#idk what to do about powers and if they'd have their powers

[phoenixyfriend]

I had a very long Star Wars dream last night. Baffling level of narrative coherency for a dream.

Started out with Obi-Wan Kenobi, our bespectacled thirty-something, going to a university for a Grad Student thing. He's been working for nonprofits for some time, and wants to get a degree to further his work.

He gets to an advisor's office, (which is a Generic Salt-And-Pepper White Man buuuuuut we could probably swap out for an actual AU, maybe make it Mace?) who walks him through the courses and prereqs and so on. Great. All going good. He goes out to some kind of program meeting with his fellow grad students (some straight out of undergrad, some his age) and a sort of team lead person who is… Anakin Skywalker.

And it is. Tense. Like 'everyone can feel it' tense. Anakin's doing something Doctoral, whatever, and his purpose right now is to Program Manage these grad students in another department (Anakin does some analytics and database stuff for the department), and one of those students is Obi-Wan Kenobi and nobody can figure out what the damage is.

They attempt professionalism. They are… cordial. They avoid each other otherwise.

Several weeks in, there's a "we should talk confrontation" and Anakin blows up because the time to talk was years ago, Obi-Wan! Like five to ten years ago! When shit went down!

FLASHBACK TIME: These two were doing crime. It was a team of seven. I don't remember all of whom were involved but it was definitely them two, Rex and Cody, maybe Quinlan? and a few other people. (Not Ahsoka, she was excluded for safety because teenager).

They were probably doing some kind of Leverage stuff but also possibly some domestic terrorism. A job went bad, Cody died, and they all kinda split to do their own things. Partly this was to dodge law enforcement, but partly it was because they were all fucked up and grieving.

Obi-Wan wanted to take some time to himself to grieve, which Anakin was upset about because they're not just brothers in arms, they're basically brothers, at least in Anakin's eyes, and they had a huge blow-up fight about it. They haven't spoken since.

(Rex is in Anakin's life again. He acts as an Uncle figure to the twins. He is also… not in the best mental space, considering his own dead brother.)

Obi-Wan ends up getting pulled aside to talk to someone, probably Mace or Yoda, and a no-criminal-activity version of the story spills out. And it's very 'well what the fuck am I supposed to do with that' because the person pulling him aside was thinking it was like… they had a one-night stand before the program started and now they don't know how to navigate the power dynamic, not grief and distance and family bullshit.

IDK where it was gonna go from there, I think they were still circling each other like feral cats trying to decide what to do when I woke up.

(There was a sideplot about Padme and the twins doing fun things in the basement, but the fun things included a well that they'd use to act out Alice in Wonderland and other insane stuff. Which they loved but was weird. Why do you have a well that's at least ten feet deep in your basement, Padme. Why are you putting your kids in there. Also I had to run away from a bunch of wasps into a pool.)

Rex and Cody! Are just! Background Grief Bullshit! But it hovers over the entire fic.

I think Quinlan should bully his way back into Obi-Wan's life before the plot starts.

And he's the one that angles Obi-Wan into going to This Specific University. That Anakin's at.

He didn't expect them to be that close contact, just wanted them to run into each other in the hall and make amends. In my mind, the timeline is that the crime group broke up for opsec, then a year or two later Quinlan shows up on Obi-Wan's doorstep with intent to Friendship.

Obi-Wan would have done the same with Anakin but their fight was so big and horrible that he doesn't think he'd be welcome.

NGL even in the dream I was like "wow this seems like a really intense Obikin fic concept," but every time I thought about it, the dream would hammer in on the BROTHERS thing again.

[puppetmaster13u]

So I am ponderin' an AU. And I can fully blame this on several MAPs on youtube lol.

Thinking of a DCxDP Warriors Au. Bunch of felines. Bunch of cats.

Amity Park is a bunch of barn cats, living by some human houses. Maybe a few descended or straight up ex-lab cats. Vlad is a housecat, or was, still figuring that out lol.

Gotham is all the stray cats in the town-or-city. Straight up feral with smaller not-quite clans. Like how Ivy controls the park with an iron fist, er, paw. Or the batfam, who live in the collapsed remains of a large building within tunnels of rock, who cover themselves with ash at night to hide their scent and disappear into the winding streets.

Thermiscya (or however you spell it) is still a girls-only place. It's an entire clan of she-cats only. Maybe on an island between a fork in a river.

Metropolis, Central City, all of them are clans within the wilds outside the city. Forest, an old glade, maybe even a bit of a protected area. Idk if I'm explaining well but yeah, have a lil mini rambling idea lol.

[morninkim]

Power Rangers Prime Suspects - Jake

Brief info on him under the cut!

12 years ago, Jake Holling was part of a team recruited by Gosei, a protege of Zordon of Eltar, meant to act as a resistance team against Rita Repulsa's five-decades occupation of Earth. However, these Power Rangers were woefully unprepared for the addition of The Armada to Rita's forces and were defeated. In the time after, Jake started fighting on the ground, stepping up as a human resistance leader in the former Harwood County. He never speaks of his time as a Ranger, few knowing of it at all. Though, with the appearance of a mysterious duo of a Green and a Pink Ranger, he considers retrieving his Gosei Morpher from the wreckage of the Megaforce Base. Maybe there are other Power Rangers out there, maybe Earth can be saved.

