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thekinkyleopard · 6 months ago

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Oopsie Daisies

An Al X Kanai Snz Fic

⚠️Content Warning:⚠️

Force Induce, Allergies, Snz, Smut

Description: This fic is loosely based off the following prompt by @hetchiew

Author’s Notes: So because I’m a big ball of chaotic stress from all the curve balls life is hitting me with I’ve decided to try to write a short snz fic based off a prompt given to me by @aller-geez something easy to work with. Hope yall are thirsty for some Hell Boys 🫡 Kanai is owned by Geezie and she did the cover art as always 🥰🫶🏻

Just another day, a Wednesday, the apartment was quiet and all that could be heard was the light scuffle of pacing feet as Alistar tried to come up with a plan for the day. The red headed demon was feeling antsy, on one, like he couldn’t rest until there was sin surrounding him. It had been weeks since he’d pulled any antics or crazy schemes out from under his sleeves, he’s feeling, empty..restless. The anti-Christ scratches his chin wearily, deep in thought as he shuffled through the filing cabinet of trouble installed within his brain.

“Morning Donnie,” suddenly snapped from his trance as he turns to meet eye contact with his best friend.

“Nai,” he nods in response, looking the hound up and down as the gears started turning slowly in his corrupted head. Draeko was still asleep from a long night with his best friend Levi, but Kanai was up and ready for the day, already showered and dressed as he shuffled through the freezer for the blood worms he fed his salt waters every morning. “Hey, bud, whatcha up to?” Alistar asked casually as he leaned up against the entrance way of their small kitchen.

“Hm? Just caring for the aquatics this morning, is there something you need, Donnie?” The navy haired man turned to look at his best friend with the freezer door still opened, an empty, distance stare from his heterochromatic gaze.

“I’m considering it,” the red eyed demon looked the man up and down, a hungry gleam hidden behind his observant leer.

“Oh? Well, do let me know how I can help,” Kanai nods once before turning to his search, reaching in to pull out the packet of worms, closing the door and beginning the process of separating out the servings for his fish. Once he finished his first steps in the process he began to trail back into his room quietly, Al following closely behind him.

Alistar observed Kanai's every move with an intense focus, his eyes tracking each precise motion as if committing them to memory. He found himself oddly drawn to the meticulous way in which Kanai handled the delicate creatures in his care, a stark contrast to Alistar's own chaotic and impulsive nature.

As Kanai carefully sprinkled the bloodworms into the aquarium, the red head crept closer, his curiosity piqued by the colorful array of fish darting eagerly towards their meal. He watched as Kanai's expression softened, a rare moment of peace settling over his features as he gazed at the underwater world he had been cultivating.

Unable to resist the temptation to disrupt this tranquility, Alistar reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, casually lighting it with a smirk playing on his lips. The acrid smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of saltwater and bloodworms.

Kanai's sharp inhale was suddenly stuttered as he found it difficult to breathe amongst the tainted air. His chest suddenly tight and his nose suddenly very itchy. “A-Alistar….Y-you know I can’t st-stand that sme-HEH..’Kkssshuuh! kngt’SHHEW!” It exploded out of him unexpectedly, a cloud of saliva sprinkling the space in front of them.

Alistar's smirk widened at the familiar sound of Kanai's sudden sneeze attack, a sure sign that his allergies were being triggered by the smoke. He tried to act innocent, as if he had simply forgotten about Kanai's sensitivities, but deep down he relished in the damage he was causing. His excitement grew as he thought about how much worse he could make it, the heat rising within him like a smoldering fire.

As Kanai struggled to regain his composure, Alistar nonchalantly took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around him like a sinister dance. The hound’s nose twitched and scrunched as it tickled his sensibilities…he inhaled just barely and another set came flying loosely out of his mouth. Spittle flying freely in the air to Alistar’s entertainment. “huh’KIISSHH’ah! Eh’Kgsssshii!” Al watched with a predatory gleam in his eyes as Kanai's face reddened and itched in discomfort, trying to clear the air with a few quick swipes of his hand.

"Oopsie Daisies, my bad," Alistar feigned innocence, his voice silky smooth with an underlying edge of mischief. "I guess I forgot about your allergy there Nai, apologies,” he chuckled loosely taking another long drag before putting it out on his tongue. “Let me go get you some tissue hm?” he swallowed the rancid mixture of ash and tobacco down his throat without so much as a wince, placing the rest of the stoge in the pack to be relit later.

Alistar left the room with a sly smile playing on his lips, a plan already forming in his mind. He made his way down the hallway to his own room, where he kept a small vial of chhinkni powder tucked away in a secret compartment. “It’s time…” he whispered sinisterly to himself. The powder was rare and potent, known for causing intense sneezing fits when inhaled. As he carefully sprinkled a pinch of the chhinkni powder onto a tissue, Alistar couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the thought of what was to come. “This is going to be so fucking awesome…” snickering almost inaudibly. He had been saving this powder for a special occasion, and what better time to use it than now?

With the laced tissue in hand, Alistar made his way back to Kanai's room, his steps light and silent as he approached. He knocked on the door before pushing it open, revealing Kanai still struggling to rid the room of the lingering smoke and his insistent sneezes. “iihGUSHou!” it burst out of him the moment the red head walked back into the space.

"Hey Nai, got you that tissue you needed,” Alistar held out the tainted material with a falsely sympathetic smile, his eyes glinting mischievously as he watched Kanai's expression shift from confusion to suspicion. Without a word, and despite his better judgement, Kanai reached out to take the tissue, his movements slow and deliberate as if he sensed something was amiss.

As soon as Kanai's fingers made contact with the laced tissue, and he brought it within an inch of his nose, a violent sneeze ripped through his body, doubling him over with the force of it. "hIH’IKTSHhh'uuhh!” Kanai staggered back against the one bare wall in his room, his eyes wide with shock as the fit consumed him in a relentless storm, electricity jolting to the tips of his toes and fingers. “Hih’KSSSSHH’uh!”

Alistar couldn't contain his grin while he watched Kanai struggle against the relentless attack on his sensitive reddening nose, each convulsion wracking his body mercilessly. The red-headed demon felt a rush of exhilaration at the mess he had unleashed, the thrill of seeing his best friend crumble at the work of his hands, he could feel himself harden in his already tight jeans. “You’re so fucking hot like that..” he licked his lips stepping closer to the hound who looked as though he was trying to fight away another oncoming storm.

“D-Donnie p-please stay back I’ll….KNGT’ssHEW!” out burst a plume of wet, sticky mist that made direct contact with Alistar’s approaching face. The red eyed demon grinned and brought his thumb up to wipe the mess off his chin, only to stick it in his mouth and groan.

“Delicious,” he cooed darkly, his voice thick and smooth like expensive chocolate. While he licked his thumb clean, Alistar's gaze dropped with desire watching Kanai's struggle intensify. The force and power he held over his best friend ignited a fire within him, primal and intoxicating. With a predatory grace, he moved closer to Kanai, the air between them charged with tension and unspoken lusts. Al looked hungrily at the other as he placed both his hands at either side of the man’s head on the wall behind them.

