handwriting.

The King sends me to Harrenhal, and despite my pleas, he has not allowed you to accompany me. Know that my words spoken in a torrent of anger were not sincere and I deeply regret them. I ask for your prayers for me in my absence.

She barely restrained herself from crying in front of Lyanna, who looked at her worriedly − she wiped her eyes and grunted quietly, trying to bring herself to order. She looked at her and nodded.

"Take me to the King."

As she stepped into Aegon's chamber, she checked again with her finger to ensure that the small dagger that she had hidden in her sleeve was not visible.

She had no intention of going to this brutal, disgusting man unarmed, nor was she going to let him take her against her will if that was what he desired.

The King smiled at the sight of her, looking at her sleepily, the cup and jug of wine standing before him on the table − he was dressed in an untied white shirt tucked into black breeches.

He stood up from his seat and spread his arms in front of her as if they were friends and about to embrace, but she did not reciprocate the gesture. Undaunted, he held out his hand to her and she gave him hers, allowing him to kiss it.

"My King. You wished to see me." She said softly, looking at him calmly, trying to hide how bitter and angry she was.

"Yes. Sit down. Let's eat, I just asked for refreshments to be brought to us." He said lightly, sitting down behind the table, indicating with his hand for her to sit on the other side.

She sat down facing him with a rustle of her reddish-brown gown and grabbed for the lemon cake that stood beside her on a platter − Aegon smiled contentedly, taking his cup in his hand and took a loud sip from it.

"Why do you not wear the colours of our House?" He asked as if out of the blue − she looked at him, surprised, swallowing the bite she had just taken.

"Isn't red the colour of your lineage?" She replied impolitely with question upon question, impatient that he was wasting her time with such trivial matters.

She didn't have the strength for it.

"Not that shade. For the rest, my brother and I prefer the colours of our mother's house." He muttered under his breath, looking somewhere to the side, suddenly thoughtful.

Green, she thought with amusement.

"You invited me to speak about the colours of my gowns, my King?" She asked low, taking another bite of cake. Aegon chuckled at her words, shaking his head.

"No, dear sister-in-law. I wanted to know what decision your father made." He said, looking at her calmly, his gaze shifting. She set the remainder of her cake down on her plate, looking at him with an indifferent and weary gaze.

"He will support you." She said shortly.

Aegon raised an eyebrow.

"Will he pay tribute to me?" He asked lowly, and she sighed.

"If you won't tease him with anything by then, then yes, Your Grace." She said with amusement, recognising that she had no strength for courtesies.

She thought that she only wanted to return to her chamber and have some peace and quiet.

After a moment, however, she changed her mind.

"I wish to join my husband in Harrenhal." She said suddenly in a firm, soft voice, sounding as innocent as she could. Aegon set his cup down on the table with a loud clink of steel.

"No. War is no place for women." He said indifferently, fiddling with his goblet in his hand, turning it between his fingers. She furrowed her brow at his words.

"I am the daughter of Borros Baratheon. War is in my blood as fire is in yours." She said with impatience. Aegon looked at her, something in his gaze that frightened her − he pressed his lips together, his nostrils moving in an anxious breath. She swallowed quietly, an uncomfortable silence fell between them.

"Have you heard of the witch of Harrenhal? She is said to be a beautiful woman with full breasts, eyes as green as precious stones and hair as black as night. My brother has always had a weakness for such women, so I was surprised when it turned out that you were the one he chose. I thought then that he had made a mockery of you and your sisters." He said calmly, as if he were telling some very interesting, engaging story.

She looked at him impassively, her eyes red with tears of humiliation, her lips trembling slightly − he smiled tenderly at this sight, as if something in it had moved him.

"But I, when I saw you, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful, more sweet girl in my life. Gods, you are so delicate and subtle." He said dreamily, tilting his head back, resting it against the back of his chair, looking at her with his lips slightly parted. "I fell in love with you from the first sight."

She stared at him with her lips parted, feeling her head humming, her heart pounding like mad, drop of cold sweat running down her back − she thought it was too much for her, that she couldn't take any more. She drew in air loudly, feeling that if she didn't get out of there soon she would faint.

I fell in love with you from the first sight.

She shook her head.

"I should go back to my chamber." She whispered, lifting herself up on trembling hands, but he stood up too − she jumped back, frightened, as he walked around the table, placing his hand on her shoulder, looking at her pleadingly.

"I'm telling the truth. I've never felt anything like this for another woman." He said quickly, she could smell the intense scent of wine and sweat from him, his eyes slightly clouded from the alcohol.

Only up close did she see bruises under his eyes.

He was chronically sleeping badly.

"You have a wife who needs you. And I have a husband who needs me. Please −" She whispered, trying to pull away from him but he clasped his hand tighter on her skin, grabbing her other arm in his hand, his face leaning over hers.

"He is noble only in appearance, to the public, like my mother. Do you think that when you're not near he doesn't fuck other women? That he is faithful to you?" He hissed, and she felt a piercing pain in her chest. She furrowed her brow.

"You're in love with a mere fantasy." She whispered, trying to break free from his grasp, but his fingers clenched tighter on the sleeves of her gown.

"My brother has not been able to appreciate what he had since the day he chose you. But I would appreciate you." He said helplessly, she felt like his voice had broken in half, felt a squeeze in her heart at his words, his gaze desperate.

"Your every smile, joke, tender gesture. I would shower you with gifts and kiss your hands every day." He said and they both burst into tears.

It was a bizarre sight and situation − she had a feeling that it wasn't really happening.

They were also crying for completely different reasons.

He because of the heavy crown that was keeping him awake at night and the dream of her in his head.

She, on the other hand, was crying because she was afraid of what he was saying.

What he was going to do with those feelings.

That he was going to force her to use what she was hiding up her sleeve.

"− if you love me, please, please, let me return to my chamber −" She mumbled pleadingly.

Please, don't do this to me, she prayed.

Don't hurt me.

He stared at her, his breath hitched, tears flying down his red, swollen cheeks.

She felt his grip loosen, his hands fell down, his gaze blank.

They stared at each other for a moment − she lowered her gaze, turned and on trembling legs moved towards the door, opening it and closing it quietly behind her.

From then on, she locked the door to her chamber and had the guards watch over her day and night.

She was afraid he would come to her.

She didn't know what to make of his words but she knew that she couldn't tell anyone about them − she saw that he had watched her closely during their suppers with his mother, sister-wife and grandfather, but he did not reprimand her again.

She feared that he would eventually lose patience and take what he wanted by force.

That he would come to her at night, send her guards away, and rape her, whispering in her ear that he loved her.

She was horrified that she was not getting any letters from her husband even though his mother was recieving them all the time. It pained her that he clearly did not want to speak to her and she pressed her lips at the thought that perhaps he was now occupied by the witch of Harrenhal.

She spent this time thinking, again and again going back to the letter he had left her.

As he had requested, every day before sleep she prayed to the Seven for his safe return, and when no one could see, she went down to the pits and prayed, kneeling beneath Balerion's great skull that his ancestors would give him strength.

Her anger at him and his words left her slowly, giving place only to longing and terror that she would never see him again − she cried at night, hoping that he would walk into her chamber as he did then, in Storm's End.

One day, as she was eating her morning meal, Lyanna stepped into her rooms, saying that she had received a message from Harrenhal. She opened it immediately as soon as her servant handed it to her and drew in a loud breath as she read its contents.

Only one sentence was written.

