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meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender · 6 days ago

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Summary: You had only wanted to petition the god of summer for rain to ease the drought. Locked away for your crimes, the god of summer, Johnny comes to your aid to set all things right. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you both and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything. @itsagrimm it would feel wrong not to tag you in something I had written.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

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Even on a summer night, wrapped in darkness and starlight, sweat insisted on gathering at your temples. The fire cracked as you added your willow bark and woven cattails to the flames, praying to the god of summer, Johnny, for rain. You anxiously rubbed your arm over your beloved leaves' trellising along your arms, watching the embers' pops fall on dead grass as you stood beside your bucket of dirty water. Crispy and dry, shriveled and withered, the once green leaves of the oaks looked yellow, some falling away to join the dusty ground below. When you traveled to the lake to gather your offering, the water seemed putrid, mostly evaporated, leaving muddy banks to dry in the heat. It reeked a musk so awful; you wondered how even the fish stood it.

Come harvest, the looming hunger would cause an instability you feared. If the tradespeople hadn’t food, your people would not have even a foraged berry; the livestock not a blade of grass to chew.

“The council of elders dictated no fires, little lady.”

You jumped, turning to face Phillip Graves, your neighbor and ever-faithful watchdog for Elder Sheppard. Clutching the fabric of your dress, you licked your lips before tilting your chin up.

“Someone had to appeal to the gods about the drought. Or does the council think they can strong-arm the clouds to gather?” You bit. Pressing your lips together as Elder Sheppard followed behind his dog.

“My mother used to wear the robes of a priestess. I find it odd you wear those robes as well when the last of them burned with her body,” Sheppard noted.

The body of the last holy woman, who had mysteriously burnt to death in her home as her son had conveniently been away, was found with chains tethered to her body. Your family had always insinuated it was Sheppard who had murdered his mother and tried to cover it up, but there was no proof, no investigation.

Power begets power without hesitancy, and nothing made Sheppard hesitate.

“They were a gift, Elder-”

“Stolen or forged items ain’t gifts, little lady,” Phillip interrupted. He moved to stand beside you, circling you wolfishly. His grin never seemed to fit his face, always too small for proportion, a liar in disguise—a mutt of deception.

“How dare you imply such things about my character without proof?” You hissed, hands coming to clutch your skirts.

Phillip lurched forward, grabbing your arm. He tore your sleeve from your dress, the fabric popping at the delicate seams. You stepped back, only for him to hold your arm still in a grip that dimpled skin and muscle. Pain simmered below his touch, dancing with the fear curling in your throat. Philip glared at the tendrils of silver scars blessed to you by Kyle, god of Spring.

If Sheppard killed his mother, what would keep him from murdering you?

“Are there more marks?” the elder inquired, hooking a finger under your belt with a tug to suggest removing the garment altogether.

Enraged, you smacked his hand, retrieving your arm from Phillip’s death grip, “My body is none of your concern!”

“The safety of the village comes before you!” Graves sneered, yanking your skirts towards him until you toppled forward. His hands moved to your hips, and you shoved at him until his hand came sharply against your cheek, the sting of the slap making you gasp.

Phillip… had hit you. Your eyes stung with tears as you grappled against him, shoving your elbows and hands anywhere near his body until you were free, only to be pulled back by Sheppard.

“I think it’s time for you to learn your lesson on hearsay, foolish girl,” Shepard hissed. “The gods are unkind to those who take liberties.”

“I’ve found favor with them. Cannot learn a lesson that is not there,” you quaked. From the corner of your eye, Philip pulled his dagger from his belt, flipping the hilt. With one quick flash, he struck your temple, leaving you crumpled into the cracked, dusty ground.

The moonbeams blurred the walls covered in cobwebs, revealing a thin layer of dust on the floor. Your beloved temple once stood as the prized gem of your people, welcoming all to a haven of peace and community. Pushing into a sitting position, the room tilted like the waves of the rushing river. The darkness of the windowless temple entryway echoed with the dry summer winds, carrying nothing but the singing yearning of water from the plants.

Shepard and Graves deserved to be hung on the oak for treason against the gods, the people, and yourself. Your arms, once covered in Kyle’s beautiful marks, claiming you as beloved of spring, now were dotted with drying scratches and swollen welts of discolored skin from their harsh treatment.

“Happy summer solstice, I guess,” You huffed, slowly hobbling to your feet, using the locked door to bear your weight as the spinning room settled again.

There were worse prisons to be had than a dusty temple. At least in the dusty temple, you were safe and alone from those who wanted you dead. You furrowed your brow and pushed off of the wall, heading deeper into the holy rooms. If they had wanted you dead, they should have stabbed you.

“Gods help me,” you huffed, sitting on a bench along the hallway leading to the offering room. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the wall, feeling a touch of a headache thump harder against your skull.

“You called Fawn?”

You cracked open your eyes to see a man standing at the threshold of the altar room, beams of fire light flickering from the once dark room. He stood on his toes, seemingly bursting with energy, trying to go. Where he wanted to go, who knew? Perhaps he didn’t know himself?

“Johnny?” You guessed, gazing at the god of summer. His blue eyes glittered like gems as he nodded.

“As smart as you are, bonny, ain’t ya?” he teased, coming closer. Standing before you, he narrowed his eyes, moving your jaw to examine your temple. “Ach, that will do. What happened?”