Kanai's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety at the dangerous game Al was playing. Deep down, a part of him relished in the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, even as his body continued to convulse with each sneeze that wracked his frame. He would rather cut off every limb on his body than admit it out loud, however.

Alistar's hand reached out to tilt Kanai's chin up, his touch surprisingly gentle against the chaos he had wrought. "You're so delightful in your vulnerability, Nai," he murmured, his voice low and husky with need as his lips and teeth snapped at the hound’s mouth, a teasing gesture. "Such beauty while you huff, puff and drip from your mouth…” he swiped his thumb just under the hound’s moistened lip. “I am ever so hungry, my friend,” the sentence came out in a dangerously low tone that Kanai was all too familiar.

Kanai's breath caught in his throat at Alistar's sudden proximity, the air around them crackling with a dangerous energy that left him feeling both exhilarated and terrified. He sniffled nervously, but also because he was still fighting the urges against him, the powder still lingering in Al’s closed fist just next to him. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within him, his body betraying him with its response to the demon before him. “D-Donnie…” he tried to reason but was met with a side smirk that immediately caused him to pause.

As Alistar's thumb traced under his lip, Kanai felt a shiver run down his spine, his skin tingling at the soft touch. Despite the chaos and discomfort that still gripped him, there was an undeniable pull towards the red-headed demon that he couldn't quite explain, there always had been. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, the line between discomfort and arousal blurring in the haze of lingering sneezes and unspoken tension.

Alistar leaned in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to Kanai's own, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a thrill of anticipation through the hound's trembling form, and yet he stood back, only to cuff his closed fist around the other’s nose, holding the tainted tissue within his palm, and pushed it up against his best friend’s nostrils with a force that took the hound by surprise.

Kanai's bright blue and brown eyes widened in shock as the chhinkni powder reached his nose, invading his senses with a sharp, pungent sting that made his head spin. He gasped, trying to turn away, but Alistar's grip on him was firm and unyielding.

The demon’s laughter rang out, dark and twisted, as he watched Kanai's face contort in a mix of surprise and discomfort. Watching his nose stretch and twist, eyes squinting shut to fight against it. The sneezing fit that followed was like nothing Kanai had ever experienced before - each convulsion wracked his entire body, making him double over in agony, kept up soley by the weight of the other. “hIH’IKTSHhh’uuuh!! Kngt’SHHEW! iihGUSH!” His chest tightened, his throat burned, and his eyes watered uncontrollably as he fought the relentless onslaught.

Through tear-blurred vision, Kanai could see Alistar's twisted grin, the gleam of sadistic pleasure in his crimson eyes. The demon seemed to revel in Kanai's suffering, feeding off his pain like a predator savoring its prey. Nai’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, betrayal, and an unsettling thrill that coursed through his veins despite the discomfort wracking his body. As each sneeze ripped through him, he felt a tiny piece of himself chipped away, replaced by something darker and more primal. “hih’KKSSHHHuh!" KnGT!”

Alistar's grip on the tainted tissue tightened, the powder coating his own fingers as he pressed it against Kanai's nose with a cruel persistence that sent shockwaves of agony through the hound's already tortured body. “I love the sweet sweet sounds you make Nai…those little whimpers that follow…be a good boy for me now,” The room spun around the navy haired man, the walls closing in on him as if to trap him in this nightmare with the demon before him.

“D-Donn—HEh’kksssshuuh!!” succumbing again to the substance wreaking havoc inside of him. He snuffled loudly. “SNdfF!!” trying desperately to clear himself of the tingling sensation that ran up and down the bridge of his nose like when one’s foot falls asleep. “Pl-ease….” he whimpered loosely. “I surr-…surrend…EH’KGSSSSHiH!…er” pleading with any ounce of humanity that may be some where hidden inside the red head.

“Oh, but Nai…” The demon clicked his tongue sarcastically. “Why would I do that? I’m having so much fun..you look and sound soooo fucking sexy…just let me have a few more…hm? I’ll even do all the work..” he snickered with a bite of his lower lip. Alistar's taunting words echoed in Kanai's ears, each syllable twisting the knife of helplessness and arousal deeper into his already-tortured soul.

The hound's body convulsed with another violent explosion “hh’KSHHh’hiew!” his chest heaving as he struggled to draw in a breath amidst the overwhelming sensation of the chhinkni powder still living within him. He felt powerless against the demon's cruel game, his will bending under the weight of Alistar's sadistic pleasure. The red head moaned audibly, licking his lips now as he began to rub the growing bulge of his pants against Kanai’s long slender leg.

“Good boy, Nai, such a good boy,” the hound couldnt fucking help that prodding excitement he felt rising within his own groin as his friend began to rut and rub against him. Cursing himself and his innate carnal desires, before pushing his leg just up enough to aid in further friction. The navy haired men then stuttered, like something caught in his throat, that same electrifying feeling of static rushing down the front of his sinuses.

“hIH’KTSHHh’uuh! Eh’KgGss!” it released again, spittle flying past the bottom of the tissue held against his face and into Alistar’s own lust laden features.

“Shit…” he cursed, his breath labored as his hips began to snap at a faster pace, rubbing himself against the other’s thigh as if his life depended on it. His whole weight of body pressing up against Kanai for support with now his ear right next to the hound’s exploding mouth. His grip on the other’s face tightened, pushing the tissue against his friend so tight that the hound was almost certain he’d be cursed for the rest of the week. “Just a few more…” Alistar grunted behind gritted teeth.

“Hh’Ksssshuuh! hIH’KTssHh! Kngt’ShHeW!” they were sporadic, forced, and seemingly never-ending. The sneezes, a symphony of sound and sensation, tore through Kanai's nasal passages like a wild windstorm, each one building upon the last, until they reached a crescendo of pure, unadulterated chaos. The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of snot, spittle, and chhinkni powder, and each sneeze created a miniature tornado of perfumed air that danced around the two figures entwined in their dark, twisted game.

The swirling haze of particles encircling them took on a life of its own, forming a thin layer against the red head’s exposed skin that glistened in the right lighting before drying out. “I’m going to fucking cum unholy shit…” Al struggled through his ragged breath as his body was continuing to rut up against the other’s stiffened thigh, with just the right force and finesse…

“iihGUSHou! hIh’KtssH’hiew!” Unable to keep them away, the powder scraping and clawing its way up every cell inside his nose just made the hound worse and worse. Every sneeze set off another series of involuntary spasms, his body shaking against the other, as if his entire soul was fighting to expel the foreign substance that had infiltrated his defenses. With each shuddering breath, Kanai could feel his sinuses throbbing in time with the constant explosions and the chhinkni powder scraping against his nasal cavities. The redhead's own shudders and thrusts against him seemed to heighten the intensity of the situation, his friend's body writhing with every spasm.

The hound felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside out, his consciousness pulled further and further into the depths of his own lewd desires and the addictive draw of Alistair's sinister pleasure. Despite his best efforts, his own arousal surged within him, matching the rapid pace of his friend's hips as they moved against each other. Each of their legs standing in as a beacon of usage. They sloppily and roughly dry humped each other while the hound twitched and lurched under the pressure of the substance. “KNGT’SSHHEWW!” another loud, forceful and wet sneeze came flying out from his mouth into the cavity of Al’s ear drum, both of them reaching a boiling point they could no longer resist.