Join me in Harrenhal.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17

[bestofsophieturner]

Sophie's filmography

2011 - 2019 : Game of Thrones as Sansa Stark - Drama & Fantasy

2020 : Survive as Jane - Drama & Thriller

2020 : Home movie : The Princess Bride as Westley - Comedy & Fantasy

2022 : The Staircase as Margaret Rattlif - True Crime, Drama & Thriller

2022 : Story Bots : Answer Time as Lady Eleonore - Animation, Comedy & Family

2024 : Joan as Joan Hannington - Crime & Drama

2013 : Another Me as Fay - Teen Drama & Thriller

2013 : The Thirteenth Tale as Young Adeline/Vida - Drama & Mystery

2015 : Secret Agency as Heather - Comedy & Action

2016 : X-men : Apocalypse as Jean Grey - Superhero, action & Sci-Fi

2018 : Josie as Josie - Drama & Thriller

2018 : Time Freak as Debbie - Comedy & Romance

2019 : Dark Phoenix as Jean Grey - Superhero, action & Sci-Fi

2019 : Heavy as Madeline - Drama

2022 : Every Last Secret as Penelope - Drama & Thriller

2022 : Do revenge as Erica - Teen Comedy & Dark Comedy

2014 : Bastille - Oblivion

2019 : Sucker - Jonas Brothers

2020 : What a man gotta do - Jonas Brothers

2013 : ‘The Girl in the Mirror’ - Narrator (audiobook)

2014 : City of Heavenly Fire by Cassandra Clare - Narrator (audiobook)

2016 : The Night Before - Mr Burberry & QG

2016 : Powershift- Documentary

2017 : Game of Thrones Conquest and Rebellion as Sansa Stark

2019 : Our Journey connected - Louis Vuitton

The Dreadful as Anne - Gothic Horror (postproduction) - movie

Trust as Lauren Lane - Psychological thriller (post production) - movie

Haven as Zara - Heist thriller (post production) - tvseries

Cloud One - Science-Fiction (preproduction) - movie

Tomb Raider project as Lara Croft - action/adventure (preproduction) - tvshow

All the pictures are edited by myself.

[konstantynowitz]

Aykut Shafiq X Letitia Greengrass.

Can you tell more about their marriage?

Aykut was forty-four and Letitia was sixteen…

The young Letitia Greengrass managed to capture the heart of Aykut Shafiq through her wit and charm, prompting him to ask for her hand in marriage. In spite of her young age, Letitia’s parents saw the that the union would be beneficial for their daughter’s standing in society. With that being said, they allowed the marriage to happen and a youthful Letitia was married to a well-aged Aykut.

Letitia slipped into her role as a bride well. She always wanted to be a wife and her marriage to Aykut was like one from a fairytale. He was so attentive towards her, spoiling Letitia with gifts and whispered words of affection. Even once they had children, their marriage flourished in all the aspects that mattered, although Aykut himself was not as loyal as he made himself out to be.

The man, despite genuinely being in love with his wife, would still have affairs with other women. One of his most repetitive conquests was Verena Selwyn (née Yaxley), mother of Cassandra Selwyn. Letitia was aware of the affair going on between her husband and Verena but she turned the other cheek, knowing that deep down she had Aykut’s heart. It didn’t matter that Verena was in his bed as the other woman, when Letitia herself was the one who bore his name and carried his children.

Letitia would die in 1936, just a year before Tasoula Shafiq enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even after her death, Aykut never took her death as the opportunity he needed to remarry. If he did choose to marry Verena (who was also widowed at the time) he wouldn’t be shamed by society for doing so, but Aykut chose not to because he was too devastated by the loss of Letitia; the woman he truly loved.

[brisselfshipping]

MY F/O INTRODUCTIONS

ONE PIECE

Monkey D. Luffy

Roronoa Zoro

Sanji

Usopp

Nami

Kiku

Yamato

Naruto

Deidara

DBZ

Vegeta

Fairy Tail

Gray Fullybuster

Erza Scarlet

Laxus Dreyar

MCU/Marvel/X-Men

Stephen Strange

Natasha Romanoff

Steven Grant

Marc Spector

Loki

Sylvie

Rocket Raccoon

Logan Howlett

Charles Xavier

Gambit

Anne Marie (Rogue)

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Cassandra Nova

Scott Summers

Agatha Harkness

Rio Videl

Vision

Your Turn to Die

Keiji Shinogi

Nao Egokoro

Rain Code

Fabuki Clockford

Halara Nightmare

Shinigami

Black Butler

Grell Sutcliff

Sebastian

Aot/Attack on Titan

Eren Jaeger

Reiner Braun

Hange Zoe

Levi Ackerman

Erwin Smith

Floch Forster

Connie Springer

Mikasa Ackerman

Doctor Who

11th Doctor

12th Doctor

BTTF/Back to the Future

Emmett Brown/Doc

Disney

Elsa

Rapunzel

Flynn Rider

Aladdin (live action)

Woody

Jessie

Buzz Lightyear

Ariel (live action)

Prince Eric (live action)

King Magnifico

Tarzan

Cinderella (live action)

Prince Kit

Judy Hopps

Nick Wilde

CSM/Chainsaw Man

Kobeni Higashiyama

Aki Hayakawa

Quanxi

TWD/The Walking Dead

Rick Grimes

Negan

Maggie Rhee

JOJO's Bizarre Adventure

Jotaro Kujo

Polnareff

Joseph Joestar

Mista Guido

BTVS/Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Willow Rosenberg

Rupert Giles

Spike

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Ellie Williams

Steven Universe

Pearl

Lapis Lazuli

Jasper

Gravity Falls

Stan Pines

Ford Pines

Legend of Korra

Korra

Mako

Kuvira

Asami Sato

The Mummy

Rick O'connell

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Mr. Fox

Bleach

Shinji Hirako

The Bad Guys

Mr. Wolf

Gintama

Gintoki

Corpse Bride

Victor

Emily

Victoria

Invincible

Nolan Grayson (Omni Man)

Cecil Stedman

Conquest

The Boys

Billy Butcher

Homelander

Mortal Kombat

Cassie Cage

Mileena

Jade

Li Mei

Kuai Liang (mk 1)

Lui Kang

Life is Strange

Chloe Price

FNAF

William Afton

Harry Potter

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

Severus Snape

Lucius Malfoy

Bellatrix Lestrange

Newt Scamander

Queenie Goldstein

JJK

Toji Fushiguro

Blue Lock

Shoei Baro

Fall Out

The Ghoul

POTC

Elizabeth Swann

Will Turner

Barbossa

Jack Sparrow

Tomb Raider

Lara Croft

Jacob

Conrad Roth

MHA

Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Shōta Aizawa

Kai Chisaki

Thriller/Horror

Patricia

Victor Frankenstein

Lee Harker

Joe Goldberg

Love Quinn

RE

Claire Redfield

Leon Kennedy

Ada Wong

Jill Valentine

Carlos Oliveira

Luis Serra

Ashley Graham

Raymond Vester

Sheva Alomar

Chris Redfield

Jake Muller-Wesker

Helena Harper

Ethan Winters

Alcina Dimitrescu

Karl Heisenberg

Squid Game

Seong Gi-hun (player 456)

Hwang Jun ho

Cho Sang Woo (player 218)

Hwang In-ho (Frontman)

Cho Hyun-ju (player 120)

Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Nam-gyu (player 124)

Semi (Player 380)

Arcane

Silco

Sevika

Vi

Caitlyn Kiramman

Jayce Talis

Familial f/os

Billy Maximoff

Steven Universe

Anne Boonchuy

Zuko

Gabi Braun

Finn Mertens

Denji

Harry Potter

Shoto Todoroki

[vinatintasupernovita]

Cassandra sighed sourly as she swirled her drink in one hand, passively watching the party. It was supposed to be a grand celebration. Her brother had returned home after being lost to the vast Grecian world- how happy everyone was to see him, alive and well.

Well, everyone except her, that is.

Cassandra had liked it better when Troy was quiet- when she didn’t have to foresee so much. She always got the worst brunt of visions before one of her siblings went off on adventures, especially her damned brother Paris. She knew where he had been all along, canoodling with priestesses and angering farmers- but no one listened to her. No one ever listened to her when it came to her prophecies.

She stood at the walls of the palace hall, sipping on her first glass of alcohol in what would undoubtedly be the longest night in the last several moons. She listened to the loud revelry and almost wished she could be as blind as the rest of them had been in order to celebrate. But, that wasn’t the case now was it?

Her eyes wandered across the room, recognizing very few faces there. Mostly they were friends of Paris- the cheeky ass was the most beloved prince next to Hector. Half the city had to be there.

However, there was one figure in the crowd that caught Cassandra’s interest. A tall, muscular figure. Tanned and rugged in the way a warrior was, but with bright orange hair that fell just above their ears. Their eyes were dark yet shiny even across the room it was apparent how they glistened. They were quite a sight.