“Got in trouble for trying to petition for your favor. Tore my dress and all,” you huffed. “Now I'm locked in here. I'm sure I can get out through the window in the east corridor if I break it.”

Johnny chuckled, holding your chin in both hands as he ran his thumb over your temple, smearing the blood. A breath of warmth trickled from his hand, allowing the skin to stitch together. Your eyes fluttered closed as you soaked in the warmth.

“You could. Or you can stay the night with me,” Johnny teased. “Feel better, Fawn?” He questioned, leaning down to place a kiss on the healed skin. Your face warmed, suddenly bashful of his affection.

“If you want, I’ll spend the night, Johnny,” You muttered as his nose brushed your cheek.

“Nae, spend it if ye want. If ye did nae want to, don’t. I want our Fawn to be comfortable above all.” He gave a bright grin before leaping to his feet and stepping back. Rocking on his feet, he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“I am comfortable with you. I wouldn’t accept it if I weren’t.” You stood, slipped your hand in his, and followed him into the offering room.

The offering room, dressed in old tapestries covered in dust and neglect, still looked magnificent and of the wealth the gods deserved to be honored with. The wealth came in the delicate hand-spun embroidery lace that decorated tables, and in the hair-line needlepoint stitches one of your ancestors had sewn into the tapestries. It was in the richly dyed fabrics of floor cushions and pillows, the foraged metal bowls with intricate silver detailing that held fruits Johnny fed you with.

Fruits that he summoned after you had explained the drought and how you ended up locked in the holy shelter. You chewed on your berry, leaning against him as he pulled you to his side once you sat. The god of the West absentmindedly brushed your arm or hand like he couldn’t help it, needing your skin like a lifeline. He looked at you similarly, leaning forward as you spoke, quietly nodding or humming under his breath, staring at you like you spoke words of newfound wisdom that were important to him. Words he held deep in his heart.

“I am sorry. You might think these problems in the village bellow you, as a god,” You murmured, bashful under his intensity. Setting your meal of fruits and other delicacies aside by your water glass, you let the god pull you into his side once more. “Drought and intrapersonal strife are not new in this world- certainly won’t end anytime soon either.”

“I ken what ye mean, Fawn,” Johnny kissed your hair as you turned into his chest, more so laying on top of the god. His hand slid down to your back, continually moving. “But Kyle was the one to start the drought. These are not normal climate patterns or political drama; they come from us because we protect ours. And you are ours, no?”

You blinked, lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. You understood the gods had wanted you. You wanted the gods in return. But the gods came and went with the seasons, only able to be in the village one at a time, Kyle had once told you. Not all gods were as peaceful as the four who loved and cherished one another. Allowing the gods to gather in groups in mortal lands would destroy people, animals, and the Earth.

“Have I not dedicated my life to the service of the gods?” You questioned. “I belong to you, but you are a god- gods. You cannot belong to me, a mortal.”

Soap hummed, kissing your forehead before saying, “Willne stop us from being loyal to ye. But you need to ask for help, Fawn. We canne help without mortal consent. If either of those haughty bastards lay a hand on ye again,” He tipped your chin up and brushed his nose against yours as he spoke. “I’ll kill them myself. I’ll hunt down their soul in the other world and kill it until nothing is left of them or their legacy.”

A breath caught in your throat. The god of Summer was serious, bluntly stating how he would end the most immortal parts of a human for you. You opened your mouth once, twice, three times to find the correct words to thank him, but it did not matter. His lip quirked into a smirk, knowing he had rendered you speechless. You scoffed quietly in disbelief yourself, smiling, as you reached forward and kissed him, crawling into his lap.

“Mmf, Kyle dinne say you were this eager,” Johnny teased between kisses, eagerly pulling at your hips to be closer.

“I learned it from Kyle,” You giggled, tugging the hem of your skirts to straddle the god of the West. Johnny laughed, finding his hands beneath your skirts, slithering to knee the softest parts of your legs and hips.

“That I believe, but no more eager than me. Might say he learned it from me, Fawn,” He muttered between kisses along your neck until his hands slid to your ass, groping you while pulling you forward, cunt flush with his aching cock. You inhaled sharply, looping your arms around his neck as you gave a gentle rock of your hips.

“Go on, Fawn, take what ye need,” Soap encouraged, pulling your robes from your body with reverence for the material and laying it on the floor with care. His eyes flickered to your breasts, hands itching up to cup your breasts as he mouthed at your nipple. Closing your eyes, your hips continued their gentle grind as he licked and sucked and nipped your skin. His hips started to roll, his cock pulsing under your slick heat.

“Wanna ride you, Johnny,” You muttered as you slid your hand to his cock, stroking him with slow, twisting motions. The god tilted his head forward, resting it on your neck as he groaned.

“Ye could ask to kill me, and I would say yes,” He chuckled.

“Wouldn’t want that. Whose pretty cock would I get to sit on, then?” You giggled. “Besides, you’re not the one I want dead.” Rising to your knees, Johnny moved his hands to your hips and leaned back to watch you sink on him with a groan.

“Ye, ye want someone dead?” Johnny cursed as he throbbed inside of your slick pussy.

“Thought it was obvious, darling,” You breathed, letting your hips come flush to his thighs.

Legs settling to his sides, you sat there momentarily, soaking in the feeling of being connected to the god. He radiated heat, chest pressing against your own until your hearts beat a wild back and forth, call and response. His hand slid along your spine as the other cupped your cheek to bring your lips to his.