[spotaus]

If I have energy I want to draw out some designs for an au I'm spontaneously writing.

(Medieval times, there's a Prophecy. Nightmare rules over this kingdom and is supposed to complete this prophecy, he refuses to because it would harm the people. Dream was sent away and banished by Night because he was dis-illusioned into thinking the prophecy was a Good Thing abd what he was raised to complete. Night collected his Knights (Killer, Dust, Horror, and Cross most recently) and trains them and tells them the truth of the prophecy. They're loyal to him. One day the magic of the prophesy (Apple Magic) leaves Nightmare unexpectedly, returning him to the state he was in before he accepted the mantle. This puts a target on his back and gives Dream a huge advantage in maybe making a comeback. The Knight's decide that their King (newly a young lad and variably scared and frightened) must be protected and they run the kingdom as he normally would, while also ensuring he survives and that the prophecy can't be completed.)

[imminent-danger-came]

tbh you are so real for talking about the misogyny targeted to mei & other women in the lmk fandom. in general its like people only value mei as: a: the wingman to some basic mlm ship or b: macaque 2.0. its honestly crazy how so many male side characters overshadow her in the fanbase despite not even having a FRACTION of her screen time. idk chat i feel like the reason people dont care about mei but care about some random male side/background character is less because they're inherently more likeable but because some of you view women as inherently less likable. and everyone is always like "mei is so girlboss pussy cunt slay shes the only reason theyre still alive because she keeps them safe from their silly boy shennanigans shes their ultimate wingman shes so badass shes their lesbian best friend i totally paid attention to her when i watched this show LOL" and even ignoring the obvious misogyny here (ie. how people reduce her to being the male characters babysitter) its like... okay... i know mei is cool & badass already... could you name literally ANY other character trait she has. like people just value her as being "the braincell" who can get red son and mk together or something stupid and its like are we having fun still is this still fun. literally every day i go into the mei tag its like "look at mei shes red sons wifey and shes vaguely in the background of this drawing of red son and mk staring into each others eyes #trafficlighttrio am i right oh look shes macaques niece now this post is about ao lie why is it in the mei tag"

and thats literally JUST talking about mei and it doesnt even begin to cover the other female characters. chang'e constantly gets reduced to being red sons aunt/mom/big sister despite them like. not having any actual interactions in the show. lady bone demon constantly gets overshadowed by her minion who has like 2 seconds of screen time, or she gets made into a cartoonishly abusive madwoman who people call lady bitch demon. just in general people act like shes a horrible person for like. being a villain. liks yeah the trying to destroy everything was bad but also she was an antagonist and thats what antagonists do LOL. spider queen gets completely ignored. princess iron fan gets made into a cartoonishly abusive mother so that way red son can have a poor angsty backstory and some male character (usually nezha, macaque, swk) can take care of him.

(also theres just a great deal of ethnocentrism in the lmk fanbase? like im white so take what İ say here with a grain of salt but so many people will misconstrue aspects of chinese culture for their own personal hcs. people will say male characters are transfem or nonbinary while completely ignoring the time period/culture their from where thats the norm. like yippee youve implied that an east asian man is feminine/emasculine because he has long hair. how do you not see the negative connotations with this. people also turn pif (& lbd to an extent) into a dragon lady which obviously has negative racial connotations lol.)

anyway this is where my unhinged rambling ends have a good day have a good night İ had more to say here but İ reached the text limit. İ dont see a lot of people talk about the misogyny thats prevalent in the lmk fanbase so İm glad youre pointing it out lol.

Yeah, I totally hear you. The lmk fandom has plenty of issues with misogyny and, like you said, ethnocentrism. It's definitely something worth having a discussion about, along with these issues in fandom as a whole.

[fettery-fetterie]

GIRL HELP WDYM I REACHED 30 TAGS??????? OMG???? I WASN'T EVEN DONE YET

ANYWAYS 31st: and that compared to a relationship where the communication lines are basically none or very fucking weak then yeah it is an upgrade I think. Idfk I was never in a relationship I'm just picking from the ones I've seen in my life

[gender-euphowrya]

having mlp thoughts and i actually really hate what they did to the CMC fkfjdjkd

[spirngakawening]

Sometimes when reblogging I think "it's been a while since I've posted anything Spring Awakening-related, people might be surprised to see it on my blog" then I remember what my blog name is

[geniemillies]

i will never be convinced on rhysand the better high lord when tamlin opened his court to refugees during amarantha's reign, began celebrating festivities that didn't belong to spring just so they'd feel at home, played for them too with his silly fiddle omg, refused to send his people beyond the wall until he was desperate, felt them die because their bond as subject and high lord was just too great (sarah's words not mine), even buried a lesser fae in his court after he was brutalized by amarantha, dug the ground with his haaaands, said lesser fae wasn't even his subject but he offered him peace and company during his death anyway. then there's mister change takes time over here, has his people living in harsh conditions in camps, under a mountain where they cannot leave because they're more weapons than people. so if you were born anywhere in his court that's not velaris sucks to suck i guess.