Suddenly, the room got blurry- the kind of blurry that Cassandra knew all too well.

In an instant, Cassandra saw their entire future together unfold right before her eyes. She saw the way that person- that stranger- would look at her during the first rays of morning light, their hands wrapped in one another’s gentle touch. She saw the way Troy toppled in the distance as they escaped on horseback. She saw fire and blood and flowers curling awake under the summer sun in a land far away from the only home she had ever known. She saw confessions of love and of.. other things. Things that were not for mere mortals to know.

Cassandra knew her prophecy was true, pure and undeniable. This, though? This was unlike any series of prophecies she had ever had. Maybe it was the shock of it all coming to her at once, but without even realizing it, she moved across the dance floor to meet her at the center.

Conquest was, to say the very least, surprised when a beautiful woman with honey-blond hair, freckled skin, and the most piercing black eyes she had ever seen took her hands and pulled her to the side.

“I know what you are.” When the words left Cassandra’s mouth, Conquest could feel her gut drop. “And you may not know me yet, but I’m your future.”

“Wh- Who are you?” Conquest asked, the tinge of surprise audible in her question. Cassandra squeezed her hands- and as if clockwork, Conquest felt her heart start to thump in her chest.

“My name is Cassandra.” She said, “I am the princess of these lands. I was blessed with the gift of prophecy. I can tell you are not a mortal, not like me nor my people. What you are is a mystery, though. One I cannot work out- yet, at least.”

That was a first.

“You were in my visions.” Cassandra explained, “I saw my entire life unfold the instant you walked into the room- in each scene, you were there. You.. you will become my everything.”

As if the gears in her brain started to slow to a manageable speed, Cassandra became more and more aware of how deeply intimate many of those scenes were. She could practically feel how Conquest would hold her- cherish her, even- in the times to come- and yet here she was, meeting her for the first time and probably scaring her- nice job, ever astute princess Cassandra.

“I..” She swallowed thickly as the embarrassment set in. “I’m sorry- the excitement of my visions overtakes me sometimes. That was so rude of me.”

Conquest was dumbfounded- she had heard of psychics before, of course, but never met one until now. And to think this Cassandra could tell that she wasn't a human so quickly? That was surprising. But what really stuck out to her was the fact that, apparently, she and Cassandra would get very close. Closer than close, from the sounds of it.

The idea didn’t surprise her- Conquest knew all of her siblings had their taste for humans- hell, that’s how she came to be after all, with War running off with her lady-love Helen of Sparta- but, until then, Conquest hadn’t considered the possibility that she too might take up a lover of her own.

She found humans attractive, sure, both men and women, and Cassandra was definitely attractive- but she hadn’t considered how to court a human, nor how it would intersect with her work.

But from the sounds of it, Cassandra was saying they would be together in every regard. It was.. a lot to consider, especially since they just met.

Cassandra’s building nerves were getting the better of her as she released Conquest from her grip, anxiously rubbing her own arm as she waited for a response of any kind.

“I am Sienna,” She said, following the only examples she knew by slowly taking Cassandra’s hand again and placing it to her lips, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my future.”

Oh, so being smooth was hereditary then, alright.

“..The pleasure is all mine, my everything.” There was a smile creeping its way onto Cassandra’s face, and Conquest decided right away that she liked this courting thing.

[bestworstcase]

Hey, me and my friend are developing our own Tangled History Lore the involves the Saporians, and in our instance, Demanitus helps Corona take over Saporia by stealing Zhan Tiri’s created memory wand and wiping their memories of the invasion except for the Saporians who helped Corona.

Now, Saporians have grown up with no history of the past other than small events, barely care about their heritage, and are still somewhat against Corona.

So what would happen to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, who may have been previously allied with Saporia, if they found out Corona and Saporian treasonists took over and wiped their memories

so if i'm following, corona rapunzel's returned the entire nation of saporia and all of saporia's allies ~two thousand years ago when demanitus and zhan tiri were still kicking around and this massive magical conspiracy then went undiscovered for however long—i assume until around the time of the series itself?

which. hm

backtracking a little from your actual question i think it would be worth taking into consideration the limitations of the wand of oblivium—bc in rapunzel's return it's shown that the wand is powerful but can't really be used on a wide scale: the saporians managed to wipe the memories of the coronan king and queen, and being generous perhaps a handful of other aristocrats and important courtiers whom we just don't see on screen bc they're not necessary to the story, and then just relied on the coronan culture of absolute obedience to the king to control the rest of the populace while waiting for varian to figure out a potion that could... either directly reproduce the effect of the wand on a dramatically larger scale or else somehow serve as a conduit for disseminating the wand's magic to many people at once. (personally i think the latter solution was more likely what the goal was, i.e., clementine uses the wand to curse batches of varian's potion and then they suffuse the water supply with the potion or start gassing people with it or whatever the method of distribution ended up being and the curse is transmitted through the material of the potion—but that's a tangent)

so

the question is how did demanitus and his coronan conspirators get around the problem of the wand needing to—as rapunzel's return implies—individually curse every single person whose memories the caster wants to alter? conquest by brainwashing is arduous to the point of impossibility if you're trying to do it one person at a time, esp. when it's possible for cursed people to fight off the magical amnesia with support from loved ones whose memories are intact. and then add to that it being a wand he stole from zhan tiri and his own self-admitted unfamiliarity with magic—this is the man who shoved his soul into a monkey with a spell he knew he barely understood after all—and theres the additional problem of did the coronans even know what they were doing the way a real witch like clementine or zhan tiri would?

and then all magical considerations aside you have the further complication that massive conspiracies are difficult to pull off simply because they require a lot of people to be in the know to make things happen, and you start running into the two-can-keep-a-secret-if-one-is-dead principle. stuff gets out

ANYWAY

this is cynical but assuming there is indeed a two thousand year gap between the memory wiping and then modern day corona, in line with the canonical timeline of tts—which i recognize is not necessarily a reliable assumption with an au but you didn't specify—i honestly dont think a lot would necessarily change if the brainwashing was retroactively discovered somehow. bc by now the hegemony of the seven kingdoms in a world where saporia doesn't exist is well established and... people in power cleave to the status quo. what's going to happen to this sprawling trading alliance if we take corona to task for this enormous violation of human rights that happened literal thousands of years ago? when saporian culture was eradicated so thoroughly that it might as well not ever have existed? who benefits from tearing this system apart now, and who benefits from leaving things as they are and shrugging at past wrongs? (it's so much easier to just say well... that was a long time ago... oh well.)

except for, of course, the saporians themselves, because it was their identity and their home and their culture that was utterly stripped from them—they lost everything, and even the knowledge that they'd lost anything at all was stolen from them too, like, it's hard to fathom a scenario where this information comes out and doesn't lead directly to outrage and unrest from whatever saporian communities are still left—how else can one even respond to something like that?

and from there i mean. it depends on where you want to take the story and how you want to handle it, like, theres a lot of variables beyond "corona did this horrific thing x centuries ago and now we know about it" that could or would shape the direction of events subsequent to the conspiracy being broken up to—like assuming all other things being equal how do zhan tiri and cassandra and the moonstone fit into this, with zhan tiri being (i assume) a saporian sorceress whose work was stolen and then used to eradicate her home? how does varian's partnership with the saporian separatists go when theres this underlying element of them just doing to corona what was done to their ancestors in a desperate bid to maybe scrape back together some semblance of a cultural identity for themselves? how does rapunzel—who has herself run afoul of saporian memory magic, albeit accidentally—feel when she learns this about her nation's history and what does she do about it? etc etc etc and then all these individual character decisions have ripple effects that shape the broader societal and political responses there's not a one size fits all answer, here. it's dependent on the specific shape and structure of the story itself

[hellyeahheroes]

Hi, thanks to your introduction post on Strange Academy I am getting back into comics for the first time in years! Now I have two questions. One of which is dumb so I'll ask that first. What time are new comic issues (for DC and Marvel) released? Every two weeks? A month? Two months? And my second question, a bit hefty, what are some of your all time favourite comics that you'd recommend to a 'beginner' comic reader? Thanks for getting me back into comics!!

Sorry it took me so long to get into this, needed some time to consider good entry points for various franchises. New issues of a specific comic book come out every month usually. While not unheard of, it is rare to have a bi-monthly, bi-weekly or weekly series.