“FUCK!” Alistar cursed loudly, grunting with force as his body pushed forward and he came hard inside his boxers, almost silently chuckling afterwards with a breathless sound. Kanai, following closely behind, reached his peak at the feeling of his best friend’s spasming against him. With mercy, the red head pulled the tissue away at last. There was a short sense of relief.

Al collapsed onto the hound, his chest heaving and his entire being drenched in a sweaty, musky glow from their intense exchange. His eyes were heavy and glassy, his mind staggering from the adrenaline surge, the pleasure, and the sheer madness of what had just transpired. “Shit…that was fucking….awesome…” he let out a breathless chortle.

Kanai, still trembling from the aftermath, gulped in a few breaths, trying to parse everything that had just happened. He blinked hard, attempting to make sense of the memories that were now fuzzing in his mind, a blend of pleasure and torment. He finally felt like he could breathe fresh air again, with just a lingering hint of the powder making it’s way out of his system. He may need to do a flush. “That was…..unexpected…and slightly cruel…” Kanai managed between gasps.

With a weak smile, Alistar leaned in closer to his friend, their foreheads touching, the sweat from their bodies mingling as they both tried to catch their breath. The silence stretched thick and heavy between them, a testament to the darkness they had just danced with.

Slowly, the red head regained his strength and took a step back, the two of them composing themselves before taking a deep breath of air. “MAN! I needed that…I’m gonna go hop in the shower, wanna wake up the pet and make him wash us off?” Alistar spoke with his usual charismatic swagger, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re an incredibly insatiable creature, Alistar…” Kanai muttered, his voice still heavy with the after effects of their encounter. “But yes, I suppose a shower might be… necessary,” looking himself up and down feeling the grime of their deeds finally settling upon him.

“Draeeeeee~” The red head already started singing, making his way from the room as he leapt into action, ready and willing for more depraved and devious acts of carnal sin.

The End

Author’s Notes: Took me two days of sitting and actually trying to force myself to write but I fucking did the thing. 🫡 hope you guys enjoyed I know it was a bit shorter and less intense than what I do for smut but I still thought it was hot 😏

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thebadboyfanclub · 2 years ago

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I Got You, Little Wolf (Reader x Tywin)

Look man I did my best for this so please cut me some slack, I really do hope you guys like it cause I went through a writers block while trying to do it.

“You are a stark, that’s all that matters to me”

“Father said you were also a soldier, the only woman he is afraid of when she is around sharp objects”

“Good, your father needs to be afraid of something”

“You always speak of the north yet you never say why you came here”

“I was a prisoner sweet boy, I was brought in front of you father by a guard who dragged me in the castle”

“What?”

“Allow me to explain my little wolf”

“Let me go you bastard”

The hound ignored the girls empty threats as he held on to her upper arm with an iron grip before he left her to crumble at the floor in front of the king and queen mother. (Y/n) lifted herself up to get on her feet, her hands were tied with a rope already bruising her wrists, still (y/n)s eyes burned with anger as she viewed the young boy that sat on the throne in an arrogant manner.

“There she is, the young wolf, (y/n) stark the twin of robb”

“Did you drag me here to show you know my family history line or are you just surprised you can remember stuff?”

“How dare you speak to your king like that”

“The north knows no king expect the king of the north, my family that you slaughtered”

She spat back, she herself was even surprised they brought her here before they execute her like they did her father, she had made peace with dying when she saw her twin brother lay dead at his own wedding, however she would not go down without giving them a piece of her mind.

“Your treacherous family betrayed my father and you were stupid enough to think you could go against us”

“Were you dropped on your head as a child? Cause certainly there is no way you actually believe that you are so invisible because your fat ass sits on a big chair, useless little boy”

“You will pay for this you bitch”

Joffrey marched at the girl to strike her in his mind he wanted to teach her a lesson for her insults, he had not gotten far when he got interrupted by the doors agape revealing his grandfather, the hand of the king.

Tywin took a few steps and investigated the scene, it seemed like the stark had already caused a stir, her dress was tarnished and she was in much need of a proper bath, mud or smoke staining her skin, what he also noticed was that the stark showed no signs of fear, she held eye contact with the old lion with her back straight in perfect line.

The moment that Tywin came close her face scowled with hatred, Tywin could not remember the last time someone showed their true feelings towards him, it was almost refreshing to see.

“The young wolf in chains, what a glorious sight”

“I am glad you find this entertaining old man”

“Careful now, that is not a way to speak to your future lord husband”

“What?”

Joffrey and (y/n) said in unison. Tywin remained stoic as usual, foolishly and arrogantly Tywin moved his hand up to touch her chin only for him to quickly retreat it to protect his finger from (y/n)s teeth, the wretched Stark tried to bite him. The room roared with Tywins laughter, Joffrey shared a look of worry with his mother, neither Cersei or Joffrey had seen him laugh like this.

“You don’t only bark but you also bite, such a clever girl, you will make a wonderful lady of the rock”

“I would rather pull out my own womb and eat it than marry a Lannister”

“I am afraid you have no choice, marry or die along with your sisters, you may not care about your life but do you really want your sisters to come with you?”

Like most tales start, the princess was locked in a tower, sadly the Prince Charming was nowhere near and the monster -in this case the lion- would be taking his place. The fury in her burned her chest, she had tried everything, restrain from eating, threatening to jump off the tower, attack the guards, Tywin was always one step ahead.

Although the lord hand was smart, he was not a woman, to be a woman meant you had the natural skill of landing jabs under the belt, jabs that a man would never consider still they were the ones that hurt the most.

(Y/n) was seen smiling bright at their wedding ceremony, guzzling wine and dancing with every lord that had thrown themselves to dance with the young she-wolf, the dress was an excellent choice and in combination with her hair she looked like the embodiment of a fairytale.

Tywin could not believe his eyes, the girl had offered her time and smiled to every lord except her, he was ready to drag her out of here in front of everyone when the insufferable littlefinger lifted her up in the air by the waist, the bride wooed at the gesture, she was even seen blushing.

Luckily for Tywin, Cersei had stepped up to the Stark girl, interrupting her dance to talk to her new stepmother, a word Cersei would rather cut her tongue herself than say.

“Lady (y/n), welcome to our family, as a stark I would like to know what it is like to be married to a lion?”

“Unnecessary and oddly boring, wolves prefer to stick with their own”

She replied without even sparing a peep at Cersei which infuriated the queen mother, how dare she face the queen mother with such dismissive demeanour

It was bad enough that her father allowed the bitch to live now she took her late mothers place, her new step mother could be her daughter, Cersei always admired her father still she could not wrap her head around the motive behind it.

“I believe it is time for us to go”

“You may go, I wish to stay”

Tywin had allowed her temper to somewhat unleash when it came to Joffrey or Cersei, anyone but him, now his lady wife was dangerously stretching the rope, to play with a lion was as safe as jumping over a fire, he had already extended his kindness by just seeking her out to the dance floor after countless hours and numerous lords being able to touch her, he would not turn a blind eye when she disrespected him further.

