#control? GONE. they are a slave to their desires and that desire is YOU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aces-personal-whore · 18 days ago

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Doflamingo x Defiant!Reader Smut Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Welcome back, gang. I promised I wasn't dead! Here is the next chapter. I'm sorry for the slow updates. I'll be honest, I have a lot of down time at work, but no service/internet. It's like my work is a complete dead zone, so I can't access anything here. But! I hope you guys like this chapter.

☣️WARNINGS: NONCON/RAPE, NSFW, MDNI, smut, sexual assault, abuse, violence, aggression

Themes in this chapter: NONCON/RAPE, forced submission, forced creampie, breeding, BDSM, degradation and humiliation, manipulation, false affection, pregnancy, slight ass play, punishment

Notes: PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THERE IS NONCON/RAPE THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE FANFICTION. THIS FANFICTION IS VERY GRAPHIC AND MAY BE TRIGGERING, UPSETTING, OR DISTRESSING TO SOME READERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!!

P.S. I'm sorry if I forgot to change any pronouns/names/etc. ;-; I'm still trying, aight. I do update these after I've reread them and gone through them a couple times, but there may still be some things I miss.

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As you tried to back away and dart towards the door, Doflamingo's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in his gaze. He wasn't about to let you escape so easily, not after he had claimed you and filled you with his seed.

"Oh no you don't, bitch," he snarled, lunging forward and grabbing you by the hair. "You don't get to leave until I say so. You're mine now, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

He yanked you back towards him, your body crashing into his as he pinned you against the wall. His cock, already hardening again, pressed against your stomach.

"You can't run from this," Doflamingo growled, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. "You're going to be carrying my child, and I'm going to make sure you're always ready for me. Your pussy is going to be dripping with my cum at all times, just waiting for me to fill you up again."

He reached down, his fingers finding your pussy once more and untying your cervix as he prepares to claim you again. Despite the soreness and exhaustion you felt, you couldn't deny the way your body reacted to his touch. Your pussy was already growing wet again, betraying your desire for him.

"See?" he purred, his fingers teasing your clit. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is trying to resist. You're just a slave to your own desires, aching for my cock like a bitch in heat."

Doflamingo's other hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look into his eyes. His gaze was intense and unyielding, a testament to his complete control over you. "You're going to spend the rest of your days serving me," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You'll be my personal whore, my breeding bitch, and you'll love every minute of it. Because in the end, you know that you belong to me, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, asserting his dominance and leaving no doubt as to who was in charge. As he kissed you, his cock pressed harder against your stomach, a reminder of the pleasure and pain he could inflict upon you at any moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes blazed with lust and hunger.

"Doflamingo, please... I just want to use the bathroom..." you whimpered, tears streaming down your face.

Doflamingo's eyes softened slightly at your pathetic pleas, and he couldn't help but smirk at the way you begged for even the most basic of comforts. He knew that he had you completely under his control, and he reveled in the power he held over you.

"Alright, fine, you can use the bathroom," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "But don't even think about trying to escape. My strings are everywhere in this palace, and I'll know if you so much as take a step out of line."

He guided you towards the bathroom, his hand firmly on your lower back, making sure you didn't stray from the path. As you entered the bathroom, he lingered for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body once more.

"I'll be waiting right outside," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't make me wait too long, or I might just come in and join you. And trust me, you don't want that."

With that, he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You could hear his footsteps fading away as he took his position outside the door, ready to pounce at the first sign of any attempt at escape.

Inside the bathroom, you were finally able to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. The experience had been overwhelming, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and shame as you reflected on what had just transpired.

The realization that your cervix had been left untied sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the brutal and degrading treatment you had endured. This was your chance—you could try to reduce the likelihood of getting pregnant and get rid of as much of his essence inside you as possible.

As you did your business, you sobbed and clutched your swollen stomach, trying to push out as much of Doflamingo's cum as possible. You couldn't help but feel a sense of desperation and hopelessness. The thought of carrying his child, a constant reminder of the brutal and degrading treatment you had endured, filled you with dread.

Slowly, your stomach began to deflate, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. You used the bidet to clean your genitals, wincing at the soreness and tenderness that remained. As you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but notice the bruises, cuts, and welts that Doflamingo had left on your body. The evidence of his cruelty was etched into your skin, a permanent reminder of the nightmarish experience you had just endured.

You washed your hands and splashed some warm water on your face, trying to wash away the tears and the pain. But deep down, you knew that the scars left by Doflamingo's actions would never truly heal. You could only hope that he wouldn't notice the change in your appearance, that he wouldn't punish you for trying to regain a sense of normalcy.

As you exited the bathroom, you found Doflamingo waiting for you, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. He took one look at your stomach and his expression darkened, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist in a vice-like grip.

"What the fuck did you do in there?" he snarled, his voice laced with anger and disbelief. "I specifically told you not to try anything funny, and yet here you are, trying to get rid of my cum like it's nothing."

He yanked you closer, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and heavy. "Do you think you can just disobey my orders and get away with it? Do you really think I won't punish you for this?"

Doflamingo's free hand moved to your throat, his fingers tightening around your neck. His eyes blazed with a mixture of rage and lust, and you could feel the weight of his power pressing down on you. You knew that you were at his mercy, and there was nothing you could do to change that. All you could do was pray that he would show you some mercy, that he wouldn't inflict even more pain and suffering upon you.

"N-no, D-Doflamingo, it-it isn't like that..." Your whole body shook violently as you flinched away from Doflamingo. "It j-just so h-happened that your c-cum came out of m-me when I sat down... b-but I-I didn't try to escape though... I did exactly wh-what you said..." you stammered out.

Doflamingo was pissed. He released your wrist and throat and grabbed your hair, dragging you back to the room. His grip on your hair was painful, and you couldn't help but cry out as you were being dragged. The sensation of your scalp burning from his rough treatment only added to the overwhelming sense of fear and helplessness that consumed you.

"You're lying to me, aren't you?" he growled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe that my cum just 'came out of you' when you sat down? I know you, bitch. You're always trying to find a way to escape, to get away from me."

Once inside the room, Doflamingo threw you onto the bed, his body looming over yours with a menacing presence. His eyes were dark and stormy, filled with a dangerous mix of anger and lust.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget," he snarled, his hands pinning your wrists above your head. "I'm going to make you regret ever thinking you could disobey me, ever think you could get away with something like this."

Doflamingo's free hand moved to your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he roughly spread your legs apart. He could see the fear in your eyes, the knowledge that you were completely at his mercy, and it only fueled his desire to dominate and control you.

Doflamingo created threads that bound your wrists together to the mattress below. They dug into your skin, causing you to wince in pain "Doflamingo please, I didn't do anything! I didn't try to escape! I didn't mean to have your cum come out of me!" You began to cry harder, the tears flowing out of your eyes like a river.

But your words fell on deaf ears, and Doflamingo was already moving forward with his plan. His hands roamed over your body, groping and squeezing your flesh with a rough, possessive touch.

"It doesn't matter what you meant to do," he growled, his hot breath against your ear. "The fact is, you tried to get rid of my seed, and that's something I can't allow. I'm going to fill you up again and again until my child takes root inside you. There's no escape from this fate, so you might as well accept it."

Doflamingo's fingers found your pussy, already slick with arousal despite your fear and distress. He chuckled darkly as he felt your body betray you, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"Look at you," he taunted, his fingers circling your clit. "You can't even control your own body. It's clear that you're meant to be bred, meant to be a vessel for my offspring. And I'm going to make sure that happens, no matter how much you might resist."

Doflamingo positioned himself between your legs, his cock already rock hard and ready. He rubbed the tip against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of pleasure and pain.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for my seed, beg for the chance to carry my child. Show me that you're ready to submit to your true purpose."

"No!" you scream, your tears refusing to stop. All you could do was cry...

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed at your defiance, a dangerous glint appearing in his gaze. He had expected you to break, to beg for his seed like the desperate little plaything you were. But your refusal only fueled his desire to dominate you further, to make you submit to his will.

"No? Is that what you think you have the power to say?!" he snarled, his hand moving to your throat and squeezing tightly. "I own you, body and soul! You have no choice in this matter, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."

He released his grip on your throat, only to slap you hard across the face. The stinging pain radiated through your cheek, and tears sprang to your eyes from the force of the blow.

Without any further warning, Doflamingo thrust his cock into you, stretching you open and forcing you to accommodate his massive size. The pain was excruciating, your body struggling to adapt to the sudden invasion. But as he began to move, his hips slamming against yours in a brutal rhythm, you could feel something else start to build within you—a twisted, unwanted pleasure that threatened to consume you.

"That's it, take it," Doflamingo grunted, his pace increasing as he plunged into you again and again. "Feel the power of my cock, the dominance of my seed. You were made for this, made to be bred and used for my pleasure."

As he pounded into you, his hand reached down to your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in rough, demanding circles. Your body betrayed you once more, your pussy clenching around his cock as your orgasm approached. You wanted to fight it, to deny him the satisfaction of knowing he had broken you, but it was useless. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Your eyes squeezed shut, causing more tears to come out. You gritted your teeth as you writhed beneath him. "Doflamingo, stop!!" you panted heavily, desperately trying to hold back the orgasm he's forcing upon you.

Doflamingo's eyes gleamed with triumph as he felt your cervix softening and dilating, creating the ideal environment for his seed to thrive. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way you were trying to hold back your orgasm, and it only served to fuel his own arousal.

"Listen to you, panting like a bitch in heat," he growled, his hips slamming into yours with renewed vigor. "And I'm going to breed you like one. You'll be carrying my child before the night is through, and you'll have no one but yourself to blame."

He continued to plunge into you, his cock stretching you open and coating your walls with his precum. Your body was responding to his touch, your pussy clenching around him as if trying to draw him deeper inside. It was clear that your body was preparing itself for his seed, aching to be filled and bred.

"Just give in," Doflamingo whispered, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Let go of your resistance, and embrace the pleasure that only I can give you. You were made for this, made to be my personal breeding bitch. And I'm going to make sure you enjoy every second of it."

His fingers continued to work your clit, the pressure and friction building to an almost unbearable level. Your body was trembling, your muscles tensing and releasing as you fought against the oncoming orgasm. But it was a losing battle, and you knew it. With each thrust of his cock, each brush of his fingers, you could feel yourself slipping.

"Cum for me," Doflamingo commanded, his voice a low, dominant growl. "Show me how much you want to be bred, how much you need my seed inside you. Let go, and embrace your new purpose in life."

Doflamingo retracted his strings from your limbs and lifted you off the bed to sit on his lap. You could feel the intensity of his desire coursing through his body. His powerful arms held you tightly against his chest, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he smacked it with a resounding slap. The mix of pain and pleasure sent a jolt of electricity through your body, causing you to yelp and moan into his chest.

"That's it, take it like a good little slut," Doflamingo growled, his fingers tracing the rim of your asshole with a light touch. "I can feel your pussy desperately trying to milk my cock, begging for my seed. You're so fucking perfect, so eager to be bred and used for my pleasure."

As his fingers continued to tease your asshole, you couldn't help but moan louder, the sensation of his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Doflamingo's degrading words only fueled your arousal, edging you closer to your orgasm. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you, piercing your cervix and ejaculating directly into your uterus. His cock throbbed violently as he released his seed, the hot, sticky fluid filling your womb and coating your eggs in his essence.