Just as it had been with John and Kyle, when the sun rose, and the village awoke, so too would Johnny leave. The infinite curtain of the universe had once separated your two worlds of divinity and morality. Still, it had been risen for you to peek into, touching and tasking the tremendous edges of the divine.

“I adore you,” You whispered against his lips. “Come what may in the morning, I adore you.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it, Fawn,” Johnny teased, smirking. “Move those hips, Gaz won’t shut up about.” He smacked your ass, making you squeak and jolt, but his hands pushed your hips back down. Moaning, you tangled your hands in his hair as he bent his head to play with your tits.

“Fuck, Johnny,” You gasped as he moved a hand to your clit, following the tilt of your pelvis until that familiar heat simmered in your abdomen.

“Feel good, Fawn? Yer choking my cock, love.” Bending his knees, he planted a hand behind himself as an anchor and thrust his hips up, taking the breath from your lungs. Since he couldn’t rub your clit anymore, you rubbed yourself, clenching tighter and tighter as the heat in your body rose.

“Our good little mortal,” Johnny groaned. “So pretty dressed in her robes Price gifted you. Bet you would be prettier spread out on my altar, huh? Dripping on the cloth as I watch you gift me orgasms.”

“I,” You whined at a harsher thrust, hips chasing his for more.

“Dinne fash, Fawn. We all will get our orgasms from you, altar or not. You’re too beautiful not to be blissed out before us.”

Your body tightened. Wetness gushed around his cock as you came unexpectedly from his mouth. Your eyelids blurred with black and white streaks as blood rushed to your head. In all of it was Johnny’s steady thrusts and your slowing rubs, dragging you through your orgasm. Johnny grunted and came, watching his cum spurt along your folds.

You both laid back on the floor to catch your breaths, Johnny’s cock still standing at attention. Brushing your head down to the ends of your hair, he kissed you gently.

“We adore you too, Fawn. So much,” Johnny whispered. “Orgasms on our altar or not,” He joked.

“Well, that’s good. I’m sure plenty of women in the village would offer it if they knew.”

“Wouldne want them, just yours. Few in your village believe like you do. We don’t care for offerings made out of obligation.” Johnny stretched his arms up, bracketing them behind his head. “Price is thinking of how to set things right in your village. But it is difficult.”

“A good many things in life are difficult,” You agreed. “It just depends on the price you are willing to pay for peace.”

It came about Wednesday morning. You had escaped the temple days before with help from the god of Summer to find your home, thankfully untouched by the elders or their dogs. Remaining in your home or the wilds of the woods, clouds slowly gathered. Soap visited you as he could with gifts of food to sustain you and other necessities, so you did not have to go to market, but the darkness gathered.

When the storms came, winds carried the dust like leaves, pelting rocks at your walls. Thunder cracked open the skies and earth, shaking the home’s foundations. You prayed through the storm, thanking the god of summer for rain and praying that your village would not be flooded.

Most said it was an unfortunate coincidence when Phillip Graves’ home got struck and sparked like kindling.

Some said his home alight in the rain was as moving as the dawn of a new day, a reminder of nature’s might.

The smoldering embers of Phillip Graves’ home told another story as they pointed to the West, marking this as the divine punishment for his despicable behavior. That night, when Johnny entered your home, he gifted you a small cloth bag of charcoal, promising you the gods were not done working in your village.

Me again! Hope y'all enjoyed. Don't forget to comment/reblog.

If anyone knows how to format here, could you tell me how to get an extra space between paragraphs? Having everything scrunched together is driving me nuts. When I try manually, the format reverts to the original. Any tips/tricks are welcome :)

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eugenedebs1920 · 1 month ago

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This is the working class party? The Republicans? The working class party, the “GOP”, with 15 billionaires in the highest levels of government, actively tearing down protections and labor laws established for the middle class? The Republican Party that, in order to give MASSIVE, tax breaks to the wealthy will strip $190 million from kids with cancer? That to cut $2.5 trillion (which, might I add almost $6 trillion was added by trumps tax cuts last time) will cut social security that we’ve all paid into our entire working lives? Thats the party of the working class? The same party that has over and over again REFUSED to raise the minimum wage, has voted down guaranteed overtime? Thats the party of the working class? The same party that to pay for rich people to get richer wants to cut Medicare and Medicaid? That’s the party the has the middle class in its best interests?

Sure seems like it’s for the rich. Not for us.

They have somehow pinned us against each other over culture war bullsh*t, while they enrich themselves we get shafted…

Good job Republican voters! Keep up the good work 🙄

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atrwriting · 7 months ago

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chapter fourteen: the wolf and the dragon (modern!gangleader!aemond x barowner!reader)

look at that king prince ponder his war crimes

back with another installment of everyone's favorite toxic dragon rider in this modern au

as always, warnings: no smut, violence, death of lucerys

chapter fourteen...

you awoke to aemond’s arm wrapped tightly around your midsection. his strong arm smelled like musk and fading soap, and there was nothing that could ever compare to it. you could feel his breath on the back of your neck and shivers went up your spine. every hair on your body stood up, ready at attention when you felt his body shift and pull you closer into him. his body was pressed firmly against yours and for a split second… you could’ve forgotten the traumatic events of the last few days. all you could feel was his warmth and how fucking nice it felt. reality was a bitch of a bitch, and it began to nag at your nerves as you began to think about all of the problems that sat outside your door. a stark, like yourself — now that deserved a scoff from each of your family members. how could you be such a coward, hiding in your —

“i was right,” he grunted into your hair, interrupting your thoughts.

