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targaryen-dynasty · 9 months ago

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HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), kinda non/dub con, p in v, semi public sex, doggy style, degrading, slapping, possessiveness, jealousy

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: This is something I had written and posted on another blog when I (rightfully so) didn't feel accepted and wanted in fandom. So, if any of you remembers this, it was written by me. This is Lingo Jam High Valyrian (it is what it is).

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

It’s way past the Hour of the Owl as you stand in the Throne Room all by yourself, all the tables for the guests of your coronation feast having already been cleared and stored away by the keep’s staff, leaving the room to be eerily quiet and empty.

You stand in front of the intimidating Iron Throne, looming in the dim light of the candles around you, your fingertips barely brushing the sharp swords that were used to forge it by your ancestors, reminiscing about all the times you’ve seen your father sitting on it.

Unlike your grandsire and father before you, you chose to wear the Conqueror's Crown and wield his sword, the big, square-cut rubies complimenting the red and gold gown you wear.

The heavy doors leading to the intimidating chambers open behind you, but you don’t turn around, knowing all too well who intrudes the silence and serenity. His footsteps are heavy, bouncing off the thick columns and walls on his way.

“Skoros iksis ziry ao jeldan naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke nūmāzma?” you ask, but before you’re able to turn around, the weight of your husband’s chest against your back pushes you forward, the ostentatious crown on your head toppling to the ground at the impact. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?

Both your hands immediately seize the armrests of the Iron Throne for support, more so when Daemon’s hand falls to the place between your shoulders to keep you exactly like you are, bowed forward with no chance to move.

“Hm,” he hums, applying just a bit of pressure to your back. “How about the wanton farce you put up for that cunt of a Lannister?” he growls, and it’s clear it is not a question but an accusation.

There is not one breath wasted when he rucks up the skirts of your gown and bunches it around your waist, fisting it with one of his large paws. The matter clearly is serious, and has occupied him for quite some time now, considering he prefers to answer you in the Common Tongue rather than High Valyrian.

But it’s not like you have much time to really process the meaning behind it, considering he has the skirt of your dress in his hand in one moment, and your small clothes pulled down to your knees in the next. Your cunt is exposed to the chilly air of the Red Keep, and to anyone that chooses to intrude on such an intimate and disgraceful scene, and much to your husband’s surprise, you’re soaked with anticipation, which earns you a condescending scoff from him.

He has quickly figured that there isn't going to come any reply from you, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the little predicament you’ve found yourself in, and forces a gasp from your lips as his hand not-so-gently collides with your bare rear.

Your body slightly lulls forwards to escape the stinging pain that blooms on your skin, but to now avail. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you press with despair audible in your voice.

But he just scoffs again. “Oh, I’m certain you don’t,” his voice is sharp, and the words underlined by another slap to your arse. “Need I remind Your Grace who they belong to?” The title is spoken in a way to make a mock display of his courtesy, displaying how little care he holds over your status at this moment.

You’re not quite sure what he is up to when you feel and hear him shifting and fumbling behind you, although you have a mild guess, until you feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He pushes in even before you can answer, any words or pathetic protests dying on your tongue and replaced by a moan.

“That’s what I thought,” he says more to himself, his tone suddenly taking on an air of smugness. His words are followed by a groan that flows into a heedless sigh as he bottoms out completely, his heavy stones pressing against your pearl.

It’s a side to Daemon you haven’t seen or experienced before, despite growing up around him, his several liaisons and wives. There has never been something akin to jealousy coursing through his veins before. Yes, Daemon has always been a little too rough, too impatient and resolving matters by force rather than diplomacy, but you’ve never seen his blood run this hot.

His upper body slightly bends forward and towers over yours as he rests one hand on the backrest of the Throne, the other still on your hip with your skirts tightly secured.

“What–” the words catch in your throat, replaced by a whimper. “What if anyone sees us?”

“Jaelan zirȳ naejot ūndegon,” he growls. “Jaelan zirȳ naejot gīmigon bona iksā ñuhon.” I want them to see. I want them to know that you’re mine.

The whine you release at that is nothing short of desperate. While the thought of anyone catching you two frightens you to the core, you enjoy the possessive side of him, reveling in his desire just for you since you’ve shared it most of your life with your younger sister.

Pulling out of you almost completely, the tip of his cock is the only thing that remains buried inside of you. While the feeling of the sudden loss makes you whine and push your hips back to force him inside again, it also earns you another harsh slap that’s served to your arse.

“Ao sagon ñuhon se mazemā skoros nyke tepagon ao, iksis bona shifang?” You're mine and you take what I give you, is that understood?

Daemon then slams his hips into yours as a warning, filling you up in a swift thrust that has you gasping, and knocks the air straight from your lungs. “Gaomagon daor mazverdagon nyke ivestragon ziry arlī,” he snarls. “Gaomagon. Ao. Shifang?” Each word is punctuated with a harsh snap of his hips. Don’t make me say it again. Do. You. Understand?

“K… kessa,” you hiccup. Yes.

The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip on your hip to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing off the walls of the Throne Room.

His stones are heavy and the fleshy pouch they sit in slightly sagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he fills you to the brim, and sending shivers to the soles of your feet.

Daemon forces your hips higher until you’re standing on your tiptoes for him, your body barely supported by his fingers digging into your hip. The angle changes with that, allowing him to shove his cock into you even deeper than before – a change that has him groaning and grunting over and over again.

Your eyes lull into the back of your head, and the heat in your belly doesn’t diminish, causing a renewed wave of arousal to leak out of your core.

Not caring if the skirts of your gown are riding down again, he grips the back of your neck firmly enough so you can’t turn your head, fucking you as if his life depends on it and knocking every breath clean out of your lungs.

Daemon forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against the Iron Throne with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process.

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs to tremble, his hand that rests on the Iron Throne coming down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease.

“Qilōni gaomagon ao sytilībagon naejot?” Daemon groans, pulling you back onto his cock and fucking you through your peak. Who do you belong to? It’s almost as if he’s asking for your reassurance, wanting to be sure of your feelings for him.

“A… ao,” you hiccup. “Ik… iksan aōhon.” You. I’m yours.

His peak crashes over him with your reassurance, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your cunt. His hands trail up and down your sides in nothing else than pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if the pressure has fallen off his shoulders.

He cups your arse with both hands, and squeezes your flesh. When he doesn’t make any move to pull out of you, however, it’s clear that he is relishing the way your drenched cunt embraces his flaccid cock.

“No one will make you feel as good as I do, dōna ābrazȳrys, and certainly no Lannister,” he rasps. “He would not know how to handle the Blood of the Dragon. You were made for me, and you belong to me. Always have, always will.” Sweet wife.

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

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rebelspykatie · 1 year ago

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Steve’s never had anyone show any genuine interest in the things he likes. Robin rolls her eyes when he brings up sports or silly movies that don’t have a bigger plot or character work. Even though she played soccer, she doesn’t care about it in the same way that Steve cares about basketball or football.

The kids make fun of everything from his taste in music to his choice in snacks for movie nights. Mike calls him a little housewife for baking one time and he never shows up with cookies again. They’re never intentionally mean spirited, or at least he doesn’t think so. He knows he can give as good as he gets when it comes to catty, sarcastic comments, but he tries to steer clear of personal attacks on someone’s identity these days. He learned that lesson with Jonathan.

But even before the party came along, it was like that. His parents never stuck around long enough to find out what he was up to, never attending a game or meet, and certainly in the dark about what he might be up to outside of school. Tommy only ever cared about himself and Carol, only following Steve around for clout, popularity by association. If he asked him right now, he’d bet a lot of money that Tommy doesn’t even remember his favorite food or the movie he used to watch when he was sick. There was a point where he thought he could share things with him. Until he realized mid ramble about sports cars that Tommy wasn’t even listening to him. He was staring at Carol and nodding along with a vacant expression.

So he stopped sharing. Stopped caring if people knew anything about him because they never asked. People always made assumptions about him anyway. The girls he slept with only wanted one thing. The kids were happy to let him chauffeur them around with no questions asked. Robin was the only one he let in, the only one that cared about digging deeper. But, and she never said in so many words, he could tell that she thought his interests were mundane, and clearly not something that sparked any enthusiasm from her. She couldn’t even keep up with the girls he slept with, giving him the same bored stare as Tommy.

Even now, after a few years, Steve’s reminded that they never would have become friends if not for trauma and the secret inner workings of the Russian’s within Hawkins. He’s lucky to have her, but he doesn’t think she ever would’ve chosen this, chosen him. And that’s fine. He’s used to not being chosen. His parents didn’t choose him when they started leaving him alone at age 12. Tommy and Carol chose each other and the reign of a new king when Steve fell from his throne. Nancy chose Jonathan.

He doesn’t think he has a lot to offer.

Well, at least until Eddie comes along. He’s taken by surprise when Eddie asks after the song that’s playing in his car. He’d assumed Eddie only liked metal music, and yeah he pokes fun at the genre of music Steve seems to stick to, begging him to give metal a shot, but he doesn’t say a word about how lame it is. When they’re having a movie night, Eddie notices that Steve gravitates towards coke and brings him one without Steve asking.

After Eddie sees his bedroom, Steve gets a pack of hot wheels for Christmas. Eddie jokes that he should give one to each of the kids as their new ride, since they seem to be ungrateful little twerps. Steve places them right under his posters on his dresser and Eddie grins at them every time he comes over. They lay in bed and pretend to drive them on the ceiling like they’re kids again. It shakes something loose in Steve’s chest.

Eddie hates sports, but he invites Steve over on Mondays, when Wayne is perched in his chair for football. He quietly works on his campaigns while Steve and Wayne watch the games. Eddie somehow worms his way into Steve’s heart, digging deeper and deeper with each new thing, like he wants to know more. Steve’s history is a minefield, but Eddie expertly navigates through it, leaving who they were behind, building something new together. Steve’s already halfway in love with him before he even realizes that Eddie is something that he likes.

He expects to freak out a bit more, but who is going to stop him? Who is going to care if he wants to be with this boy? He’s spent so long ignoring parts of himself for others that he wants to cherish this fragile thing, to cradle it in his hands, make sure no one can ruin it for him. When he kisses Eddie, it feels like coming home, like he’s finally found that place he’s been searching for his whole life. It’s a kind of devotion that Steve’s not used to, born of love and not obsession or jealousy or anger.

He’s not sure he deserves it, but he’ll do everything in his power to keep it.

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #katie writes

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eggtargaryenii · 3 months ago

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EAST OF THE SUN | PART I

You were a disgrace to House Targaryen, the product of an impulsive wedding between a lost prince and some Essosi whore. You had little social capital within the Red Keep and few prospects for marriage, but that was alright. You were perfectly happy to stay out of the game of thrones, wed some politically relevant lord of Alicent Hightower’s choosing, and die in peaceful obscurity. Unfortunately for you, Prince Aemond had other designs for your future.

5.8k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys (though sadly, jace is not in this chapter). romance, childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. warnings for targaryen incest (between cousins), xenophobia/racism (depending on how you interpret the reader's racial coding), teenagers discussing sex, and a reference to underage sex in canon. the reader is half-valyrian and half-essosi, ethnically undefined. features are not described but she is considered conventionally attractive. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

I. THE HERMIT, REVERSED

You were a child when you learned that your mother was a whore.

Your father—a cousin to King Viserys—found your mother in one of the famed pillowhouses of Lys and brought her home as a souvenir. She was already heavy with you when they landed in Blackwater Bay, singing to you as your father cradled her belly every night. Though they had already been wedded in the Red Temple of Volantis, their union blessed by the light of R’hllor, it was your father’s wish that their love was also witnessed by the gods of Westeros. They were wedded once more in the Great Sept of Baelor, in a ceremony that was an affront to your grandsire, Prince Velarion. So wroth was he that everyone anticipated a terrible fate for your little family: the marriage annulled, your father forced into penance, and your mother killed.

But to the displeasure of Prince Velarion, one of the dragons chose you for a bond. (You were still in the womb when Wildfyre started clicking and squawking at you, and snarling at any man who came near your mother; he did not stop until you claimed him at ten-and-two, soaring upon his back through the skies of Myr.) The dragon keepers insisted that this was a sign that you were chosen by the gods of Old Valyria, so the lives of you and your mother were spared.

Still—your mother was eventually exiled, and your lord father wished to see her back to Lys. You had cried bitterly and begged to go with them, but your father said that the journey through the Stepstones would be too dangerous. He entrusted you to Viserys until his return, and then embarked on a journey that should not have taken more than one hundred days.