(Y/n) yelped when Tywin latched his hand around her bicep as discreetly as possible to force her into walking out by herself, give her the option of keeping her dignity instead of acting the way he truly wanted, she stumbled at first firstly because she was distracted and the other reason was that she had gotten drunk by downing all the goblets of wine she could find since she started getting dressed.

The moment (Y/n) was safely tucked away from the prude eyes of Westeros she protested only to be met by Tywin throwing her over his shoulder, she whined at the impact of her stomach landing on the man’s shoulder with enough force to cause some bruises, quickly the pain was replaced with embarrassment, her face turned as red as roses when she saw servants scurry away while giggling.

“Put me down you old bastard”

She was only met with a smack across her bottom to silence her, instead it caused her irritation to grow, her solution was to start banging the mans back as hard as she possibly could.

Tywin basically threw her across his bed, what he did not expect was for (y/n) to be so quick on her feet and slap him across the face, she was strong enough to make his head turn from the impact, not strong enough to cause more than a decent sting.

(Y/n) rose up to attack Tywin once more, unfortunately for her Tywin was a skilled warrior, he caught her arms and forced her to lay on the bed by putting half of his weight on her.

“I should cut your tongue for that”

(Y/n)s response was to spit on the man’ face, for a split second he considered throwing her to the lions, he resorted with grabbing her by the waist with his one arm and a fistful of hair with the other with her back to his chest.

“Why the hostility little wolf? I offer you a slice of heaven and you throw it back in my face”

“What part of this resembles heaven to you?”

“Our children will rule winterfell, you are the heir of the north, if you kill me war will ensue but if you lean on me and I swear together we’ll prevail”

Winterfell, home. The words made circles in her head as her legs gave up, Tywin slowly let her touch the ground as his hand was still around and the once forceful grip on her hair had gone to a gentle caress of her locks, he had heard of the young wolfs beauty along with her bravery, at the time he had dismissed it, once he heard her bark at Joffrey an act that no one seemed to have the balls to do.

He was mesmerised, such a pretty little thing, the courage she held within her could burn all the seven kingdoms, anyone that had her by her side would be considered lucky, it was at that time that he thought of a wedding with her.

“I got you little wolf”

Call it stupidity or an urge to find home within strangers or just an act of drunkness. (Y/n) peered at the man that held her with such softness, the anger disappeared and tiredness of fighting, of surviving took its place in her heart, she needed to rest, to feel protected.

It had been the first time in years that Tywin was caught off guard by somebody, when (y/n) landed her lips on him he felt like he was thrown into a cold river from the shock, he quickly recovered to respond to her hesitant kiss while he laid her on the ground, Tywin was not known for his patience so it was only natural from him to take out his dagger and rip the gown right in the middle, leaving (y/n)s body exposed.

Tywin caressed her breasts with his fingertips, astonished at how perfect she was, any man would dream of laying with a woman like her, viewing her biting her lip when her hand found his shirt to pull him to her almost felt like he was just dreaming.

They laid on the floor all night, the stark was truly was a starving wolf in all her glory, her thirst and stamina were endless, he had thought she would want to take things at a slow pace, he had been corrected, her temper slowly creeped in as she became rough by the minute.

Tywin relished her when she took the upper hand, she was a delight to watch, listening to her cries of desires aroused him even more, she devoured the man until he had to physically force her to stop, he was certain anyone within the castle would listen to the girls groans and moans of pleasure.

“Oh there she is the beautiful lady of the rock”

A young girl approached (y/n) when she sat at the table for breakfast near the garden, to step foot outside your doorstep in the north meant you would have to wear layers of fur, here she could at least enjoy the rays of sunshine with only a light dress.

“It is an honour to meet you lady (y/n), I am margaery tyrell”

“I have heard of you lady margaery, the lady of the roses, it is nice to see another woman close to my age here in the castle”

(Y/n) had waited for the moment she could throw her young age in Cerseis face, her new step daughter was a few steps behind Margaery, the Lannister responded with a tight lipped smile with internal curses directed to (y/n), she was the wife of her father and as powerful as she thought of herself the stark was under the only person Cersei feared, her father.

“Would you mind if I joined you for breakfast?”

“I could use the company, please have a seat, both of you”

The Tyrell girl moved her chair so she can find a seat right next to the new Lannister lady, Margaery expected her to be cheerful especially after the whispers of the couples antics were the servants found the bed covers on the floor, ripped clothing and a dagger laying near by, along with some splashes of blood on the carpet instead of the mattress.

(Y/n) wanted to smash her head against the wall, the wine sounded like a good choice at the time, now her mind was pulsating from sleeping just for a couple of hours, Cersei took the time that (y/n) rubbed her temples with her fingers to examine her.

(Y/n) looked exhausted, she had shrunk in her seat and had even brought her legs up to her chest to shrivel up some more, Cersei never thought she would see the day were another woman made her uncomfortable, the adventurous of her fathers consummated marriage had reached her ears the minute she had gotten out of her bed, she had to hold herself from throwing up at the thought of her father bedding another woman, let alone a Stark.

“Such delicious treats you have here my lady, oh I am parched”

“Not this one”

(Y/n) was suffering from overindulging, thankfully she had managed to master enough strength to act instantly when Margaery went for the small pot of tea (y/n) had specifically requested. Margaery gave a look of confusion to the lady Lannister as Cersei leaned in, what was it that made (y/n) so territorial.

“I’m sorry lady Margaery it is a tea one of house from the north brought for me as a gift, unfortunately the amount was not as grand as it should be, I am savouring it”

“That is alright lady (y/n) it is perfectly normal to be homesick, especially after arriving under such cruel circumstances, I never got the chance to say my condolences”

“Why you honour me my lady, do not beat yourself up over the matter, you are the first and most likely the only one to do so”

Margaerys lips stiffened at the words (y/n) had spoken, instinctively the ginger haired beauty reached to hold the Starks hand, a small sign of alliance and mutual respect, (y/n) was a honourable woman and a defiant character, Margaery had an eye for beauty and a nose for talent, if it was anyone she needed by her side it would be (y/n).

“It is too beautiful of a day to dwell over past events”

“My apologies queen mother, I did not realise my grief over my entire family line would ruin your moment of soaking up the sun”

“(Y/n)!”

You would have to be blind and deaf to not understand that the angry man that was turning over the corner was like a simmer pot overflowing with anger. He had the attention of the three ladies ever since he made his presence known, as he came to the table his first move was to reach over for (y/n)s teapot, (y/n) was the only one that did not move a muscle when the man smashed the pot on the ground, making the liquid spill and stain Cerseis gown.

“Moontea!? You stupid girl, you thought you could ask the servants to smuggle such a herb without me knowing?”

“Leave us”

(Y/n) dismissed the girls and servants, Cersei and Margaery gave them some privacy, leaving the couple right when Tywin walked on her side of the table, with a clean swipe of his arm most of the plates had smashed on the ground and replaced by (y/n), she did not have time to protest when Tywin spread her legs to stand between them, forcefully he gripped her by the chin, their eyes burning holes into one another

“I did what was best for me”

“Is that so? Was that the best choice for your sisters? How long has it been since you saw them last? I suppose the executioner stand could be a nice place for a reunion”

“I will not bring an heir until I am certain you meant what you said last night”

“About winterfell?”