“about what?” you yawned.

“you’re a terrible bed mate,” he spat. “you steal blankets.”

you giggled, throwing blankets over him to share the warmth. you nuzzled your weight back against him and sighed, content.

“i meant it when i said i would make it up to you,” he spoke against your neck. “i don’t intend on making the same mistakes again.”

you hummed. “you can make it up to me by letting me sleep.”

“that probably won’t be happening, sweetheart,” he whispered.

you grunted. "you want to get off my black list? why?"

“because aegon has been itching to come in this room.”

you pushed yourself to your elbows then, staring at him in disbelief and anger. how could you have not known? how could aegon not have made his presence known, and how could aemond not tell you?

“where is he?!”

“the living room,” aemond sighed, indifferent.

you scoffed and sent aemond a glare. he shrugged.

fucking asshole.

“aegon!” you called. “come in!”

immediately, you heard footsteps. they were heavy, and fast, but not faster than the turning of the doorknob. aemond and you were much too tired to turn away, and aegon was too greedy to give you time to put yourselves together.

“lovebirds!” he sang. “i am so glad we have chosen to leave our troubles in the past, especially since we have quite large fish to fry today.”

you groaned loudly into the pillow. “what is it with targaryen men not letting me sleep?!”

you peaked from underneath your blanket to look at aegon. surprisingly, he did not appear or even smell like he had been near alcohol in some time. his eyes weren't bloodshot, his hair wasn’t as messy, and he wasn’t shaky or dazed.

you grew concerned.

you pulled the sheet up towards your collar bone, eyeing aegon with worry. your lips parted softly in disbelief as your eyes narrowed onto his form. you watched him narrow his eyes back at you with an equal mount of concern, but also confusion.

you finally asked your pressing question.

“aegon,” you began. “are you… sober?”

“unfortunately, my dear... yes,” he spoke. “enough chit chat. i have a plan. a shit plan, but a plan nonetheless."

---

aegon’s bright idea was a bit uncomfortable, but safest for everyone involved.

first there was a matter of the bar.

a son had been killed, which was considered one of the highest offenses — even if it could be legally considered to not be aemond’s fault.

it was a hard decision, but you closed the bar for a week to keep your employees away for their own safety. you gave them all a paid week of vacation, possible as the bands from the nights prior had allowed you a little extra money to be able to do so. the money from the entertainment was supposed to be a cushion for unforeseen events, but you reasoned with yourself that this was as good of an unforeseen event as any. it hurt you, and your wallet — but safety was the highest priority.

there was also a matter of the safety and integrity of the building and your home above it. aegon had stated that you were also not safe within its walls, and unfortunately you could see his logic behind it. a broken clock is right twice a day, and apparently a drunken asshole like aegon had to get a lick in somewhere. working above your place of business only provided convenience in some areas. when it came to the matter that the business below it was in danger, so was your home. it was a hard decision, but the choice to vacate the premises for the time being was in everyone’s best interest.

not before you put in a security system, however. if someone was going to burn down your building, you were going to get them on tape. the “j.d.” at the end of your name provided you with some feeling of safety and assurance in times such as these, especially the friends you made because of it down at the local police station and county clerk’s office, even if wasn’t of much use to you before this situation.

the next part of the plan… was the most uncomfortable for you.

you would be living with the targaryen family — yes, family… not just the brothers — for the time being, for at least a week. when you described it as a house, they reinforced that it was an estate. you raised your eyebrow at the word choice, as it was the twenty-first century and the word estate usually meant a legal entity, rather than a physical one. rest assured, the targaryens meant an actual estate.

and it was fucking massive.

it looked like something that came out of the old history books.

gravel roadways, fine green grass, elegant flower bushes adorning walkways, gray stone spanning at least a half a mile high, and the classics statutes look as if they were stolen out of those books. the targaryens had always portrayed themselves as royalty, but now… being here… it was like they actually were.

you should’ve known, honestly. the targaryens were an old, powerful family, and there was no reason why they wouldn’t be in possession of one, with many rooms, with many inhabitants, many staff members, and many acres. the dwelling itself was, for lack of a better word — royal.

you almost didn’t believe it when aemond’s motorcycle came to a halt on the gravel road leading up to its massive front doors.

doors. plural. not door, and definitely not singular.

“seven hells..." you rasped from behind him, unlatching your hands from around his waist.

“new relations do not usually call for meeting families so soon… but, unfortunately, you’re about to become quite acquainted with my mother.”

you smiled. “brought a bottle of rose just for her.”

he clenched his jaw. “how did you know it was her favorite?”

you quirked an eyebrow at him. “i remember important details, aemond, especially when i need to be a kiss up.”

the walk from where they parked their bikes to the front doors was a long one. the expensive gravel underneath your feet crunched, and you had half a mind to steal aemond's bike and never look back. however, it was hard to jump ship when aemond's heavy hand was at your lower waist and forced you upwards towards the threshold of the entryway to his home. his massive fucking home...

"this is a terrible plan," you muttered.

"my mother will love you," aegon scoffed.

it was aemond's turn to scoff. "this is the first place they would think us to be, aegon."