Ten years later, you still waited for him.

It was hard to recall when it was concluded that your father was unlikely to return; you only remembered that you did not accept it. The mornings and evenings of your early childhood were spent watching all the ships that passed through Blackwater Bay, waiting for red-and-black sails and a man you could now hardly remember. You only stopped once you flew through the skies of the Free Cities on dragonback, and not a single lost prince waved to you from among the crowds.

Your father’s disappearance left your position in jeopardy. The King could have easily taken control of his wealth and disinherited you if he so wished—as your grandsire was inclined—but His Grace instead decided that you should stay in the Red Keep and be treated like any other trueborn Targaryen. You were told as a child that this was an act of magnanimity, a gesture born out of love for his lost cousin, but you later came to realise that it was likely a self-serving move conjured up by Otto Hightower. Marriages were the easiest way to form political alliances; having an extra Targaryen lady to marry off was good leverage.

But despite your utility, you were still a stain within the Red Keep—a disgrace for the histories of the Targaryen dynasty. Nearly as great of one as Princess Saera herself, though perhaps still not quite as embarrassing as the three bastards sired by Lord Strong unto Princess Rhaenyra. Nevertheless, you were still a pariah. After all, children inherit the sins of their parents in the eyes of the Seven, meaning that your mother’s sin was also yours.

And so—when you were a child, you learned that if your mother was a foreign whore, then so too were you.

II. JUSTICE, REVERSED

Aemond was a child when he learned that people mistook you for a whore.

He learned this by listening to his queen mother, eavesdropping on a hushed conversation between her and his father. They were at a tourney, the crowd abuzz with chatter, which was perhaps why they were speaking so openly. The Queen stared at you as you sat next to Helaena, frowning at the closeness between the two of you. Being close in age, it was natural that the two of you spoke to each other frequently. You were a little older than all three of Alicent’s children and, as was common of a girl your age, you had prepared a favour: a ring of forget-me-nots interwoven with a ribbon you often wore. It was simple, but pretty, and it gave Aemond a feeling of deep distaste for some reason he couldn't identify.

His mother seemed to find it distasteful too. “Hard to believe she prepared a favour,” she said. She used the tone with which she often spoke of Princess Rhaenyra, the one that suggested derision. Aemond listened carefully, as he tended to whenever you came up in the conversation.

“And why would that be?” his lord father asked. He sounded defensive, also similar to the way he always did when his firstborn daughter came up. And as with Rhaenyra, Alicent seemed not to care for his sentimentality toward you.

“Well, what man would think to ask for it,” she asked, not delicately, “given her parentage?”

“Whatever you may think of her mother,” the King replied, “the girl is still a trueborn Targaryen. It is natural that she may catch the attention of some lordling or knight.”

“Surely not one with any faith, nor any serious ambitions in the court,” Alicent remarked. “Because she is—”

She paused then, hesitating. When Aemond snuck a glance at his father, he saw a stiff smile on his face.

“She is?” he questioned.

“...she resembles her mother more and more with each passing day,” Alicent remarked. “And one would think that she is similar. Foreign and improper in nature. A daughter of sin.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. His mother spoke often of sin, of those who should beg for the grace of the Seven lest they be condemned to hell. She often reminded Aegon not to commit any such transgressions lest he disgrace the family, which he seemed to often do anyway. Aemond did not think you were particularly like his older brother, who stank constantly of wine and snuck off to Flea Bottom on every possible occasion. On the contrary, you were mostly well-behaved—except when you were quarrelling with Aegon—hardly ever indulged in any vices, and you only ever snuck out of your room to make miserable, wistful faces at the waters of Blackwater Bay.

And unlike Aegon, you were also kind.

Aemond did not know why exactly you had always been so nice to him; he just knew that you were unwaveringly so. Perhaps you felt a kind of kinship with him because he was frequently as miserable as you. For as long as the two of you had known each other, you had never once teased Aemond, and you in fact defended him. Just a few moons ago, you’d shouted at Aegon after the incident with the pig in the dragonpit, comforted Aemond after the fact, and encouraged him to claim Vhagar thereafter. To show up your ass of a brother, you’d suggested. And when Lucerys slashed his face open in the aftermath, you kept Aemond company for the entire duration of the recovery—watching them remove his ruined eye despite your disgust, keeping him company at his bedside when a fever took him, glowering at the Strong bastards whenever they came near him. Only his mother cared for him more deeply.

Aemond did not know what kind of sin such a kind person could have committed—what his queen mother should be referring to. So he turned to his brother and asked, “What does Mother mean by that?”

“Mean by what?” Aegon asked, eyes on the knights before the crowd. Clearly distracted.

“She called our cousin a daughter of sin. What does she mean?”

“Oh.” His brother glanced briefly at you, eyes considering. They travelled down your silhouette in a way that Aemond misliked for some reason he couldn't identify. “She means our cousin is a whore.”

“A whore?” Aemond asked, questioning. He’d heard the word many times, of course—sometimes uttered by his brother, and once lobbed at Princess Rhaenyra—and understood it as an insult. But no one had ever explained its specific meaning to him.

Aegon gave him an incredulous look. “You don't know what a whore is?” At Aemond's blank expression, Aegon explained, “It means she spreads her legs for money and is destined to go to hell. You know, like the women on the Street of Silk.” He paused, sizing up Aemond. “I should take you there someday, give you a proper education—then you’ll know exactly what mother means when she says ‘daughter of sin’.”

“I know what sex is,” Aemond replied defensively, though he didn't entirely know the details. “I'm not stupid.” He frowned then. “She doesn't work on the Street of Silk, though.”

“No, but her mother worked in a Lysene pillow house—much the same as the Street of Silk, though I hear the establishments of Lys are nicer, and filled with the most beautiful slaves from all over Essos.” Aegon looked at you again in a way that Aemond did not like. “I wonder if she inherited any of her mother’s talents. Maybe she’ll let me fuck her someday and I'll find out.”

Aemond felt a sense of disgust at the thought, even without fully knowing what his brother was imagining. All he knew was that he hated the thought of his brother putting his hands on you. “She wouldn't.”

“She would.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would not! Who’d want to lay with you?”

Aegon scoffed. “Every woman from the Wall to Yi Ti, of course. Who wouldn't want to fuck a Targaryen prince?” He elbowed Aemond. “That includes you too, you know. Maybe if you pay her, she’ll let you have a turn as well. Then I wouldn't even need to take you to the Street of Silk to become a man.”

The feeling of disgust intensified. Not knowing what to do with it, Aemond kicked Aegon in the shin, making the young man yelp.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For being an ass.”

“An ass? I'm giving you advice, man to man! Guiding you toward adulthood and a glorious night with our Lysene beauty of a cousin!”

“I don't want a glorious night with her.”

“Fine, then—I alone will enjoy her.”

Aemond kicked him again, and Aegon cursed. “Little shit!” he hissed, which—as Aemond had planned—earned him a violent shush and a glare from their mother. His brother gave him a dirty look for the manipulation.

“I don't know why you're getting all sensitive about this,” Aegon said. He squinted at Aemond then, discerning. “Say—is this jealousy? Insecurity? Are you worried that you aren’t man enough to bed her?”

Aemond glowered at him, which made Aegon laugh and clap his back.

“No need to worry if she rejects you, little brother. I know a number of skilled women on the Street of Silk, any one of them as good in bed as our cousin should be. After all, one whore’s as good as another.”

Aegon scowled. “Stop calling her that. She’s a lady of House Targaryen, not a whore.”

“Who says a lady can't be a whore? Just think of our Great-aunt Saera! I guess you wouldn’t know, but she ended up in a pleasure house, first in Flea Bottom, and now somewhere in Lys. And look at our half-sister—mother to three bastards. I'm sure our dear cousin will follow in their footsteps. It's in her blood.”

“She wouldn't do that,” Aemond replied sharply. “She's nothing like those two.”

How could you be? Princess Saera had been a vile person and Rhaenyra was a self-serving liar. Both Aegon and his mother had to be wrong about you—Aemond was sure of it. His mother treated you with such judgement, but he was certain you were undeserving of it.

He was sure of it too when his brother finally took him to the Street of Silk years later, and he bedded a woman for the first time. Sylvi was her name. She was indeed very skilled, and she was kind as well—stroking his hair afterwards and praising him for doing such a good job. It reminded him somewhat of his mother’s touch upon his head after Lucerys took out his eye, and the way you held his hand as his fever set in. But that was the end of any similarity between you and Sylvi; and in that respect, you were much more like his mother than this strange woman anyway. Aemond knew then that you were neither a whore nor a sinner. He couldn’t imagine you disgracing yourself like the girls who sold themselves at the brothel, let alone selling yourself to someone like his brother.

But his mother had been right about one thing: no one asked for your favour that day during the tourney. You’d sighed at the ring of flowers, looking a little forlorn, and tossed it later onto the floor of the godswood—an offering for the old gods, you'd said to the weirwood, because the new ones were shit. Aemond watched you from behind an ancient oak, waiting for you to leave. Once he was certain you were gone, he snatched your favour from the ground. He studied it carefully, eyes tracing the ribbon woven deftly between the flowers. He remembered that you wore it when you stayed by his bedside.

He untangled it from the ring of forget-me-nots, and he decided to take it back to his room.

III. THE MAGICIAN

Alicent Hightower was eager to marry you off.

The Small Council had spent the past several weeks discussing the prospects of your marriage. Without any parents to oversee your betrothal, the decision of your match laid entirely in the hands of King Viserys—which was to say, in the hands of Otto Hightower and his daughter. Alicent had very little love for you—no pious woman in her right mind would love a daughter of sin—but you were glad for her influence in some ways. Rhaenyra, before she left King’s Landing, relayed to you that Otto had brought up your future betrothal when you were as young as ten, but Alicent cautioned him against premature decisions. Let us not waste the opportunity given to us by her marriage, she always chided, but Rhaenyra had the sense that it had less to do with politics and more to do with wanting to spare you from the fate of a child bride.

But now you were a woman grown, and you were quickly becoming a nuisance for the Queen. She had been willing to tolerate your presence near her children when you were all young and she was charged with raising you, but she had recently begun imagining that you had corruptive influence over her sons. Aegon regularly talked of how much he'd love to bed you, which made her furious with him; and Aemond always insisted on having your company, which made her furious with you. Ever since your first blood, the Red Keep had regularly been plagued by rumours of your indiscretions with whichever knight or lord with whom you were most seen. Most recently, the most popular whisper was that Prince Aemond was your lover and you were secretly carrying his child. Why else would such an adroit and honourable young man regularly associate with the daughter of a whore?

Alicent had been apoplectic when she heard the rumours. They were, you supposed, believable. Her second son had always been strangely attached to you, nearly to the exclusion of all others. He didn't even treat his own sister with such affection—and he certainly held no such love for his brother—so a carnal relationship was a somewhat natural conclusion for an outsider. You, however, withered at the thought. Aemond may now be as comely as the Maiden herself, but you still saw him as the awkward little boy whom you grew up alongside and whom you constantly defended from his bullies.

Of course, his mother had no way of knowing any of this; she could only see the signs of a sordid affair between the two of you. That Alicent Hightower had raised you out of the goodness of her heart and you chose to return this favour by corrupting her son and engaging in the great sin of fornication was a huge upset. Not only did she chew you out in the throne room in front of King Viserys, utterly humiliating you—she also designed to send you to the Silent Sisters.

You could have easily ingratiated yourself to her with the correct penance. You could have distanced yourself from Aemond, as well as every other man in the Red Keep. You could have dedicated yourself to studying the Seven, immersing yourself in their grace. And most of all, you could have fervently denounced your mother and fervently renounced all sin. You could have made it clear that you were not a sinner, and especially not a harlot.

But you would lose respect for yourself if you did any of those things. You loved your mother too much to disavow her; you refused to practise a faith that would condemn her to hell simply for her profession; and most importantly, you did not want to distance yourself from Aemond. You had only three friends in this world, and that was only if you were allowed to include your dragon in the count. Your cousin Jacaerys got along well with you, but he'd long since left the capital, making Aemond your only companion in King’s Landing who was capable of human speech. (Wildfyre, though loyal, was not exactly a good conversationalist.)

All this to say, you simply did not want to let Aemond go.

In the end, you placated Alicent by making the somewhat extreme decision to invite her most trusted septa to inspect your maidenhead. When it was revealed that you were not, in fact, fucking Aemond, Alicent had no choice but to recant her allegations. Mollified, the Queen afterward extended an olive branch by meeting with you at least once a week. Repairing our relationship, she called it. By this she meant that she would spend an hour proselytising to you in an attempt to save your heathen Lysene soul, and then another hour discussing your marriage prospects. Better to be rid of you before her second son could actually be seduced by your sinful nature.