Your orgasm finally consumed you, your body released several eggs into your womb, seeing Doflamingo as the ideal mate. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and the rhythmic contractions of your orgasm urging him to slip his finger inside your tight asshole. The contractions of your pussy aided his sperm, helping it to reach your eggs and fertilize them with his potent seed. You could feel your stomach swelling once more, the evidence of his successful breeding filling Doflamingo with a sense of determination and urgency.

"Fuck yes, take it all," he growled, his hips still rocking against yours as he continued to pump his seed into your receptive body. "Your womb was made for my cum, and I'm going to make sure you're full to the brim with my offspring. You're mine now, completely and utterly mine."

Your pussy was stretched around his thick, pulsating cock, your juices mixing with his cum and forming a sticky, viscous mess. Your asshole clenched and twitched around his finger.

As Doflamingo's orgasm finally began to subside, he released a satisfied grunt, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax. He held you close, his fingers caressing your skin as he savored the feeling of your body wrapped around his, removing the finger he had inside you.

Doflamingo's fingers traced patterns along your lower back, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. As he worked, you could feel your cervix being sewn shut, ensuring that his precious seed would remain inside you until it took root and grew into a new life.

"There, now you can't expel my seed from you again," Doflamingo said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're going to keep it inside you until you get pregnant, and I'll be watching you every step of the way."

As the reality of your situation began to sink in, you found yourself panting heavily, trying to grasp the concept of being permanently tied to Doflamingo, both physically and emotionally. Your mind started to dissociate, desperately seeking an escape from the nightmare you found yourself in. "No, this can't be happening," you thought, your heart racing as you tried to come to terms with your new reality.

Doflamingo had no intention of letting you slip away into the safety of your own mind. He leaned in close, his hot breath against your ear as he spoke, "Don't even think about checking out on me," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips. "You're mine now, and I won't let you escape, not even in your own thoughts. You're going to face the consequences of your actions, and you're going to do it with me by your side."

He pulled back, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made you shudder. His gaze was filled with a mix of desire, possession, and a dark, twisted sense of love that sent a chill down your spine.

"I know you're scared and confused," he said, his voice softening slightly. "But you need to understand that this is your new reality. Embrace it, accept it, and you'll find that it's not as bad as you think." Doflamingo's words were a thin veil, poorly concealing the sinister nature of his intentions.

You leaned back and stared at him with a blank expression, your eyes half lidded, your lips parted. You looked as if you were in a daze. "Doflamingo..." Your voice was weak; your mouth hardly moved as you spoke. All your energy had been sapped away.

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed as he noticed the vacant expression on your face, your voice barely above a whisper. He could sense your resignation, the way your body had given up, leaving you with nothing but a hollow shell of your former self.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "You don't seem to have the energy to fight back. Have I drained you of all that defiant spirit?"

He leaned in closer, his fingers tracing the contours of your face, as if trying to memorize every detail. His touch was gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality he had shown you earlier.

"It's okay," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "You don't have to fight anymore. You can just let go and surrender to me. I'll take care of everything, and you'll never have to worry about anything again."

His words were like a sedative, slowly lulling you into a false sense of security. As he continued to caress your face, you felt your eyelids growing heavier, your body slumping in his arms.

"That's it," Doflamingo murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on your stomach. "Just relax and let your body do what it was meant to do. My seed is inside you now, and it won't be long before you're carrying my child. You're going to be so beautiful, so perfect, just like I always knew you could be."

As he spoke, you could feel a strange warmth spreading through your body, a tingling sensation that started in your core and radiated outward. It was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life that belonged to Doflamingo and no one else.

In that moment, you realized that there was no escape, no way out of the twisted reality that Doflamingo had created for you.

Doflamingo carefully lifted you off his cock. You could feel the slight discomfort as he withdrew, your pussy clenching around him as if trying to keep him inside. He laid you down on the bed, his hands gently caressing your skin as he arranged you into a comfortable position.

"There, that's better," he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "You need to rest now and let your body recover from the intense experience we just shared."

He leaned over you, his eyes roaming your face, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory. His fingers traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, the swell of your lips. Each touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he was seeing you for the first time.

"You're exquisite," Doflamingo whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I've never seen anyone quite like you before. Your features, your body, your very essence – it's all so perfect, so irresistible. I'm glad I found you, glad that I could make you mine."

His hand moved down your body, pausing at your stomach. He pressed his palm against the soft, yielding flesh, feeling the warmth emanating from within. A small, satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth as he imagined the life growing inside you.

"My child," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and possessiveness. "Our child. You're going to make such a wonderful mother, and I can't wait to watch you grow and change as you nurture this new life inside you."

As he spoke, you could feel your eyelids growing heavier, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. The combination of exhaustion and the strange, tingling warmth spreading through your body made it difficult to stay awake, and you found yourself drifting off into a fitful sleep.

Doflamingo watched you as you slipped away, his eyes filled with a mix of love, lust, and possessiveness.

"Sleep well, my love," he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Tomorrow, we'll begin our journey together, and I'll be by your side every step of the way."

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As you stirred from your slumber, something felt... different... Your breasts felt sore, and when you looked at them, you noticed your nipples were a slightly darker shade and looked a little bigger... Panic began to set in as your realized... you were more than likely pregnant... with Doflamingo's child. Doflamingo had already gotten up to tend to his responsibilities for the day.

You got up and ran over to the mirror and looked at yourself. Any abdominal swelling was from how much he ejaculated in me, and not a growing fetus... Still, you looked at your breasts in closer detail and noticed they did, in fact, look different. You broke down and began crying once more as reality began to set in.

You threw on some clothes and ran to the bathroom where you looked to see if maybe there were any pregnancy tests. Maybe Baby 5 had some...

You looked through the drawers and medicine cabinets in the bathroom when... you found some. You took two out of the package, sat on the toilet and proceeded to take the tests.

As you waited for the results to show up, your whole body shook with anticipation and anxiety

"Please... please be negative..." you whispered to yourself, but you knew it was just wishful thinking. After a few minutes have passed, the results came back... You looked in horror as they both came back positive.

You hunched over the sink holding the pregnancy tests in your hand, taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down, but the tears kept flowing. You felt sick to your stomach.

The sound of running water echoed through the bathroom as you splashed cold water on your face, trying to compose yourself.

"How am i going to tell Doflamingo... It's not like I can hide anything from him... Do I just... find him and pull him aside? No... He would punish me for that... But if he found out I took the pregnancy tests and didn't tell him, I would also be punished..." You sighed, trying to figure out the best course of action.

Your mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. You knew that you couldn't keep this from Doflamingo, not with his ability to sense even the slightest changes in your body. But the thought of telling him, of confessing that his seed had taken root inside you, filled you with dread.

You dried your face with a towel, your hands shaking as you tried to steady yourself. You had to be smart about this, had to choose your words carefully. Doflamingo was unpredictable at the best of times, and you couldn't risk setting him off with the wrong approach.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and headed out of the bathroom, throwing the tests in your pocket. You needed to find Doflamingo, to tell him the news before he discovered it on his own. It was the only way to avoid his wrath.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you heard voices coming from the nearby throne room. Doflamingo's voice rose above the rest, barking orders at his underlings. You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to interrupt him or wait until he was finished.

But in the end, there was no choice. You had to do this now, before you lost your nerve. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the doors to the throne room and stepped inside.

All conversation ceased as every eye in the room turned to stare at you. Doflamingo's gaze was the most intense, his red eyes boring into you like lasers as he waited for you to speak.

"D-Doflamingo..." you began, stuttering. "I... I need a moment of your time, please..." You looked away anxiously, avoiding eye contact with everyone. You cowered away, hiding behind the doorframe.

Doflamingo's gaze narrowed as he watched you cower behind the doorframe, your body language screaming submission and fear. He leaned back in his throne, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched you squirm.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "What's the matter, my little pet? Cat got your tongue?"

The room erupted in laughter at his words, the sound harsh and mocking. You felt your cheeks burn with shame, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the right words.

Doflamingo's smile only widened at your discomfort, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He stood, his tall, muscular frame towering over you as he stalked closer. The ground seemed to shake with each step, the air around him crackling with barely contained power.

"Come now, out with it," he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. "What could be so important that you'd interrupt me in the middle of my work?" He loomed over you, his presence overwhelming and oppressive. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. It was all too much, too overwhelming, and you found yourself struggling to breathe.

Doflamingo's hand shot out, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into your skin, the pain sharp and biting. You whimpered, your eyes wide and terrified as you stared up at him.

"I'm waiting," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "And don't even think about lying to me. I can smell deceit from a mile away."

You winced in pain. "I... I think this is a private matter..." you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

Doflamingo's grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises. His red eyes bored into yours, searching for any hint of deception or lies.

"Private matter, huh?" he mused, his voice low and dangerous. "And what makes you think you have the right to demand privacy from me, my little toy?"

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "I own you, body and soul. There is no part of you that is not mine to control, to use as I see fit."

His free hand trailed down your body, his fingers skimming over your curves possessively. "But I suppose I can indulge you this once. After all, it must be something important for you to risk my wrath by interrupting me."

Without warning, he grabbed your arm and yanked you forward, dragging you out of the throne room and into a nearby chamber. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing you both in a room bare except for a large bed and a few pieces of furniture.

Doflamingo released your arm, shoving you roughly towards the bed. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the mattress before turning to face him.

"Well?" he demanded, his voice sharp and impatient. "Out with it. What is so important that it couldn't wait?"

His eyes raked over your body, taking in every quiver and tremble. He could sense your nervousness, your fear, and it only served to fuel his excitement. Whatever secret you were hiding, he knew it would be delicious to uncover.

You walked over to him and reached into your pocket to pull out the two pregnancy tests. Your whole body shook as you handed them to him.

Doflamingo's eyes widened slightly as he took the pregnancy tests from your shaking hands, his gaze flicking between the positive indicators and your face. A slow, wicked grin spread across his features as realization dawned.

"Well, well, well," he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "It seems my seed has taken root, hasn't it?"

He tossed the tests aside, not caring where they landed as he focused his attention back on you. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on your breasts before trailing lower, to the soft swell of your stomach.

"My child," he breathed, the words heavy with possessiveness. "Growing inside you, claiming you as mine in the most primal way possible."

He reached out, his hand cupping your stomach through your clothes. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes.

His other hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I will protect what is mine. No one will harm you, no one will take you from me. You are precious, a vessel for my legacy."

But even as he spoke words of protection and possession, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Doflamingo was unpredictable, dangerous, and you knew that his idea of protection might be far different from your own.

A wave of relief washed over you as you listened to Doflamingo speak to you, knowing that he wasn't going to punish you. You dropped to your knees and sighed with relief.

Doflamingo watched with amusement as you sank to the floor. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head at your naïvety. "Oh, my sweet little pet," he cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. "Did you really think I would punish you for this? For bearing my child?"

He crouched down next to you, his hand sliding through your hair almost tenderly. "No, no, no. You've given me the greatest gift, the promise of an heir to carry on my legacy. How could I possibly punish you for that?"