(Y/n) nodded instead of speaking. Tywin sighed while he shook his head in disbelief, Tywin was lord of things but he wasn’t a liar, if she gave him an heir and binds his blood with hers he would stop at nothing for his family, she deserved the seven kingdoms not just winterfell, he did not spare her life just to have her on his bed he could have bought a whore for that, no she was the only person Tywin saw (y/n) as a genuine equal to his intellect.

“My dear wife, you are by far the most annoying person I’ve crossed paths with and ever since you stepped foot in this castle you have been nothing but a pain as you strut with your insufferable attitude and sharp tongue no matter who you talk to you tick them off in a mere seconds… that is what I love about you”

“Everyone has a villain they look up to I suppose”

“I broke my rules for you little wolf, I saw something in those eyes of yours, not only do you have the guts to play this game you might also have what it takes to win it”

“So you resort to filling me up with your seed so we will be tied through our children”

Tywin held his though for a moment, he released her from his grasp as his hand ever so softly caressed the skin of her neck down to gracing over her chest, finally he snaked his arm around her waist that earned him a slight squeal that escaped from the young wolf.

(Y/n) kept her gaze into his eyes, he was a man that was not particularly charming, he was intriguing, something about him slowly lured you in, he was a man so distinguished and with such confidence in himself that you could never forget him nor what he made you feel while being around you.

Tywin thought she was made for him, such elegance with just the right amount of danger, her gaze was full of self reliance to the point that with just one glance she could make you second guess yourself, his new wife was a riddle that made his head spin, she could burn you with her passion while she offered you an unforgettable night or kill you in your sleep, a risk only a man like Tywin was willing to take.

“I will feel you up with my seed for two reasons, in hopes that we won’t only have a son but a daughter that has your thick head so you can understand what it is like when someone is trying to knock some sense into it and second because last night was a glimpse of your many hidden talents I yearn to discover”

Requests are open!

#tywin x reader #tywin lannister #yandere tywin lannister imagine #tywin lannister imagine #tywin lannister fluff #tywin lannister x reader #tywin imagine #tywin lannister x you #ao3feed tywin #lannister #got imagine #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones imagines

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fallingtowers · 7 months ago

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on the planet of serpent cults, where heat lightning always flickers on the far horizon, the queen of swords roams.

a thief, a reaver, a slayer: she is all these things and more. she embraces danger like a lover, and makes a fool of fate. she knows the five secret ways into the cursed temple, where one false move means death. she does battle with skeleton warriors while the stormclouds gather and the rising wind whips the tresses of her hair, which is black as grief or bright as gold—whatever works best for you.

1929, 1932, 1939—the year of publication is irrelevant; the queen of swords is always in her prime, and never grows old or infirm. if she dies, she will die by the sword, and that will never happen as long as she has an audience, and on the planet of jungles and ziggurats the golden age of pulps never ends. she is often wounded, but there is always a hut with dried herbs hanging from the rafters and a kindhearted peasant daughter to nurse her back to health, until the wound is just another scar.

she has so many scars.

she wears a bikini of bronze scales, which is the expected outfit for a woman in her line of work, but she would have worn it even if it wasn't, because she enjoys showing off. her body is muscular and sword-marked. her girlbulge is considerable. her pupils are dilated and her teeth stained red from chewing a root she got in the silver city, where every building is a generations-old repurposed spacecraft, and all the inhabitants are telepathic, and drugs grow freely in every garden. the root improves her reflexes as well as having an aphrodisiac effect, which is a useful combination on the planet of tombs and warlords, where lascivious sorceresses lurk behind every corner.

(when she was just a boy, her entire village was put to the sword. now she scatters deathblows the way a sower scatters seeds, and plumes of blood sprout in her wake. there is nothing wrong or unhealthy about this. it's the natural order of things, on the planet of conquest and savagery.)

the queen of swords, who dances on the razor's edge, who flouts the laws of men and gods! the horse she rides is always rearing; she is always backlit by lightning; her cloak snaps in the boreal gale. vallejo, frazetta, norem—everyone who is anyone has painted her. her name is whispered in the city of knives, where thieves hide in every cellar and hounds of bone and black smoke stalk the roofs, and in the city of sails, and in the city of broken idols. they speak of her even in the city of jeweled thrones, the greatest of all the cities of men, where sleep martyrs take stimulants that keep them awake until it kills them, and sarong-clad princesses burn for her touch.

though she has visited a thousand cities, she has no home. though she has taken a thousand lovers, she has never married. she lies awake late into the night, turning her melancholies this way and that like puzzle boxes.

on the planet of dust storms and pterosaurs, where every swamp teems with lizard-men and eight-foot-tall arthropodal reavers from beyond the stars descend in dropships made of steel and crystallized honeydew, there is always another adventure. but afterwards, in the silence after the clash of steel, she leaves empty-handed. the jewels slip between her fingers, and when her latest woman asks her to stay, of course she cannot accept. there is always another adventure, another forgotten dungeon or distant beckoning city, and as long as she has an audience, the queen of swords must roam.

yes, hers is a lonely life, but look, look: as she trudges through the violet sands of the southern wastes, drops of rain begin to fall, fat and blood-warm, stirring the hot dust—and the desert blooms around her.

#my writing #hither came conan #p

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sisterofsomeone · 9 months ago

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SisterofSomeone's Masterlist!

Hiya! I'm SisterofSomeone, otherwise known as Caitlin. I'm 23 and am slowly coming back to into the world of fanfiction writing. So here is my very barebones masterlist, and some little insights into some fics I have planned, enjoy! If you would like to be added to my tag list just send me a message or comment on here, I’d be more than happy to add you 🥹💜

Just as a little warning, I won't write: full non-con (cnc and dub-con are allowed), minors, excessive gore, full incest (e.g. brother x sister, but step brother x step sister is cool with me), pregnancy scares/unplanned pregnancy, more may be added as I think of them and I always hold the right to not answer/write for whatever reason I want :)

Seventeen

Choi Seungcheol

WIP: Seeing You After All This Time - Summary: Seungcheol, that gummy smiled, annoying boy you grew up with would always have your heart. Even if it seemed like he didn’t want it anymore. Warnings: idol!Seungcheol x idol!fem!reader, lovers to exes to lovers, angst, fluff, mentions of depression/insomnia, mentions of self-harm/self-harming behaviour, references to disordered eating, bodyweight comments (but no actual numbers), swearing, established relationship, (more will be added as the series goes on!)