don't even get me started on his family being in charge while he was gone for 50 yrs because their circus troupe didn't do squat either. cassian is a privileged boy who has lost all emotional connection to his own people. idk what azriel does besides do a job he doesn't even want to do and mope around i guess. morrigan hates her people, morrigan 'i'm the exception, everybody evil except for me and i will make no effort to change anything bc im too pretty for that'. amren. amren wtf even is she doing in the night court. not even from the lands and she's already named second in command, that's all i have to know about the high lord. what is she commanding? *in damian's voice* she doesn't even go here!!!

tamlin did more for spring and people from other courts in those fifty years than the ic will ever consider doing for the night court. morrigan couldn't lift a pinkie, if you mention doing anything for hewn city she'd start whining throwing up waa waa waa, grown ass woman. cassian kisses the dirt rhysand steps on, if he says bark he out here 🐕. amren is just there for shits and giggles. azriel.

so if anyone sat on their asses it's rhysand and his ragtag group of powerful people who don't do shit with it. illyrians still suffer in the camps, hewn city still trapped in a mountain where abuse is the norm. and they aaaalll stiiill haaaate youuur aaaasss 💥💥💥💥💥

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[dolicekiss]

Hiiiii I love ur writing!!! If it's too much of a bother, I totally wouldn't mind if you don't write this😭😭 I understand that you might be busy with other things, butttt could you write about Martin from Another Round?? Him as reader's teacher (in like uni or something one where reader is legal) and like a punishment sort of thing that's happens to the reader while he's trying to teach them something after school bc they've been falling behind in their grades, and he eventually makes a deal that if they were to do a little "favor" they'd get an A?? Idk I just really like Martin😭😭 If possible, could you make the reader fem?? If not, gender neutral would be greatly appreciated, thank you!!!

- 🫧anon

♡: sorry this was so late, i just finished it and requests r piling up :[ hope u like it anon!

Good Grades

PAIRING: Martin X fem!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: SMUT (18+, mdni), age gap (obviously), unprotected sex, perverted martin, oral (male receiving), degrading, humiliation, hair pulling, biting, filthy martin, power play.

SYNOPSIS: You've always struggled with your history subject, more so when it came down to remembering which historic event took in what year — the numbers screwing you up. It wasn't a surprise when you were called in by your teacher to scold you about your downgrading grades but you didn't know there was a much easier to fix them right up.

You were in a state of panic.

When your teacher had asked you to stay behind, you knew damn well what it was for.

History wasn't one of your strongest suits, especially remembering the numbers. You tried your best to embed your mind with it but you failed at the end.

Your nails scratched the skin around them in anticipation, stomach twisting in nervousness and anxiety knocking at the doors of your brain to allow it in.

You only had to wait for the bell to ring and once it rang, all the students left. Rushing to catch their breaks and some letting out sighs of relief to finally be freed of this soul sucking boring subject.

You were alone with him.

Martin’s gaze captured you as he picked up the papers he'd graded, setting them aside after picking out one.

It had to be yours.

He walked over to you, dragging a chair and sitting down on it in front of you. You could feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, heart hammering rapidly in your ribcage. Your forehead had perspired and you let out a breath.

“What is this, miss?” He asked, holding your paper out for you.

Immediately when you saw the grade of it, you felt like passing out. Martin eyed you as you averted your gaze from him and the piece of paper, looking around.

You had no courage to face your failure.

“I'm asking you something.”

You licked your lips. “A paper.”

Martin leaned back into the chair, thighs spreading open. He sighed. “I know it's a paper and it is your paper, which you almost failed.”

You flinched at his tedious tone, not enjoying how he spoke to you. Truth was, Martin had kept an eye on you for so long. Unbeknownst to you, he always tried to focus more on you and make you learn.

But you didn't want to.

Head anywhere but here, in his class.

“This isn't the first time. If you keep falling, I'll have to kick you out of the class.” It was a threat and your eyes widened immediately, shaking your head.

You leaned forward, the unbuttoned shirt revealing your chest which Martin captured a glance of. His cock stirring in his pants at how your tits pressed together — forming the perfect view for him. “Please, no. You can't do that. Just give me a chance, I'll do anything to fix my grades.”

Martin raised a brow.

Anything you said.

“I'm sorry but there is nothing I can do. I've had enough of this. You never pay attention and you're always chatting with other students.”

You shook your head. “Sir please, I will focus more. I will pay attention.”

Martin eyed you.

You seemed so desperate. He could see the raw desperation in your gaze and something inside him snapped, seeing how your pupils had blown out. He swallowed tightly and after debating with his own mind, he finally came to a conclusion.

He had power over you.