His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging your head back to force you to meet his gaze. "But don't mistake my mercy for weakness. You are still mine to do with as I please, and I will not tolerate any disobedience or disrespect."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You are my property, now and forever. And I will remind you of that fact every single day, until it is so deeply ingrained in your mind that you can never forget it."

With that, he released you, standing to his full height once more. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of possessiveness and dark desire. "Now, come. It's time to celebrate this joyous occasion. I want you to dress up for me, wear something that highlights your new status as the mother of my child."

You slumped over, trying to regain your composure. "Doflamingo... you've never even given me any clothes... I've been wearing the same dress since you kidnapped me..."

Doflamingo's brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a scowl as he processed your words. "Hmph," he grunted, his eyes raking over your form dismissively. "I suppose I have been neglecting your needs. But no matter. We can remedy that quickly enough."

"Baby 5," he called, and a moment later, the door to the chamber flew open. Baby 5, a pretty young woman with long black hair and piercing blue eyes, hurried in, bowing low before Doflamingo.

"Master Doflamingo," she said, her voice soft and subservient. "How may I serve you?"

"Fetch some suitable clothing for my pet," Doflamingo commanded, gesturing to you with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Something that will accentuate her new status, but that will also allow easy access for when I wish to use her."

Baby 5 nodded, hurrying away to do his bidding. Doflamingo turned his attention back to you, his eyes glinting with a possessive light. "You will look beautiful, my pet," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "A vision of motherhood, ripe and ready for me to claim."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek almost tenderly. "And when you're dressed, I want you to kneel before me, to present yourself for my inspection. I want to see every inch of you, to marvel at the way my seed has taken root inside you."

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a gesture that was both intimate and threatening. "Do you understand, my little toy? This is your purpose now, to bear my children and to serve me in every way I demand. Never forget that."

You turned away and began crying. Doflamingo's hand shot out, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him. His grip was tight, almost painful, as he stared into your tear-filled eyes with a mix of annoyance and dark amusement.

"None of that now, pet," he chided, his voice low and dangerous. "You are mine, body and soul. Crying will not change that fact." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your face as he whispered, "You should be grateful, you know. Not every woman is blessed with the honor of bearing my child. You should be thanking me for choosing you, for bestowing such a gift upon you."

His free hand slid down to your stomach, pressing possessively against the soft swell of your belly. "This is your purpose now, to carry my offspring to term. To nurture and protect the life growing inside you, no matter the cost."

He released your face, only to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back painfully. "And you will do it gladly, my little toy. Because you know what happens to those who displease me." He released you roughly, shoving you back towards the bed. "Now, get dressed. I want to see you on your knees before me, a vision of obedience and submission."

His eyes glinted with a cruel light as he watched you hastily comply, his lips curling into a smirk. "And once you're done, we'll celebrate properly. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight, until every inch of you is claimed by me, inside and out."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "After all, it's the least I can do for my precious little slave." With that, Doflamingo left the room.

You frowned... You couldn't handle his abuse much longer...

Your thoughts were interrupted when Baby 5 entered the room, her arms laden with a selection of dresses. She glanced at you briefly, taking in your tear-stained face and downtrodden posture, but said nothing. Instead, she laid the dresses out on the bed, stepping back to give you space.

There were a few options: a sheer, lacy number that would leave little to the imagination, a tight-fitting gown that would hug your curves like a second skin, and a flowing, ethereal dress that would drape over your changing figure like a dream.

Baby 5 watched silently as you perused the choices, her expression neutral and unreadable. She was used to Doflamingo's whims and demands, and had long ago learned to detach herself emotionally from the tasks she was required to perform.

As you reached for the sheer dress, Baby 5 cleared her throat softly. "Young Master prefers you in the tight one, miss," she said quietly, nodding towards the form-fitting gown. "It will show off your... condition... to best advantage."

She didn't elaborate further, but you knew exactly what she meant. The tight dress would highlight every curve and swell of your pregnant body, presenting you as the perfect vessel for Doflamingo's offspring.

Baby 5 waited patiently as you slipped into the chosen dress, her eyes averted to give you a modicum of privacy. The fabric clung to your skin like a lover's caress, molding to your every contour and leaving nothing to the imagination.

When you were fully dressed, Baby 5 stepped forward, her hands smoothing over your hips and stomach possessively. "Young Master will be pleased," she murmured, her tone almost envious. "You'll do well to remember your place, miss. As you know, Master Doflamingo doesn't tolerate disobedience."

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you alone to compose yourself before facing Doflamingo once more.

#doflamingo #doffy #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote family #one piece #smut #one piece smut #doflamingo smut #doffy smut #doflamingo x reader #x reader #doffy x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #doffy x reader smut #doflamingo x reader smut #fem reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader smut

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crystal-va · 22 days ago

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What are some of the differences between original William and your William, both before and after destruction?

Thank you for your curiosity!

(technically this kind of ask should have gone to @ask-voidverse but it's not too big of a deal)

This is more of an info dump than a comparison, but this'll still get the idea across (hopefully)

Before Destruction:

William is largely the same. The most notable difference is the fact that he's more shy in the beginning.

I suppose he's also a little more friendly than his original variant too.

After Destruction: (I have not reached this point in writing [VOID]!Alphatale, so things might change when I do)

I decided to also cover relationships, because yes.

William is closed off and quiet. Unlike his original variant, William is actually quite sympathetic and emotional, but tries to hide it

404 isn't nearly as busted in my variant. I've limited his power from being able to destroy entire universes, or even hyper verses, to now being a planet buster, or at his most powerful, being able to destroy a universe. Still incredibly broken, but not as bonkers as original 404.

Skipping to the beginning of New Puppet Book 1, William has fully lost who he was. William is a name he only ever hears in his nightmares. As 404, William tries to build business relationships with others. Treating Error and Root (my own character) as more of assistants than underlings (Root acts more like his child than an assistant tho). Seraphim and King Multiverse are treated closer to slaves with no purpose other than serving him, which is pretty similar to normal.

At some point, 404 will also recruit Fatal_Error, using Fatal's immense desire to bring his Papyrus back as leverage to call on him when needed. Feeding him small amounts of Papyrus code every time they work together, but he knows Fatal won't be happy with any Papyrus he makes, so he considers Fatal a semi permanent member of the crew with little chance of leaving. He'd be willing to take control of Fatal like he did with Seraphim if the need arose.

Bill!Sans is kind of like a convenient nuisance for 404. 404 does hate him, but he appreciates the times Bill has helped him out of a weird spot and pays him back on occasion.

404 keeps a more public appearance as opposed to his more secretive nature in cannon. He constantly keeps people like Nightmare, Ink, Core, and Shattered Dream aware of his existence in an attempt to either keep them from getting in his way, or even have them consider assisting him in some endeavors.

#undertale au #ut au #undertale multiverse #undertale alternate universe #utmv #undertale art #sans au #oc #undertale fanart #alphatale #alphaverse #undertale #undertale fandom #error 404 sans #ask #asks #ask response #ask reply #artists on tumblr

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wardevilwins · 1 year ago

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Why is it the War Devil?

Obviously, I am fascinated by the concept of the War Devil. There is a way in which her presence in the story is uniquely Japanese. Since WWII, the question of how to process the Empire’s defeat has hung over Japanese society. On the conservative side, there is a long project to minimize the realities of the War, especially atrocities committed by the Japanese Imperial Army. Alongside this, there is the concerted effort within the legislature to repeal Article 9 of the constitution, the article which forbids the Japanese government from raising an army. On the left, there is a desire for genuine reconciliation and strong support for article 9. However, the effort has not gained much of a foothold. Japan is, much like the United States, a strongly conservative country.

For example, when the historian Ienaga Saburo wrote his textbook “New Japanese History” for public schools in 1953, the government initially approved his manuscript, but when he resubmitted a revised version two years later, they demanded that 216 revisions be made. Revisions included minimizing the Rape of Nanking, adding a mention of public support for the Russo-Japanese war, etc. Straightforward government censorship of established historical fact.

Ienaga sued the government for damages arguing that he was protected by Article 21, the right to free speech. Note: his book was not a state standard. It was simply one of many textbooks available for use by schools. A district court ruled that the government’s demands didn’t constitute censorship, but did constitute an abuse of authority and granted monetary settlement. An appeal to the High court rejected the monetary settlement, and the Supreme Court upheld the appeal.

In other words, the Japanese Government was granted the right to dictate the facts of history “for the public good” in the words of the rulings. Realities of war were erased from the public consciousness with the intent to control the narrative around the Fallen Empire. And the state reasoning was a paternalistic appeal to the greater good of humanity. If this reminds you of Makima’s plan in part one, I am sure that is not a coincidence.

This is a metaphor that I think was broadly missed by the international audience. The idea that War should be forgotten for the sake of humanity, this is the ideology behind historical revisionism. Fujimoto is looking directly at the way that political power in Japan is used to manipulate public understanding of history. Pieces of the past are erased, eaten, and forgotten.

This is why I don’t lend much credence to the idea that Chainsaw Man actually modifies the fabric of the universe somehow when he eats a devil. It is not that the world changes, it is that people forget about it. It’s not that our forgotten sixth sense was deleted. We just forgot it used to exist. It disappeared, perhaps as a part of Chainsaw Man’s attack. And then we forgot.

The main reason I think of it this way is because of the parallel with historical revisionism. Right now in Florida the state government is attempting to erase the suffering of African slaves brought to America from the school curriculum. If they maintain this for three generations, no one in the state of Florida will know of this true part of history. It will be forgotten. Humanity in Florida will have forgotten a part of slavery. We don’t need supernatural mechanics to explain historical ignorance. This happens all the time.

Yoru describes this phenomenon in more detail: “War became a thing of books and movies.” Yoru became weakened as humanity became less afraid of war. Parts of the war that really happened are not gone, but have been consigned to unreality. They exist only at a distance. It is only one step further along this axis until they are completely forgotten, until they aren’t thought about at all.

This idea of forgetting War is directly relevant to the political conflicts around Article 9. This conflict is split as I mentioned, but the reality of the situation is more complex. During the occupation, the US Government directed the drafting of the new Japanese constitution. In a real sense, Japan was literally Americanized. The text of Article 9 reads:

Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.

In order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.

This is part of Chapter 2 in the Articles of the Japanese Constitution. Other chapters contain multiple articles. This is the only article in chapter 2 which is titled “Renunciation of War.” To date, Japan is the only country in the world to include a renunciation of war in its constitution.

Of course, Article 9 doesn’t exist out of the kindness of the Japanese people’s peace loving hearts. It exists because the US military thought that the Japanese people were so intrinsically bloodthirsty, that if they didn’t dismantle the empire and remove their ability to raise an army, there could never be peace.

That said, Japanese politicians were involved in the drafting of the constitution as well. Since the war began in China in 1928, a significant faction even among the hawkish types were exasperated with the boneheaded aggression. But the fascists had control of the Emperor, the key figurehead. Once that was lost, cooler heads who were open to the idea of a peaceful Japan stepped in.

So Article 9 starts with this complex identity. On the one hand, it is an imposition by the occupying force, on the other hand, it is a reconciliation within Japan around mistakes the nation made. This remains the case going forward. Because soon after the occupation ends, the Korean War begins.