For some good comics for a beginner reader:

Marvel:

All-New Ghost Rider - 2014 series introducing new Ghost Rider, Robbie Reyes

Ares: God of War and Dark Avengers: Ares - a miniseries about my favorite asshole in Marvel.

Annihilation - Marvel big cosmic event that shaken up that corner of cosmos for a while. Had a sequel Annihilation: Conquest and two series spinning out of it, Nova vol.4 and Guardians of the Galaxy vol.2, all worth a read.

The immortal Hulk - Current Hulk series, more in the horror vein.

The Incredible Hercules - a more humorous book on exploits of Hercules and Amadeus Cho, 7th smartest man on Earth.

Journey Into Mystery - 2011 series by Kieron Gillen focuses on Loki after he died and was brought back to life. It happens somewhat in “behind the scenes” of events taking place in other parts of Marvel Universe at the time. 2013 Young Avengers series and Al Ewing’s excellent Loki: Agent of Asgard are good follow-ups to the book and Loki’s saga.

Miles Morales: Spider-Man: I don’t know if it is a good jumping-in point on Miles, but his current series by Saladin Ahmed is absolutely excellent. 

Moon Knight by Warren Ellis and Decan Shavley - six issues, 

Ms. Marvel - Kamala Khan comics starting with 2014 series, 2015 relaunch and current Magnificent Ms. Marvel series.

New X-Men: Academy X - I’m not big on X-Men, but this book is mostly focused on doing its own thing and dealing with new students.

Runaways from 2003 to now, benefits greatly from being a bit removed from rest of Marvel Universe.

Superior Foes of Spider-Man - a humorous series about Spider-Man’s low-level enemies trying to put on a heist.

X-Men: Legacy vol.2 - Was recently collected as Legion: Son of X. It focuses on Legion Charles Xavier’s son.

X-23 - miniseries Innocence Lost and Target X, followed by Majorie Liu X-23 ongoing and Tom Taylor’s All-New Wolverine, it tells a pretty damn good saga of Laura Kinney and her journey. 

Young Avengers - classic series is a good new start for new readers, introducing new characters to the wider MU and easily lending into introducing some concepts from the rest of Marvel to new readers.

DC

American Vampire - an out of continuity horror series.

Animal Man - an old series by Grant Morrison, but it still holds up great, it is equal parts eco-concious and mind-screwy

Batgirl from 2000 - starring Cassandra Cain, a great solo series, has somewhat os a slump in the middle, but the book still holds up great to this day.

Batwoman - Greg Rucka’s Batwoman stories in Detective Comics (collected as Batwoman: Elegy), 2011 series (before the creative team leaves) and Margueritte Bennet’s series are each very solid.

Gotham Academy - a mystery series set in Gotham’s most prestigious school, can be easily read without much of the knowledge of the rest of DC.

Gotham Central - a police procedural set in Gotham City, more regular-people view on Batman’s corner of the world.

Green Lanterns - follows two rookie Green Lantern Corps members, Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz.

New Super-Man - a Chinese government tries to create their own Superman. Much, much better than one may expect from the premise itself.

The Sandman - an all-times classic, tale of Dream of Endless, master of dreams. Has a lot of spinoffs also worth considering.

Superman Rebirth - 2016 series which reinvents Superman as a father and husband, it is a good entry point for Superman

Planetary - set in Wildstorm universe, a team of super archeologists discovers lost history of the world.

The Terrifics - a new team forming from classic characters, with its own spin on some well-known franchise.

Transmetropolitan - one of my favorite books, entirely out of continuity., a quintessential post-cyberpunk that, to Warren Ellis amusement, seems to be coming true

Wild Storm - the reboot of the Wildstorm Universe, still holds up as a standalone title.

Young Animal Titles - a number of excellent books from imprint made by Gerard Way. While flagship title Doom Patrol may require knowledge of Grant Morrison’s old run on the title, books like Mother Panic, Far Sector, Cave Carson or Shade, the Changing Girl can be read without prior knowledge

- Admin

[fettesans]

Top, you wanna know why you’re all so phonically satisfied by the line “suck my dick and choke on it I yield my time fuck you!” ???? it’s cuz it’s basically shakespeare y’all. it feels like a heartbeat - literally it’s how you speak when your body is guiding you, @alyssalavacca, June 8, 2020. Bottom, spread from Reader on Cannibalism, Blackface & Minstrelsy, published by Cassandra Press.

Watch Citizen to LAPD.

--

I’m also thinking a lot about reproduction and ideas of beauty, how images produce thoughts, how thoughts produce images, and how thoughts produce words and undo meaning. I’ve been thinking about reproduction via the three figures—the Lover, the Artist, and the Fetishist. Physical sexual love and intimacy reproduce certain values, and metaphorical languages—metaphors around reproduction, physical love, and sexual love—end up obscuring or erasing the agency of the maternal to govern or protect life, another way that patriarchy has grown from an index and symbology concealing the nature of reproductive oppression inherent to rape culture and conquest culture.

Kandis Williams, interviewed by Candice Lin and Shana Lutker for X-TRA, Spring 2019.

[randombtsprincessa]

Accendo

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: JHope x Reader

Words: 2.2k

Genre: Fluff, Angst if you squint, Cracky?? 

Summary: The Awkward Moment when the Sun God falls for you.

Warning: Mentions of battle and injury.

The flick of a cool breeze brushed into your small room, bringing with it a streak of dawn light. Your lips twitched in slight discomfort but your eyelids stayed shut adamantly whiled the sunlight strengthened, twisting into a masculine shape.

The shape stayed fixed on its spot for a moment, head tilted at you before with an almighty breath, it let out a call which would rival the best cock in the world – yes, that was literal.

“Rise and shine beautiful, it’s a gorgeous day outside!”

Your eyes flew open, mouth dropping as you gaped at the intruder in your room, equal parts of horror and anger blossoming in your chest.

“Hoseok, what the ever loving fuck do you think you’re doing?” You hissed, hastily gripping your blankets and pulling them right up to your chin, narrowly missing punching your face.

“I just wanted to see my little petal before going off.” He sighed happily and to your dismay began to actually take form in your room.

Fiery red hair came first, followed by a chiseled face and a slim, athletic body as Jung Hoseok; Apollo himself in all his glory walked to your bed and clambered in beside you. It took you all of two seconds to react.

“Hoseok, get out of my bed, now!”

“Now, don’t be like that.” He grumbled, placing two hands under his head, smiling serenely. “I maybe a god, but I get tired too. Five more minutes,” he said.

You stared at the brazen god in your bed with annoyance written clearly across your face before you gave up with a huff. It was still too early to deal with Hoseok’s shamelessness and you had to be up in an hour anyway.

“Oh, I was wondering if you would go with me to Zeus’s recent bash.” He murmured.

“Nope,” you snapped immediately but the God very conveniently let out a snore.

Making sure you were wrapped safely away from the lascivious gaze he might train on you, you quickly went back asleep, later waking up to find him gone but with a feeling you were going to see your patron God very soon again.

Greek Gods…

Yes, that’s right. Your Percy Jackson stories had turned out to be right, maybe with a few intricacies. Ancient Gods still resided in modern times, in reincarnated bodies, very much alive and in the flesh.

You had been a botany student being pressured to take pre-med by your forceful parents when you’d stumbled – all piss drunk and about to collapse – on to the God of Sun…in a very similar state.

In your inebriated state you had deemed him to be a good sort of lay, all shiny hair and fitted leather and you had invited him to join you but soon enough you were spilling your tragedy to the man, who listened lying eagle spead on your floor, half closed mouth mumbling before he gave you a blinding smile and a preposterous story with an even more so solution.

He was a Greek God – ok so he looked hot enough to be one – and he could take you away and dump you in a camp where ancient medical knowledge was provided under his tutelage and patronage, because he was also the patron god of healers. That did not seem very strange to you, until of course he mentioned that the camp was in Greece.

“Dude, I’m all for guys who can make me laugh in bed but can we wait till we’re naked?” you asked and he’d smirked before snapping his fingers.