Why not abuse it?

“Get up and lock the door.”

You blinked at his abrupt command but nodded nonetheless, rising up from your seat to lock the door. Once you had snapped the little lock in place, you turned around to look at your teacher.

“Come here." And you obliged again.

Sauntering towards him, your pale skirt flowing by your side when you moved towards him. Nervousness had crawled all the way up to your throat and you licked your lips, in an attempt to wet the chapped skin.

You stood in front of him.

“There's something we can do to fix your grades.” He spoke, voice now a few octaves lower. Your fingers engulfed the material of your skirt as you raised a brow.

Martin reached for your hand, taking it into his. His brown eyes drowning in yours and his lips holding a sweet smile as if he wasn't about to make an immoral offer. “How about you be a good girl for your teacher and suck his cock?”

Your eyes widened in horror.

Pulling your hand out of his grasp, you retreated and stared at him. You'd never thought about your teacher in that sense. Yes, he was very attractive and you had a thing for older men but this was completely unethical and unprofessional.

You inhaled sharply.

Confusion clouded your judgment. You didn't know what to do. The proposal wasn't as bad as your mind was making it appear. Just give him head, get your grades up and work harder next time.

That easy, yeah?

Your knees dipped in front of Martin’s spread thighs and his smile widened. A tent already visible in his crotch. He was so excited, as he would always wonder how your glossy pink lips would feel wrapped around his cock — your tight little throat fighting to make space for his length.

You blinked, profusely as you reached for the zipper of his pants. He noticed the tremor in your hands and smiled softly, loving how innocent you appeared. Your hand managed to unzip his pants and pull out his cock but the moment your fingers caressed his hardened length, Martin hissed.

Your mere touch felt like embers on his skin.

Your eyes widened upon witnessing his gaze, the sheer length and girth of it leaving you completely bemused. How was that even supposed to fit in your mouth? You wondered if you could grow used to his size.

“What you waiting for, pretty girl?”

You looked at him with your pretty eyes as you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his tip. It leaked with precum and the salty taste glossed your lips. You ran your tongue over his pink cockhead and then wrapped your lips around him while your hand began to stroke him from his base — upto his length.

Martin slumped into his chair leisurely as his palm opened and rested over your head, forcing you to take him further. His lips fell open as he shuddered, enjoying the warmth your mouth produced around him.

The more you took him into your mouth, the harder it became for you to breathe properly.

You tried to inhale oxygen through your nose, your hands both resting on his parted knees. Martin’s hand pushed you further down on his cock and you fluttered your eyes shut, feeling his cock glide over your tongue and make way into your throat.

“Fuck, such a tight little mouth you've got, baby.” Martin groaned and as you peeled open your lids, you saw a sight before you which made your cunt throb.

A few straight strands had fallen over Martin’s forehead, his lips parted as his chest heaved up and down. Chiseled cheek bones reflexing everytime he let a gasp slip.

You took him deeper, feeling his cock head slip into your throat and you whined, sending vibrations and tremors down his cock into his groin. His cock throbbed and twitched like crazy and you could feel every little movement inside your tight cavern.

Your windpipe felt like it was being crushed and you pulled back from his cock, to take him deeper again.

“You're pretty good at this.” Martin groaned, staring down at you with hazy eyes. “How many cocks have you sucked, hm?”

You shook your head, telling him that this was your first time. Martin thrusted his hips upwards, driving his cock deeper into your throat. He managed to catch a glimpse of his dick print in your throat and lost his restraint.

Callous hands grabbing your head, holding it in place as he began to fuck his cock into your throat. Thrusts harsh and vigorous, your heart galloped in your ribcage. Your eyes fell shut and Martin’s fingers engulfed your hair.

“Look at me. Show me those pretty eyes, baby.” You obliged, fluttering them open. Your lashes coated the apple of your cheeks and tears emerged from your tear glands — droplets sliding down. Martin discarded the chair as he stood up, using his full strength to chase his orgasm.

You sniffled, gagging over his cock. A white ring of spit accumulating around his length from all the choking. Your mouth was covered in drool as well as chin, streams of precum mixed with saliva going down.

Martin’s balls throbbed and his pace fastened, fucking your throat like it was a cunt. You felt a stinging sensation spread in your knees from how long you'd been kneeling on the floor. His stomach was taut and his thrusts grew slightly slow — hinting at his upcoming arousal.

Loud groans and gagging sounds filled the whole of classroom. “Fucking whore. On her knees just to g-get good grades. How desperate can you be.”

Martin was a mess. His forehead was sweaty and then after a harsh thrust in your tight throat, he finally released inside your cum. Though that didn't last long as he pulled out halfway, shooting ropes of cum all over your face. You closed your eyes as the warm liquid stained your face wet.

You breathed like you'd ran a fucking marathon. Shallow breaths being inhaled while Martin stared at you, admiring how his climax covered your cheek. You reached to swipe it off your face, sticking your fingers into your mouth to suck them clean.

“You look fucking pretty like this.” He praised, running his hand over your messy hair.