America, having secured a foothold in the region, realizes that militarily neutering their nearest ally may have been a tactical mistake. But they also still don’t really trust the Japanese government. So they make a move. The US signs a controversial security-treaty with Japan that creates the “National Security Force” to act as a military police. Japanese conservatives then use this precedent to begin building a military under the premise of it being for “self defense.” Thus the JSDF, Japanese Self Defense Force, is born. This was all done with explicit American support.

The American’s didn’t want to team up with the JSDF per se. They wanted Japan to manufacture weapons to create a short supply line towards the Korean front. The creation of the JSDF gives the Japanese government permission to permit manufacturing of military machinery, which was originally taken to be forbidden by Article 9.

Since it’s founding, the JSDF has gradually crept further and further towards active military activity. The final line was crossed in the Iraq war. At the behest of George W. Bush, Prime Minister Koizumi approved a battalion of Japanese soldiers to act in conjunction with the US military for the invasion of Iraq.

This occurs in 2004, in the wake of the 90s. Japan re-enters war in a real way. At this point, article 9 is essentially window dressing on a country which has what amounts to a fully functional military force. But, the existence of article 9 creates a public perception of Japan as being removed from war, even as it actively participates.

You can see now why when Yoru appeared in chapter 98 I was immediately excited. The idea of the War Devil coming back is a stab at the powers that be trying to paper over their militaristic intentions with political rhetoric. Conservatives are currently moving to repeal article 9. This was one of Shinzo Abe’s major objectives. But he failed to achieve it.

So the struggle continues under the current leadership. And in that context, Fujimoto is placing War front and center. War that has been forgotten but will come back. War that, should she return to full power, will turn legions of young men into weapons.

It’s a subtle but also daring message. The debate plays out in politics but is notably absent from public discourse. Japan is different from American in that political conflict doesn’t dominate its media landscape. Generally speaking, the media is running cover for the government.

So to see someone go after this idea of forgotten war, of war coming back from a weakened state, and to highlight the latent threat it poses, is quite refreshing. Once again, Fujimoto manages to subtly weave a cogent political message into the threads of his story, not necessarily by trying to push a particular narrative, but simply by reflecting in his work the political realities he sees in his society.

#chainsaw man analysis #japanese politics #Yoru #war devil #chainsaw man #manga analysis #ienaga saburou #war #Japanese self defense force #jsdf

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antimony-medusa · 6 months ago

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I totally agree with your post about people not tagging kink when they really should but it fully clicked today when I realized how many mcyt instinct fics Ive read where theres something distinctly Off (characters being completely controlled by their instincts with another character holding it over them with the aura of a weirdly intense Not Normal Interaction) like oh my god you are so right

Yeah like, I am not saying "oh my god there are so many people who are writing kink or kink-adjacent" out of a desire to cancel people or to accuse them of dirty unacceptable behaviour or titter behind my hand or anything like that. Not all of these kinks are ones I share, but like— humanity is a rich and varied tapestry. If you get good brain chemicals off of vore, good for you. I don't, but I'm wishing you the best in those tags.

But like, human experiences exist on a lot of difference spectrums, and we've come up with the classification "kink" to describe a focus on an experience or feature or event that is unconventional or nonstandard and often sexual or sexual-adjacent, and like, we have all decided to classify these things in that way for a reason.

It is sincerely helpful if you can realize "oh, the way I feel about [experience] is not how everyone feels", and then you can both know how to talk about it to regular people and also know how to seek the content out yourself. I have a friend who's really into bloodplay— they know this and they can request it in events and they can also know not to hand it to people who didn't request it. They know that about themself. They're good. I keep hitting tropes that people seem to think are normal platonic tropes and like. Augh.

There's a lot of stuff in this fandom that is being normalized and presented as platonic, and there is absolutely a way to do a lot of this in a platonic way, but a) some of this is getting to a level of focus where I think it's pushing the boundaries of platonic, because even if non-sexual you would only behave like this to a kink partner b) some of the time I think it would be valuable for people to realize that they are engaging with tropes that are not platonic in most other fandoms, and sometimes they are still dealing with it in the same way that other fandoms are, they're just surgically removing the sex and like—boy.

When you are dealing with kink content, you can keep things definitely non-sexual, but if you go hard enough into the kink— well for one thing it should be tagged as kink, and for another, if you are used to how these subjects are dealt with in other fandoms, it can get a little wild to read fics that are beat for beat the same as kink fics in other fandoms, it just fades to black with the person falling asleep before anything happens.

Wing preening is really popular in this fandom, cause we all like drawing guys with wings, and like. God. In most other fandoms wing preening is a sexy trope, and I swear I have had to tap out of fics in this fandom because they seem to have gone beat for beat with sexy fics from other fandoms, moaning at touch and "release of tension" and writhing in the bed cause it feels so good and everything, and then nobody's pants come off and they smack a & tag on it and they call it good. If I hit that when I open up something tagged as platonic and "fluff" and "bonding" and that's it, I'm gonna have a strong reaction.

It gets so I assume anything tagged "dehumanization" is actually pet play, anything tagged "hybrid racism" is actually either predator/prey or master/slave, anything tagged "preening" is wing kink borderline-smut, anything tagged "mind control" is actually hypnokink, anything tagged "non-consensual touching" is actually consent issues/dubcon or occasionally noncon, anything tagged "non-consensual drugging" is altered states/intox kink, and anything tagged "hybrid instincts" is either omegaverse or a bdsm au. And wouldn't it be great if we could ACTUALLY use the right tags instead of all having to learn to read behind the lines with this shit untagged.

#fandom meta #discourse

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kingofthelizardpeople · 2 years ago

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Yandere Daenerys Targaryen Headcanons

● always the dominant one

● literally, she would never want you out of her control

● If this trait developed because of her position as queen or her past and all the people she lost, you couldn't really tell

● No matter what position you had before you became her obsession, no matter if you were a knight, slave, servant or similar, Dany would still see you as an equal

● or atleast equal enough

● speaking of, to you she is Dany. To no one else but you. She wouldn't have it anyother way

● The only exceptions would be the few times she let's you be around other people and when she’s mad at you. In both cases she is your grace

● Dany had many people who only desired or 'loved' her due to her looks or power, so she would definitely spiral even further if you showed actual affection for her

● Your safety is her upmost priority and since she feels so strongly about you, her dragons will also feel protective about their mothers obsession

● Dany at first didn't want you to meet her children, since she was scared what they could do to you, but her anxiety eased over time

● But only towards her dragons

● You would still be locked up in her private chambers for most of your shared life

● if you somehow got injured, the mad queen would be unleashed and no one would be able to escape her wrath

● if you died, she would just completely lose it. If you think the mad queen was bad, just wait until she lost her obsession, her Y/N

● With her world gone, everyone elses would burn

● Absolute cuddle bug in private

● (tonal whiplash, I know)

● She just wanted to hold you close

● You were hers and Dany would let you know it. In good ways but also bad ones

#yandere #x reader #yandere daenerys #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targeryan #yandere daenerys targeryan #daenerys targaryen #daenerys deserved better #daenerys appreciation

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agirlsawalittlerose · 3 months ago

Text

SILK STRINGS

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

Chapter 1: Volantis

Chapter 2: Dragonlords, C**ts & Tigers

CHAPTER 3: Marital Duties & Lust

The ride back to the Maegyr palace was quiet, but Qorlo’s silence was far from brooding. Dila could feel the tension that had held him throughout the gathering loosening, replaced by a satisfied calm. He’d drunk deep of the wine offered at the Tigers’ feast, and though he was no stranger to indulgence, tonight he was particularly flushed. The conversation about the elections and the Vala had gone well, and Dila could feel his pride swelling with each step their palanquin took through the winding streets of Volantis.

“I think I impressed them,” Qorlo finally said, a lazy smile curling his lips as he leaned back against the cushions of the litter. “Sallario and Draxos—they were intrigued. They’ll talk about him, about me.”

Dila smiled softly, knowing how to play the game. “You did well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “You planted the seed. Now, they’ll wait for the proof.”

Qorlo chuckled, his fingers tightening around the goblet he’d brought with him. “And they’ll have it. I’ve no doubt they’ll be crawling to our gates soon enough, begging to see the Vala.” He laughed, tipping the goblet back and spilling some of the wine over his chin. “And they’ll see him. They’ll see that I am the one destined for the Triarchy.”

Dila watched him, her face an unreadable mask. His confidence had grown in proportion to his indulgence tonight, but there was no denying the ripple of interest their tale of the Valyrian stranger had caused. She had played her part well, and the men had listened. For now, that was enough.

As they reached the palace, Qorlo stumbled slightly as he dismounted from the litter, though he recovered with a laugh, pulling Dila toward him. “You were perfect tonight,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as they entered the cool, shadowed halls of their home. “You spoke when you should have spoken, said just what was needed.”

Dila allowed him to pull her closer, her body pliant against his. His words were praise, but they tasted hollow. She had done her duty, played the role expected of her, but there was no joy in it. Whatever spark of passion they had once shared had long since faded, replaced by duty. But she knew her place, knew her role as wife to a man who sought the Triarchy. Her desires mattered little, and she had been raised to accept that.

They ascended the stairs to their private chambers, Qorlo’s hand growing more insistent on her waist as they passed the guards and slaves who bowed their heads as they passed. By the time they reached the heavy door of their bedchamber, Qorlo’s desire had sharpened into something more primal. His fingers fumbled at the laces of her gown, tugging it free from her shoulders with an urgency that belied his usual control.

Dila didn’t protest. She didn’t stiffen or resist as he pulled the fabric from her skin, baring her to the cool air of the chamber. She knew what was expected of her, and she played her part as she always had. She tilted her head back slightly as his lips found her neck, her hands resting on his shoulders as he pressed her back toward the bed.

Qorlo was too drunk to notice the lack of passion in her eyes, the absence of desire in her movements. His hands were rough on her skin, but she had grown used to it over the years. This was her duty, her place. She would give him what he wanted, as she always did.

He pushed her down onto the bed, his body heavy on top of hers as he fumbled with his own clothes, his breath hot and thick with wine. Dila shifted quickly, rolling them both so she was on top—grasping at the only semblance of control she could seize in moments like this. She closed her eyes as he sunk into her, allowing her mind to drift far from the room, far from him, to anywhere but here.

In the dim corridors of the palace, Aegon Targaryen was wide awake, despite the wine he’d consumed in excess. Volantene, rich and spiced, far more potent than anything he’d drunk in King’s Landing. He’d indulged, perhaps more than he should have, and now the room they had given him spun with every blink. He had tried lying down, hoping the wine would lull him to sleep, but it was no use. His mind raced with too many thoughts—images of Volantis, the words of the pleasure slave, memories of Westeros, and the haunting beauty of Dila Maegyr.

Rising from his bed, his bare feet touched the cold marble floors as he wandered through the halls.

Aegon hadn’t intended to wander far, but as he rounded a corner, the faint sound of movement caught his ear. He paused, listening, curiosity guiding his steps as he followed the noise down the corridor.

He soon found himself before a half-open door, and though he knew he should have turned back, something compelled him to look.

Through the gap in the door, he saw them.