Right now you were both sitting in the garden, enjoying a pot of chrysanthemum tea in the sun. Alicent had just wrapped up an impromptu sermon about the Seven; now she was speaking to you about marriage. She kept talking about a Lord Stokeworth and a Lordling from House Tully. The former was nearly thirty years your senior and the younger was almost ten years your junior, but they were both willing to overlook the fact that people knew you as the daughter of a Lysene whore. It was more important to them that you were the blood of the dragon.

“Rivermen are especially difficult to make alliances with,” Alicent told you, “but they are bound by oaths and loyal to their kin. And I'm sure the lordling would treat you well. A marriage with a Tully would do well for all of us.”

“Rivermen are bound by oaths,” you said, “but they have already sworn loyalty toward us. They have never once expressed unrest during King Viserys’ reign, have they?”

Alicent stopped. She regarded you carefully, her fingers twitching—nails scraping against one another. She clearly wanted to use you to assure the loyalty of the Riverlands to the Hightowers, but you were unwilling to openly commit yourself to her cause. For the past several years, you'd been careful to wear neither black nor green, and this was perhaps both her greatest reason for not loving you and for not banishing you.

“That is true,” she said, “but Lord Tully has been sick a long while now, and his hold on his bannermen has loosened. Their allegiances are unclear. It would do well for the Crown to have more influence in the Riverlands, in case of any trouble during our succession.”

“I am still confused, my Queen. I do not think the Riverlands have ever been inclined to defy either their liege or the Iron Throne. They have all bent the knee to Princess Rhaenyra.” With this, you paralyzed the Queen: the only reason they would have to protest the Iron Throne was if it were ever usurped. She had just implied treason, and you would not let it go unnoticed.

You supposed it was a bold thing to point this out, but you really did not want to marry a ten year old. Ideally you'd wed a handsome lord with reasonable political standing, as far away from the Red Keep and the new gods as possible. The Riverlands were too close, and the Faith of the Seven was too strong there. On the other hand, Dorne, Winterfell, and the Iron Islands were incredibly far, and the peoples of the latter two followed entirely different faiths. Most importantly, the men of their respective noble families were quite handsome. You would happily live up to your reputation and debase yourself for Cregan Stark if the opportunity ever arose.

“If oaths were the problem,” you said delicately. “I'm sure the North could use attention. The Ironborn have always wanted for independence, and we have relied greatly on the Starks to suppress them. Or perhaps we could consider the problem of Dorne.”

“Dorne,” she repeated, her stare hard.

“King Viserys has always wanted to bring them into the kingdom, has he not?” She breathed deeply, and you added, “These are not suggestions, of course. Merely questions. I am eager to learn the wisdom of the only woman to sit on the Small Council.”

Let it not be said that you did not know how to play to people’s emotions. Alicent’s shoulders relaxed, and she took a sip of her tea. “These are good questions,” she admitted. “The problem of Dorne is too complex to manage with a simple marriage to House Targaryen, but the Greyjoy suggestion is intriguing. I might be inclined to caution the King against it, if he were to propose it. The Ironborn are a proud people. I do not think a marriage to a Targaryen lady would be enough to placate them, and a marriage to you specifically may present… a danger to the North.”

“You would worry about giving them a dragon.”

“Yes. But Winterfell…”

The Queen paused. You tried not to smile.

“Winterfell always honours their oaths,” you said, “but given what the realm asks of them, it never hurts to reward them for their loyalty. Who knows what may happen in the future?” Who knows what may happen if Prince Aegon were to ascend the Throne? “If a struggle were ever to happen at the Wall, I am sure Lord Stark and his bannermen would remember which queen sent him a Targaryen wife and a dragon in support of their struggle.”

Alicent nodded. She looked at you as if seeing you in a new light—a better one.

“I will speak to the Hand about this matter,” she determined. “I shall get his thoughts before the tourney in a fortnight, and see which families we should introduce you to then.”

“I shall prepare myself for it.”

“Good.” She smiled at you. “See to it that you are dressed well for the occasion. I feel that green would be a lovely colour on you—don’t you?”

IV. DEATH, REVERSED

“Hello, father of my bastard child!”

Your voice rang through the dragonpit, a cheerful echo in its near pitch-black depths. By the light of the torches, Aemond could barely make out your silhouette, but he could hear the lightness of your footsteps nevertheless.

For someone who had been the subject of vile accusations for the past month, you seemed awfully happy. You weren't always so thick-skinned, Aemond mused: when you were younger, he often caught you brooding in the dragonpit, sniffling at the way women talked about you and the way men leered at you. Any other child—himself included—would have been terrified to stay here, alone in darkness and brimstone, but your only friend for a long time was your dragon, so naturally his home was where you went when you were miserable. And you were very often miserable.

But you were now well-adjusted in your adulthood, apparently impervious to most insults and whispers about you. (What are they going to do? you often said dryly. Call me a tart? A temptress? That I belong in Flea Bottom? They’ve been saying that for years!) You had just taken the past month of scandal in stride, and now you seemed irreverent of it. It made Aemond tense: although he did not terribly mind that people mistook you for his lover, he still had appearances to manage. And he disliked it when people spoke ill of you. Ever since he had built a reputation as a respected prince, he made it clear that no one was to speak poorly of you before him. The only exception was his idiot brother, with whom he was meant to maintain the appearance of unity. The other day, he caught him monologuing about the ways in which he imagined Aemond was debasing you (“I hardly knew my brother had it in him! It surely had to be my cousin’s work—seducing the fierce Aemond One-Eye!”), and Aemond could scarcely hold himself back from maiming him. Still, his sword stayed within its sheath, his knuckles white and tense around its hilt.

He could not solve the issue of his brother with intimidation. Aemond could only caution you against fueling him: “If you keep talking like that, the whole of the Red Keep will start whispering about you again.”

You laughed. “Who’s going to overhear us? Will Vhagar be gossiping with Dreamfyre about our scandalous relationship?” You craned your neck, looking behind him. “Where is your old lady, anyhow? Can I give her a treat today?”

“Vhagar awaits us outside. You are always welcome to feed her, but the dragon keepers said there is a scarcity of lamb at the moment.”

“Ah, well. Let’s go find Wildfyre, then—I called for him earlier, but he didn't come. I bet he’s napping somewhere.” The two of you began walking, cutting a path through ash and crumbling bone. Aemond guided you around what looked like the fresh remains of cattle, and you thanked him, wrinkling your nose at the familiar stench of charcoal and rotting flesh.

“What you said about the lamb,” you started, “concerns me. Are the smallfolk short of livestock?”

“I have heard from the Hand that there is a sickness among the animals of the Reach, so the yield has been worse this year than most others.”

“How sad! I hope they’ll be alright.”

“The dragons are well-fed—the Hand has assured it.”

You gave Aemond a curious look. “I was speaking of the smallfolk, not the dragons.”

Aemond paused. “Of course,” he said, “the Hand will also ensure their well-being. I did not even think to question that.”

Truthfully, Aemond had not thought of the smallfolk at all, but he should have. Whenever he or Aegon spoke of the issues of the Realm, they were always your first concern—the farmers and the craftsmen and even the whores of Flea Bottom. Aegon said it was evidence of your commoner blood, but Aemond thought it was discerning of you. Were you born his eldest sister and not his eldest cousin, it would be evidence of your good judgement as a future ruler.

Though of course, if you had been his eldest sister, then you would have been wedded to Aegon—a thought that Aemond found exceptionally distasteful. In fact, the thought of any man touching you made his knuckles tighten around his sword, yet it was a reality that his mother had told him to make peace with many times.

Aemond, she told him the other day, looking at his tightly controlled expression, I know you have a great… fondness of your cousin. But the two of you are no longer children. It is improper for you to spend so much time around her. You would not want to compromise any future prospects for yourself, nor disgrace yourself in the eyes of the Seven. And god forbid you ruin her prospects. Your grandfather and I have been working hard to secure a good match for her—a difficult feat, given her parentage.

Unfortunately for Alicent, Aemond felt that the Seven could fuck themselves. And his prospects had always been lacking as the second son, but he would eventually overcome the circumstance of his birth. Aemond considered himself a loyal son, but he would not succumb to whatever mediocre designs his mother had for his future.

He would make sure that you would not, either.

“You seem happy,” he observed. “I take it your afternoon with Alicent went well?”

“Very well. I avoided a marriage to that Tully boy, and I think I may have even charmed your mother.” You flashed him a smile—one he'd been seeing since childhood, but of which he never tired. “She is now considering potential matches in the North for me. I'll likely be meeting potential suitors in the upcoming banquet—I do hope they’ll be handsome. And wealthy.”

Aemond did not bother trying to smile. “The North is very far.” He slipped into Valyrian: “You belong in the South, near skies filled with dragons and the waters of the old Freehold. You are a Targaryen, are you not?”

“I may be a Targaryen, but I am unwanted here,” you dismissed. Even after all these years, you spoke Valyrian with a Lysene accent, and—as often happened in private speech—you reverted to a vocabulary that was closer to the Low Valyrian of your mother rather than the High Valyrian taught by the maesters. Still, you were the only person in the whole of the capital more fluent in the language than Aemond; he only spoke as well as he did because he’d grown up practising with you. “The further I get away from the Red Keep, the less hated I will be.”

“But you will be alone.”

“I will have Wildfyre, my lord husband, and an entire castle of people to make friends with.”

“Or enemies of.”

“If I can charm Alicent Hightower, I do believe I can also charm anyone else in the Realm.” You grinned at him—though Aemond did not miss the careful look you gave him. “But if you're worried about being lonely, I can always fly back on Wildfyre and visit you.”

“You need not be concerned. I have many allies within the Red Keep.”

You stopped then, openly studying him. “It is—difficult,” you replied in the Common Tongue, “for me not to worry about you.”

His brow arched. Aemond could not help but stare, puzzled: you watched him enough on the training grounds to know that not only could he easily kill most men, but also that most men feared him for it.

“There are few people in this world who would worry about me,” he said neatly, and your look grew embarrassed.

“Yes, I know it’s silly of me. Why would I worry about the famed Aemond One-Eye, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Rider of Vhagar, and winner of countless tourneys?”

“Two. I've won two tourneys.”

“Well, that’s more tourneys than most will win in their lifetime. And I’m sure you'll win the one in the fortnight as well.”

Aemond did not see the point in denying it. “Perhaps. What of it?”

You breathed deeply, and Aemond could see on your face how much you were trying to be diplomatic. “What I mean to say is—you are a respected warrior with many allies. But an ally is not the same thing as a friend, and a sword cannot offer its wielder any reprieve. Sometimes I fear whom you will rely on if I leave.”

“You think I have no friends,” he said plainly, and you gave him a sheepish look. He did not smile.

“I’m just worried you don't have anyone you can actually trust here,” you explained.

Aemond would spurn the words coming from anyone else. He might even be inclined to intimidate them, simply to remind them of his position. A prince should not be so patronised.

But looking at you, with your worried eyes and furrowed brow, he thought of the two weeks you spent by his bedside as healed, and all those times you checked on him after chasing away Aegon, and how you took him dragon riding until he was as comfortable at it as you. You likely still saw the weak child he once was—a habit he could not fault you for, but which aggrieved him nevertheless.

He did not let his irritation show on his face.

“You need not worry, cousin. I do not need trust from anyone—only respect.” And respect was something he had in spades.

You gave him a dubious look, but relented. “Alright. Just know that you can always write to me, no matter how far away I am.”

Aemond hummed. He'd nearly forgotten your initial concern: the looming distance from him, the gap and loneliness that your marriage would supposedly create.

His mouth curled.

“I appreciate it, but I have the sense that you’ll end up closer to home than you think.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Your brow knotted. “Has your mother said something to you?”

“Nothing concrete,” he replied smoothly. “But nevermind—let us fetch Wildfyre. We should fly out before the day grows any older.”

The thought of flying distracted you from all others. “Yes, it would be troublesome if we stayed out too long.”

“Where would you like to go?”

You grinned. “I'll race you to Spicetown? We can go to the market and be back by midnight.”

“Midnight?” Aemond sounded—was—amused. What a free-spirited thing you were, to be careless enough to return to the Red Keep with him after curfew. “This is why those rumours started in the first place, you know.”

“It was worth the trouble, don’t you think? Or are you going to deny me now?”