"what, they're going to destroy the mansion that rhaenyra feels entitled to?" aegon scoffed once more, making his descent towards the double front doors. he shook his head as if he couldn't believe that aemond would question him.

aegon walked ahead of you two, leaving you and aemond to walk in stride together. you wanted to take his hand, but you were worried that you would be rejected. it took aemond far too long to finally come to turn with his feelings — you weren't sure if he was ready to make it apparent to the rest of his family.

"is your mother involved in your... business?" you ventured.

aemond swallowed. "the... business that can be made public, yes. she is the face for it. our grandfather, otto, has a hand in both. my mother's bodyguard, cole, mainly protects my mother from any threats that make themselves apparent... in light of my business."

"so she'll be fine with the bartender showing up next to you?" you attempted to joke.

"aegon was right: she will love you," aemond answered, but did not elaborate. "she will also just be happy that a clothed woman shows up with aegon."

"she'll just be happy any woman at all shows up with aemond," aegon threw over his shoulder. "clothed or not."

you giggled, flashing bright eyes at aemond. he rolled his eyes at his brother's and almost threw him a snarl, or shot him — but it was almost as if he would feel you turn your head towards him, catching his attention. it was then that aemond faced you, and smiled with you. your gaze softened at him, and you couldn't help but let the warmth wash over you.

"no chick flick moments," you spat, but your smile remained.

"then why're you blushing, hmm?"

you swatted at his arm, and he chuckled once more.

when you had finally walked through the threshold of the mansion, you felt your breath catch in your throat. the guards had opened the doors for the three of you, and you fell into place between aegon and aemond. they guided you to the left, where alicent, otto, and cole were in the living room.

alicent's dark eyes were filled with torment. she had a protective hand placed on the pendant of her religious amulet, while her free hand held her other elbow. her lips were pursed in worry, but when her eyes met her sons... she fled for them.

"are either of you hurt?" she gushed, standing before you. her eyes flickered between both of her sons, each of her hands reaching out to grasp one of their arms. you stepped backwards, hoping to give them their intimate moment, but aegon and aemond both reached back to steady your back and keep you in place. you could've killed them, but you wouldn't have had time. alicent's eyes met yours. "you... you're from the bar."

you swallowed. "yes, mrs. targaryen. i'm sorry to have, um... intruded."

"you're not intruding," both brothers spat, keeping their eyes on their mother.

you swallowed again, eyes averting to anything in the room you thought could save you.

alicent spoke next. "please... everyone, sit. we have much to discuss."

when they all retreated to their seats and alicent wavered in front of you, you took that as your cue to reach into your bag and take out what you brought for her. a bottle of rose.

"mrs. targaryen... I know you probably didn't expect to see me today..." you began, holding the bottle out for her. "but i remembered that this was your favorite."

she took the bottle in her hands and inspected the label with intense eyes. from behind her, both otto and cole stepped towards her and fell behind her once she had taken the bottle from you. you honestly meant it as a nice gesture, but you realized then that the men were worried for alicent's safety. once aemond and aegon realized what was happening, they stepped towards the group.

"we should have the kitchen inspect it, daughter," her father stated. "these are... times where you can never be too cautious."

you scrunched your eyebrows. "i'm sorry... it's sealed, so i figured it was safe. it's a gift for you, but if you would feel more comfortable if I took the first sip... i wouldn't mind."

"no, that's alright," alicent whispered, raising her gaze to yours. "let us share it. the seven know we need it."

you smiled sadly at her, and she returned your smile.

"count me in," aegon shouted from his place, providing comic relief for the group.

aemond glared at his brother.

“perhaps it would be best to discuss family business in private,” otto spoke to his daughter as his gaze resting upon you.

“she stays,” alicent replied, eyes now on you. “she’s clothed and she’s been seen in daylight — so she’s not aegon’s.”

“excuse—“ aegon’s voice was heard, but it was halted by a thud into his side that could be heard from behind you.

“we are seeing each other, mother,” aemond replied.

your breath caught in your throat, your gaze threatening to drift down to where aemond’s shoes were on the floor beside you. you wanted to hide — behind aemond, behind aegon, hands over your eyes — anything to escape the heavy gaze from otto hightower who seemed to loom over you.

you felt a hand on your shoulder, and your eyes snapped to it.

it was that of a woman’s.

alicent’s.

“i am happy to have you here, dear," she spoke. "for my son, of course — but now i finally have someone to shake a bottle of pink with."

"alicent —" began otto, before he was interrupted.

"sit." alicent's order was final.

dinner in the targaryen mansion was… weird, to say the least.

okay — very weird.

not only was it weird — but it was silent. absolutely fucking silent. the type of silent that makes you nervous to swallow, lest the sound fills the entire fucking room. you couldn’t help the feeling of wiping your mouth after bite because even though the brothers were clad in black leather and walked hand in hand with debauchery, their table manners were nothing less than impeccable.

you didn’t not dare speak — hoping, praying that aemond. fuck — you’d even settle for fucking aegon to say something inappropriate at this point. anything. just fucking anything.

but there was nothing. you sat in between aemond and aegon, waiting for everyone to finish their food and for this to all be over.

the entire family dined together, except for cole — who stood guard by the door, casting a judgmental glance towards you every now and then. you had half a mind to excuse yourself and find the nearest bathroom, but aemond and aegon both looked unbothered.

that was until the door opened.

two white haired children ran through the door into the elaborate dining room.

twins. a boy and a girl.

and they ran straight for aegon.

aegon immediately pushed his chair away from the table to allow both children to run into his lap.

you sat there, stunned. you watched as aegon pulled them both into a hug, overcome with joy.

that was when aemond leaned forward, whispering into your ear.