Qorlo, his broad chest slick with sweat moving with every intense breath beneath Dila, who rode him, her pale skin glowing in the faint light of the chamber, her perfect figure facing the door. Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. He should leave, he knew that. He should turn away and return to his own room, pretend he had never seen them. But he couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the ground, his gaze locked on Dila’s form.

Her silver-gold hair tousled, her pale blue eyes half-closed, but it was her face that held him. There was something about the way she looked, something distant, almost detached, as if she wasn’t truly there with Qorlo. It stirred something in Aegon, something that he didn’t fully understand.

Qorlo was too lost in his own pleasure to notice anything, but Dila… Dila’s eyes opened, and for a moment, they locked with Aegon’s.

The world seemed to stop. Aegon’s heart thundered in his chest as he stood frozen in the doorway, his breath shallow and ragged. He expected her to scream, to call out, to do something—but she didn’t.

Instead, they simply stared at each other, their gazes locked in a silent, forbidden exchange. For long, excruciating seconds, neither of them moved. There was no sound but the heavy breathing of Qorlo and the soft rustle of the sheets.

He was captivated by her, by the way her eyes held him, as if daring him to stay, to watch.

Aegon felt a rush of heat, a mixture of shame and something far darker, as his cock twitched and his breath stopped for what it felt like a year. This was the most appreciated gift his stupid life had offered him lately. He couldn’t help but wonder how she felt, how she tasted, how quickly she would make him reach his peak. Aegon cursed Qorlo’s name in his mind, hoping a stroke would strike him at that very moment, so he could dispose of his dead body and make Dila his.

Then, suddenly, Dila’s gaze shifted, something flickering in the depths of her pale blue eyes. The moment broke, and Aegon snapped back to himself, a wave of embarrassment crashing over him. Without another thought, he turned and fled down the corridor, his footsteps echoing through the palace as he ran from what he had seen, his heart pounding in his chest.

Behind him, in the bedchamber, Dila watched him go, her expression unreadable, the flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—still lingering in her eyes.

Aegon sat in the salon, his heart still pounding, his thoughts spinning in circles. The evening breeze drifted in from the open terrace, carrying with it the scent of the river and the faint hum of distant voices from the streets below. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, running a hand through his silver hair. He had fled from her gaze, but now, he feared, there was nowhere left to run.

He barely heard her approach before she entered the room, a ghostly figure in the moonlight. When he looked up, there she stood, draped in a thin silk robe that clung to her form like water. The fabric shimmered in the dim light, revealing more than it concealed. His pulse quickened, and he averted his eyes, though the image of her from moments earlier—riding her husband—was burned into his mind.

“Is something troubling you?” Her voice was calm, almost amused, as she stepped further into the room.

Aegon straightened, struggling to compose himself. “I… I must apologize,” he stammered, his throat suddenly dry. “I did not mean to—”

Dila cut him off with a wave of her hand, gliding past him with the ease of a predator. “Apologies are unnecessary,” she said, her voice light. She walked to the window, letting the breeze catch the edges of her robe. “But I do find myself curious.”

Aegon froze, his body tensing. “Curious about what?”

Her pale eyes found him, sharp as blades. “Curious about the truth.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You claim to have no memory of who you are or where you come from, but I do not believe that. I think you know exactly who you are. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

His heart skipped a beat, but he said nothing. The truth was there in his silence, hanging between them like a fragile thread.

Dila crossed the room and sank gracefully onto one of the low couches, her movements deliberate, slow, as if savoring the power she held in this moment. “I knew it the moment I heard you speak,” she said, her voice soft. “You come from Westeros, don’t you?”

Aegon cursed inwardly. He had tried to mask it, but it was impossible to fully erase the accent that clung to his High Valyrian. Not even his father or his siblings had ever mastered the language in the way the Free Cities had.

He had hoped, seeing the genuine confusion in Qorlo’s furrowed brow, that his identity might have remained hidden. It was clear the man had never concerned himself with the affairs of the West, nor bothered to learn its accents or customs.

But Dila… she knew.

Aegon’s heart raced, but he kept his face passive. His thoughts, however, spun wildly. She had seen through him. Perhaps she hadn’t figured out exactly who he was, but she knew enough to be dangerous. And yet, there was no malice in her eyes. Only curiosity.

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. His blood turned to ice.

“I…” he began, unsure of how to answer, but before he could fumble through a lie, Dila spoke again, her words startling him.

“I can speak your language,” she said smoothly, switching effortlessly to the Common Tongue of Westeros. The sound of it on her lips, spoken with such fluency, caught Aegon off guard. He stared at her, surprised, uncertain of how to respond.

“I spent years learning it,” Dila continued, as if discussing the weather. “Studying your customs, your histories. Westeros fascinates me, and I know more than most Volantenes care to. So, you needn’t worry—I’m not some ignorant Tiger who thinks everything west of the Rhoyne is barbarism.” She smiled, her expression unreadable. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Aegon’s mind raced, every instinct screaming at him to flee, but her tone was disarming, almost… kind. He didn’t know what to make of her, of this strange game she seemed to be playing.

“What do you want from me?” he asked cautiously, his voice still tight with unease. “Why haven’t you told your husband?”

Dila’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Qorlo is many things, but he’s not a man of nuance. And as for what I want from you… that depends. What do you want, strange man?”

He hesitated. She knew more than she let on, and yet, she hadn’t betrayed him. Not yet.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his thoughts a tangled mess. “I have no plans,” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to leave my old life behind. Things I had to take but that were never meant for me. I don’t know what I want” he said, but that was a lie.

He wanted to capture her lips, die from her intoxicating scent, grab the pink nipples he could spot under her obscenely thin robe, make her moan his name…

Dila leaned back against the cushions, crossing one leg over the other, her silk robe shifting with the motion. “No plans at all?” she asked, her voice teasing. “You sound like a man who’s been running for a long time.”

“I have,” he muttered, looking away.

For a moment, she said nothing, simply watching him. Then, with a sudden clarity in her voice, she spoke again. “You’re perfect.”

Aegon frowned, confused. “Perfect?”

Dila rose from the couch, moving toward him with the grace of a dancer, each step measured. “Yes, perfect,” she said softly. “You’ll stay here, at least until the elections are over. You don’t need to make any decisions and you certainly don’t need to run.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “And what do you mean by ‘stay here’? Am I a prisoner?”

Dila raised a delicate brow, amusement in her voice. “Do you see chains around your wrists?” she asked lightly. “We Volantenes know the difference between a free man and a captive. You are not a prisoner, Vala. Consider yourself an… honored guest.”

Aegon’s unease deepened. He didn’t feel like a guest, not with her eyes on him, not with the way his thoughts kept circling back to her, to the scene he had witnessed earlier. He shifted awkwardly, trying to control the heat rising in his chest, the memory of her body on Qorlo still vivid in his mind.

Dila’s gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head slightly, as if reading his thoughts. “There’s lust in your eyes,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but unmistakable.

Aegon stiffened, caught off guard by her bluntness. “I—no, I didn’t mean—” He stumbled over his words, his face flushing with embarrassment.

But Dila wasn’t offended. If anything, she seemed more amused than before.

Aegon swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “You are… very beautiful,” he admitted, his voice carefully diplomatic, as if treading on dangerous ground.

Dila smiled again, almost bitterly. That knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine. “Yes,” she said, her tone casual. “I know.”

And with that, she turned, the silk of her robe flowing around her as she left the room, leaving Aegon standing there, still rigid, still uncertain of what had just happened.

#aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen smut #aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon x oc #hotd fanfic #hotd

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 1 year ago

Text

DARTH VADER NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He would need the aftercare. You would have to check his respiration and oxygen sats and since he probably can't sweat anymore, make sure he cools down. He won't like it but knows it's an unfortunate necessity.

If you scratch him in the heat of passion or otherwise break his skin, he would be like 'Finally a scar I want to have,' because you did it.

As for you, Vader is quite rough in bed, so you'll walk away with bruises. He'll marvel at them as they contrast against your skin, knowing that he marked you, claimed you.

His perception of pain has totally changed since being burned alive and he doesn't care that you don't understand it like he does. He'll grab you roughly, force you to look at him as he pounds into you brutally.

You'll have to take care of your own aftercare. You'll be bruised on your hips and thighs from his cybernetic hands. Your nipples will be swollen and sensitive from his mouth and fingers.

Your cunt is ground zero.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Eyes. Eyes seem to hold a lot of power and symbolism to him. He wants to see your eyes, the desire in them, reverence in them, even a little bit of fear in them. He wants to see your eyes widen as he enters you, as they flutter shut in pleasure.

For himself, he thinks his body is a disaster. He hates his body, there's nothing he likes about it anymore.

Except maybe his size.

He's 6'8 in his armor, maybe take 6'7 without his boots, and like 264 pounds of muscle and metal. He loves to use his size against you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Dude's definitely got a breeding fetish. He needs an heir to help him fight Sidious. It's all going in you.

Or you're swallowing it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If he's still in his mask, he can smell when you're wet. The olfactory sensors in his mask are strong enough to pick up on the smell. He'll never say a word about it, using it to his advantage, teasing you, and riling you up for him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's only been with Padme, but he knows what he's doing. He was exposed to sex at a very young age from the unsavory people in the slave trade. He never had hope for a normal, vanilla sex life.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he's in total control, where he can see your eyes, and restrain your hands if he desires.

He won't do it when anyone else is around because he finds it crude, but when he's sitting on his throne, he'll manspread. He's probably the only guy who could justify actually needing to, with his codpiece and fat cock and virile balls.

The look of him on his throne in such a powerful, masculine position does things to you and he knows.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think his funny bone was chopped off by Kenobi. His humor tends to make your eyes roll like his 'choking on aspirations' line.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

In total, he may have three single hairs scattered across his body. But seriously, almost all of his hair is gone, maybe a few patches here and there but nothing noticeable unless you're up close and personal. He did have a nice happy trail before he was burned.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's not one to set the mood. He'll dive into your mind, saying all the things he can't bring himself to say anymore, to let you feel his feelings as though they were your own. Him saying I love you and commenting on your beauty? He knows it's ridiculous coming from him. People run from him, for good reason too. Sweet nothings and pillow talk don't happen verbally.

Cock warming is a big thing for him. He loves it when you let him slide it in so you are connected. He loves the feel of your warm cunt around his massive cock. Either completely non sexually as an act of closeness or post-sex intimacy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't necessarily see himself as a sexual being anymore without you in the context. He has more important things to think about. Like conquering the literal galaxy.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Here is an itemized list of Darth Vader's kinks:

Breeding

Restraining you with The Force

Owning you

Dominating you

Making you feel small

Dirty talk (in basic, Huttese and Sith). He'll comment on how wet and tight you are for him, a monster, a killer, how he owns you, owns your body. He'll say into your ear how he will kill Sidious and you will rule the galaxy together and he'll fuck you so hard on the Imperial throne and breed you. How you will be seen in public, pregnant with his babies.

Marking you, visibly or not. He likes when people look at your bruises or hickeys that you wear with pride and bystanders think 'Darth Vader did that' and gets their minds going about who is under the suit and they're terrified of even being in the same building as him but here you were getting fucked by him. He likes being a monster.

Power play: If you make him feel like the most powerful being in the galaxy, you will be rewarded greatly in the form of earth-shattering orgasms that only he can give you.