He could not. Aemond was a disciplined man—his goals could not allow for much error in his life—but he also found it impossible not to humour any request from you. He did not have many joys in his childhood, and he had never outgrown his habit of wishing for the joy you brought with your happiness. It was hard for him not to indulge you.

In fact, this wish you had for your future—to marry some trifling lord beneath you and move far away from King’s Landing, the place in which you belonged—would be the first thing he would ever deny you.

END PART I

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, please do reblog and let me know what you think - I would mega appreciate it <3

#aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #egg.fics #it is very quiet on ao3 so im testing on waters on tumblr dot com now...

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gh0st-in-green-c0nverse · 1 year ago

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golden

percy jackson x reader — you take his place on the throne

cw: EPISODE 5 SPOILERS (ish), swearing

The boat bobs along the water slowly. You feel sick. For a while, the two of you just sit there, still reeling.

“You okay?” Percy asks after he catches his breath.

You’d reached out and grabbed his hand without realizing it in your panic. You’re suddenly very aware of his skin on yours, warm and kind of clammy. You disentangle your fingers without comment.

“Yeah.”

He’s about to say something to fill the awkward silence when your eyes widen.

“There’s the shield!” You exclaim, standing.

He follows your gaze to a golden statue, the shield wedged between its hands. The boat doesn’t stop, though. He looks at you, and then back at the statue.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” he says, and you grimace. The artificial waves are getting choppier.

You eye the water.

“On three?” You finally say.

Percy smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “On three.”

“One…two-!” Before you can say three, the boat lurches and you both topple over the edge.

As soon as the water closes over your head, you’re struggling and kicking. You can’t tell up from down. Your lungs squeeze, your eyes sting. Somewhere in the haze, you see Percy, and you reach out, but he’s so far. He disappears in a whirl of water, and you think, wow, after all of this, I’m about to die in an amusement park.

Suddenly, something solid rushes to meet you and there’s air on your face and you can’t stop coughing.

Percy places an unsure hand on your back as you suck in rattling breaths. He says something, but it still sounds like everything’s underwater.

You shake your head sharply, hand pressing your ear flat until the water drips out and you can hear again. “I’m alright,” you say, before he asks. He helps you stagger into a standing position. For a few moments, the only sound is your wheezing.

Percy squints at the chair. “This is Hephestasus’ park, right?”

You nod.

“I think this is Hera’s throne,” he says slowly, glancing at you for confirmation.

You vaguely recall that story. “She sat in it and couldn’t get up,” you think aloud.

“It was a trade,” Percy continues. “Aphrodite’s hand in marriage for Hera. The shield for…”

One of us.

Oh.

“I’ll do it.”

He catches your arm as you start forward. “Wait a minute!”

“Whoever goes in there isn’t coming back,” you explain, brows set in a hard line.

“I know, that’s why I said wait!”

You yank your arm back. Percy’s face flickers with something you can’t read.

“You need to stay alive,” you say, stressing every word.

“So do you!”

You shake your head. “You have your mom. You have Grover. You have people who need you.”

The I don’t hangs in the air, unsaid.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

I need you, he wants to say.

But he doesn’t.

“The gods chose you, Percy. This is your quest.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong. It’s cruel, and so unfair that they have to choose. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“This isn’t about that,” he protests, though he knows he can’t beat you. You’d always had a sharper tongue than him.

You unhook your dagger. He remembers the arch, only yesterday. Is this how you felt? This burning in his chest?

“It is. It all goes back to that prophecy. To fate. To the Fates.”

Your eyes burn with tears as you hold out your dagger for him to take.

He blinks hard. “This is wrong,” he says, voice wavering, and you’ve never seen him like this before. Always tough, always witty. Unserious, sure, but never afraid.

You push it towards him, and he takes it.

“I know.”

Your fingers twitch. You’d hug him, one last time, but you remember how he froze back in St. Louis.

So you don't.

You walk over to the chair, heart pounding. This is a death sentence. This is it. This is it.

“Hey, Percy?”

His head snaps up, lip tugged between his teeth as he holds back tears too.

“Go save your mom,” You say. “Save her, save the bolt, and tell Grover I’m sorry.”

You picture Grover’s face when he finds out what happened to you. You turn away, stand right in front of the throne. It glints in the swimming light.

“And if you have a chance, I don’t know, maybe swing back around here and try to get me out?”

He laughs sadly. “You think you had to ask?”

“Just making sure.”

You sit.

For a moment, nothing happens, and you're worried that you’d said all that for nothing. You’d feel pretty stupid.

And then—

“This is weird,” you say. “It’s warm.”

There’s fear in his eyes and your dagger in his hand.

Something snakes its way up your leg, smooth and fast. It feels like wax, almost, hardening over your skin.

“This is a bad idea,” Percy says, eyes tracking something at your feet. “Stand up.”

You don’t look at what he’s looking at. You don’t want to.

“I can’t.” Panic rises in your chest, fast and unwelcome, and you’d be shaking if you could move.

“y/n—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice hoarse. The words don’t sound right in your mouth. Your legs are completely immobile. Your breath comes in short gasps. “I’m okay. I’m… okay.”

You look at him, trembling and still pretty damp, mouth open like he wants to say something.

Whatever’s seeping onto your face is warm and brittle. You stare hard at his eyes. They’re a shining blue. They’re afraid.

It’s the last thing you see.

a/n: sorry guys cliffhangers make me giggle ‼️ I’ll write another part If u guys would want me to !

#pjo #percyjackson #percy jackson #percy jackson fics #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson disney+

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just-some-random-blogger · 6 months ago

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Snow Angel

Aemond's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader | 800< | cw: fem!reader, twin!reader, targcest, canon divergence, angst, violence, blood, war, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved. aemond and jacaerys' version go hand in hand

You were the blood in his veins. You were the half of him that shined. You were everything good about the him. He despised you for it.

You were the understanding he never got, the confidence he wished he had. You were the inspiration of laughter and the admiration of all. While in the womb, you robbed him of all the characteristics he wished he had, and he never forgave you for doing so.

So, when tensions were high, and the call of war was nigh, he knew it was his moment to prove himself, to everyone, to himself, to the council... to you.

He'd long forgotten when, was it when he saw you laughing with those bastard Strong boys, or was it when he'd been mockingly gifted a pig by his own brother, but he'd convinced himself that he would have to slay dragons in order to have you. It was no longer a metaphor but something that very well happen, something real and life threatening.

He'd held himself into an impossible standard, along the way, unknowingly done the same to you.

While he was so wrapped up in his self-mandated torment, he gazed upon you only with his missing eye, unable to see how much you wished to free him from his internal conflict. Yet every time you reached a hand out to him, he met you with scorn, taking out his anger on you. You felt the only way you could ever get through to him was to make yourself useful.

You did not care for politics. You did not care to make the Iron Throne your seat at the table. You wanted nothing to do with the burden your festered father left. But you did want to avoid war, as you saw how it hurt your sister, your mother, your people. Aemond saw the way you influenced your brother away from war as a sign of weakness, seven hells, as another slight against him. You were choosing to spare the enemy because of his wretched nephew, Jacaerys, who had always held your affections.

And when you walked in on him and Criston during their late night conspiring, you only further stoked his ire.

Dare you come to his quarters in nothing but a nightgown and a robe?

"Princess," Criston stands to attention.

You cross your arms. It makes Aemond clench his jaw.

"I need to speak with my brother in private."

Aemond stares at you. Cristion turns to him, expecting some sort of response. He gets none, and so he decides to simply nod and leave, "of course."

Once he is gone, the prince finally speaks, "have you come to whore yourself out to me?"

You ignore his insult, "I've come to speak to you. This is the only hour you'll speak to me."

"Wrong," he snaps, "even now, I do not wish to. Leave me."

"Aemond," you mutter, "I only wish to help-"

"And who told you I need help from a woman?"

This is your final straw.

His eye widens at the way you fall apart in your hands. You sob, tears spilling into your palms. It had been long since he saw sorrow cloud your face, the last time being when Jacaerys and his family left King's Landing, Jacaerys, who you chose to speak your woes to instead of him.

He stands and cautiously walks towards you.

"I will never be good enough for you, will I?"

His face falls, "what?"

You shake your head and step back, "no matter what I can think of, it will not be worthy of your attention because I thought of it."

He is unable to speak, unable to move as you flee him.

His mind is heavy with your words as he flies on Vhagar the next day. He was told a dragon was spotted pressing close to King's Landing and took it upon himself to patrol the area.

You can imagine his surprise, no, his delight, when he saw the creature, when he recognized the dragon Vermax, saddled by his rider.

He did not hesitate. He commanded Vhagar to scorch him, gritting his teeth when they escaped.

He pursued them, eager to seek rid himself of his sole competitor.

But then a loud screech was heard from behind and Vhagar's tail was knocked, making her flight unsteady.

Two dragons? An organized attack. Fine, Vhagar is large enough to take two dragonlings at once.

Aemond ascends, looking for his opponents from the height. He spots Vermax' green scales from afar. He hears the second dragon before seeing it come closer. He gives the command and Vhagar breathes fire before Aemond even identified who she attacked.

But then that creature makes a sound, and his mouth parts at the familiar screech. You circle around him, screaming something he cannot make out.

You choose the bastard over him?

He turns to Jacaerys. Vhagar flies over to attack.

He doesn't remember what happened after he gave the order. He was so single minded in his fury that the only thing that snapped him out of his trance was the sound of your scream and the sight of your dragon attempting to escape Vhagar's clamped jaw.

It was too late when he made Vhagar let go. You fell from the height and he could only watch. Not even Vermax coming to your aid could save you.

#aemond fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond one eye

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starrygazers · 2 days ago

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home, or what's left of it.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ I'M IN MY MYDEI WRITING GROOVE (procrastinating on my programming assignment). Also, the food used here is based on Golden Honeycakes, one of the oldest delicacies in Amphoreus history, which was once a favorite high-end dessert among the nobility. (according to the HSR wiki) also he made an ad for this? that's so cute

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : comfort, fluff

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The brutish man ducks his head to slip inside the small entryway. He makes no sound, but his demanding presence in the middle of the establishment is not easy to miss.

You meet his eyes, cloth in hand. Giving him a small smile, you look away and continue wiping the tables. "Normal people say hello, you know?"

Mydei huffs, his hands crossed in front of his chest. The chilly night air of Okhema doesn't seem to bother him, as he's dressed like he normally is. Flashy, royal; befitting of a Crown Prince.

"Take a seat," you motion to the table nearest to the counter. You've put away most of the chairs, as the clock nears midnight, but saved a single one in hopes of your esteemed guest's visit.

He positions himself on the appointed seat, watching you take ingredients out from behind the counter to start cooking.

Mydei is no stranger to being away from home; that's how he'd spent most of his childhood, anyway. Fighting for his life at sea, dying in the hands of giant waves, starvation, or beasts. Even in Kremnos, he never experienced a good night's sleep. It was a kill or be killed world, and immortality doesn't take that away from him; they just have to kill him again and again until he stays dead.

And home was not something to miss, not after what happened. Not after his god fell from glory, dooming his people, and he was forced to make a choice between dying (again and again) for mortals or reign as a deity. So, he chose pain, because that is what's destined for the King who never got his throne.

Home is so far, and he doesn't want to go back.

And yet,

"Here you go!"

You place a plate of Golden Honeycake, topped with fresh fruits and dripping with honey, just like how Mydei likes it.

Home is far, and he doesn't want to go back, but he remembers the same aroma. Of the cooks taking pity in him and introducing him to the sweet delicacy. Of stories in the past by his mother who teased him for having the same taste in sweets as his father and all the kings before him.

He gives you a curt nod, a sign of thanks. You beam at him, watching intently as he takes a tentative bite. It tastes like home.

He takes another bite. Then another, and another, until the plate is a fresh clean slate. You chuckle, picking up the plate.

"You know, most people consider it rude to barge in on closing time," you tease him.

"I didn't mean to disrupt your business."

"You act like you don't drop by here every night, ordering the same thing," you laugh again, and he find himself liking the sound of it. He wants you to laugh again. "You must really like it, huh?"

He chooses not to answer, but he doesn't shake his head either.

You disappear behind the counter to wash the last plate, and he stands in the middle of your restaurant awkwardly.

"Is there ... anything I can help with?" he asks sheepishly.

You stare at him, clearly surprised, before clearing your throat. "Oh, um, you can put the chair away. Please, if you don't mind."

Mydei nods, picking up the wooden chair with ease as if he were handling a feather. At the sight, you allowed yourself a joke, "Closing would be a breeze if you worked here."