"his children," he whispered.

"they're beautiful," you responded.

"oi! — rude manners on both of you, aye?" aegon spun in his seat, ready to introduce you to his son and daughter. "this is jaehaera and jaehaerys. say hello to uncle aemond's girlfriend."

who knew such beautiful kids could come from a handsome, yet rancid man like aegon. they were blonde, purple-eyed toddlers who had as big of a smile as their father. your eyes found aegon's face then, who... for once... looked happy. happy. actually happy.

you laughed then, and aegon joined in.

"very nice to meet you both," you smiled.

"leave her be, aegon," aemond grunted.

you side-eyed aemond and scoffed before turning back to the children. you leaned forward, placing a hand to cover the side of your mouth. purposefully, you loudly whispered to the children, "uncle aemond is very grumpy."

the children giggled and aegon joined in.

someone clear their throat from across the table. you had only been acquainted with the folk in this house for a few hours, but otto hightower had cleared his throat enough for you to be able to recognize it without seeing it. you would've rolled your eyes if you did not feel his stare burning into the side of your head.

"grandpa's grumpy, too," aegon spat, setting his children down. "take a seat children."

"aegon —" otto began.

"jaehaerys is my heir, and jaehaera is his sister," aegon spat, losing all of his joy from before. "they stay."

otto did not disagree.

"enough," aemond spat. "it is time we discuss the manner at hand."

you stayed silent as the family spoke.

"i agree, grandson — what were you thinking?" otto spat, apprently not one to wait. "a boy is dead!"

"a boy who once took my brother's eye," aegon spat. "it was an accident — but do we really need to mourn him?"

otto slammed a heavy fist onto the table. "we mourn not him, but our safety! our security! do you have any idea what this has done?"

"father..." alicent spoke, her gaze threatening to look upon the face of her father rather than straight head onto the table.

"what will lecturing me do, grandsire?" aemond spat, holding the eye contact with otto that his daughter couldn't muster. "an accident, yes — but one i do not grieve. we need to think of our next move, not waste the time before they enact theirs."

otto raised his eyebrows in disbelief, the shake of his head following in suit. with one heavy, deep breath — the closest thing otto hightower would get to a cleansing, deep breath — he finally spoke.

"his death was officially ruled an accident, even without our connections in the police department," he sighed. "it was an accident — but rhaenyra will not see it as so."

"no," alicent spoke, leaning back into her chair and sighing. she raised the glass of pink wine to her lips as she stare straight ahead, through the chairs and very walls of the mansion that stood in the path of her gaze. she looked far and wide, lost in her own aimless stare, but the answer was not there — nor was rhaenyra, nor rhaenyra's forgiveness. you saw it in alicent's eyes then — as most likely did everyone else. the realization. the torment. the guilt. the shame. the betrayal. the doom. alicent's final words were the final words on the topic of the accident, and the final nail in the coffin of lucerys velaryon. "no. rhaenyra will not."

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mylionheart2 · 3 months ago

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spicyicetea · 2 years ago

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My dearest soulmate

So some people wanted a Ganondorf version of my Calamity!reader so I'm finally writing it, enjoy.

An old proverb. Oral legend passed down through the Gerudo families for centuries. Their king, who is only born every century, and his fated love. Many reject this as the truth. Their desire for the king to be free to conquer Hyrule is so strong that they hide the legend. One slip up is all it took for all that work to come undone.

"What did you say?" The King's voice boomed, demanding and harsh.

The servant quivered in fear as her friend stepped forward to explain.

"We were just speaking about an old story we heard from our mothers as children my king. Our apologies for angering you."

"What story? The beginning was similar to an old legend I have read about, this may be the end of what I desire to learn!" He grins, staring down at them.

The shortest woman gulped and began to recite the story as she remembered it,

"Once every 100 years, a king will be born into the Gerudo royal family. He shall bring forth an era of change and power to the Gerudo people. This legendary king will fall victim to a knight chosen by the Sword that seals the darkness. A cycle of pain that can only be broken through union of the king and the Lady of Calamity."

"Lady of Calamity? I haven't yet heard this part of my legend." "Yes... this has been ignored as the Gerudo people of the past could never find her and assumed she didn't exist."

"Well, if she is what I require to win, than we shall find her. Prepare the army, we do not sleep until that woman is found!" The King yelled, walking off to arm himself.

---POV CHANGE---

It was a normal day for the young elven woman. The dark bubbling malice followed her feet padding along the grass through the forest. Her home. She had no choice but to hide from the village people she once regarded as family who exiled her once her powers had emerged. An ancient legend caused her to be thrown to the wolves by her former friends, although it did mean she would avoid execution. Words uttered by Hylians of old had doomed her to a life of solitary suffering unless she succumbed to the fate the world had set for her. But, she would never. Why in the world would she throw herself into the arms of pure and utter evil. Ganondorf. Her soulmate.

Although she had never met him, obviously, the tales of the crimes he had committed against her kind made her fear the man. She herself knew she was far from weak, the malice that follows her beck and call protects her well enough. Yet, she was apparently, his win condition for his atrocities. Just because her people betrayed her, doesn't mean she will betray them.

A dense unsettling air settled over the forest. Y/N felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she glanced around the trees cautiously. An arrow whizzed by her face and she jumped back, falling down as a heavy foot was brought down on her chest.