He loves when you worship his cock, stroking it, sucking in, marveling at it's size. I mean, his cock brought balance to The Force...

Oh god, if he took your virginity. You'll never hear the end of his dirty talk about how he corrupted you and he loves it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

On his throne oh my god yes, he would just die.

Hard and fast against a wall, overlooking the lava fields? Yes.

Suck him off in his TIE amongst the stars, where he truly feels free? Yep.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Lust and passion are big things to the Sith. Fucking you six ways from Sunday can be counted as a religious experience for him. Sometimes, he'll simply use your body to reignite that connection to The Force.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

I actually think he wouldn't choke you, by hand or force. That's how he lost Padme and that is the way he takes people out. He wouldn't want to risk it with you.

Also, he's not one for pet names. He won't call you 'honey' or 'darling'. Honestly, I cringe anytime anyone has Vader say that. I don't think he'd call you a whore or slut, either, but he would tease you about how wanton you are, how you're wet for him, a mechanical monster, a Sith Lord.

He will also never be submissive. It's too traumatic for him, from past owners and Sidious.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He's got a wicked tongue. He is the Dark Lord after all. He loves playing with your cunt and clit with his tongue, how it drives you delirious with pleasure.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can be slow and sensual, but he's such an intense and passionate person, that he has to make a conscious effort to slow down.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's not crazy about quickies. He wants to take his time, branding every nerve you have with him, in both pleasure and pain.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's not a true exhibitionist. He doesn't even want to be thought of as human anymore, really. So he's not going to risk getting caught. He has no hesitation in snapping a few necks if it ensures his privacy.

But.

There's a weird part of his animal brain that likes people knowing that he's a sexual being.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Just let him catch his breath and he's good to go again. He's an injured veteran, give him a minute.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Does The Force count? Because he'll mess with you from the other side of the Galaxy. He may feel like it's an inappropriate use of The Force but at the moment, he's not thinking with his brain.

You'll feel his metal fingers sliding up your thighs and down your panties at any given moment of the day. He'll send you dirty sex dreams in your sleep, of him eating you out, the kind of dreams that leave you on the edge of an orgasm as you awake.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Like I said, he'll use his size to his advantage.

He's always in your head. He'll implant a memory of a hard and nasty fucking he gave you at the exact wrong time just to mess with you.

He'll hide your clothes and force you to walk around naked when it's just the two of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The man is ravenous in the sense he makes a lot different sounds. His vocal cords were burnt, so they do tire out but his voice now has a raspy, husky quality to it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Don't wear your favorite clothes around him. He'll rip them off of you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It's still there.

It still works.

It's big.

And he knows how to use it.

You'll limp the next morning if you can walk at all. You're only thought will be of him.

He does still have a deep inguinal crease to die for.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

The dude needs you in his life. You keep him from unaliving himself. In the bigger picture, you keep the part of him that is still Anakin Skywalker alive, without either of you knowing it. He is human with you. He already screwed up once, the chance to have a decent life, and he's not going to do it again. If something happens to you or your relationship, he's taking the entire galaxy with him on a tour of destruction.

Far too often, he dissolves into his Vader persona and lets himself believe that he is death personified.

In his mind, he's constantly arguing with himself, wanting to know if you're in this with him. He comes with baggage; he's got childhood trauma from being a slave, losing his mother, his mother dying in his arms, hiding his relationship with Padme, contributing to Padme's death, being a slave again, this time to Sidious and not to mention all his medical trauma. He needs to know that you know what you're signing up for.

But.

He'll never say anything about this to you and will continue to spiral to himself.

Vader is an 'action speaks louder than words' guy. Him seeing you want to jump his bones and slob his knob as often as he wants to is what he needs.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He barely sleeps, part from trauma and he's also a guy that needs to be doing something. Ready for round two? Round seven?

#smut #tw suicide #darth vader smut #darth vader #darth vader x you #darth vader y/n #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader

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istumpysk · 2 years ago

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys X (Chapter 71)

Surprise, crazy survived. For now.

The hill was a stony island in a sea of green.

It took Dany half the morning to climb down. By the time she reached the bottom she was winded. Her muscles ached, and she felt as if she had the beginnings of a fever.

Well looky here! First paragraph.

Miss thing has a fever before wandering in the sun, drinking muddy water, and eating strange berries. Why's that?

The Blue Grace called Ezzara folded her hands. "My queen," she murmured, "his fever was not brought on by the arrow. He had soiled himself, not once but many times. The stains reached to his knees, and there was dried blood amongst his excrement." - Daenerys V, ADWD

He felt her brow. Is it hot in here, or does she have a touch of fever? He dared not ask that question aloud. Even hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. - Tyrion XII, ADWD

I've seen many people argue Khaleesi can't have the bloody flux because she's been gone for close to a month. I don't know how they reached that conclusion, but it's bonkers. The chapters aren't in chronological order. Surviving on that hill for a month while starved, burned, cold, and half naked is not realistic.

Bacillary dysentery symptoms can sometimes appear 10 days after exposure. There's nothing in the text suggesting she's been on this hill longer than that.

+.+.+

The rocks had scraped her hands raw. They are better than they were, though, she decided as she picked at a broken blister. Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing.

Remember this. It will be worth it.

+.+.+

The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she'd been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one.

Wait until she finds out Drogon's hill is nicer than Dragonstone.

+.+.+

The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him.

It's hilarious how simple and concise the messaging is when it comes to dragons. And yet so many people ...

+.+.+

Once she found the Skahazadhan she need only follow it downstream to Slaver's Bay.

She would sooner have returned to Meereen on dragon's wings, to be sure. But that was a desire Drogon did not seem to share.

"There is a reason. A dragon is no slave." - Daenerys III, ASOS

I bet a direwolf would help a Stark get back to Meereen. Maybe the bond between dragon and rider isn't so special after all.

+.+.+

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns. Daenerys made do with a word and a whip. Mounted on the dragon's back, she oft felt as if she were learning to ride all over again. When she whipped her silver mare on her right flank the mare went left, for a horse's first instinct is to flee from danger. When she laid the whip across Drogon's right side he veered right, for a dragon's first instinct is always to attack. Sometimes it did not seem to matter where she struck him, though; sometimes he went where he would and took her with him. Neither whip nor words could turn Drogon if he did not wish to be turned.

+.+.+

And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.

You could always conquer it.

Khaleesi is wavering on where exactly she belongs. I could tell her.

The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany's sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. - Daenerys III, AGOT

She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. - Daenerys III, AGOT

"Once," said Ser Jorah. "No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world." - Daenerys V, AGOT

+.+.+

Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.

Keep walking. If I look back I am lost.

Are you ready for some first-rate literary analysis?

Drogon's scorched and blackened Dragonstone hill represents her violent impulses, and thirst for war. In other words, fire and blood. Khaleesi will spend almost the whole chapter convincing herself to walk away from it towards Meereen.

$5 to anyone who can guess what happens at the end.

+.+.+

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch.

Horses getting the ant treatment.

+.+.+

She had to don her crown again and return to her ebon bench and the arms of her noble husband.

Hizdahr, of the tepid kisses.

Yeah, cause I'm sure you're always dripping wet.

Sorry.

+.+.+

One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon's cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod.

Drogon, her Prince Charming.

+.+.+

I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze.

That's not going to work, winter is coming for you.

+.+.+

Hers had been a lonely sojourn, and for most of it she had been hurt and hungry … yet despite it all she had been strangely happy here. A few aches, an empty belly, chills by night … what does it matter when you can fly? I would do it all again.

Keep walking, Khaleesi.

+.+.+

One morning she had found some wild onions growing halfway down the south slope, and later that same day a leafy reddish vegetable that might have been some queer sort of cabbage. Whatever it was, it had not made her sick. Aside from that, and one fish that she had caught in the spring-fed pool outside of Drogon's cave, she had survived as best she could on the dragon's leavings, on burned bones and chunks of smoking meat, half-charred and half-raw.

The food she's been consuming for days has not made her sick. That's not why she has a fever.

+.+.+

Though she walked through a green kingdom, it was not the deep rich green of summer. Even here autumn made its presence felt, and winter would not be far behind. The grass was paler than she remembered, a wan and sickly green on the verge of going yellow. After that would come brown. The grass was dying.

The dying grass is heavily emphasized throughout the chapter. It might be important, we'll cover it later.

+.+.+

She'd had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.

What might it say about Khaleesi when it's the Dothraki culture and customs that make her happy?

+.+.+

But in the Red Waste, all her joy had turned to ashes. Her sun-and-stars had fallen from his horse, the maegi Mirri Maz Duur had murdered Rhaego in her womb, and Dany had smothered the empty shell of Khal Drogo with her own two hands.

Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. - Daenerys IX, AGOT

+.+.+

Afterward Drogo's great khalasar had shattered. Ko Pono named himself Khal Pono and took many riders with him, and many slaves as well. Ko Jhaqo named himself Khal Jhaqo and rode off with even more. Mago, his bloodrider, raped and murdered Eroeh, a girl Daenerys had once saved from him.

Thanks for this quick breakdown of Dothraki characters we haven't seen in ages, George.

+.+.+

Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo's funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen.

The fire burned away my hair, but elsewise it did not touch me. It had been the same in Daznak's Pit. That much she could recall, though much of what followed was a haze.

Oopsie daisy, someone is losing their fucking mind.

Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing.

I agree with the people who say we shouldn't attribute her actions in King's Landing to being mad, but I think it's a mistake to completely dismiss the fact that she's slowly losing it like her father.

She can be responsible for her own actions, and also not right upstairs. See: Cersei Lannister.

+.+.+

From below a spear came flying, followed by a flight of crossbow bolts. One passed so close that Dany felt it brush her cheek. Others skittered off Drogon's scales, lodged between them, or tore through the membrane of his wings. She remembered the dragon twisting beneath her, shuddering at the impacts, as she tried desperately to cling to his scaled back. The wounds were smoking.

We love Dragon x Other parallels!

When he opened his eyes the Other's armor was running down its legs in rivulets as pale blue blood hissed and steamed around the black dragonglass dagger in its throat. It reached down with two bone-white hands to pull out the knife, but where its fingers touched the obsidian they smoked. - Samwell I, ASOS

It's not terribly important, but I would think the membranes of their wings are vulnerable. Why only the eyes?

+.+.+

Dany saw one of the bolts burst into sudden flame. Another fell away, shaken loose by the beating of his wings. Below, she saw men whirling, wreathed in flame, hands up in the air as if caught in the throes of some mad dance. A woman in a green tokar reached for a weeping child, pulling him down into her arms to shield him from the flames. Dany saw the color vividly, but not the woman's face. People were stepping on her as they lay tangled on the bricks. Some were on fire.

Would you like to express any regret or guilt for this?

+.+.+

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought.

Oh.

+.+.+

North they flew, beyond the river, Drogon gliding on torn and tattered wings through clouds that whipped by like the banners of some ghostly army.

It would be easy to mistake this ghostly army for the Others.

Same with this,

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. - Daenerys III, ADWD

But we know better, don't we?

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. - Jon XII, ADWD

+.+.+

The sun grew hotter as it rose, and before long her head was pounding.

Fever, and headache.