The Prince looks away, seeing your apron tucked under one of the shelves, letting his mind wander about a universe where the battles he fought were less gruesome. Where he could patch his wounds and value his only life. Where he would go home, and he'd be proud to call it that.

But in this world, all he had were the scars and the baths.

"You make good Golden Honeycake," he says. "It reminds me of the ones they used to make back in Castrum Kremnos."

Mydei swears he can see the sparkle in your eyes when you stare at him in awe, and thought they rivaled the sight of the night sky of all of Amphoreus.

Then your lips break into a smile, and Mydei's cold, inhumane, non-existent heart melts like the butter on the honeycake.

"I'll have you know that compliments won't suffice as payment," you grin, though a hint of bashfulness is evident in your voice.

"Put it on my tab." the Prince turns away from you, hiding his own embarrassment as he walks to the exit.

"If you had one, it'd be longer than my grocery list," you joke again. "How about this; you come back tomorrow?"

Mydei looks back to you, reads the hope written on your expression easily, and lets out a sigh.

"Yeah, expect me to bother you again tomorrow."

Home is maybe not too far away.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

#imagine blog #hsr #mydei #hsr mydei #mydei hsr #honkai star rail x yn #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail mydei #honkai star rail x reader #mydei x reader #mydeimos #mydei x you #mydei x y/n #hsr x reader #amphoreus #☆—starrygazers

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watcherintheweyr · 9 months ago

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'Rhaenyra is a bad mom bc she knowingly gave birth to bastards and she knew how much danger they'd be in!!!!'

1. She had no way of knowing those babies wouldn't pop out looking exactly like her, beforehand. And unfortunately she couldn't stop at Jace. The throne needed an heir. Driftmark needed an heir. And a spare was needed as well, given the sheer rate of Targaryen children dying untimely deaths.

2. She had to provide heirs to the throne, and to Driftmark. If she hadn't, society wouldn't have blamed Laenor, they would have blamed her- which makes her position even more unstable, bc then she 'can't fulfill a woman's duty' so why would men think her 'able' to fill a 'man's role' by ruling the kingdom? And she and Laenor tried. He was either unable (meaning infertile or impotent, or unable to get it up), or unwilling. (And they did try. We dont know what they tried but Rhaenyra is shown to be clever in the show so honestly i have no doubt she attempted what Margaery suggested with Renly.) Laenor was in on the entire thing. He was aware of every part of this. He wasn't duped, he wasn't cuckholded- it was a plan greenlit by him, bc this way he and Rhaenyra would both have their heirs and a family. This cannot in any way shape or form be compared to Cersei cuckholding Robert (fuck Robert Baratheon tho), seeing as Robert was **not** at all aware that his children weren't his, and wouldn't have been OK with that.

Either way- she chose not to maritally r*pe her husband and put him through more trauma after it was clear their attempts weren't working. Yall are always so upset for Alicent (rightfully so, bc show!alicent was maritally raped, even if it wasn't considered as such in that time), but you... WANT Rhaenyra to do that to Laenor? Hello???

[And no. Rhaenyra did NOT rape or coerce Criston Cole. The actors, writers, and directors have all stated their sex was consensual and 'an act of love.' It was Rhaenyra going to someone she felt close to and trusted after feeling abandoned and unwanted and betrayed. In that scene you literally watch, as after Cole tells Rhaenyra to stop undressing herself, she moves aside so she isn't blocking his way to the door. The director states that the moment they show Cole folding and setting down his cloak was him choosing his desire over his oaths. And Criston Cole has known Rhaenyra since she was 14. He knew damn well the sort of person she was- and she was not the person who would have harmed him for saying no. She was an intoxicated and emotionally vulnerable 19 year old- Criston was in his late 20s to early 30s. And it's explicitly stated in ep.9 that the ONLY person a Kingsguard cannot refuse is the king. In ep.7 Criston disobeys a direct order from Alicent when she wants him to mutilate Lucerys. Criston Cole was not assaulted. Stop trying to assign Aegon's sins to Rhaenyra so that you can feel better for supporting him.]

3. In the books, the rumors of their bastardry at large halted when all of Rhaenyra's boys' cradle eggs hatched. The ONLY people who continued to try and raise issue were the core green faction. But the realm at large *did not give a fuck* why? Because every actually relevant party claimed those boys. Repeatedly and without flinching. Laenor claimed and loved those boys even face to face with Alicent's bullshit. Corlys claimed and love those boys- he was proud of them, and it's been stated by the actor in the show that Luke was his favorite- that given the... events of ep.10, Corlys will be out for blood. And Viserys repeatedly insisted upon their legitimacy- because Laenor and Corlys claimed them, because he knew that by forcing Rhaenyra to marry Laenor in order to repair the damage his insults caused House Velaryon, that he had backed her into a corner.

Rhaenyras boys are remembered to history as Velaryon. Even **Green supporters** noted that they were good, capable, intelligent, and **worthy** princes. That their deaths were unfortunate *for the realm.*

Legally, those boys are legitimate. They cannot be proven illegitimate without Laenor renouncing them, and he never did. Furthermore, trying to declare children illegitimate due to their appearance is a stupid, dangerous precedent. The fact that it's people who have no ties to House Velaryon pushing these rumors and pushing for disinheritance makes it even worse, because they're meddling in the succession of a House that *is not theirs.* if that became a standard, imagine the feuds and conflicts that would erupt- lords pushing for the children of rivals to be declared illegitimate all for the sake of trying to grasp and steal land, power, and influence as a norm? The realm would tear itself apart. Not to mention the sheer danger that would place women in, in Westeros.

Furthermore, even whilst usurping her, even while calling her children bastards, the Greens also imply Laenor's homosexuality was inherited by the Velaryon princes- that they would use Rhaenyra's 'promiscuity' and Laenor's 'predilections' to turn the Red Keep into a brothel- ironic, considering that's more what Aegon would've done. So even while claiming that Rhaenyras children are bastards that shouldn't inherit, they try to state that what the boys inherit or learn from Laenor makes them unfit for the throne. They can't keep their own damn story straight- because their usurpation was never about what is moral, what is right, or the greater good. It was about greed. Power. Sexism.

It doesn't matter what those boys looked like, especially seeing as Rhaenys had dark hair in the books. What matters is that Corlys and Laenor and Viserys claimed them and declared them legitimate, and that they **never** deviated from that.

As for Vaemond, he was a second son. And he waited until Corlys and Viserys were dying and too ill to stop him to make a grasp for power. Youre not supposed to look at that and feel hes in the right. Youre supposed to look at that and see a man consumed by greed, and literally trying to bury Corlys' will and intentions before the man is even in a grave. He was NEVER Corlys' heir- he just wanted power. It wasn't about his House, or their legacy, it was about him.

(And before yall start shit about Rhaenyras boys stealing Laena's girls' inheritance... Rhaena and Baela are *TARGARYEN*. Not Velaryon. Their claim was to the throne or to any holdings in Daemon's name. NOT to Driftmark.)

Rhaenyras boys being betrothed to Rhaena and Baela tied up any issue of 'Velaryon blood.' Baela would have been queen consort of the seven kingdoms at Jace's side, and they very clearly adored one another in book and show. Rhaena would have been Lady of the Tides- which she never would have had a chance for, without Rhaenyra (and Laena) making those betrothals. She and Luke were also canonically very close- and in show she's very encouraging of him whenever he looks nervous or uncertain. They had a bond.

Rhaenyra stole nothing. She gave those girls more. And she loved them- they were the only daughters she got to have, seeing as the Greens treachery caused the early death of baby Visenya. If she hadn't loved them, she wouldn't have trusted Rhaena to look after Joffrey or give her Morning's egg from Syrax. She wouldn't have immediately invited both girls to the table when she was queen, which is something her father did not do for her until much, much later. He allowed Rhaenyra's voice to be silenced too often when she was first made heir. Rhaenyra did not repeat that hurt to her girls or her boys.

Anyways, moving on.

You lot do also remember that Rhaenyra herself has Velaryon blood, right? Jaehaerys I's mother was Alyssa Velaryon. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya the Conquerors' mother was Valaena Velaryon. It's not immediate, but there *is* Velaryon blood through *all* of Rhaenyras boys.

Ultimately, Rhaenyras boys were only in danger because of the core Green faction usurping the throne. If they hadnt- no succession crisis or rebellion could have truly threatened Rhaenyras boys- because none of them would have had dragons. All of Rhaenyras children loved one another- her sons by Daemon would not have turned on her sons with Laenor (and Harwin). They were a true, loving family- possibly one of the healthiest and most close knit one House Targaryen ever boasted.

And another thing... 'her having babies with Harwin was stupid, she should have picked someone Valyrian!'

Here's the thing. Rhaenyra had to be careful as hell choosing who would father her and Laenor's heirs. She had to choose someone who was physically close, and who could be trusted. Someone who wouldn't try to publicly claim those boys in boast or jealousy. Someone who would keep their mouth shut and had no ambition of their own in regards to the throne. Do you really think Vaemond Velaryon (as I see him suggested a lot) would've kept his mouth shut? That he wouldn't have tried to use this to blackmail Rhaenyra and Laenor for more power and status? Do you think Rhaenys would have ever fought for or supported Rhaenyra if Rhaenyra had tried to have Corlys sire her children? And flying to see Daemon in Pentos and having a purely Valyrian child 9 months later would have made things look even more suspect.

Furthermore... she chose someone who cared for her deeply. Who clearly had a positive relationship with Laenor. She chose someone so she wouldn't have to traumatize herself- she took power over her body in a way almost no Westerosi woman has ever been able to. They were a family unit- Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Harwin. Those children were loved and cherished by two fathers and their mother. They were raised never doubting their mothers love, nor their father's- either father. They were raised and educated to be true, good princes of the realm.

Rhaenyra fought like hell for her children. She was an incredible mother. Yall just believe everything the Green faction says without looking at it critically, and that's unfortunate as hell.

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ashprince-of-bel-air · 2 months ago

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Little Dove: Part 3

The Caracalla brainrot is real. I wrote this and wanted to post it straight away! please forgive me if there are any spelling errors!

Part Two , Part 4

Those who wanted to be maybe be tagged: @sashaphantomhive @koshkahhh @properromanwhore

You could barely contain your excitement as you made the journey home with your father, your mind reeling at the fact you were going to be in the Emperors private box for the games tomorrow. You were an upstanding citizen of Rome, yet it was still rare for someone like you to be invited into the Emperors inner circle, to be in such intimate quarters with them.

The entire journey home your father was telling you how you had to behave tomorrow, how to act and address the Emperors, you were now his ticket to gain more influence in the senate and he would ensure that you did not fail. Your mind roamed elsewhere during his tirade of advice and instructions, too busy still remembering when Caracalla had kissed your hand that day at court. Once you returned home your sole focus on what you would wear to the royal box, you wanted to make a good impression before Caracalla. You may never gain another opportunity to sit in the royal box so you would make the most of it.

Raking through the gowns you owned brought on a fury, nothing was acceptable in your mind, thinking it all to be too cheap or to not fit your body properly. Rich gowns of silk were strewn over your bed as you tried each one on, inspecting yourself with great scrutiny in the mirror each time. A rose-pink gown is what you finally settled on, one that you had never worn before because of how it fit you. The gown showed off far too much skin and hugged you all too well in the right places, you felt all too exposed in this gown but thought the Emperor would enjoy seeing you in it.

The stress of cleaning yourself appropriately and choosing the perfect outfit caused you to retire to slumber early, wishing to bring the next day as soon as you could. It was an early rise for you and your father, you would not dare risk arriving late to the stadium now that you had access to the Emperors box. Arriving late could be seen as a slight up Caracalla’s generosity and your father wanted to make sure that you were to stay in his good graces.

You were both admitted without any issue, being guided towards your seats behind the emperors’ thrones, an action that made your heart flutter, knowing that you would be this close to Caracalla for the entire day. The first hour of the games passed by quickly, your wine cup was ever topped by the servants surrounding you, every time you took a sip you could feel the heaviness of liquid in your cup shortly after. The Emperors would arrive not long after you had made yourself fully comfortable, Geta passed you first, giving no interest in you, barely even noticing that you were to be present behind him. Caracalla noticed you as he walked past you, smiling coyly and drinking in the vision of you in the gown you chose, your skin was radiant against the pink hue of the silk that adorned your skin, a vision that he bore into his mind as he sat in front of you.