"Stay down Hylian!" The Gerudo woman commanded. "We look for the Lady of Calamity, have you heard that name? Many say she's as tall as us Gerudo and as strong as a Lynel."

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. Perhaps she could hide who she was by lying and going along with the rumors they had heard. Yes, that's a great way to escape!

"Ah, yes! She resides in a nearby village. She protects them from monster attacks." She said hurried in a soft voice.

The Gerudo woman nodded and removed her foot from Y/N's chest. She sat up and held the aching ribs, the pain soon dissipating from fear. An intense wave of nausea overcame her as a strange smell filled her nose. The hot desert sand, Warm Saffina oil and a faint dizzying musk. Her vision shook as she lent down, wiping sweat from her brow.

On the other side of the thick treeline the Gerudo King was having a similar struggle. His head became clouded with the strange pounding of his heart, echoing through his body. The fresh scent of the forest was pierced by a sinful sweet smell. Every step he took, following the scent made him feel as if he was going to collapse. His warriors followed him as he made his way past the trees, staring directly at the meek woman on the floor.

"Lord Ganondorf, are you alright?"

"Stay away," The woman groaned. "I haven't fought for so long to lose to you now, you beast."

"Do not speak to the King like that," One of the warriors yelled, but was silenced as Ganondorf chuckled.

"Look at me woman, where is she?"

"where is who? I do not know the woman you seek! Leave me be!" She growls, ripping at the grass beneath her hands to stay calm.

Ganondorf just chuckles darkly, standing over the woman.

"I know she is here, my wife, my queen to be. Now where does she hide?"

"Nowhere! I live alone in these woods, I do not know the woman you seek. I have never seen a single woman around these parts as tall as any of you!" She declared in rush.

"You're lying, I can sense her!" The King yelled yanking her up by her arm to finally look at him.

The moments their eyes locked he could feel himself fall apart. Her lashes shielded most of her eyes from his gaze, yet the iris' he could see filled him with a strange sensation. Y/N felt her knees buckle and immediately fall apart as he grabbed her, a dull heat drumming where he had made contact, as well as forming deep knots in her abdomen. Her lips parted as she panted, a strange heat settling over the two despite the chill winds in the forest. Ganondorf felt his body begin to hunger for the small woman, noticing the malice prepared to catch her should he drop her. Although, he didn't plan to. Lust. That described the immense, powerful sensation that was taking over his mind. An unstoppable, violent desire to part her thighs and control her small form. His people would worship her, similar to how he already did. She stared up at him in fear, his mind still caught in a trance.

"Ganondorf?" She muttered, worried he would kill her then and there.

The small whimpers just inspired more sinful desires. For her to scream his name into the cold desert nights to consummate their marriage, only his body heat to warm her small, fragile form. Months later for her to have the Gerudo guards at her beck and call as she relaxed in their bed, plump with his young. Years later small red-headed children running around her legs as she carried their youngest child, greeting him back from a battle. Yes, it was all perfect. He would conquer Hyrule for her. For his wife.

I hope you sinners enjoyed that, I know I did. I'm gonna tag those who I saw asking for it so they get notifs. If you like this then go check out my other pieces of writing! Thanks and bye!

Tagged: @professor-petty @simp-erman @kujogoofzeus

#legend of zelda botw #legend of zelda tears of the kingdom #legend of zelda breath of the wild #legend of zelda x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #ganondorf x reader #ganondorf #ganon #yandere #soulmates

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months ago

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de Adder

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

November 8, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Nov 09, 2024

Social media has been flooded today with stories of Trump voters who are shocked to learn that tariffs will raise consumer prices as reporters are covering that information. Daniel Laguna of LevelUp warned that Trump’s proposed 60% tariff on Chinese imports could raise the costs of gaming consoles by 40%, so that a PS5 Pro gaming system would cost up to $1,000. One of the old justifications for tariffs was that they would bring factories home, but when the $3 billion shoe company Steve Madden announced yesterday it would reduce its imports from China by half to avoid Trump-promised tariffs, it said it will shift production not to the U.S., but to Cambodia, Vietnam, Mexico, and Brazil.

There are also stories that voters who chose Trump to lower household expenses are unhappy to discover that their undocumented relatives are in danger of deportation. When CNN’s Dana Bash asked Indiana Republican senator-elect Jim Banks if undocumented immigrants who had been here for a long time and integrated into the community would be deported, Banks answered that deportation should include “every illegal in this country that we can find.” Yesterday a Trump-appointed federal judge struck down a policy established by the Biden administration that was designed to create an easier path to citizenship for about half a million undocumented immigrants who are married to U.S. citizens.

Meanwhile, Trump’s advisors told Jim VandeHei and MIke Allen of Axios that Trump wasted valuable time at the beginning of his first term and that they will not make that mistake again. They plan to hit the ground running with tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations, deregulation, and increased gas and oil production. Trump is looking to fill the top ranks of the government with “billionaires, former CEOs, tech leaders and loyalists.”

After the election, the wealth of Trump-backer Elon Musk jumped about $13 billion, making him worth $300 billion. Musk, who has been in frequent contact with Russian president Vladimir Putin, joined a phone call today between President-elect Trump and Ukraine president Volodymyr Zelensky.