Yoon Jeonghan

WIP: In the Blind Spot - Summary: You’re Seungcheol’s little sister. Innocent and sweet. He’s always said you’re completely off limits to all the boys. You’re 2 years younger than Chan for fucks sake, way too young for any of the rabble. But unbeknownst to him, you’re being hounded by some of his best friends. Just can’t let big brother find out you’re not exactly opposed to spending some ‘one on one’ time with them. Got to get the deed done in his blind spot. Warnings: idol!Chan x fem!reader, idol!Seokmin x fem!reader, idol!Jeonghan x fem!reader, idol!Mingyu x fem!reader, swearing, smut MDNI 18+,

Hong Joshua

WIP: The Three Musketeers - Summary: When the boys are on tour they like to wind down with some good food, good drinks, good music, and good company. So when you’re batting your eyelashes at them in the hotel bar, they know they’re in for a good evening. Warnings: idol!joshua x fem!reader x idol!Seokmin x idol!Jihoon, smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names, foursome

Wen Junhui

nothing here yet sadly :(

Kwon Soonyoung

nothing here yet sadly :(

Jeon Wonwoo

Until Death Do Us Part - Summary: On a wedding day in Baldur’s Gate, a marriage is sealed with a sanctified bond. A powerful magic that allows your minds to meld and cannot ever be undone. It is also required to share your darkest secret for the bond to be bestowed. There is a common myth passed around that once, a very long time ago, a woman was tricked into marriage by a demon of sorts and only found out when they wed. Every wedding at that moment the room falls silent, waiting for another scream, another myth making secret to be revealed. You just never thought you would be witness to it. Series Warnings: Wonwoo x fem!reader, slight Seokmin x fem!reader (because I can't help myself), established relationship/situationship, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking, smoking, there are references to end game BG3 and spoilers for the whole game so please proceed with caution! smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names (baby girl, pretty girl, princess), oral sex (male and female receiving), breeding kink, slight daddy kink, size kink, reader has a vagina that gets described as a pussy/cunt, slight dub-con for a second then clear consent, (more will be added as the series goes on!)

Lee Jihoon

Lee Seokmin

Self Destruction - Summary: Lee Seokmin. No words could describe your love for him, how your heart raced when he was near. But you two were growing apart, his eyes and hands wandering away from yours. Now you harboured a growing hatred for the man you once loved so dearly, and as much as you wanted it to stop growing, he just kept adding fuel to the fire. Warnings: toxic!Seokmin x toxic!fem!reader, slight Wonwoo x reader, established relationship, lovers to enemies to ???, ANGST!!!, swearing, cheating, smut MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, pet names (baby girl, pretty girl), oral sex (male receiving)

WIP: Friendzoned - Summary: Warnings:

Kim Mingyu

Xu Minghao

nothing here yet sadly :(

Boo Seungkwan

nothing here yet sadly :(

Chwe Vernon

WIP: Secret Player Two - Summary: You’re enjoying a solo, quiet night in while your boyfriend is away at Milan fashion week by playing your new favourite video game when there's a knock at the door. When you invite Vernon in to chill with you, you never imagined the effect a video game sex scene might have on your, well, frustrated new player two. Warnings: idol!Vernon x idol!fem!reader, swearing, cheating, smut MDNI 18+,

Lee Chan

WIP: Friendzoned - Summary: Warnings:

WIP: Little Miss Virgin- Summary: Your best friends Seungkwan and Jeonghan have always taken a weird pleasure in picking on you in front of the other members and watching you blush and panic. But one boozy night at Mingyu and Wonwoo's flat they push you a little too far and tell everyone your most embarrassing secret - you've never been kissed, never been wanted like that. The guys assure you that it's nothing to be ashamed of, "you'll find someone". But across the room a fire lights in Chan's stomach, and he needs to be your first. Warnings: idol!Dino x fem!reader, corruption kink, size kink, swearing, smut MDNI 18+,

Drabbles:

00:58 - chan fucks you in front of the guys

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mylordshesacactus · 3 months ago

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Tag Game - Writing Patterns

List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

1.Smoke and the sharp tang of blood drifted over Teldrassil. (Reunification, Warcraft)

2. It was a nameless backwater moon in a nameless backwater system, and Ahsoka had never wanted to be anywhere less in her life. (Riposte, Star Wars)

3. Padawan learner Barriss Offee scuffed her heel idly against the duracrete. (When These Moments Have Passed, Star Wars/Fox and the Hound fusion)

4. “Going somewhere, Lady Crowley?” (Shadows and Goldclover, Warcraft, E)

5. It’s a good place for an ambush. (some desperate small creature, Warcraft)

6. Sunrise on Rannoch was—Tali’s chest constricted painfully. (Housewarming, Mass Effect)

7. “Again,” the instructor ordered, voice crisp. (Quicksilver, BG3)

8. The world grows quiet. And their time grows short. (Truesilver, BG3)

9. A boy dreams of a wolf’s whelp. (an unkindness of ravens, Assassin's Creed: Valhalla)

10. FOREWORD (By Miranda Lawson) | In 2196, a young asari named Ashethe Matolis was granted asylum by the Alliance. (257 Years Of Unanswered Correspondence With An Ardat-Yakshi Monastery, Mass Effect)

I think the most prominent pattern here is that I definitely have a strong preference for opening "with two feet down", as my high school mentor and creative-writing teacher put it. Not necessarily in medias res, though I do love doing that--but immediately grounded, placing the reader IN the scene from the first sentence.

As such a lot of these involve sensory details, an immediate touchstone for the character's physical location or surroundings, or both. The worst thing you can do for immersion is have your reader spend several hundred words either unable to picture the characters in context, or THINKING they're picturing the context correctly and then out of the blue dropping that they're actually somewhere completely different.

(Unless you're deliberately misleading the reader in order to deliver a punchline, obviously, but I think that should go without saying.)

I also tend to make my opening lines direct and to the point, and rarely open a fic with a full paragraph. In order to give the reader that sense of standing on solid ground--essentially of "landing with two feet down," falling into the fic and looking around to see where they are--you gotta give that opening line a little room to breathe.

The only exceptions on this list are 4, 9, and 10, and honestly, only 9 really counts!

-> The structure of 257 Years is an epistolary fic, so it actually IS serving as that immediate sensory grounding--It's establishing from the very beginning the sense that you are, in-universe, picking up a book and opening it to the front page.

-> Shadows & Goldclover is my fun little Tess/Lorna porn, and the setup is in fact that Tess is startling her in the garden. So the initial brief disorientation (I do immediately give some setting details in the next paragraph) is exactly the sensory experience I want my readers to have, it puts them in the same headspace as Lorna

-> Unkindness Of Ravens is, genuinely, one of the best stories I've ever written and I hope people are willing to give it a chance even if they're not really asscreed people--it stands on its own just fine as an exploration of fictional Norse queerness. And in that case, the deliberate sense of....an unmoored, vague, disoriented lack of any solid physical setting, is exactly what I was going for! It's a prophetic vision; it should feel otherworldly. I deliberately avoid giving the reader ANY solid ground until after the scenebreak..at which point they are IMMEDIATELY given sensory details and a place name, because the whole thematic point of the fic is Valka being brought in from the cold and finding acceptance, security, and a place to belong.

#askmeme #anyone who thinks this looks fun consider yourself tagged

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fieldofdaisiies · 8 months ago

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azriel x eris | 3k words | warnings: none | masterlist

Skarlet leaves, glimmering in the sunlight that filters through the tree tops, dance in the wind, swirling and doing barrel rolls in the breeze that blows through the forest.