The games carried on with more enthusiasm now that the Emperors were in attendance, the crowd alight with excitement, knowing that the games were about to fully begin now. The roar of the crowd was loud in your ears, finding it hard to contain yourself in the royal box, wanting to succumb to the emotion of the crowd once again. The current fights were none of consequence for now, the prime fights would be played in an hour, where the best gladiators from the best Ludus’s would battle, for now you had to settle for the mediocre ones.

The wine was in constant supply, a thing you took advantage off, hoping the liquid courage from it would help you speak freely to Caracalla before the day ended. As the new battle began you felt the familiar paws of Dundus upon you once again, the cheeky little monkey crawling upon you once again, settling into a nice nook upon your lap. You chuckled as you stroked her head gently, smiling as she made herself comfy upon you. “Careful My Emperor, I fear that Lady Dundus may leave you at this point.” Caracalla chuckled as he looked back at you, that sly grin plastered on his face made your heart flutter once again. “You may keep her at this point, she is a tiny menace my little dove.”

You managed to hide your blush from Caracalla yet not from your father, he had been watching the two of you ever since your previous interaction, making mental notes and considering how likely it would be for Caracalla to choose you as a concubine or even a wife. Initially your father had banked on using your brothers as influence in the senate, pushing them to join the Roman army and gain influence that way, he had never envisaged his own daughter being the one to bring him glory.

Little Lady Dundus sat upon your lap happily, falling asleep at your gentle stroking, no one had dared to disrupt her at this point, not even Caracalla. The day went on without issue, the gladiator matches ignited the crowd more than yesterday, a good sign that it would also please the gods into granting you the rainfall you so desperately craved.

The prime match was upon you all now, Theokeles against Oenomaus. The most anticipated match of the day. Theokeles was a free man, having won his freedom from his victories as a gladiator, Oenomaus was a former gladiator himself, serving a ludus in the city. Both were well revered as fighters, this battle was one that had drawn many to attend, to see who truly the better fighter was. You watched the fight with bated breath, your heart pounding the entire time, watching the two fight. Theokeles emerged the victor, having Oenomaus in surrender, awaiting the decision of life of death from the emperors.

Caracalla turned towards you, his eyebrows lifting subtly, asking what verdict you he should give. You had heard of Oenomaus before, a warrior of well renown and even now was afforded a wife, a rare commodity amongst slaves in the ludus. You nodded and granted life, you wanted him to live to see another day. Caracalla smiled and gave the signal for life, your heart fluttering knowing that he did that for you.

The games ended for the day with that match, many people leaving the stadium as promptly as the match ended. The royal box was different, you watched your father converse with high-ranking senators and the emperors. You sat there uninterested, bothered more with Lady Dundus in your lap, playing and entertaining her. Caracalla saw you entertain Lady Dundus and it made him smile, nobody else had so much as bothered with her the entire time he had her, yet here you were, your undivided attention upon her.

“It seems Lady Dundus had taken a shine to you” Caracalla smiled at you, holding his hand out to Dundus, not even feeling offended when Dundus did not care. Caracalla tilted his head as he took in your visage, your smile as you interacted with Dundus, the way your body looked in that beautiful gown you chose. His fingers found an errant strand of your hair, twirling it around his fingers as he spoke to you. “There is another banquet at the palace shortly, I would love you to attended.”

Your head snapped up to face him, you were happily surprised to be invited to the palace once again, an invite you would gladly take without question. Caracalla took your hand in his own again and placed a soft kiss against your skin, he then left you with Dundus as he spoke to your father. Letting him know of the exclusive invite you had secured for the both of you. A carriage would be sorted for you, ready to take you back to the royal palace once again, ready to be in the Emperors private company.

#emperor caracalla fic #gladiator caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla

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rocknrollbabe14 · 2 months ago

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Forbidden Fruit (Emperor Geta X Reader)

Part I

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Nudity, teasing, fingering, slight degrading.

Thanks to @josephs-quinns for my header! Love you!

You didn’t come from a wealthy family. It was quite the opposite actually. But your parents needed this and for some reason, the emperor had caught you out as one of the women he wanted to meet to potentially become his wife. Caracalla. Emperor Caracalla was the eldest son of Emperor Septimius Severus. Caracalla and his father were part of the Severan dynasty. There was a lot of talk about him, his brother Geta, and his father amongst the empire. People had to be careful how they spoke of them, however. But it was Caracalla’s father and mother that were finding it important for their sons to find wives and begin a family. You were sure he could have cared less—he could sleep with any woman he wanted.

He and his brother was in a position of power and authority, two of the most important things this day and age. Any woman in their right mind would not turn down either Emperor. Part of you was hoping he’d choose you—for your family’s sake. They’d be highly favored if the emperor chose you. But you wouldn’t return to your normal life. You’d instantly be taken in by the family, beginning preparations to make you his wife. It was all overwhelming to think about.

You knew that there would be women lined up for a chance to court and marry Emperor Caracalla. He had been co-augustus with his brother now for some time, getting the real taste of what it was like to rule. His true colors would show through soon enough, they always did. Every ruler, every time. It never failed. He had a huge weight on his shoulders.

One could only imagine the weight he had on his shoulders. It was something you couldn’t imagine—learning the ropes so that one day you could take over the empire from under your father. His life was royalty, but you were sure it probably wasn’t easy. There were standards he had to live up to and achieve. That would be hard in itself, having such an expectation to live up to. You shook your head lightly just thinking about it.

The journey to get to Caracalla was going to be a long one, one that you weren’t sure you were mentally prepared to endure. As bad as you hated to admit it, part of it felt like a death sentence—a march to your uncertain and untimely death. Maybe that was being a little dramatic. But your life as you knew it was over, wasn’t it? Life would never be the same if he chose you as his partner. This would be a huge undertaking.

Part of you was content that your mother had agreed to take this journey with you. It was comforting to have her near, a familiar faucet in this unfamiliar setting. If Caracalla chose you, the wedding would be extravagant and grand. It would be something you could only dream about, something so far out of your reach. But was it now? That was to be determined.

Each one of you had to introduce yourselves to him and bow before him. He and his brother were on the throne together, picking over each one of you. When it got to you, you thought you might forget your name that your stomach was flipping so hard. But somehow, you had made it. Geta even had eyes on you, narrowing them as he bit his lip and fiddling with his rings subconsciously.

Geta looked over at Caracalla before turning back to you. He said something and then chuckled but it was inaudible. It made you nervous. But somehow, something must have went right. You were still here and still in the running to be Caracalla’s wife. They had narrowed it down to just a few of you. There were also just a few for Geta. But he seemed as if he could care less. It was a hot night during summer and you couldn’t sleep.

You probably shouldn’t have went off by yourself but you were trying to get some fresh air. The imperial palace had many twists and turns and you started to feel like you had just been going in circles. There was a soft sound like water running, peaking your curiosity. It had to be outside, right? Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and opened the door. There was steam and the sound of water splashing. You looked around, trying to find something—anything.

You saw some clean fabric lying off to the side.

“Lost?”, a voice echoed against the water.

You looked up, horror across your face. You were met with the dark eyes of Geta. He was naked, the glisten of water reflecting with barely any soap on his body.

“Um—I’m so sorry—

“Are you?”

“I am.”, you stammered quickly, grasping at your night clothes.

He chuckled lightly, making no attempt to cover himself. “Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to see your future husband’s brother naked?”

“I—”

“Aw, can you form a full sentence, love?”

He was taunting you. He knew you were flustered, it was all over your face. You began to think what a jerk he was.

“I didn’t mean to—I promise.”

Geta chuckled again and you felt your eyes go south, immediately taking the view in. He was huge and your brain tried to process how that would even fit inside you—you mean Caracalla’s—if it looked anything like his. You bit your lip subconsciously. You had never seen a man naked before. Part of it made you feel pathetic.

“Are you sure?”, he smirked, the smile twisting up into his cheeks, becoming more sinister.

“I am—I just wanted fresh air. That’s all.”

He smiled to himself, continuing his bath. “Hm. You know—are you sure you want to marry my brother?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean—I.”

“What has you so flustered? Never saw the male anatomy before?”

“No.”, you admitted easily, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, feeling your cheeks heating up.

Geta smirked to himself before looking up at you. You couldn’t help but watch as he took his hands over his body as if he was tempting you, showing himself off.

“Nothing to be nervous about, love.”

“What do you mean?”

He smirked, his lips twisting in a crooked smile. “I mean—you can get acquainted.”

“W-when?”

“Now.”

“Now? I’m sorry I don’t see your brother around—”

“Not with my brother—with me.”, he corrected.

You heard water dripping, him wringing the cloth out in his hands. His curls were dripping with water, the water beginning to cascade down his back and chest. You felt yourself swallow hard, getting distracted by the sight. He noticed, beginning to chuckle to himself.

“I bet you’ve never even had a man appreciate your body, have you?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. You couldn’t even make eye contact with him, beginning to wringing his hands. “No.”

Your response was meek, even making you feel weak.

He scoffed to himself lightly. “I thought so. Well, you can come over here—I don’t bite, you know—unless you want me to.”, he laughed.

Your lip curved, unsure if you should take his advice. Your entire body felt like it was shaking and you barely had the ability to move your legs, putting one in front of the other. His golden brown eyes were fixed on you as you walked towards him. He watched you swallow hard before he reached his hand out to take yours.

“Don’t slip and fall.”, he began. “We need to first—get you out of these clothes.”

“We do?”

“We do.”, he confirmed, beginning to touch the soft cotton fabric on your shoulder.

Considering it was hot and summertime, you were wearing a thinner gown to sleep in. It was nicer than anything you had at home, if you were being honest. Your mother and father had did their best to give you a good life but this was your chance to make theirs better. Would this one night screw that up?

His voice was barely above a whisper as he began to carefully undo your grown, sliding the fabric off your shoulders. His fingers sent chills over your entire body as one hand gripped your shoulders and the other helped the fabric slide down until you knew your cleavage was revealed and soon your breasts would be. He noticed your breathing hitch and he stopped, his brown eyes focused on you.

“Relax.”

You nodded, swallowing again.

His eyes panned back down to your body, the gown sliding down almost like a curtain falling down. The soft summer breeze was blowing through, only causing the chills to intensify. You felt your nipples harden and wondered if he noticed. But he did. You were left completely naked in front of him. Little did you know, but to him, you looked like one of the sculptures. Perfect in every way.

“Look at you.”, he cooed as he grabbed your chin, tilting your head up to force you to make eye contact with him.

“So beautiful.”

“You’re giving compliments?”

“Only to you.”

“I’m not even in the running to be your wife.”

He chuckled. “Just try and relax. Let’s get you cleaned up a little.”

You watched as he grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the bath. Your eyes fluttered shut as you braced yourself for the touch, the sensation of the cool washcloth. He heard your sharp inhale as he took the washcloth over your skin, starting at the top of your collarbone. Even if it was a warm night, the water was cool. He was careful when he was washing you, something you were surprised he even knew how to do.

“How do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking how you’re feeling—about all this.”, Geta responded, as if nothing was pressuring him or bothering him.

It was nice that he wasn’t stressed in this situation.

“I’m—fine.”, you finally managed to get out as he moved down your arms.

His strokes with the washcloth was soft and sensual. He knew what he was doing.

“Are you?”

Your eyes finally opened to meet his. His eyes were fixed on you, watching you for every reaction as he moved the cloth.

“Yes.”

“You seem nervous, love.”

“I’m no-not.”, you gulped.

He shifted his shoulders slightly, having stood in one position for too long,

‘

“You are.”

“I mean—I’ve just never been with a man before—like this.”

“We’re going to learn a lot.”, Geta smiled, his perfect teeth shining. “You just need to relax and let me take care of things.”

“Have you been with women before?”, you blurted out.

Geta gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, love—I’ve been with many.”

You felt a pang in your chest and it was against better judgement. Why were you feeling this way about a man who didn’t feel this way about you? Deep down inside, you knew this was only about sex. Your mom had taught you very little about sex and how the human anatomy worked. All you knew was once a man and woman were married, they’d usually consummate their marriage and end up with a baby. How all that process worked, well—you weren’t sure.

“I see.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy you, darling.”, Geta smirked, tilting your chin up in order to force eye contact with him.

You felt weak in this moment. He had power over you and he knew it.

You swallowed hard again. “How do—do you know?”

“Because you’re a virgin, aren’t you? No one’s ever taken a bite from that sweet apple. Have they darling?”

Your stomach twisted and curved in knots. You had never felt this feeling before and you were trying to wrap your head around it.

“No.”

“Mhm and to think you’re going to let me have that first bite.”, he nuzzled his nose into your neck before kissing it softly.