In a blaze of flames and folded light, you and he were standing in the middle of a valley, full of beautiful flowers and fruit laden trees. Over the fences you could see small huts, hundreds of them, sprawling over miles and you gaped, your entire buzz gone as you spun to the smug God.

“All of this could be yours. I’ll even see you get one of the best huts and be your personal patron. Just say yes, gorgeous.”

If he thought you were going to be awed, the next minute he was frowning when you smacked his chest – hard.

“What the hell, you can’t just drag me over to Greece! Take me back, now!” you’d screeched and it had taken him a few second to snap his fingers correctly to get you back in your living room, this time alone.

Neither did you get laid nor did you have a good night’s sleep.

Your anger hadn’t lasted two days when another call from your parents, questioning your life had made you snap at them that you were taking a med course in Greece. That had silenced them and even though you knew it was a compromise; at least you’d still be near plants.

Conjuring up Hoseok again had been another night of drinking and taking home a very, very annoying and touchy God.

Of course, having a god as a personal patron came with more jobs than one; you basically had gained a small eager Labrador who wanted to parade you everywhere. You soon learned that Hoseok hadn’t personally provided patronage to anyone since eons and while you were flattered, it didn’t escape your notice that it was due to your incomplete conquest of sleeping with him and that he was probably only doing it to get into your pants.

Not to mention, this made many of the girls at the camp hate your very guts. The only person who was willing to hang out with you was a tall, spectacled boy named Taehyung. He always made it a point to let you know he was your only friend and to be grateful for his strength at keeping your haters at bay.

Hoseok was a generous teacher though. He gave you a tour of Olympus and all the special ingredients only found there, introduced you to his family even.

Zeus or his reincarnation Jin was as beautiful as legend told, the throne next to him occupied by a regal woman named Jisoo who could only be his wife Hera.

Athena you met in a college protest, a tall man named Namjoon who yelled about government conspiracies so loudly that even Hoseok, probably the loudest God alive winced.

Next was meeting his twin, Artemis, or Yoongi in this generation, his skin pale as moonlight and hair woven silver as he took one look at you in Hoseok’s golden chariot, hanging on for dear life and face palming himself; probably already knowing his brother’s playboy ways.

Meeting Ares and Aphrodite, or Jungkook and Jimin had nearly gotten you killed.

Hoseok had sent you to retrieve a shield and while you had rolled your eyes as being made to clean up after a man, the sword at your throat from the red eyed man was enough to make you cry, before Hoseok had appeared laughing and cajoling the man.

It was Jimin who had saved you, eyeing you and Hoseok before smiling, a little giddily and murmuring to Jungkook who had smirked but not before glaring a warning at Hoseok. You had refused to accompany Hoseok on any more excursions, making him pout for a good time.

Safe to say, it was only Yoongi who you liked in his entire barrage.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Taehyung muttered first thing as you joined him in pruning the rose bushes.

“Yes, thank you,” you grumbled before he slinked closer.

“God happened to visit you that we won’t name?” he whispered, making you groan.

“He woke me up at five…can you imagine and then passed out in my bed!” You hissed back, before going off on a rant about how annoyed his presence left you.

“Um, Y/N,” Taehyung suddenly gulped and you whirled around, your pruning shears up in case someone thought you needed another bath in dung manure.

Only, it was just sparkled and shimmers as Hoseok materialized in the middle of the rose bushes.

The sharp gasp of people around him prompted him to raise his hands in a calming manner but the shit eating grin on his face told you he enjoyed it as he looked at the head of your batch.

“How are we my beautiful healers? All well, I hope,” he said.

The head woman nodded desperately in the face of his allure and Hoseok smiled widely.

“Fantastic, I have come to ask my dear Y/N to accompany me to Zeus’s bash. Isn’t that exciting?” he said.

There was a heavy pause in which your grip on the shears tightened, Taehyung took a visible step back and the girls all turned to give you unsavory looks.

“Yes, it is indeed.” The Head said and the God turned to you.

“Well, you’ll go, won’t you?” he pressed.

“I…”

You wanted to throw something at his perfect face for this new low reached but with the people eyeing your every move it was impossible so you forced a tight grin.

“Of course, my lord,”

“You’re absolutely horrible.” You said first thing as Hoseok started to open his mouth, his hands already pointing toward some glowing flowers. He wanted to show you a new batch he needed picked over the valley and while it was a good fifteen minute hike, he’d snapped his fingers and voila.

“I’m sorry?” he turned to you in confusion.

“You think you’re so cool and then pull that dick move.” You hissed.

“You mean asking you at the pruning chores? How is that low? I’d think you’d be more than glad to leave pruning and a God asking you to Zeus’s party is considered an honor.” He frowned.

“It was considered an honor. It’s the twenty first century, Hoseok! Besides if I wanted a God, I’d go for one that acted like it.” You snapped.

Darkness brewed behind Hoseok’s eyes and for a second you reminded yourself that he was, after all, a god, capable of burning you where you stood.

“I don’t act like a god?” he asked.

“Admit it, you’re being nice to me only because you want to sleep with me.”

“That’s not true! I’m being nice because I actually like you!”

“Sure, and look where that got Cassandra.” You replied snidely.

Hoseok’s face paled.

“That was ages ago. I have changed.”

You snorted.

“Make me believe that.”

Hoseok stood still for a few second before he was disappearing, turning holographic and then melting away completely, leaving you alone with a bunch of glowing plants.

Your sleep was again disturbed by a God.

You groaned in annoyance wondering why Hoseok was back. He had disappeared for a whole of two days. The sun still rose but he never showed up in your room after that fight you had.

So when you opened your eyes, you were fully expecting the blaze of heat, not a sliver of moonlight in which stood Hoseok’s twin, Yoongi.

“Y/N, you need to come with me. Now,” he said, his eyes blown wide open.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, not missing the urgency in the god’s voice as you shuffled to sit up.

“It’s…it’s that wretched brother of mine. Took on a bunch of Pythos, but almost lost; He needs a Healer.” Yoongi gulped and that was when you saw the state in which he was in.

White robes muddied, pale hair tousled, he looked like he’d just survived a battle.

“I’ll go fetch the Head.”

“No, we don’t have time and he asked for you.” Yoongi snapped before he was waving a hand, twisting light into a bag of ingredients.

“All you’ll need is in here. Come with me.” He said.

Unlike Hoseok, Yoongi didn’t transport you anywhere, instead walking with you at a brisk pace till the lake, where you gasped when you spotted Hoseok’s chariot.

Apollo’s golden sigil was splashed with mud and what looked like slime, the wheels splintered and the flag post had snapped. The glow it usually exuded was dimmed.

“He’s inside.”

You didn’t wait for any other words from the God of the Hunt, quickly moving to scramble into the huge chariot and then you saw him.

His red hair was darkened, cuts on his hands and face glowing golden with clotted Ichor, the golden blood of Gods and you placed a hand at his forehead to feel him burning up more than usual. He had a fever.

“Hoseok…Apollo, hey, can you hear me?” you asked, slapping his cheeks lightly as you fetched some bandages and clear lake water to clean his wounds.

Hoseok’s eyes opened, glowing orange before setting back to brown.

“Y/N…you came,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I can hardly not come when my patron calls.” You mumbled, placing a cool cloth against his head.

“You…you said I wasn’t a God, so I…”

“Tried to be one? By taking on some goons you know you’re going to need help with?” You asked, hurriedly running ointment on his cuts.

“It was stupid but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t smite me, but you are stupid.” You sighed before settling back.

“You’re already healing, I think you’ll be fine.” You said.

“Yes,” Hoseok sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

You got to your feet before looking down at your God.

“Hoseok,” you called, making him look up. “Don’t be late when you pick me up.” You said before climbing down the steps and walking away.

The god blinked in surprise before smiling in victory.

[hopebliss]

A DRUMMING OF ASPHALT

SUMMARY: It’s routine - a short walk for a Ventrue bureaucrat and the Anarch leader. (hinted!gretel x nines rodriguez, 1.6k words)

“You won’t compromise.”

A statement, not framed as a question. A statement strung out, vowel and consonants clicking, in a manner that suggested Gretel had said this before, time and time again.

Defeated repetition. Nines Rodriguez supplied his usual answer, as expected. “No.”