Your cheeks warmed up. “I-Is that enough? Will you fix my grades now, sir?”

He tilted his head, contemplating you. Lost in complete dilemma before he came to a conclusion. Martin didn't waste time lifting you up from the floor and you yelped — bemused by this abrupt action. He set you over the desk and smiled, causing his smile lines to appear.

“I can't let you go this easily, pretty girl. I need more now.” You blinked and stared at him, knowing what he was hinting at. You'd sucked him dry, there was no way he could regain his strength this quickly but when your gaze lowered and you caught onto his cock hardening, you realised his age did not work as restraints to his desires.

Martin took a step back. “Open your legs, show me that pretty cunt of yours.”

“Sir but you—”

“You want to fail?” He asked, brow raised. Deep voice hiding a threat underneath and you shuddered at the unexpected change of tone.

You nodded your head, face flushed and hair sticking to your skin. Parting open your thighs, you revealed your sticky panties and Martin’s chest rumbled with a primal growl at the sight. Your panties had a wet spot and that only worked to heighten his arousal for you.

His large hands held you open, staring at how your cunt produced more and more essence of desire. Your thighs shuddered when his knuckles caressed them, his hands tugging off your panties and slipping them inside his pocket.

“But..” You complained at the perverted action of your teacher.

Martin grinned at you. “Sh, I might need them for later when my cock becomes hard at the memory of being inside your little pussy.”

Martin didn't even care to prep you. He only held his cock in his hand and rubbed his tip up and down your moist puffy cunt. Then he entered you and the stretch of your pussy made you arch your back. Your palms gripped on the edge of the table as you whimpered.

You were all over the place.

Embarrassment crept up your body like vines when you registered the situation you were in.

Willing to sleep with your older teacher only to achieve good grades. If your parents were to find out, they would look down upon you and you'd probably be expelled from your university but none of that mattered.

You needed good grades and this was the only way.

“Fuck— you've got such a tight little cunt, baby.” Martin moaned, entering you till he's pelvis had pressed up yours. Soft little whimpers escaped you when you were filled to the brim. “I'm gonna fuck you, gonna dumb you down on my cock.”

You sniffled, a lone tear sliding down.

Martin leaned in and captured your lips in a kissing, licking and sucking at yours. A hungry kiss it was but it made your cunt throb around his hard cock.

He started to pull out, only to thrust back inside you with vigor. His hips snapped repeatedly, finally losing all sense of control.

Martin’s hands held your hips, digging into them as he drove himself into the warmth of your sweet cunt. He was fucking hysterical, each thrust delivered with passion and driven by need.

Crying out from pleasure and ecstasy, your body jerked upon feeling his cock nestle into your sweet spot. You reached for his sweaty nape, wrapping both arms around it for support. The desk underneath you quaked whenever Martin would snap his cock into you.

“S-Sir, oh my god. Sir please, someone might h-hear.” You sobbed uncontrollably from the unbridled lust.

Martin brought his hand upto your face and shoved his fingers into your mouth, pressing along your wet tongue. You choked a little but allowed him to shove his fingers down your throat, tips brushing against the palate of your mouth.

“Keep quiet, yeah? Don't want anyone to know you're getting fucked by your teacher for some high grades.” Martin shushed you, staring at you with pure lust swimming in his gaze.

You kept your thighs apart, abdomen shivering from your upcoming climax and your fingernails dug into Martin’s nape, scratching at the skin. He hissed and the pain only increased his strength, thrusting harshly inside you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your release pounding at your taut stomach and with a loud cry you came all over Martin’s cock. He didn't give you any time to calm down, instead seeing how beautiful you looked when you made a mess on his cock only made him fuck you harder.

He grabbed your leg and pulled it up to his shoulder, leaning down and pressing his body firmly against yours. Martin dug himself deeper inside your tight cunt, as it clamped down on him and the man felt like you would snap him in half.

“You'll fucking cut my dick in half, baby. Relax a little, yeah? I'm close, so fucking close.” He reassured you, pressing onto your stomach to feel his cock push up against your cervix. His length grazing your walls.

He buried his face in your neck, digging his teeth into your skin. Tainting the unmarked canvas of a skin with red and blue.

Martin’s hips stuttered as he felt himself near, soon spilling inside you. His load heavy and filling you up to the brim. Thankfully you were on birth control so it didn't really matter but the feeling of his cum inside you made you twitch.

He pumped into you, emptying himself inside you for the second time but in your puffy cunt. You'd buried your head in his chest and Martin let you, finally getting what he needed from you.

He pulled out from you after you both had calmed down and caught a breath and you whimpered at the loss of contact. The blonde watched your gaping hole release his seed in drops, trailing down and making a mess on his wooden desk.

“Such a pretty, swollen cunt.” He whispered, shoving his cum back inside with his long fingers.

Your walls had grown extremely sensitive and you let out a whine when he did that. His tan skin glistened with sweat, making it appear gold like to the gaze. Hair a mess, similar to yours and his flannel shirt crinkled up. Martin fixed your skirt, pulling it down over your thighs and you realized he had fucked you in your skirt, which made this rendezvous even more hotter.