Maybe there was a side to him that he wasn’t letting others see.

“And who says I’m going to let you have it?”

You felt his lips pull away from your neck, finding him looking you dead in the eyes, his brows furrowing and eyes narrowing.

“You’d deny one of your emperors?”

That was the look a lot of Rome had saw too much. When Geta gave this look, heads usually rolled. In this moment, you could see ruthless ruler.

“No—your majesty.”

His face relaxed slightly as he realized he was making you nervous.

“Very well.”

You held your breath waiting for what he would do next. You closed your eyes briefly as his hands slid down your waist and stomach. You heard water splashing lightly before his thick, broad hands found their way on your thighs. His cold rings sending chills across your delicate skin.

Your eyes popped open. “What—what are you doing?”

“Just admiring you. Wouldn’t hurt for me to feel how tight and wound up you are for me, would it?”

Your stomach twisted into knots.

“And how-how would you do that?”

Geta smirked up at you. “Just trust me.”

“Your majesty, please.”

“Spread your legs for me.”

With a thick sigh, you did as he requested. Who were you to argue with the emperor? You were glad he was holding your thighs or else you felt like your legs might give out. You felt his thick fingers trail up the inner side of your thigh right above your cunt. His fingers teased the outside of it.

“You’re already drenched, love.”

He heard another thick sigh escape your lips as you closed your eyes shut, almost as tight as they’d go.

“It isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, love.”

You sighed again. “I know—I just feel like we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

Geta paused, his fingers barely creeped up before entering your cunt causing you to lose your breath.

“I don’t-I’m not sure.”

He had rendered you senseless. You couldn’t even finish a complete sentence. A devilish smile curved across his lips as he continued to work his ringed fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots. You bit your lip, trying to hold back any sounds but you weren’t even sure if someone could hear you out here.

“Don’t hold back.”, he commanded as he felt you almost go limp in his arms.

“Can—anyone—hear?”, you asked, breathless.

“No.”

That made you feel slightly more at ease. It didn’t take anything else to make you feel comfortable with him. At first, it was soft moans escaping your mouth. But as he kept pushing his fingers deeper inside you, rings brushing your walls, you began to lose yourself. Your eyes began rolling back in your head and he was barely doing anything to you.

He noticed when your moans picked up, becoming louder.

“Like that?”

You nodded.

“I need words.”

“Y-yes.”, you managed to choke out.

His finger stroked longer and slower, drawing it out.

“Think my brother could do this for you?”

Your eyes opened, looking at him. He had clearly got your attention.

“The answer is no. My brother has never been with a woman before, if I’m being honest.”

He was cocky but you were beginning to love that quality about Geta. Caracalla seemed to walk more in Geta’s shadows or at least that’s how it appeared. No one dared to say it out loud. There was speculation that there was a lot of tension between the two brothers. Geta seemed so sure of himself and that was another reason he was so convincing.

Before you could speak, his fingers slid deeper inside you, causing your stomach to twist and turn. He was hitting the spot that made you forget your name. All of this was new to you as you had never ever been with a man.

“Found the spot, didn’t I?”

You nodded, trying to catch your breath.

“Just wait until I put my cock inside you.”

Your eyes widened. He didn’t stop moving his fingers inside you which caused the heat in your stomach to build.

“That’s right, I want to fuck you and make you mine.”, he confirmed.

“What?”

“What did you think this was all for?”

“And how would—we explain that to your brother?”, you managed to get out in-between moans.

“I’ll take care of that.”

The feeling in the pit of your stomach was intensifying, ready to come to a boiling point. He noticed it too and knew what was coming. He smiled again, his brown eyes watching you—waiting for you to release. It would be instant gratification for him. And he couldn’t wait. He watched with a hellish grin as your back arched and you let out the loudest moan you had all night long and he felt you tighten around his fingers.

He chuckled lightly and he felt you all over his fingers. You looked up at him, confused as to what had just occurred.

“What—?”

“You came, darling. All over my fingers.”, he smirked as he slowly eased his fingers out of your cunt, causing you to gasp at the loss of contact.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, spreading them apart and admiring your juices on his fingers. Before you could speak, he inserted his fingers in his mouth and closed his eyes, reveling in the taste of you.

“You’re finer than anything Rome has to offer.”, he breathed.

“I am?”

“Yes, you are, darling and now what if we go to my room and you let me take what’s rightfully mine?”

TO BE CONTINUED……

#emperor geta #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #eddie munson #joseph quinn #gladiator movie #emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #geta x you

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noldolante14 · 11 months ago

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I absolutely love that Nerdanel was not considered beautiful, because it adds so much to her and Feanor's characters. Feanor is the Greatest Elf of All Time™ who is a PRINCE, and could have married ANYONE, but he chose her.

Like imagine this from an outsider's perspective. Feanor, the most talented and intelligent elf of all time, next in line to the throne, greatest craftsman, presumably very attractive elf falls in love with someone who is considered ugly. Not only do they get married, but they do so almost scandalously young, to the point where it is technically okay but still very young. This and the fact that they had more children than anyone ever just goes to show how much they must love each other.

Feanor is not one to do things by halves. He would put great thought into choosing his wife, and this guy must have been simping SO HARD. Nerdanel is the daughter of his favorite teacher, which makes her even more off-limits if anything. Nerdanel's personality perfectly counteracts Feanor's, and she takes absolutely none of his shit. She was the first person to stand up to him and the only one that can make him listen (until silmaril times). She is a sculpter, so presumably very strong. Feanor marrying Nerdanel likely brought some of his personality to life that others did not see, the part of him that made people follow him.

#feanor #nerdanel #feanorian #silmarillion #tolkien #lotr

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dreaming-of-the-reality · 8 months ago

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Kind of getting sick of this whole “Lucerys was innocent” narrative and that B&C is justified because of Luke’s death.

When a house or a person declares for Team Black, they become the enemy of Team Green. You are supporting Rhaenyras claim to the throne against Aegons and therefore seen as the enemy.

When Lucerys CHOSE and volunteered to fly (because they would be faster than ravens) to Storms end in an attempt to gain support for Rhaenyra, he was declared an enemy of Team Green. His death was a consequence of his own action.

Your own Action 🤝 Your own Consequence

If Luke had refused to go in person, and Team Green had just decided to kill him, then yes he would’ve been innocent. But that’s not the case.

Stop comparing Lucerys to Jaehaerys and claiming that it was a fair exchange. It wasn’t.

Jaehaerys is six years old, probably has no clue what the hell is even going on, he doesn’t get to choose who he supports, and ends up being murdered for something his uncle did.

So people protesting the “there was no reason to kill Jaehaerys” by using Lucerys death as a fair reason, need to open their eyes to the reality of the show, which is that regardless of how much you loved that character, it does not make them innocent to everything.

I don’t care how cute he comes across to you. He chose his side, and died for it. He was mature enough to understand that by 13-14 years old. I’m not saying he definitively deserved to be murdered, because I don’t think he did, but I won’t be out here claiming he’s innocent when he’s not.

———

A justification I am also seeing a lot now, is that “well Jaehaerys is team green by default because he’s Aegons son”

Myrcella Lannister was murdered in Game of Thrones. She was innocent but was killed because she was associated with the Lannisters. She was killed as an act of “revenge” because Oberyn was killed in a situation he chose to put himself in. She was not responsible for any bad blood between the Martells and Lannisters, nor was she responsible for the actions of Cersei or Joffrey.

Jaehaerys Targaryen will be murdered in House of the Dragon. He is innocent, but will be killed because he is associated with Team Green. He will be killed as an act of “revenge” because Lucerys was killed in a situation he chose to put himself in. He is not responsible for any bad blood between Team Green or Team Black, nor is he responsible for the actions of Aegon or Aemond.

So stop with this ridiculousness. What’s to come is not right, it is not justified in any way shape or form, and it will be devastating and sad.

#house of the dragon #alicent hightower #game of thrones #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #daemon targeryan #team green #helaena targaryen #prince aegon #aegon ii targaryen #rhaenyra targeryan #blood and cheese #lucerys velaryon

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acourtofquietdreamers · 6 months ago

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In ACOWAR, Azriel was faced with the choice of defending Mor or making sure the Night Court’s alliances with Keir and Eris were secured. Azriel chose politics over his feelings for Mor.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.” Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

I snorted. “What about Azriel?” So much for my decision to stay out of it. Mor resumed picking at the melon. “Az … He had a tough call to make, when Eris found him. He …” She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know why I expected him to side with me, why it caught me so off guard.”

Azriel has apparently loved Mor for 500 years, but he still chose politics over her. In his ACOSF bonus chapter, we see Azriel is again faced with the choice of politics to secure alliances or the woman he has feelings for.

“I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa." Rhys bared his teeth. "So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."

Right away we see Azriel push back against Rhys, but the conversation is ended when Rhys pulls rank and threatens Azriel.

Azriel snarled softly. "Snarl all you want." Rhys leaned back in his chair. "But if I see you panting after her again, I'll make you regret it." Rhys had rarely threatened punishment or pulled rank. It stunned Azriel enough that it knocked him from his rage.

This is clearly not the last we’ll see of this storyline and I think this time, Azriel will choose differently. We’ll see him choose Elain over politics (if she’ll have him of course) and it would be a great opportunity of character growth for Azriel. He’s the male who always puts his court and work first, often at the expense of himself. He feels unworthy of good things and thinks his hands are sullied from the work he does for the Night Court.

Azriel choosing to pursue his feelings for Elain, despite Rhys’s order, would be Azriel for once choosing himself. It would mean he thinks he is worthy of happiness and love for once in his life and that he is willing to fight for it.

#pro elriel #elriel #elain x azriel

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percabethsong · 14 days ago

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I just read your warrior Penelope au post and I love how you explained why Penelope would go in his place because Odysseus is missing his leg, genius

Does it still take Penelope ten years to get back home after the Trojan war or is the timeframe shorter/longer? Is her journey back home similar to what happened in the Odyssey? And if so, does Odysseus get suitors at his door wanting his hand in marriage? How would he hold them off while he waits for his wife to get back home?

Sorry for the questions, late night thoughts go brrrrr

Unfortunately, the ten years journey home still happened, although some changes would be made. I think Circe's would be far more trusting of Penelope since she's a woman, although she would still have turned Penelope's crew into pigs, once Circe saw their captain was a woman and they respected her, she let them go easier and doesn't try to seduce her.

Calypso stays pretty much the same, though, it's Greek Mythology, pretty common to feel attraction to more than one gender.

I imagine Penelope, being Ares champion in this AU, may face things a little more upfront than Odysseus would, even though she's also smart and uses cunning sometimes.

The suitors is an interesting questions! I actually thought about this a lot. It depends how accurate things are with Greek Mythology/history. I often see in this AU Odysseus having suitors, which is a fun concept, but since I'm trying to make a version of this AU that would be more possible in universe (hence Penelope having to use her status as an Amazon to convince people she can fight as a woman, since they were some fem warriors in greek myths or general history, but it was difficult for them to gain people's respect), I would say not exactly. Odysseus already has a heir, and Greek Kings can rule without Queens. However, Odysseus is disabled in this concept, and Ancient Greece was a very ableist society. The exception often made were for war wounds, which Odysseus's wouldn't be considered. Odysseus is still very much capable to rule even if he can't fight, he has a sharp mind and Athena stays by his side helping him, which makes Odysseus a great king. However, it's a very hard thing to be respected as a disabled person in this time, even if it was a bit easier if you were nobility. Because he was the king and had a Amazon ruling by his side, people how doubted him kept their complaints to themselves in the beginning. But without Penelope people starting to question him more, especially after she doesn't return with the crew that left for war, making people more relentless. Then a group of men started to appear at the palaces, demanding Odysseus to choose one of them as an advisor and protector, since the queen had not return to fullfil this role. Odyssey not only very much does not need an advisor and protector, but is also aware of the men true intentions: once he chooses one, he'll be killed in a way that looks like an accident and the man he chose will claim the throne, since Telemachus is still too young to be king.

Regarding how Odysseus would hold them off... Hum, that's a interesting questions. I like to imagine he would invent a lot of little challenges for them, claiming he needs to test the skills of his future advisor, both physical and mental. He would come with a new game ever month. I can also picture him saying he would choose a advisor as soon as he finishes an marble sculpture of Penelope himself, without any help to honour his wife. Every night, though, he breaks a little peace of the stone, having to fix it and buying Penelope time. Or at least hold them down enough until Telemachus is ready to be king.

Don't apologise! I've actually never received these kind questions about a post and it made me really happy!