His booted feet are planted in a stance atop the yellow-ish, brown grass, Eris exhales a long breath and then fills his lungs with a deep inhale of the crisp morning air.

Large, looming trees rise out of the earth all around him and brush against the sky. The sun-dappled leaves create flickering shadows that remind him of a male, but he doesn’t want to dwell on thoughts about the shadowsinger, he has no time for such idiotic things, not when the future of the Autumn Court is at stake. He shoves the thoughts away, until there is just nothingness within his mind.

He leans his head to the sound, listening to sounds around him – the chirping of birds and wind brushing through the leaves. The cool air is like balm to his soul, to his skin and his aching, heavy heart. In moments like this he allows himself to forget about everything – Beron, Koschei, Azriel.

The light breeze blowing through the forest this morning sends a shudder of movement through the branches, making him even more aware of the peace that surrounds him deep within the forest. When Eris lowers his head, he can see animal trails crisscrossing beneath him. He smiles to himself – nature has always been able to calm his mind and heart. To make him feel fully at ease. To allow him to rest for a few minutes.

It is what he needs right now. He turns his head to look around – light dances on the fern fronds, glittering off of morning dew and then the corners of his mouth kick up when howling and barking fills his ears. He closes his eyes for a second, reveling in the noises that get louder and louder by the second, and when he opens his lids again, he sees them.

Almost like a wild hunt, his hounds, twelve of them, grey and sleek like smoke, race through the forest as fast as the wind, heading for their owner who is patiently waiting for them. He set a prey, winnowed away, let them race there, and winnowed away one again – training for his precious pets.

“Good boys!” The laugh that leaves Eris is honest, his heart feeling a little lighter now that he spends time outside with his precious animals. He inhales a deep breath of the crisp and fresh morning air, smelling so wonderful right after it had been raining almost the whole night. He fills his lungs to the brim, holding eye-contact with his oldest and most loyal dog who eagerly wiggles his tail.

“Another round.” Eris tilts his chin at the hounds and earns himself a loud snort from Cerberus, his most precious and beloved pet. Eris only winks at him and is gone in the next moment, leaving nothing but swirling pine needles and leaves behind.

It continues like this for a while, until only after many hours, they return to the Forest House. Eris sends his hounds inside to get their breakfast which only chosen sentries are allowed to feed them, providing them only with food that Eris allows them too – his previous hounds only deserve the best.

In the meantime the prince strips out of his sweat-drenched shirt, and his loose pants. He washes and then he is gone again, before either of his parents can question where he is heading to.

Hunting, he will say when he returns. It is a good face-saver, the best he can come up with. He used to go hunting a lot when he was younger, it had gotten less when he and his brothers, his hunting companions, started to drift apart.

Eris is heading to stables after collecting two freshly baked rolls from the kitchen and eating them up in a few big bites; after hours of training his hungry, but he can’t waste any time on a proper meal.

“Lord Eris,” Margot, the masterchef greets him, showing him a reproachful look. She doesn’t like it when he hurries when it comes to food, she always wants him to eat slowly, and enjoy it. Eris flashes her a polite smile and then he slips out of the door and is gone before she can stop him and force him to eat something else, or more.

His steps tread rather lightly on the straw-covered ground when he enters the stables, heading for his horse – the large, black horse one of his sentries has already put a saddle on for him, now handing him the reins.

“Good hunting, my lord,” the sentry says and bows his head. Eris dips his chin in thanks and goodbye.

With practiced ease, Eris hoists himself onto the horse's back, and with a gentle nudge of his heel, he urges the horse forward. They begin to move, at a rather leisurely pace, but it is important to keep his lie up. It shouldn’t look like something is rushing him, if Beron should watch him depart (which he often does, always keeping his eyes on everything that happens in his court.)

Eris doesn’t mind the slow space, not when he actually wants and needs a few moments just for himself, to prepare.

He hasn’t really spoken much to Kallax, his younger brother, in the past years. Not alone, that be it, but only in his father’s presence. Kallax, just like Eris’ other brothers, distanced himself a lot from both Eris and Beron, as well as the Forest House. The last time they all were together was probably the High Lord’s meeting…

Eris releases a deep sigh, hands not holding the reins too tightly, his horse as obedient as every other horse in this court.

He has always been closest with Kallax; safe for the time where he and Lucien were an inseparable team…

Kallax and him are only eight years apart, most of their life they have spent with each other (safe for the time where Kallax, Geras and Merat joined the war camps and didn’t come home that often). Even before Under the Mountain, distance started to stretch out between them. Nothing happened to harm their closeness, it just happened, subtly and over a longer expanse of time. And after Amarantha’s reign, it had fully spread out, almost like a plague, the time in Amarantha’s grasp probably having left their toll on everyone.

His little brother is in many ways very similar to him – he loves the hounds, and he loves hunting and nature, but he is a born warrior. Not a leader. Not a High Lord. Kallax has always liked combat, preferred fighting over talking, and has mostly spoken with his hands instead of his mouth. When it comes to females, he also shares a different opinion than Eris. Not only concerning preferences where Eris most definitely favours males, but in terms of how females should be treated. Eris knows that his little brother is now often seen with a Forest Nymph, if Kallax changes his misogynistic beliefs for her, is yet to be seen, though.

The Forest Nymph is a well-hidden secret, since the second-oldest Vanserra brother knows exactly what would happen if he found himself a lover that is a lesser fae. He saw what was done to Lucien’s…Jesminda. He was there that day. He held Lucien, made him watch…and that is something Eris will never forgive him for.

Kallax hides his Forest-Nymph, but Eris knows everything, has his ears and eyes everywhere, but of course, his brother’s secret is safe with him. He couldn’t protect Lucien and Jesminda – this time he won’t fail one of his brothers. The crisp air kisses his face when he rides deeper into the forest, already getting closer to the border, the earthy scent of fallen leaves mingling with the smell of damp soil. Sunlight peaks through the tree tops, making the colours of the leaves around him appear just a little richer.

A feeling of trepidation blooms within his chest, making his heart feel just a little heavier. He shifts uncomfortably atop his horse, fiddling with the reins. Eris is normally not one to be nervous, but something about this meeting makes him feel a little tense. What will Kallax say? Will he have his trust? Does he have to earn it first?

Kallax is proud and ambitious, cruel in some ways, and ignorant about many things. He can be egostic and only agree to things that really concern himself and sometimes all of these traits combined get the best of him. When he was a young male, he always wanted to prove something to their father (maybe still does) and tried to be the perfect son over and over again, which formed his heart cruel in a way that Eris finds shocking, but not surprising.

His own heart has been wrenched and wrecked by his father, destroyed and left in pieces. Beron tried to turn him into a monster, but he wants to be stronger. And he also hopes that Kallax wants to be stronger. Wants to be a better male than what Beron tried to turn them into, wants to try to be good.

Normally, when approaching people Eris who needs to talk to about something, he is confident, not once was he nervous or unsure when talking to the Lord of Bloodshed, or the other High Lords. But with his brother it is different.

A unique sense of anxiousness takes root inside of him the moment he spots his brother in the distance, casually leaning against a tree, one ankle crossed over the other, head tipped back, sunlight falling upon his pale face. Behind him, there are only towering ruins, stone covered in ivy and moss.