They had found - through a similar kind of repetition -  the quiet routes in L.A, the streets that were easy for two Kindred to meander through, lined with empty warehouses and the occasional rumble of midnight traffic. Pavements well-mapped by a pair of clicking Ventrue heels and well-worn Brujah boots under hazy city lights.

“That makes life difficult, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Difficult for you and the LaCroix. The Camarilla.”

“For the city, too.” Her side-glances during these nights were sparing, still, she used up one of her quota then, slate grey hewn sharp behind dark-rimmed glasses. “It cannot carry on like this.”

Familiar sentences; as if they hadn’t already circled around this topic, night after night, long after she had first entered the Last Round bar, spine rim-rod straight and refusing to move five feet away from her Toreador friend. As if their hissed arguments hadn’t eventually dragged them onto the street, pacing around L.A like tempestuous animals in a cage.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Nines voice, caught between a drawl and a snap. Impatience coupled with resignation. They would be here again, in a couple of nights, when Gretel would return with another set of negotiations - the same as ever before, but glossy-laminated and presented with slick new titles, a new barbed wire cage around old stories. “Listen, Rushforth, you’re the ones who chose to stampede back here as if nothing ever happened. You’re the ones trying to push against us and failing.”

“Failing? Your Anarchs aren’t exactly standing steady on two feet.”

“They’re not mine. They don’t belong to anyone. That’s the whole point.”

Tremere theorists and scholars often talked around the houses when it came to a Kindred’s state of unlife. Kindred biology was a point of fascination, a series of contradictions within itself: they were alive and yet they weren’t. Not exactly changed but transformed into something else entirely, human and monster coalescent in the same form. 

Breathing was one of those funny things: lungs that should be dormant twitched. A mimic of a sigh and Nines reached inside his shirt pocket.

It was mildly concerning when Gretel realised her first instinct wasn’t to think gun. Either the past few weeks had dulled her, or she had learned to recognise when Nines was reaching for his cigarettes.

Oh.

“Don’t pretend to care for the city either.” He continued, splintering the two-second silence with a flick of the cardboard carton lid. “Can’t be here two seconds and pretend to give a shit.” And, absurdly, he gestured the carton in an offering.

“No thank you, I’m trying to quit.” She caught his look. “It’s a bad habit.”

“I’m pretty sure there are worse things in your line of work, Cammy.”

“Still bad.” She reached over and took one. “Just because I haven’t lived here all my life does not mean I’m not invested.”

A lighter was soon procured and the two naturally slowed down on the sidewalk. The sharp lines of Nines’ face grew deeper in the darkness. “Invested. Provin’ my point there Rushforth - you Ventrue putting all your stock into who you think is useful and when they’re not? You don’t want to know anymore. Cut your losses and head to the next big thing. L.A is just another kind of Camarilla project to you all. A conquest we’re paying for.”

“And it’s not to you?” She shouldn’t have bristled. Shouldn’t have let the hound dig his claws under her skin. Flint to the flame, like the one she balanced between her fingers. Ironic, considering the danger of fire to the Kindred. Since when had she been so drawn to self-sabotage? “The great last ‘free’ state. The Anarch playground. It’s chaos, it’s not sustainable, you’ll burn out before the year is over.”

His answer arrived after a plume of smoke. “We won’t. Even if we do, ‘least we keep our pride. ‘Least we don’t treat everyone around us as expendable.”

“They’re not-” Too quick, too hasty, she wanted to curse it, “- expendable.”

“No?” Nines looked at her, then. Gretel wondered how many could stand that gaze: Nines Rodriguez did nothing in halves, nothing without the fullest push of intensity. It was different than the Prince she served, having long weathered the shifting of clinical disinterest to scathing hyperfocus of Sebastian LaCroix. It made her feel too solid. Too heavy. Too present.

But the Ventrue can take the heat. And she did. She met him, eye-for-eye, grey-for-bright-blue. “No.”

They had stopped again: another empty side-street caught in a gasp of forgotten industry, grey brick and glass interrupted by the slick outlines of graffiti. Modernism claiming old ground, just as it had every decade, looking different every time. The twenty-first century was colour and nihilism in one unholy package.

His cigarette was fading out, fingers curling tight.

It had been part of Gretel’s training - as a Kindred, as a Ventrue, most importantly as the childe of the new Camarilla protege - to predict the question before it arrived. To be clever and duck against the verbal blade of politicians, the simpering placating of diplomats. To read the weighted curve of a mouth, the flick of a tongue against fangs.

She knew, with certainty, what Nines was going to say.

“Who?”

There was a stone lodged in her throat, in her chest, in her stomach. An inevitability in the sudden knowledge that Nines knew. 

That he knew about capricious Cassandra and how close Gretel followed her into the Last Round, echoing a familiarity with every movement. 

That he knew about the rainbow reflections of Becca, neon lights glinting off the edge of the pier as they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

That he knew about Hester, drawing in Gretel’s pride with her talent and obstinance towards conformity. 

That he knew about Katya and her blood-soaked, ichor-lined brilliance and Gretel’s worry for her, and her awe for how far she could reach - if she wanted.

She couldn’t give them to him. To anyone. Not yet.

“It doesn’t matter.” It does, they both agreed silently, but Nines didn’t push. Thankfully. “The Camarilla will not stop, will not cease. The Prince has never strayed from his goals. I’ll keep coming back, and if nothing changes then it doesn’t matter who’s expendable or not, the whole city will burn.”

“You’re the ones rolling in, pushing for war-”

“It wouldn’t be war.” A room exploded outward, her Sire blackened and charred, melting into the wind. Her scalp bleeding, hands slick and slippery, ducking her body against a hail of bullets. 

Gretel knew war. 

Had he ever served, or had he been tucked away in L.A, ducking from the jaws of gangs and cops alike? “It would be a slaughter. It would be needless.”

“Is that a threat?” His voice was quiet, pulled tight. The wolf prince raising his hackles.

“No.” The edging night was draining something out of her. A blanket of darkness, unperturbed by the absence of street lines ringing the roads from the Last Round. A smear of grey against a broad shoulder and Gretel was automatically reaching out. “Yes, perhaps. You have ash on-”

A hand grabbed her wrist just as her fingertips brushed the indent of bone and muscle. Nines was suddenly there, cold as all Kindred tended to be, but her arm burned all the same.

For a moment, there was nothing but the pressure of his thumb pressing the dip of her palm. Her elbow locked, the flat of the  arm pressed against the inward curve of his chest

It didn’t hurt. Her sensibilities dictated that somehow, somewhere, that must be wrong. Enough space for her fingers to uncurl, for nails to scrape against the thread of a worn shirt, to collect and fix the irregularity how she wanted.

“Doesn’t matter.” He parroted back. She could almost feel the sound - the deepness - coming from inside of him. “You’re not gonna protect them like this, you know that. LaCroix’s got you playing for the wrong side. For the one that’ll get them killed.”

“What side is the right one then?” Her shoe slid closer despite herself. “Yours? A revolution clinging on? Rebels without a plan?”

“The side that doesn’t treat its people like playthings. The side that looks after their own.”

“Is that what you want, Rodriguez?” Words that weren’t laden in spite, words that ran away from her, tempered down by the gravity emanating from him. This is how you get caught in his orbit, his momentum. It’d be easy, too easy- “To look after me?”

She had meant it as a joke, deprecation - to him, to her, either way, she expected him to reel back.

He tightened his grip instead, looked like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

 “I could. Them too.”

A beat.

Somewhere, a broken exhaust pepper the air like a gunshot. Gretel’s arm was suddenly at her own side - when had she torn it away? - and she was turning and she was walking, quickly, a jaw slack, slamming shut. Cold air burned the arch of her cheeks, seared her eyes hidden by her glasses.

Ash, still collected under her nails. She wiped them against her coat, but it was resolute in clinging to her cuticles. Stubborn. Damn him -

“I’ll tell the Prince that you don’t accept.” Sentences, hewn,  meticulous once again. She felt the weight of him, his stare, even when he was behind her, even when she was walking away so quickly. That’s what it was - the peturbing nature of it - of being flayed open so nonchalantly. It wasn’t the meticulous unravelling of a Ventrue Prince, it was the Brujah who could burn you open immediately.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days then.” Nines called after her.