Your face flushed and sweaty, lips swollen and eyes watery.

Martin wanted to take a picture of how fucked out you looked. But he didn't — it would only cause problems if he was ever caught. Especially by his wife.

“W-Will you fix my grades now?” You asked, once you'd ran a hand through your hair and slid off the table. Lower body barely having any strength to support the upper one.

When you looked up at Martin, your eyes still held remnants of your innocence and he nearly swooned.

He nodded, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “With how well you took my cock, I'll fucking give you the highest grade.”

You smiled, pleased with the result. This was all you ever wanted. To pass and not be a failure and knowing your teacher’s weakness made it a whole lot easier for you.

[sansaorgana]

Could I maybe request a bit of a sequel fic to thrown to the wolves where we kind of see the outside galaxy's perspective on the couple and their son. Like a lady from caladan remembering playing with reader and reconciling it with who she is now or a low ranking guard on Giedi Prime and the few times he's caught glimpses of them reflecting on how great it is that his chances of being randomly killed by the baron have dropped significantly since the Baroness has arrived or a handmaid to Irulan whose heard whispers that even the emperor fears them. IDK I think it could be interesting to see them and see how rumor and truth shape their wider image in the galaxy.

Thank you once again though for the masterpiece that is Thrown To The Wolves!

THROWN TO THE WOLVES MASTERLIST

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hi, darling! 💝 Sorry that it took me so long but I was dealing with the end of semester at Uni. 🙄 Thank you for the request because it was interesting to write from other people's perspective. Perhaps the story is not very long but I have one more story about Feyd and our beloved (Na-)Baroness in my inbox to write, so it's not the end... yet! 😁

WORD COUNT — 1,370

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

After her arrival, Princess Irulan was told by her servants that her father expected to see her. She nodded her head and freshened herself before taking a walk down the corridor to meet with her father. To her surprise, The Reverend Mother was not there and it was unusual since she often reminded of The Emperor's shadow.

“Welcome back home, child,” her father greeted her and pointed at the chair next to his. Irulan sat there and looked at him, waiting for his questions. “How was the ceremony on Giedi Prime?”

“Splendid,” Irulan answered genuinely. “They have outdone themselves, I have to admit. And The Baroness gave birth to the new na-baron on the same night. The excitement was unbelievable.”

“On the same night?” The Emperor smirked. “That woman plotted it very carefully.”

“Not everything is a result of plotting and scheming, dear father,” Irulan sighed. “Women cannot predict the exact time of birth.”

She was a bit irritated with her father for assuming such a thing – not because she was under The Baroness’ charm or influence but because it was so… typical for a man of him. They had no idea about childbirth but they loved to pretend they knew everything.

“Do not underestimate them, The Harkonnens,” The Emperor tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at his daughter as if he was able to hear her thoughts. “Their technology and medicine advanced us in ways we don't even know about. They know very well that their experiments would not be approved by the other Great Houses so they keep most of them a secret. And do not underestimate The Baroness either. What do people say about her?”

“That she can temper Feyd-Rautha, the new Baron,” Irulan answered. “They hope for that certainly.”

“Tame him? Have you seen her on Arrakis?” The Emperor sneered at that. “Women tend to be more ruthless leaders than men for they truly do believe that their cruelty is justified for the way the society is treating them,” he reminded his daughter. After all, she would inherit after him as well.

If they were lucky. And deep down he knew they would not be. He was old and weak now but not stupid. He knew what The Harkonnens wanted – his throne. Feyd-Rautha himself perhaps would not be a threat that big but the new Baroness was a dangerous new pawn in that game. She had her ruthless husband under control and he was nothing but a loyal dog – he would bite and attack when she asked. And The Emperor knew that she would ask. She was only waiting for the right moment.

“The Harkonnens have gained a new amount of power and influence. A dangerous one,” he thought out loud. “They're so powerful now that I can't take away their privileges because they'd attack and only prove their forces are stronger than the Imperial ones.”

“It's better to keep them as friends,” Irulan nodded as she played nervously with her fingers.

“Let's hope and pray that the new Baroness wants to make friends,” her father smiled sadly.

He was old already, he couldn't care less. But he was worried about his daughter’s future.

“The word soon will spread about their power. We have to make sure all the rumours about them wanting the Imperial Throne will be silenced,” he added.

The rumour was spreading indeed. But a maid from Caladan who had used to be the new Baroness' personal servant back in the day… She didn't believe the cruel rumours.

As her former Princess was leaving to Giedi Prime, she had promised her to keep visiting her mother's grave. And she was standing above it now as she admired the new stone next to it. The grave of Duke Leto and Lady Jessica was standing right next to his late wife's. Baroness Harkonnen had paid for the transport of their bodies and for the funeral and the stone. She had given all the instructions on what should be written on it. 

Duke Leto Atreides. Lady Jessica – mother of Prince Paul Atreides and the unnamed daughter.