+.+.+

Dany's hair was growing out again, but slowly. "I need a hat," she said aloud. Up on Dragonstone she had tried to make one for herself, weaving stalks of grass together as she had seen Dothraki women do during her time with Drogo, but either she was using the wrong sort of grass or she simply lacked the necessary skill. Her hats all fell to pieces in her hands. Try again, she told herself. You will do better the next time. You are the blood of the dragon, you can make a hat. She tried and tried, but her last attempt had been no more successful than her first.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Dragons sow sew no hats.

That might be an Egg reference. Hey, didn't he go mad and burn Summerhall?

+.+.+

It was afternoon by the time Dany found the stream she had glimpsed atop the hill. It was a rill, a rivulet, a trickle, no wider than her arm … and her arm had grown thinner every day she spent on Dragonstone. Dany scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on her face. When she cupped her hands, her knuckles squished in the mud at the bottom of the stream. She might have wished for colder, clearer water … but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

I don't think you want to be doing that.

"Clean fresh water, as much as he will drink."

"Not river water," said Sweets. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

+.+.+

Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario … Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Lmao.

Jaime may yet come. She pictured him riding through the morning mists, his golden armor bright in the light of the rising sun. Jaime, if you ever loved me … - Cersei II, ADWD

But it wasn't Jaime who came to Cersei's rescue after her big walk of reflection and self-discovery, was it? No, it was her monster, Robert Strong. :)

+.+.+

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai'i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr's kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released. But …

She wondered if her captain's blades still hung upon the wall beside her bed, waiting for Daario to return and claim them. "I will leave my girls with you," he had said. "Keep them safe for me, beloved." And she wondered how much the Yunkai'i knew about what her captain meant to her. She had asked Ser Barristan that question the afternoon the hostages went forth. "They will have heard the talk," he had replied. "Naharis may even have boasted of Your Grace's … of your great … regard … for him. If you will forgive my saying so, modesty is not one of the captain's virtues. He takes great pride in his … his swordsmanship."

He boasts of bedding me, you mean. But Daario would not have been so foolish as to make such a boast amongst her enemies.

She hung his knives beside her marriage bed? God.

Based on this passage alone, I'm going to guess the Yunkai'i know everything there is to know about Daario and Khaleesi. Good luck, Daario.

+.+.+

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai'i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

Oh honey, wait until you hear what grandpa's been up to.

+.+.+

She turned back the way she'd come, to where Dragonstone rose above the grasslands like a clenched fist. It looks so close. I've been walking for hours, yet it still looks as if I could reach out and touch it. It was not too late to go back. There were fish in the spring-fed pool by Drogon's cave. She had caught one her first day there, she might catch more. And there would be scraps, charred bones with bits of flesh still on them, the remnants of Drogon's kills.

No, Dany told herself. If I look back I am lost.

Good Khaleesi. Keep walking, don't turn back.

+.+.+

It was quiet on her sea. When the wind blew the grass would sigh as the stalks brushed against each other, whispering in a tongue that only gods could understand.

And Bran.

+.+.+

Once she came upon a rat drinking from the stream, but it fled when she appeared, scurrying between the stalks to vanish in the high grass.

Those things are hard to catch.

+.+.+

Sometimes she heard birds singing. The sound made her belly rumble, but she had no nets to snare them with, and so far she had not come on any nests. Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I've flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. "Men are mad and gods are madder," she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

Hoo boy, I'm desperately searching for a different interpretation of this passage besides the obvious, but I'm not coming up with much.

"Alas," Xaro sobbed, "that was not the word I meant."

"Would you ask a mother to sell one of her children?"

"Whyever not? They can always make more. Mothers sell their children every day." - Daenerys V, ACOK

A king must have an heir. - Catelyn II, ASOS

I'll let you reach your own conclusions.

+.+.+

Thrice that day she caught sight of Drogon. Once he was so far off that he might have been an eagle, slipping in and out of distant clouds, but Dany knew the look of him by now, even when he was no more than a speck.

An eagle! Drogon's an eagle!

Something was moving atop one of them, he saw. A dragon, but which one? At this distance, it could as easily have been an eagle. A very big eagle. - Tyrion II, TWOW

Love when we draw that comparison.

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun . . . - Jon VII, ACOK

Excited to see where this might be going.

"Look," she said, pointing at the sky with her frog spear, "an eagle."

Bran lifted his head and saw it, its grey wings spread and still as it floated on the wind. He followed it with his eyes as it circled higher, wondering what it would be like to soar about the world so effortless. Better than climbing, even. He tried to reach the eagle, to leave his stupid crippled body and rise into the sky to join it, the way he joined with Summer. The greenseers could do it. I should be able to do it too. He tried and tried, until the eagle vanished in the golden haze of the afternoon. "It's gone," he said, disappointed.

"We'll see others," said Meera. "They live up here."

"I suppose." - Bran II, ASOS

+.+.+

The second time he passed before the sun, his black wings spread, and the world darkened.

Lightbringer brings equal darkness and light.

He slipped Lightbringer into its scabbard, and the world darkened once again, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. - Jon III, ADWD

And when I say light, what I really mean is fire.

+.+.+

The last time he flew right above her, so close she could hear the sound of his wings. For half a heartbeat Dany thought that he was hunting her, but he flew on without taking any notice of her and vanished somewhere in the east. Just as well, she thought.

It's just like the Starks and their direwolves!

You might have noticed Drogon shows little interest in assisting Khaleesi when she's pretending to care about Meereen.

+.+.+

Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon's back. Will they think he ate me? She wondered if Hizdahr was still king. His crown had come from her, could he hold it in her absence? He wanted Drogon dead. I heard him. "Kill it," he screamed, "kill the beast," and the look upon his face was lustful. And Strong Belwas had been on his knees, heaving and shuddering. Poison. It had to be poison. The honeyed locusts. Hizdahr urged them on me, but Belwas ate them all. She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead.

Amazing, right? Khaleesi is more rational than Barry while half delirious.

+.+.+

She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead. Yet who else could it have been? Reznak, her perfumed seneschal? The Yunkai'i? The Sons of the Harpy?

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry.

How stupid do you have to be to not understand this? How did they pass any class requiring the study of literature?

Anyway, there's levels to this that I never put together.

Who poisoned the locusts? Who could it have been? Off in the distance, a wolf howled.

<- The Queen's Hand

Skahaz was clad in his familiar garb of pleated black skirt, greaves, and muscled breastplate. The brazen mask beneath his arm was new—a wolf's head with lolling tongue.

+.+.+

She dreamed. All her cares fell away from her, and all her pains as well, and she seemed to float upward into the sky. She was flying once again, spinning, laughing, dancing, as the stars wheeled around her and whispered secrets in her ear. "To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

"Quaithe?" Dany called. "Where are you, Quaithe?"

Then she saw. Her mask is made of starlight.

"Remember who you are, Daenerys," the stars whispered in a woman's voice. "The dragons know. Do you?"

Notice how Khaleesi is hallucinating, and floating in the clouds long before berries enter the picture?

Let me tell you, people struggle with the order of events in this chapter.

There's no comparison to be made between the effects of drinking whatever Mirri Maz Duur gave her, and the berries in this chapter, because THEY HAVEN'T BEEN CONSUMED YET.

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

I've yet to see an interpretation better than the following:

To go north, you must journey south -> Sansa.

To reach the west, you must go east -> Arya.

To go forward, you must go back -> Bran.

To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow -> Jon.

+.+.+

The next morning she woke stiff and sore and aching, with ants crawling on her arms and legs and face. When she realized what they were, she kicked aside the stalks of dry brown grass that had served as her bed and blanket and struggled to her feet. She had bites all over her, little red bumps, itchy and inflamed. Where did all the ants come from? Dany brushed them from her arms and legs and belly. She ran a hand across her stubbly scalp where her hair had burned away, and felt more ants on her head, and one crawling down the back of her neck. She knocked them off and crushed them under her bare feet. There were so many …

It turned out that their anthill was on the other side of her wall. She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he'd built it himself.

Easy to mistake those ants for wights. Almost a little too easy.

Unfortunately for Khaleesi, George has been consistent when it comes to ants.

The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes stood sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walked men in black as small as ants. - Jon III, AGOT

Soldiers crawled over the city walls like ants with torches, and crowded the hoardings that had sprouted from the ramparts. - Sansa IV, ACOK

He watched as a swarming mass of riders charged a shield wall, astride horses no larger than ants. - Jon VII, ACOK

Across the river the south shore was black with men and horses, stirring like angry ants as they caught sight of the approaching ships. - Davos III, ACOK

"An ant who hears the words of a king may not comprehend what he is saying," Melisandre said, "and all men are ants before the fiery face of god. - Davos V, ASOS

Around the walls the hosts of Lords Declarant were stirring, emerging from their tents like ants from an anthill. If only they were truly ants, she thought, we could step on them and crush them. - Alayne I, AFFC

From on high their garrons looked no larger than ants, and Jon could not tell one ranger from another. - Jon VI, ADWD

It's the people of Westeros.

+.+.+

Dragonstone was still visible above the grasslands. It looks so close. I must be leagues away by now, but it looks as if I could be back in an hour.

No! Don't look back.

+.+.+

The sun was only just coming up.

[...]

She wanted to lie back down, close her eyes, and give herself up to sleep. No. I must keep going. The stream. Just follow the stream.

Tired. So tired.

"I'm sad." She yawned again. "And tired. So tired."

Tired or sick? - Tyrion XII, ADWD

If you think the fatigue is simply Khaleesi being hungry and walking too much in the sun, I want you to think back on Arya's travels in ACOK, and tell me if it feels the same.

+.+.+

It would not do to walk the wrong way and lose her stream. "My friend," she said aloud. "If I stay close to my friend I won't get lost." She would have slept beside the water if she dared, but there were animals who came down to the stream to drink at night. She had seen their tracks. Dany would make a poor meal for a wolf or lion, but even a poor meal was better than none.

Is that a second wolf? And a lion!

What's with all the ominous wolves?

+.+.+

Dany cupped her hands to drink. The water made her belly cramp, but cramps were easier to bear than thirst.

Uh oh! Cramps!

Yezzan's other slaves had refused to go near the overseer once the cramps began, so it was left to Tyrion to keep him warm and bring him drinks. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

And still no berries.

+.+.+

As she walked, she tapped her thigh with the pitmaster's whip.

The stream bent this way and that, and Dany followed, beating time upon her leg with the whip, trying not to think about how far she had to go, or the pounding in her head, or her empty belly.

Her whip slapped softly against her thigh, wap wap wap.

What is this? Trying to tame herself or something?

+.+.+

One step at a time, and the stream would see her home.

↓

Every step brought the Red Keep nearer. Every step brought her closer to her son and her salvation. - Cersei II, ADWD

↓

Cersei looked behind her. She could still see the great dome and seven crystal towers of the Great Sept of Baelor atop the hill. Have I really come such a little way? - Cersei II, ADWD

This is so funny.

+.+.+

Just past midday she came upon a bush growing by the stream, its twisted limbs covered with hard green berries. Dany squinted at them suspiciously, then plucked one from a branch and nibbled at it. Its flesh was tart and chewy, with a bitter aftertaste that seemed familiar to her. "In the khalasar, they used berries like these to flavor roasts," she decided. Saying it aloud made her more certain of it. Her belly rumbled, and Dany found herself picking berries with both hands and tossing them into her mouth.