To her utter fury, he sounded like he was smiling.

A grin stitched into the night.

[somevirtualnolife]

The Details, Please

921 words

Rating: G Pairing: Hawke x Cullen Rutherford  Summary: There is of course, only one person who gossips more than the War Council. It's Varric, of course. Previous Chapter: A Small Change Author’s Notes: I thought I would share another fluff pice before getting back into the main plot, because obviously Varric would have something to say about this, because who doesn't want to hear about their best friend's new bae?

Happy Reading!

“Ha! So you and Curly-”

“Don’t, Varric,”

Varric leaned back in his chair. She wouldn’t call his expression smug, but he certainly seemed as pleased as punch. Like he had just solved a mystery.

“Never thought I’d see the day where Aerianne Hawke was blushing like a chantry girl again. First Cassandra, now you. It’s almost adorable. Almost,”

The champion turned away pulled her tankard to her face. “It’s the alcohol, I swear. You know how my face gets when I’ve had too much,”

The Herald’s Rest wasn’t their usual go-to spot to chat, but it was nice to have a change of pace and scenery. Although it wasn’t the Hanged Man, there was still a buzz of excitement; beautiful bards singing in the background, drunken young lads daring each other to do foolish tasks, tall stories about brave heroes and their conquests. The other nice addition was that unlike the Hanged man, neither of them had to worry about getting over the head with a broken bottle or contracting diseases just by sitting on a stool. Not that the old Kirkwall tavern didn’t have it’s charms.

“Sure it is,” Varric smirked. “And my ancestors were eight feet tall,”

“Look, I’m just telling you about us because you were going to find out anyway,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her face still tinged with red with no signs of leaving. It really was the alcohol. She just needed to keep telling herself that.

Sure, she really… really liked Cullen. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the start of a new relationship, but what was not to like about him? He was sweet, understanding, dedicate to his work, very handsome… but she wasn’t about to act like some sort of lovesick puppy about it.

Well, not outwardly.

“It all happened sort of fast, and we’re just trying to make sure it doesn’t affect our work,”

“Oh yeah. eight or so years of unresolved sexual tension is real fast there, Hawke,”

“Need I remind you that you are still writing letters to your married ex,”

“All inquisitor business, I swear,” the dwarf raised his hands up in defence. “For now. But let’s not talk about me,”

“We never talk about y-”

“The Commander!” he said loudly enough that a few of the patron’s jumped. Maybe it wasn’t the best of places to be having this conversation. Gossip in Skyhold went around faster than a mouse across the kitchen.

“So, who made the first move? The sweeping of feet? Was it when you got back from Crestwood? I bet it was,”

“This is going to be in another of your books, isn’t it? Or you have a bet going on,” those were really the only two reasons that Varric wanted details about her love life.

“Well, maybe I have some coin riding on this with Rivaini,” Varric continued. “She said that neither of you would make it past flirtatious bickering. I obviously, thought otherwise. You know, being the thinker of the team,”

“You’ve been placing bets with Isabela?” Even at this distance, those two always managed to get up to their antics one way or another. She wanted to say that she was surprised, but in all honesty, it should be expected.

“Well, it started as just letting everyone back home know that you were safe at Skyhold. Then Isabela being Isabela, of course…” Varric then pulled out of folded paper in his pocket to which Aerianne quickly snatched out of his hand.

Sure enough, it was the pirate captain’s handwriting. Formalities and inquisitor business quickly devolved into gambling and sexual innuendos.

Nope. Not going to happen between them. What would they have to gain from sleeping together other than feelings?

You know, assuming he’s still got that boyish look to him and hasn’t suddenly become really hot. In which case, she might just unsheathe his sword.

lead him into battle

tempt the templar

polish his armour

open her rift.

But let’s be honest, those two probably get off on sexual tension more than actual sex.

“Maker, Isabela,” the rogue said under her breath as she continued to read the letter. She was truly one of a kind.

“Gotta hand it to her for being creative,”

Aerianne gave the dwarf another dirty look, but then couldn’t help but break into laughter. This was ridiculous. As annoying at Varric was being, she honestly missed these pointless conversations, the ribbing. When was the last time they talked about anything that didn’t have to do with red lyrium or the end of the world?

“There she is,” Varric grinned, slowly drinking from his tankard. “Now there’s a laugh I haven’t heard in years,”

Aerianne smiled and then laid her head on the table, closing her eyes. If she let her mind drift long enough, she could almost hear the laughter, bickering and chit-chat of home. A distant memory that was more like a dream than reality. No matter what the problem they had, what issues plagued Kirkwall, the whole group could always come together for a nice pint at the Hanged Man.

“Alright Varric, you win,” she laughed as she lifted-up her head. “I’ll talk about Cullen, given that you treat this as a girl’s night out. ‘Ooos’ and ‘aws’ and all of it,”

“Finally. I’ve been waiting to be invited to one of these. Daisy always made them sound like a blast,” he leaned back over the table, his face beaming.

“Okay, so he’s awkward, but in the most adorable way and…”

[thexj9]

REPOST. DON’T REBLOG. post TEN characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as and might bring back. ( if you can’t think of ten characters, just write down however many you can. feel free to go over ten, too. )

CURRENTLY PLAYING

Jenny Wakeman - MLAATR

Marry Kozakura - Kagerou Project

HAVE PLAYED

Ib - Ib

Aisling - Secret of Kells

Kotoura Haruka - Kotoura-San

Cassandra Cain - DC Comics

Phoebe - Pokemon

Carrie White - Carrie

Efi - LiEat

Trucy Wright - Ace Attorney

Magik - Marvel Comics

Emilia - Devil is a Part Timer

WOULD LIKE TO PLAY

Hardgore Alice - MGRP

Swim Swim - MGRP

Niko - OneShot

Black Rock Shooter - BRS Manga, Game, and/or OVA

Cassie Lang - Marvel Comics

Melissa Gold - Marvel Comics

Hope Summers - Marvel Comics

Rachel Summers - Marvel Comics

X-23 - Marvel Comics

Crona - Soul Eater

Fran Bow - Fran Bow

Mary/Mari - Dreaming Mary

Menma - Anohana

Mia Dearden - DC Comics

Rose Wilson - DC Comics

Miss Martian - DC Comics

Oichi - Pokemon Conquest

Sina - Pokemon

Emma - Pokemon

Maika Halfwolf - Monstress

Eri - BNHA

tagged by: stole

tagging: anyone who wants to do it

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

LILANDRA NERAMANI: PRINCESS MAJESTRIX

❝  This is no coup! This is a restoration of legal authority! I am Lilandra Neramani, Majestrix of the Shi'ar! ❞

← ONCE THERE WAS AN IDEA TO BRING TOGETHER →

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. The extraterrestrial Shi’ar people were a vast species known across the galaxy and their Empire spanned every planet that the Shi’ar dwelled on. In charge of it all was the royal family, ruling from the artificial planet Chandilar, the Imperial Throneworld. Emperor Neramani had three children: the eldest Cal’syee, D’Ken in the middle, another sister and the baby, Lilandra. Born on the Aerie, the planet of origin for the Shi’ar, it was unlikely that Lilandra would ever sit upon the throne due to her birth order.  Upon the death of their father it was Cal’syee, also known as Deathbird, who was set the rule. The eldest Princess suffered from atavistic features though which set her apart from the others. The clawed nails and wings were genetic throwbacks as the Shi’ar had only retained feathers on their persons. Cal’syee’s genetic mutation led to fits of uncontrollable anger though and one day she went berserk and murdered both their mother and one of their sisters. The royal family was rocked to the core ad Cal’syee was exiled to space while D’Ken became the Emperor.

With her brother now the only family Lilandra could claim, she did her best to swallow her anger at Deathbird and go about her life as the only Princess of the Shi’ar people. Trying to acclimate to her new normal while mourning her family members who were lost, Lilandra accepted the position of Grand Admiral of the Imperial Guard so that she could enforce the law and serve the throne. During her tenure, however, Lilandra realized that D’Ken was insane and planned on using the power of the Shi’ar M’Kraan Crystal for his own devices. Lilandra made his plans known to the Shi’ar High Council and as a result D’Ken had her arrested. While Lilandra was in captivity D’Ken started the lie that Lilandra had tried to have his assassinated so she could take the throne. As civil war broke out D’Ken held Lilandra on the imperial flagship to await her execution, but the Princess escaped in a small craft instead and fled.