And the maid knew – she had heard the stories – that it was Baroness Harkonnen herself who had murdered Lady Jessica and her child. But the maid also knew that her former Princess could not be as fearsome and cruel as the rumours were saying. She still cared about her father and even made her peace with Lady Jessica in a way, since she allowed her to rest next to her mother. Another rumour said that she had also allowed Prince Paul's Fremen lover to take care of his body and give him a funeral according to their customs.

But the maid was sad as she watched. So many things had changed and she wished they all were still here – Duke Leto, Jady Jessica, young Paul and young (Y/N). 

A cold shiver went down her body at the realisation that only Baroness Harkonnen had survived out of them all. Perhaps the rumours were true after all – she had to be cruel and fearsome if she had been the only survival of her House and family and if she had helped to murder them herself. And the stone she had bought did not mean anything, really. It was just a stone.

Usually, on other planets, becoming the personal guard of the noble family was a privilege. On Giedi Prime it meant a death sentence. 

The young Baron couldn't care less about human life and he was always first to take it. The lives of slaves, servants and guards meant nothing to him and in the past he had been even killing them just out of boredom.

The young guard assigned to keep an eye on the nursery was tense every time the Baron was nearby. But so far so good, he thought, when he realised that the young na-baron Maxim-Feyd Harkonnen was already six months old and he was still alive. To last half a year nearby the Baron was an achievement for sure.

As he was standing in front of the doors leading to the nursery most of his days, he had an opportunity of witnessing the scary Baron Harkonnen performing activities that would certainly spoil his ruthless image. He was visiting the nursery every day alongside his wife – in fact, The Baroness was visiting a few times a day. But at least once a day The Baron was by her side, looking the guard up and down with contempt but doing nothing more than that.

Apparently, it was his wife's influence – so the people said. She believed that her own servants should not fear them too much because it was influencing their loyalty in a bad way. Whatever she believed in – for all the servants, slaves and guards it was a big relief.

But only the guards working around the nursery and two maids named Astra and Cara could see The Baron Harkonnen being… soft. Soft around his son when he was carrying him around and telling him war stories. He was definitely a very proud father even though he was often scared of hurting his child accidentally. And he tended to forget that children – especially so small – couldn't understand him. He often addressed little Maxim as if he was an adult and then he was getting frustrated that his son didn't understand him.

The Baroness found it funny each time. But even though she was a woman and most likely a reason why the chances of getting randomly killed decreased, it would be foolish to think she was not to be feared.

Not only her one command would make The Baron attack but also all it would take to enrage him was to look at The Baroness the wrong way. She wouldn't have to ask then, The Baron was a guard dog. A rabid animal, barely tamed by a madwoman – you never knew when she'd loosen the leash.

And that was the Galaxy's greatest fear now – and it was not the question of if but a question of when the leash would be loosened and the war for the Imperial Throne starts. And people wondered who was truly more dangerous – the rabid dog or the mad owner?

MASTERLIST

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[justwinginglife]

thinking of a Hoshina/narumi x Vice captain! reader who was raised to be a traditional wife for wealthy clans 🤔 Like she looks and acts like what people would scream wife material and in the field she be an aggresive fighter but still keeping a graceful look on her....i imagine she'll be the type to use aggresive weapons like SMGs just to contrast her character

Disclaimer- I am a Hoshina girlie through and through and idk if I would even know how to write Narumi but I will give it a shot for you anon. Thanks for trusting me with this request, I will do my best.

Three's A Crowd

You always thought you'd marry well, after all, you'd always been told that being a wife was what you were made for. And not just because you'd been raised by a governess in a proper household, no- you made the act of being a wife look effortless. If being a wife was a job, you were the CEO. If being your husband was a prize, the raffle tickets would've sold out.

Your parents would joke to family friends that you glided out of the womb in stilettos, ready to host dinner parties with your best wine and your best smile. And then when you were the youngest female to ever make Vice Captain in such a short amount of time, people just assumed talent was in your DNA at this point. You could completely brutalize the hell out of a kaiju, not even get your hands dirty or break a sweat, and then be back home in time to instruct the household staff which table settings to use for dinner and maybe even recommend a nice dessert pairing for whatever meal the chef had prepared.

Now, coming from a well-established clan, you had always assumed you'd marry one of the Hoshina brothers as your family had deep ties to the Hoshina clan and you'd known them since you were young, but you had also recently caught the attention of the Captain of the First Division and you could never resist a man with power.

As the Vice Captain of the Second Division, you were constantly meeting with the Captains and Vice Captains of other divisions, but for some reason you didn't meet the Captain of the First Division at any of those stiff meetings. In fact, he never showed up so you thought you might never meet him. But fate must've had other plans because one day as you were on your way home from meeting with the Vice Captain of the First Division, a kaiju decided to take a bite out of a nearby building and that's where you met Gen Narumi.