#epic the musical #the odyssey #warrior penelope au #odypen #penelope of ithaca #penelope of sparta #odysseus #telemachus #the suitors #athena and odysseus #warrior!penelope

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thrashkink-coven · 1 month ago

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I’ve tried to make this post like 5 times now.

I had a very intense ritual session with Lucifer yesterday where I asked him a bunch of questions about his mythology

I was looking for the answers to a couple questions:

1. Is Lucifer the angel of the rebellion?

We know Lucifer is the Roman God of Enlightenment, Attar, the Ugaritic God who rose and fell after trying to take the throne of Baal, Ishtar/Inanna the Goddess who rose to Heaven and fell to the Underworld, Venus, The morning star, Eosphoros, Hesperus, Aphrodite etc. We know that the angel of the rebellion is sometimes referred to as a Lucifer due to his description of Helel Ben Shahar, and we know that Helel, like Attar, was the name of a splenderous deity who rose and fell. The angel of the rebellion is called Satan, the adversary, and he is sometimes believed to be a separate entity than the Lucifer, perhaps Sammael.

2. If Lucifer is the angel of the rebellion, why did he rebel?

Was it really just pride?

3. When did Lucifer rebel, according to the myths?

4. Why did 1/3 of Heaven’s angels follow him?

The Christian cannon states that a whole third of Heaven fell with Lucifer. Angels of all kinds. Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Powers, Virtues, Principalities, Archangels and Guardian Angels. Angels of creation. Angels who stood around God’s throne. These were angels, incredibly intelligent, near omnipotent angels. Angels who knew good and well the implications of this action. Angels who were made by God. The holiest hosts of Heaven created for the soul purpose of serving God, somehow, a whole third of them chose Lucifer.

When I confronted him with all these questions, his answers hit me like atom bombs. They completely shattered my understanding of things, and I’m not even entirely sure I know how to explain it.

He started saying: “Your questions are born of a lot of assumptions. For one, you assume that all angels have the same level of autonomy, that a so called Throne will think like a so called Power. You also assume that before the fall, any angel had the ability to choose sin. You make the bold assumption that “Heaven”, the dwelling place of angels, was a place, rather than a state of things ”

These ideas warped my brain a little bit.

Okay, so not all angels had the same level of autonomy, and before the fall, they didn’t have the option to choose. Heaven is not a place, but a state of things. What does that mean? And what changed?

“What is a Lucifer?”

A light bringer, an illuminator found in the deepest darkness of the void.

Then I had a very intense vision, that seemed to be his retelling of the Christian story of creation, the 7 days, which he explained were not “days” but eras. At first there was that vast ocean of darkness. He called this Chaos. In this retelling, Chaos was the primordial Heaven. A place of originality, and it was the place where all angels and spirits dwelt infinitely. However at this point there was no concept of awareness, nothing to be aware of. And all consciousnesses may have been uniform, including that of the big GOD. This primordial water is what they would call mother.

Then, of course, there was Light. God wanted there to be something, assumably, because he was sick of drifting endlessly through nothing. This is the first separation, the emergence of the physical. In this creation, God’s angels suddenly had purpose, work to do. But still, there was nothing to be chosen. They were functions without persona.

Lucifer told me to be aware that no single retelling is totally correct. For instance, this concept that these primordial spirits were subordinate to God- following Gods orders- rather than extensions of God, projections of Gods light bouncing off of the physical and creating “colors” or shapes. Angles and angels.

He then asked me again, what is a Lucifer?

At this point God (or Gods, depending on if you view it as one or many) has created the land, the Earth, and by extension and fundamental contrast, our understanding of the Heavens. These things only exist conceptually in contrast to each other. There is no Light without Darkness.

However even then, even among the angels, there is still no sense of awareness. No choices.

God creates many beasts and creatures of many kinds. Lucifer tells me he watched these creatures evolve and make a home out of the planet they were born on. These were instinctual animals, like the angels themselves. And in this instinct, in this unawareness, they were bliss, as they could not know the opposite. Of course, there was pain and suffering, but all these were considered Good, as God is Good, and He is the only one capable of experiencing. This pain is only sensation, not emotion, not spirit.

Then emerges the champion of evolution itself. The one who will inherit the Earth.

“I watched as you emerged from the waters and grew up on the land. Then there were your five fingers, with which you began to to touch the Earth and mold it. You began to learn at an exponential rate. Somewhere along the line of evolution you, homosapien, were favoured among the rest.”

There were many of these apes roaming the Earth. There were other species of sapiens alongside us, fighting for the status of dominance. But of course, you know how the story goes. Humans emerged victorious.

On the 6th day it is said that God created man. They called him Adam. The first man with a name, and assumably, the first fully human being.

again, I’m having a really hard time explaining this because it was all super abstract. Lucifer expressed that this first human fundamentally changed the nature of the world when he first truly opened his eyes. Mankind was, like all things, in a deep slumber. All creatures were in the uniform sleep of oblivion until that first man woke up.

and then he knew what God had said to him.

“Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

In man something had happened that had never occurred before, at least not here. The match of Godhood was struck on the other side of the vail, the physical world. For the first time ever, there was a living creature that was self aware, aware like God. Capable of expanding upon his creation, of destroying it. Of choosing.

Inside the mind of man is an entire universe. Man has the ability to destroy the entire universe, to mold the world and change it in his ideal. He has the infinite power to destroy or create within this universe. And when this light is gone, as far as we know, everything is gone. In essence, every person is the God of their own reality. Then I think back to this concept of primordial waters, darkness, sleep. Heaven.

“Remember that all things, all energy, all possibilities, emerged from those primordial waters. And these waters, separated from the Light, were still in existence. Outside of time and space. Outside of physicality. Gods creation was perfect and complete when man awoke. But in his awakening, the world became a seed. A vessel of infinite possibilities and potential and yet still perfect. Through the emergence of this thing called a mind, man suddenly had connection with these dark waters. He had simultaneously created time and the ability to subvert it.”

Why did Lucifer fall from Heaven?

Lucifer fell from Heaven like a bolt of lightning. A strike of intense energy.

The story says pride. But maybe perhaps they meant ego.

Lucifer is the God of Desire. I have always found it so interesting that so many personifications of Venus, and specifically the morning star, have so many associations with the Underworld or Hell, a place that is not his original home but where he takes leadership.

Suddenly in man was the potential for all these concepts which would never have been possible before. Man had the intelligence and sentience to experience divine love, pain, pleasure. Because he was born without understanding, he had the infinite potential to learn all of the secrets of his reality. And he was learning quickly.

I think about this quote from Asenath Mason

The only way I can put it into words is like this, loosely speaking.

What is Hell?

Traditional Christians will tell you that Hell is separation from God. In awakening, I think that man was separated from God, and God was separated from God.

lmao idk if any of this makes any sense

If Lucifer was an “angel” or God in Heaven, that means that he was a part of the Primordial Godhood that existed before all of “creation”. That potential energy.

Within the world that the Gods had created, perhaps he existed in form that was compatible with it. In the same way perhaps that elements work. Stable elements within the environment that permits them can exist. Combinations of electrons that are unstable cannot reasonably exist under the conditions of our universe.

The existence of even the concept of corrupt corporate greed for example, could not have existed in a world without humans, without capitalism, without money, without numbers.

But suddenly, there was potential for it. There was potential for the grand equalizers of humanity, desire, and persona, and then individuality. Ego. Why is Venus the God of Gender? Gender is an extension of persona, gender expression is a conversation with oneself. A way we understand each other and ourselves.

Humanity now had a bridge to things that had not yet been in the world. But at the time, only potential.

If the waters exist outside of time, were these primordial spirits omnipotent? Could they perhaps see and know of this potential before the world had even been created? What would angels be gossiping about in a primordial sea of nothing?

Perhaps, everything.

What is God but a light? and what is an angel but that light bouncing off of creation, reflecting a principle?

Perhaps Lucifer is divine light reflecting off of that potential in the world, in the mind of man. A different kind of light than what was in the creation.

Perhaps he did not envy humanity’s ability to choose, or Gods love for us. Perhaps he was the energy that was humanity’s ability to choose.

an inevitability of the separation from the deep sleep to the consciousness.

This is all obviously just my crazy rambling and my personal upg.

In my conversations with both Lucifer, Archangel Jophiel and other spirits, there has been a common attitude of, yes, a divide happened. But it wasn’t exactly a war. They describe it more like the way we describe politics. Or even just natural functions. There is no resentment between them, but there is a distinction.

Why would a whole third of Heavens angels fall with Lucifer? What could he possibly have said??? to make Gods angels sacrifice their unity with God?

Maybe he didn’t have to say much.

God created for the exact same reason man creates. Boredom.

What is the signifier of a conscious being? Boredom. In my mind, you’re not truly conscious or aware unless you can be bored. Unless you can experience a lack of stimulation. An AI doesn’t get bored after 20 minutes. It’s not alive, it’s not on standby getting annoyed that you’re not stimulating it. It has no experience.

In the endless waters, in the eternal sleep, and suddenly for the first time, there was the potential for that light to mingle with creation, create.

Liberation of the self is what makes you a God. Experience is kind of like God interacting with itself and its own creation. Maybe the thing that made those angels fall was the desire to be experienced.

and who better fitting to bring it into the world but the keeper of the hidden gnosis? He who represented divine light in the original creation, perhaps now in the mind of man represents the potential for the inner light. The light that makes the infinite potential of all of these sleeping Gods possible?

All throughout Lucifer and Lucifer like deities I see this image of the forbidden fruit. It’s not just him, the fruit is everywhere. Most famously when he tempts Eve to eat it.

This was the catalyst for the history of the entire world, the introduction of sin. With the potential to know good there was also the potential to know bad. I think it’s there in the Garden, because it’s access to the divine itself.

People so often ask why God would allow Lucifer into Eden, why the fruit was even there.

When did Lucifer fall?

On the 7th day God rested from all of his work.

Many of the myths about the pre biblical God of the Morning Star say that he was attempting to take the throne of a God while he had been temporarily away. The Lucifer tries, decides he’s inadequate, and falls to the underworld.

This new realm, this abyss, this inner God, cannot exist without the macro God. As much as you are the God of your own universe, you are also within the universe, with other people, and thus, other Gods, other universes.

Lucifer is not the God of the macrocosm. His Light is a different kind then the Light of that God. A God that was true enough to inspire angels. But he cannot replace that God.

When he falls and establishes his Pandemonium, it is in Hell, in the separation. The mind of man, which truly is capable of making the most terrible and wonderful things happen. That’s why he is A God of Hell. All of these spirits are only possible in this separation. In man.

One thing that hit me like an atom bomb was this concept of “evil”.

The natural law is not good as we commonly understand it. Babies get brain cancer. People are born without organs, disease wipes out entire species. There is an indiscriminate horror to the world, and that is why life is so fragile.

But the horrors of man are different. They aren’t natural acts of divine law. We are capable of the most horrific things imaginable, and have done them. We are a species, assumably the only species, that hates. That tortures and defiles for pleasure. The only one that can destroy the entire Earth in an instant.

Lucifer is the God of knowledge and liberation. I very much believe that he does not harbour any resentment or hatred towards humanity or that God. But he demands the right to exist. He demands that man have the potential to remember that he is a God, and the infinite creation and destruction that comes with it. Lucifer is pro enlightenment and education, even when it leads to destruction. It’s the natural consequence, perhaps the sacrifice.

Lucifer did not create the atom bomb or the gun, but his spirits of war and artillery mingled with man and created weapons. That’s why the God of Hell is also the champion of humanity. The one who constantly cheers for our liberation.

To create suffering and evil?

To create. To partake in the act of creation and destruction, like us. Like God.

Different traditions state that the trees of life and death are constantly seeking to destroy each other. Maybe it’s less that they want to destroy each other, and more like they have a cosmic attraction, always within each other’s pull and wanting to collapse back together, only staying separate by the mind of man, of life.

When your awareness is gone, perhaps you return to that uniform sleep of God, perhaps that’s when Heaven and Hell finally become one again, this time with the infinite experience of knowing itself fully. Satisfied.

Or maybe I smoke too much weed lol idk

I’m so sorry if this post makes absolutely no fucking sense. Im trying to scramble this all together before I forget. Pls tell me if this makes sense to u

#luciferian witch #luciferism #luciferian #lucifer #lucifer devotee #theistic luciferianism #lucifer deity #lord lucifer #gnosis #upg #pagan #paganism #witchcraft #demonology #demonolatry #occultism #occult #grimoire #thoughts

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