For the first time in her life, Lilandra was away from the Shi’ar Empire and her duty to her people. With no friends to help her, Lilandra used her telepathy to connect with a mutant who lived on Earth and went by the name of Charles Xavier. Xavier was trying to ward off an invasion of his own, but Lilandra traveled to Earth due to its large number of superheroes and met Charles face to face. Shortly after her arrival Lilandra was kidnapped by Shi’ar agent Davan Shakari who took the Princess back to the world where the M’Kraan Crystal resided. Charles and his X-Men followed behind to aid, but as the Crystal’s power was unleashed the universe was saved from annihilation by the cosmic entity, who had recently possessed and taken over the mutant known as Jean Grey. A victim of a powerful attack while in the Crystal had rendered D’Ken nearly catatonic and incurably insane, which once again put the Shi’ar Empire throne up in the air. Awaiting to see if she would become Empress despite the fact that she had led a rebellion against D’Ken, Lilandra journeyed to Earth with Charles where the two lived as lovers. The Council eventually reached a consensus that Lilandra was fit for the title and she returned to Chandilar along with Xavier, who mistakenly believed the X-Men to have perished.

Against all odds, the youngest of the Neramani bloodline finally ascended the throne as Lilandra was named Empress Majestrix. For a while she lived on the throneworld with Xavier as her consort, but the reemergence of the Phoenix led him to regain interest in Earth. After the Phoenix destroyed a ship and Shi’ar planet Lilandra made the executive decision that it was to be eliminated indefinitely to protect the cosmos. Charles contended this and called for a trial by combat as he believed it to be the real Jean Grey. During the trial, however, the Phoenix committed suicide to stop from any more damage to be enacted and successfully nullified her own threat. Things continued to get worse from there when Deathbird formed an alliance and led a successful rebellion that allowed her to seize the throne. Once again forced to flee, Lilandra reentered exile to try and stay alive.

This time, it was a little easier as Lilandra had gained respect across the galaxy. She aligned herself with the space pirates the Starjammers and they aided Lilandra in finding a wounded Charles, who was dying. After he was healed it was impossible to get Charles back to Earth he journeyed with them for a time. On occasion Lilandra and the Starjammers came into conflict with Deathbird, but it was not until they joined forces with the Earth team Excalibur that they were able to defeat the Imperial Guard and Cal’syee. This was around the time that the alien race the Skrull’s attempted a massive takeover and they successfully replaced Charles and the Starjammers with their own shape-shifting kind. The Skrulls used their new connections to get the X-Men to help remove Cal’syee from the throne so Lilandra could be reinstated. The X-Men and Deathbird eventually realized what the Skrull’s had done and defeated them, with Cal’syee honoring her concession to the throne.

Being the Majestrix once more was just as difficult as life had been as an exile. The Shi’ar nearly went to war with the Kree people before Lilandra decided to not use a weapon of mass destruction against them. The Skrulls managed to hijack it though and detonated it in the heart of the Kree Empire and causing its decimation. The nation was then annexed by the Shi’ar and in an act of good will Lilandra named Cal’syee a viceroy and ruler of the Kree homeworld Hala because of her assistance. During the Kree’s introduction to the Empire a rebellion was discovered and squashed, but the incident put a rift through Lilandra and Xavier as they had different ideas about morality and legality. Despite this, Lilandra continued to aide the heroes of Earth with her resources and warned them of attacks when she could. As a member of the Intergalactic High Council, Lilandra was made aware that they now considered Earth as an intergalactic threat. Lilandra sent her trusted associate Cerise to Earth to warn the X-Men but had to concern herself with assassination attempts and other threats.

This was then the beginning of the end. One of the biggest threats of all came then from a woman named  Cassandra Nova, the twin that Charles had absorbed in the womb. Nova possessed Lilandra and used her as a puppet to command the Imperial Guard to kill Xavier and the X-Men. The attempt was stopped and Nova was defeated but the entire ordeal was so dramatic that the marriage of Lilandra and Charles was annulled and Lilandra had to return to Chandilar to try and heal the violent damage that had been done to her mind. Sensing weakness during her recuperation, some of D’Ken’s loyalist tried to wake the former Emperor so he could regain power. In a plot twist Deathbird’s formerly mutant husband Gabriel Summers killed D’Ken and took the throne for himself through right of conquest. Despite the leader of the Starjammers, Corsair, being the father of Summers they helped Lilandra escape.

Throughout her life Lilandra fought for the Shi’ar people no matter how many times they turned on her. She was on the run from the new Emperor when she was attacked not by her sister or a Shi’ar extremist but a superhero possessed by Summers. Under the control of Razor, Darkhawk attacked Lilandra as she tried to peacefully remove Summers from the throne and managed to provide a fatal blow. The Empress succumbed to her wounds in the arms of the Kallark, the Shi’ar known as Gladiator who had just defied direct orders to execute her. Upon her death Lilandra was returned to Chandilar and Gladiator assumed the throne as Cal’syee could not and Summers had been killed. Years later it would be revealed that Lilandra had entrusted Cerise with an egg possessing the genetic offspring daughter of her and Charles. The child was to be groomed to ascend the throne so that a Neramani could continue to rule the Shi’ar Empire despite their turbulent past. Lilandra Neramani died just like many around her, leaving in her wake a complicated legacy and lost love. Heavy truly is the head that wears the crown right up until its final breath.

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CHARLES XAVIER, aka Lilandra’s great love. She fell for him before they met after meeting with him mentally and the two eventually become lovers. There was a time when Lilandra was Majestrix and Charles her consort but his ties to the X-Men and her duty to her people put a ticking time bomb on their relationship. Amidst the rebellions and battles the twos marriage was annulled even though Lilandra knew that she would always love Charles. Even when she let him go a part of him remained: a child. Their genetics combined to form a powerful Shi’ar mutant hybrid and Lilandra hid the egg away without ever telling Charles he was a father. Perhaps if she had lived they could have found a way back to one another, but is now impossible to say.

CAL’SYEE NERAMANI should have been Majestrix due to her position of eldest child in the Neramani line. Deathbird’s atavistic features took a toll on her mentally though and because of it she suffered fits of uncontrollable rage. It was during one of those bouts that Deathbird killed their mother and sister and was subsequently exiled. Lilandra found a way to forgive her sister, but Deathbird’s attempts to stage aa coup prevented the two from ever being sisters. Instead, they were rivals in a war Lilandra wished she did not have to fight in.

THE STARJAMMERS helped Lilandra escape twice when her life depended on it. They traveled the galaxy as exiles and rebels and every time Lilandra needed aid they were there. Corsair, their leader, being the father of the usurper Vulcan was never a problem. The Starjammers proved themselves more than worthy to the Empress.

GABRIEL SUMMERS tried to take the throne and the Shi’ar Empire. The mutant inserted himself in Shi’ar affairs and managed to remove Lilandra from her throne. His marriage to her traitorous older sister complicated matters as his line intermingled with her. In the end, Vulcan was successful in permanently removing Lilandra from Majestrix position as her mind controlled murderer was loyal to his cause.

XANDRA was hatched long after Lilandra had died. Her child with Charles was a genetic composite stuck in an egg and hidden away in stasis for years as Lilandra believed a Neramani should rule and her progeny would need to be protected. Xandra now stands to be the Majestrix of the Shi’ar Empire, something her mother would have been glad to see.

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THE SHI’AR EMPIRE was Lilandra’s entire life. She was born into their ruling family and she died in the name of the throne. Her people abused her at times and their endless wars and rebellions did weigh on her even though she continued to fight. Although she was assassinated, Lilandra was of the firm belief that a Neramani should sit on the throne and her wish is now coming true.

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✗ AGE → unknown  ✗ MULTIVERSE ORIGIN → earth-13130 ✗ SNAP STATUS → n/a ✗ FACECLAIM → jodi lyn o’keefe ✗ AVAILABILITY → deceased