It's like he had known they were going to strike because he was onto them in a matter of minutes, skewering them like a kebab. You were impressed but you didn't want to let him have all the fun, especially since this might be the only time you ever interacted with him again. So you raced him to take down the remaining kaiju in the vicinity, gunning them all down with equal parts aggression and grace. He had been quite impressed by your agility and the elegance with which you slew each creature. So much so that he actually started showing up to his meetings from then on just to get a glimpse of you. And then he got greedier and a glimpse just wasn't enough for him anymore, he wanted to talk to you, get to know you.

Soon, a rivalry had formed between Gen and Soshiro as they both raced after your heart. The two of them were so different, pretty much the only commonality they shared were their feelings for you.

Gen was a quiet lover, he'd shrug people off when they'd ask if he was seeing you, keeping to himself about the details. But then he'd secretly leave a vase of your favorite flowers for you to find the next morning and if you confronted him about it he'd simply say your apartment looked so sad that even a bunch of weeds he'd scrounged from some random field was an improvement to the place. The flowers were not in fact wildflowers as he claimed, you could tell he'd gone to great lengths to buy the most expensive bouquet he could find from the hothouse but he'd never acknowledge it.

Soshiro was the exact opposite- he was loud about his love. He'd sling his arm around you, and brag to anyone who'd hear him about what a catch you were. He'd remind you everyday how much he adored you. And though it bothered him that Gen was attempting to court you too, he always felt he had the upper hand, having never seen Gen make any grand gestures for you or declare his love for you as openly as he did.

You were used to many men vying for your attention but you never thought that two of the most powerful fighters in the JAKDF would be among your long list of suitors. In fact, the two of them paid such frequent visits to the Second Division that you didn't think you'd even have time to look at any other men. Not that they'd let you look anyway, they'd pretty much assumed that one of them would be the one to marry you.

They weren't wrong. You did intend to choose from one of them as you'd grown quite fond of your little daily routines with each of them. Soshiro was always the first person to text you something sweet in the morning, he wanted you to get a taste of what it would be like to wake up next to him. Gen was always going out of his way for you, picking up dinner from your favorite restaurant an hour away or buying you a pair of earrings you mentioned in passing months ago, once he'd saved up enough for them (you had expensive taste).

It was the first time you felt like more than just some prize, you were actually wanted and desired as a human being. You felt like maybe even if you didn't say the right things or laugh at the right time, even if you fell short of the perfection you'd worked so hard to achieve your whole life, they'd accept you as you were.

It was both a blessing and a curse as you knew you'd have to pick eventually. As different as Gen and Soshiro were, they both did not share well and this little arrangement you had, seeing both of them, would not hold up for long.

But you'd hold out for as long as you possibly could. For as long as they'd let you.

After all, true love is hard to find and you'd stumbled on double the jackpot.

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[melissa-titanium]

my concept for the main espers' projection forms cause i personally do not care for the idea that they all look like shige's... i think they'd vary in size, opacity, and brightness depending on the potency of their abilities & how they awakened. sho's has no notes because i dont know if im gonna keep his

shige's is completely malleable, but the brightest out of all of them. completely opaque, you'd think he's a solid object until you try to touch him. he looks a little ragged/worse for wear, with wide, perpetually petrified eyes -- my personal interpretation of what its like to have all of that power pushed down for so long... it cant stay down forever. every single 100% meltdown resulted in those frayed edges/tendrils and the odd wrinkled texture his lines have. also he's not exclusively Critterified, unlike ltierally every other esper he can actively morph into looking like a human of some sort (bipedal, longer arms, like he does in the manga) sniles

terus is kind of self explanatory. a note i didn't add -- he changes his visual texture like a chameleon, kind of blending into his surroundings. if he's hovering above water, he's goopy. if he's inside a cloud, hes poofy. if he's . idk. on a log or some shit he'll get all grainy. hes also SUPER bright but like, very obviously see-through. he only has one beady little eye because. haha. nel's teru rose tinted lenses metaphor. He Cannort see shit. his textures ALSO change based on emotions

ritsu is a small funny little thing. a lot of his design is based off of a prey animal of some kind. its meant to be a metaphor for how he percieves himself next to shige but im too tired to properly dissect it honestly. since "spoon bending" is such an important aspect of his powers and one of the biggest representations of his inferiority complex... he has a little spoon tail! i also believe the projections form themselves based off of the earliest days of awakening, and since there was that whole sequence of ritsu throwing the spoon & getting upset at ekubo and bending a shit ton of spoons. boom. shabam. spoon shit. theres more but iiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Forgot

and sho. i dont have notes for him. i honestly just thought a little flying bug would be cool because i kind of took the absolute basic aspects of how i percieve his character ("with great power comes great responsibility" "gentle" "afraid of those he loves" "ride or die kinda guy") plus his powers (invisibility, energy storage, the implementation of his wrestling skill into his attacks) and thought. bug. specifically some kind of ant because of the shot of him watching a bunch of ants scuttle around in the one flashback with his mama. the more i think about it i think some kinda beetle would be more fitting for him? but i think ant is funnier. ill def work more on it later.