In Salon today, Amanda Marcotte noted that in states all across the country where voters backed Trump, they also voted for abortion rights, higher minimum wage, paid sick and family leave, and even to ban employers from forcing their employees to sit through right-wing or anti-union meetings. She points out that 12% of voters in Missouri voted both for abortion rights and for Trump.

Marcotte recalled that Catherine Rampell and Youyou Zhou of the Washington Post showed before the election that voters overwhelmingly preferred Harris’s policies to Trump’s if they didn’t know which candidate proposed them. An Ipsos/Reuters poll from October showed that voters who were misinformed about immigration, crime, and the economy tended to vote Republican, while those who knew the facts preferred Democrats. Many Americans turn for information to social media or to friends and family who traffic in conspiracy theories. As Angelo Carusone of Media Matters put it: “We have a country that is pickled in right-wing misinformation and rage.”

In The New Republic today, Michael Tomasky reinforced that voters chose Trump in 2024 not because of the economy or inflation, or anything else, but because of how they perceived those issues—which is not the same thing. Right-wing media “fed their audiences a diet of slanted and distorted information that made it possible for Trump to win,” Tomasky wrote. Right-wing media has overtaken legacy media to set the country’s political agenda not only because it’s bigger, but because it speaks with one voice, “and that voice says Democrats and liberals are treasonous elitists who hate you, and Republicans and conservatives love God and country and are your last line of defense against your son coming home from school your daughter.”

Tomasky noted how the work of Matthew Gertz of Media Matters shows that nearly all the crazy memes that became central campaign issues—the pet-eating story, for example, or the idea that the booming economy was terrible—came from right-wing media. In those circles, Vice President Kamala Harris was a stupid, crazed extremist who orchestrated a coup against President Joe Biden and doesn’t care about ordinary Americans, while Trump is under assault and has been for years, and he’s “doing it all for you.”

Investigative reporter Miranda Green outlined how “pink slime” newspapers, which are AI generated from right-wing sites, turned voters to Trump in key swing state counties. Republican strategist Sarah Longwell, who studies focus groups, told NPR, “When I ask voters in focus groups if they think Donald Trump is an authoritarian, the #1 response by far is, ‘What is an authoritarian?’”

In a social media post, Marcotte wrote: “A lot of voters are profoundly ignorant. More so than in the past.” That jumped out to me because there was, indeed, an earlier period in our history when voters were “pickled in right-wing misinformation and rage.”

In the 1850s, white southern leaders made sure that voters did not have access to news that came from outside the American South, and instead steeped them in white supremacist information. They stopped the mail from carrying abolitionist pamphlets, destroyed presses of antislavery newspapers, and drove antislavery southerners out of their region.

Elite enslavers had reason to be concerned about the survival of their system of human enslavement. The land boom of the 1840s, when removal of Indigenous peoples had opened up rich new lands for settlement, had priced many white men out of the market. They had become economically unstable, roving around the country working for wages or stealing to survive. And they deeply resented the fabulously wealthy enslavers who they knew looked down on them.

In 1857, North Carolinian Hinton Rowan Helper wrote a book attacking enslavement. No friend to his Black neighbors, Helper was a virulent white supremacist. But in The Impending Crisis of the South: How to Meet It, he used modern statistics to prove that slavery destroyed economic opportunity for white men, and assailed “the illbreeding and ruffianism of the slaveholding officials.” He noted that voters in the South who did not own slaves outnumbered by far those who did. "Give us fair play, secure to us the right of discussion, the freedom of speech, and we will settle the difficulty at the ballot-box,” he wrote.

In the North the book sold like hotcakes—142,000 copies by fall 1860. But southern leaders banned the book, and burned it, too. They arrested men for selling it and accused northerners of making war on the South. Politicians, newspaper editors, and ministers reinforced white supremacy, warned that the end of slavery would mean race war, and preached that enslavement was God’s law.

When northern voters elected Abraham Lincoln in November 1860 on a platform of containing enslavement in the South, where the sapped soil would soon cut into production, southern leaders decided—usually without the input of voters—to secede from the Union. As leaders promised either that there wouldn’t be a fight, or that if a fight happened it would be quick and painless, poor southern whites rallied to the cause of creating a nation based on white supremacy, reassured by South Carolina senator James Chesnut’s vow that he would personally drink all the blood shed in any threatened civil war.

When Confederate forces fired on Fort Sumter in April 1861, poor white men set out for what they had come to believe was an imperative cause to protect their families and their way of life. By 1862 their enthusiasm had waned, and leaders passed a conscription law. That law permitted wealthy men to hire a substitute and exempted one man to oversee every 20 enslaved men, providing another way for rich men to keep their sons out of danger. Soldiers complained it was a “rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight.”

By 1865 the Civil War had killed or wounded 483,026 men out of a southern white population of about five and a half million people. U.S. armies had pushed families off their lands, and wartime inflation drove ordinary people to starvation. By 1865, wives wrote to their soldier husbands to come home or there would be no one left to come home to.

Even those poor white men who survived the war could not rebuild into prosperity. The war took from the South its monopoly of global cotton production, locking poor southerners into profound poverty from which they would not begin to recover until the 1930s, when the New Deal began to pour federal money into the region.

Today, when I received a slew of messages gloating that Trump had won the election and that Republican voters had owned the libs, I could not help but think of that earlier era when ordinary white men sold generations of economic aspirations for white supremacy and bragging rights.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#deAdder #Political Cartoons #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #american history #history #The American south #the Civil War #misinformation #disinformation #crazy memes

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