Okay! After the fever, after the fatigue, after the cramps, and after the delirium comes the berries.

Bullshit. She had cramps before the berries. I don't know how you miss that.

Reading commentary on this chapter drove me insane. I'm not denying she's had a miscarriage, but why are people so insistent she doesn't also have the pale mare? It's not like she's going to die, what does it matter?

"Yezzan must live. Or we all die with him. The pale mare does not carry off every rider. The master will recover." - Tyrion XI, ADWD

She'll survive. She'll live. Everything will be okay.

Honestly, when she's this deluded about her own invincibility and ancestry,

"I am the blood of the dragon," Dany reminded him. "Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?" Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

When she's been promised a mount to dread,

three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed (Silver) and one to dread (Pale Mare) and one to love (Drogon) - Daenerys IV, ACOK

And when Quaithe warns her of what's to come,

"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal." - Daenerys II, ADWD

SHE'S PROBABLY GOING TO GET THE PALE MARE.

+.+.+

An hour later, her stomach began to cramp so badly that she could not go on. She spent the rest of that day retching up green slime.

Slime.

His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Vomiting is obviously a symptom of dysentery. It's also possible the berries were inedible.

Either way it doesn't matter, she has the pale mare.

+.+.+

In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here? My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.

THREE? Three big bad wolves?

+.+.+

Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water.

Those afflicted by the pale mare were always thirsty, drinking gallons between their shits. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

"The pale mare," the man told Sweets.

What a surprise, Tyrion thought. Who could have guessed? Aside from any man with a nose and me with half of one. Yezzan was burning with fever, squirming fitfully in a pool of his own excrement. His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … and it fell to Yollo and Penny to wipe his yellow bottom clean. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

+.+.+

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

"You are dead," Dany said.

Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned.

"I loved you once."

Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother's crown to keep you fed.

"You hurt me. You frightened me."

Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you.

"You sold me. You betrayed me."

No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

"You could have had your crown," Dany told him. "My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited."

I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.

I don't care enough to comment on any of this, but I will point out Khaleesi hearing his voice is turning into a disturbing trend.

Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother's voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire. - Daenerys III, ADWD

Mad.

+.+.+

Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo's khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.

"You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited …"

I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon's eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I'd had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words. Viserys began to laugh, until his jaw fell away from his face, smoking, and blood and molten gold ran from his mouth.

Don't worry, it's not like Khaleesi is ever influenced by Viserys.

His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it "waking the dragon." - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

Daenerys pushed her hair back. "Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy's Sons what it means to wake the dragon." - Daenerys I, ADWD

The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one. - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper's hired knives. - Daenerys I, ASOS

For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian. - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

+.+.+

When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.

For a moment she did not realize what it was. The world had just begun to lighten, and the tall grass rustled softly in the wind. No, please, let me sleep some more. I'm so tired. She tried to burrow back beneath the pile of grass she had torn up when she went to sleep. Some of the stalks felt wet. Had it rained again? She sat up, afraid that she had soiled herself as she slept. When she brought her fingers to her face, she could smell the blood on them. Am I dying? Then she saw the pale crescent moon, floating high above the grass, and it came to her that this was no more than her moon blood.

If she had not been so sick and scared, that might have come as a relief. Instead she began to shiver violently. She rubbed her fingers through the dirt, and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe between her legs. The dragon does not weep. She was bleeding, but it was only woman's blood. The moon is still a crescent, though. How can that be? She tried to remember the last time she had bled. The last full moon? The one before? The one before that? No, it cannot have been so long as that. "I am the blood of the dragon," she told the grass, aloud.

Once, the grass whispered back, until you chained your dragons in the dark.

[...]

Her belly was empty, her feet sore and blistered, and it seemed to her that the cramping had grown worse. Her guts were full of writhing snakes biting at her bowels. She scooped up a handful of mud and water in trembling hands. By midday the water would be tepid, but in the chill of dawn it was almost cool and helped her keep her eyes open. As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow. Could it be the water? If it was the water, she was doomed. She had to drink or die of thirst.

Khaleesi doesn't currently know left from right, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here. It probably has been months, and that would indicate she's currently miscarrying Daario's baby. Yes, Daario's. Not Hizdahr's. Daario's baby. It's not up for debate.

Reznak mo Reznak bowed and beamed. "Magnificence, every day you grow more beautiful. I think the prospect of your wedding has given you a glow. Oh, my shining queen!" - Daenerys VII, ADWD

Melisandre had thrown back her cowl and shrugged out of the smothering robe. Beneath, she was naked, and huge with child. Swollen breasts hung heavy against her chest, and her belly bulged as if near to bursting. "Gods preserve us," he whispered, and heard her answering laugh, deep and throaty. Her eyes were hot coals, and the sweat that dappled her skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. Melisandre shone. - Davos II, ACOK

What does this mean for the future? Nothing. She's never having a baby, the dragons will always be her children.

Love the shivering by the way.

+.+.+

"Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons."

Aye, the grass said, but you turned against your children.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Hazzea, Hazzea, it rhymes with Himalaya! You must remember the name, you fucking hypocrite.

Dany listened quietly, her face still. When he was done, she said, "What was the name of the old weaver?"

[...]

"Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman." - Daenerys I, ADWD

+.+.+

In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.

Except it wouldn't, not truly.

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

+.+.+

Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you.

The voice was no more than a whisper, yet somehow Dany felt that he was walking just behind her. My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest, but she knew that if she turned around Ser Jorah would be gone. "I am dreaming," she said. "A waking dream, a walking dream. I am alone and lost."

Lol.

+.+.+

Lost, because you lingered, in a place that you were never meant to be, murmured Ser Jorah, as softly as the wind. Alone, because you sent me from your side.

[...]

I gave you good counsel. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, I told you. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and go west, I said. You would not listen.

I know this doesn't need to be said, but I'll say it anyway. There's no glass candle, there's no sorcery or magic brewing.

Quaithe, Viserys, and Jorah aren't talking to her. She's hallucinating, but the most important thing here is that Khaleesi is hearing what she wants to hear. She's talking to her innermost self.

+.+.+

You took Meereen, he told her, yet still you lingered.

"To be a queen."

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros.

"It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl."

+.+.+

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.

"Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass.

+.+.+

From the corner of her eye Dany saw the grass move again, off to her right. The grass swayed and bowed low, as if before a king, but no king appeared to her.

Hizdahr, you mean? Am I forgetting someone?

+.+.+

The world was green and empty. The world was green and silent. The world was yellow, dying.

Through the grass came a soft silvery tinkling.

Bells, Dany thought, smiling, remembering Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, and the bells he braided into his hair. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

Everywhere you look, dry dying grass.

I came across an interesting theory when researching this chapter. Mirri Maz Duur's words weren't a prophecy, but you could make a few connections to what's currently happening.

When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.

Quentyn Martell dying in Meereen.

When the seas go dry.

The change of seasons. The dying grass in the Dothraki Sea.

Mountains blow in the wind like leaves

Potentially something related to Mother of Mountains.

When my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

Potentially something related to Womb of the World, and Drogon. Or maybe the miscarriage.

I'm guessing Khal Drogo returning to her is figurative, and means Khaleesi finally embracing being a powerful khal and warlord. I bet she even picks up a few bells along the way!

We'll have to wait and see if the upcoming Vaes Dothrak storyline fits with the above.

+.+.+

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. "Aggo," she whispered. "Jhogo. Rakharo." Might Daario have come with them?

Silly Khaleesi, bells don't sing happy songs.

Remember when Game of Thrones totally botched this, and now a bunch of desperate morons are clinging to the idea that the climax of A Song of Ice and Fire is JON CONNINGTON burning down King's Landing?

"The thunder of his hooves!" the others chorused.

"As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The old woman trembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world." - Daenerys V, AGOT

Hilarious.

+.+.+

Dany watched him go. When the sound of his hooves had faded away to silence, she began to shout. She called until her voice was hoarse … and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him.

Oh right, him.

The grass swayed and bowed low, as if before a king, but no king appeared to her.

Her real king.

Drogon's finally paying attention to her. Must mean fire and blood is on the mind.

+.+.+

Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. "To go forward I must go back," she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon's neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone. Drogon went willingly enough; perhaps he smelled the rider's fear.

No, no! I think Meereen's the other way! You got yourself turned around.

You thought she'd turn back to Dragonstone, didn't you? Nahhh. That's not home, that's not where Khaleesi wants to be.

+.+.+

A vast herd of horses appeared below them. There were riders too, a score or more, but they turned and fled at the first sight of the dragon.

[...]

Soon one horse began to lag behind the others. The dragon descended on him, roaring, and all at once the poor beast was aflame, yet somehow he kept on running, screaming with every step, until Drogon landed on him and broke his back. Dany clutched the dragon's neck with all her strength to keep from sliding off.

Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch.

↓

I could try eating ants. The little yellow ones were too small to provide much in the way of nourishment, but there were red ants in the grass, and those were bigger.

↓

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands.

Yeah, for sure, they totally represent wights.

+.+.+

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario …

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

I don't know, looks like the bride of fire already found a king to eat with.

+.+.+

As the western sky turned the color of a blood bruise, she heard the sound of approaching horses. Dany rose, wiped her hands on her ragged undertunic, and went to stand beside her dragon.

That was how Khal Jhaqo found her, when half a hundred mounted warriors emerged from the drifting smoke.

What a reunion. What an ending! Can't wait to see what happens next.

If I look back I am lost. "It was a cruel fate," Dany said, "yet not so cruel as Mago's will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh." - Daenerys IX, AGOT

Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her khas to guard the entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside. – Daenerys VII, AGOT

Final thoughts:

Lots to say.

Let's start off with the opening and closing (excluding the epilogue) chapters.

AGOT

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS

Prologue: Cursed snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

Sansa VII: Drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

AFFC

Prologue: Pig boy Pate.

Samwell V: Pig boy Pate, back from the dead.

ADWD:

Prologue: Starving, barely alive, slightly mad Varamyr wanders a cold barren land, talking to the elements while narrating his life, then he dies and is reborn as his beast.

Daenerys X: Yup. Same.

Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. "Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again. I know skinchangers who've tried hawks, owls, ravens. Even in their own skins, they sit moony, staring up at the bloody blue. - Prologue, ADWD

Ha!

+.+.+

Next I'll make a few fun predictions I didn't have the opportunity to make anywhere else in this post:

Drogon kills Viserion (Daenerys kills Aegon), Rhaegal is shot with a scorpion in the eye (Jonnel One-Eye things), and Bran's going to handle Drogon somehow.

Kind of like the show, right? Kind of.

+.+.+

Lastly, I've been waiting for @agentrouka-blog to make a more eloquent post regarding this topic, but my peer pressure has not worked.

Let me steal her thoughts and quickly say the reason the theory that Daenerys will be given a redemption arc after burning King's Landing is such dog shit, is because Meereen is supposed to be the redemption arc. She violently destroys Slaver's Bay, creates a power vacuum, but is given the opportunity to stay, rule, and make it right. To her credit, she does. For nine chapters. Then she chooses fire and blood.

Why would the author do it all over again in Westeros? Meereen was the second chance. She failed.

Goodbye, Khaleesi.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #daenerys x

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