The tension doesn’t fade until he is only a short distance away from his brother.

He drags in a deep inhale, blows it out through his nose. He gently pulls on the reins, signaling his horse to halt. Sliding effortlessly out of the saddle, he lands on the forest ground with a soft thud. He pats the horse on the back, whispering some words to it and it trots away (where to, only Eris and the horse know).

Kallax’ eyes open, and a snort leaves him.

“Eris.” Cool boredom laces his expression when Kallax pushes off the tree, sauntering casually towards his older brother.

Out of everyone, Kallax resembles Eris the most. He is equally tall, with slighter broader shoulders, nothing but swagger in his demeanour when his eyes scan the surroundings. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his beige breeches, his jacket made of luxurious dark green fabric, adorned with golden embroidery, and his long auburn hair is tied back into a low bun.

“Interesting choice of place, I must say.” Kallax keeps one hand in the pocket of his breeches, the other he uses to brush back a few strands of loose hair when he stops in front of Eris, letting his eyes run over his older brother. His brow kicks up a little, curiosity shining brightly within his eyes.

“We used to come here a lot when we were younger.” Eris turns his gaze away from the younger Vanserra brother, observing the old ruins and large trees. They are at the edge of an old forest, as far away from the Forest House as possible, and quite close to the Spring Court border, near an outpost of the Autumn Court war camps. The war camps Kallax lives in.

Time-worn remnants of what once used to be a castle surround them. The ruins are covered in moss and ivy, and when they used to go there when they were younger they always pretended to be in an ancient fortress full of secrets and mysteries.

Secrets…

Towering, weathered trees surround them, shielding them completely from the outside world. No preying eyes having a chance to catch them.

“What do you want, Eris?” Kallax exhales a long breath, then rolls back his shoulders. He looks at Eris, then directs his gaze skywards. Eris has no idea what caught his attention there, but he decides to deliberately ignore it.

“Zen and two Autumn Court war bands are stationed at the border to Summer now. For protection against Summer and also Night.”

“I know.” Eris‘ younger brother shrugs his shoulders, ignorance etched on his face. He seems like he couldn’t care any less, like this talk with Eris is the greatest waste of his time possible. “That’s not why you wanted to talk to me, right?”

Kallax takes a few steps to the side, resting his back against the weathered stone walls, then crosses one ankle over the other. He observes Eris, gaze slowly running over his older brother, assessing him.

Kallax is truly a born-warrior, and once Eris is High Lord he will make him his general. If it ever gets to that point.

Eris doesn’t really know why his father never made him general of the Autumn Court armies – Kallax is perfect for this position.

“I think you can imagine why I asked you to come here.” Eris takes a few steps forward, kicking away a branch, hands clasped behind his back.

Kallax smirks. “Beron.”

Eris doesn’t let his surprise show about his brother not using “father” but Beron‘s name. It seems odd, Kallax has always been fond of their father, or was this also just a mask? One similar to the one Eris is wearing daily? Could it be that just like he himself, Kallax also resents their father?

Eris veils his face in indifference, holding eye contact with his brother. “Yes.”

Kallax raises a brow, almost in a mocking, pitiful way. “He isn’t telling you much lately, huh?”

Eris bristles and shakes his head. There is no need for lying now, it would get him nowhere. He needs to have all the information he can get, and if he isn’t honest to Kallax now, when should he be?

If he wants the Autumn Court to change for the better he needs the support of his brothers, only together can they make it work. Kallax as his general, Zen as Kallax’s second in command, and Geras…in some other important position. Maybe.

“No, he isn’t, but that’s not why I asked you to come here.” Eris is right in front of Kallax by then, the tips of their shoes almost touching.

“Oh?” Kallax raises a neatly trimmed brow.

“You know what I have to do.”

A wildfire erupts in Kallax‘s amber eyes, the corner of his mouth kicking up to form a vicious grin and then he drags his thumb across his throat.

Eris huffs and lowers his chin to his chest. Then he nods.

“And you need my help for it?” The question is posed without any kind of emotion, but still lethality laces every word.

Dread coils in Eris‘ gut. Never, never in the world, would he ever pull someone else into this with him. It is too dangerous. He quickly shakes his head.

“I need you to—” He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “If things go wrong, I need you to leave.”

Kallax’s brow knits. “What?”

“If things go wrong, you can’t stay here. Neither can Zen, or Geras. Beron will suspect you supporting me or following in my footsteps and I can’t risk it. He is already driven by fear — his sanity, if he ever had one, left him long ago.”

“I can’t leave. I—”

Eris grabs his younger brother by the shoulder, then pins him with a look. “You and your sweet little Forest Nymph leave the moment word about my death reaches you. You will head to Spring, with Zen and Geras. You are gone before Beron can only as much as think about going after you.”

Surprise passes over Kallax’s face, but is soon replaced by an emotion Eris has barely ever seen on his younger brother’s face. Worry.

“You won’t die,” Kallax says and his voice sounds so much younger, almost boyish and vulnerable. In this moment, Kallax reminds him of the young boy he used to be who came running to Eris, crying tears and snot, after Beron beat bloody about stupid mistakes or accidents.

Kallax’s lips open and close a few times, then he says, “You are going to be the next High Lord, Eris. You are—”

“If things go wrong, you leave.” Eris grows impatient and shakes his brother by the shoulder.

“What about mother?”

“I will take care of her.” Their gazes are still locked, and Eris lets his brother see the honesty in them. “She will be safe.”

“You promise?”

Eris‘ gaze flicks to the ground, shoulders and chest heaving with a deep inhale. “I promise.”

Slowly, tentatively, his eyes lift and he removes his hand from his brother’s shoulder. His jaw clenches and for a moment they only look at each other, no conversation passing between them, but it is all in their eyes. The silent trust, the brotherly bond though weakened but still manifested in their hearts, and the secret promises — the prosperity of a better future.

“I can trust you, Kallax.” A statement, not a question.

Kallax steps away from the weathered ruins, finger dragging over the in ivy covered stone before he moves further away, towards the large trees looming behind them. “You are my brother, Eris. You are my family.” Kallax turns away.

“Beron is also your family.”

Kallax snorts, shakes his head and in the next moment he is gone. He winnowed away.

“Bastard,” Eris growls and fights the urge to show a vulgare to the empty place where his brother stood.

He calms himself and then a split second later mist, almost like shadows, curls around his body, and his feet leave the ground and when his eyes open he finds himself in a wholly different surrounding, large trees looming around him, birds chirping and flowers of all colours blooming wherever he looks.

And there he is, the tall shadowy figure – a stark contrast to all the bright colours, causally leaning against a tree full of lush green leaves, his eyes closed, his expression somehow peaceful.

In a polished, velvety voice Eris makes himself known, “Shadowsinger.”

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshi @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

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elleybug · 7 months ago

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Ah yes. Me. My mate. And his twelve dogs….. 🦇🍁🐾

#my art #acotar #acowar #eris vanserra #azriel acotar #azriel x eris #azris #smoke hound best bois

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jinnie-ret · 9 months ago

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Poly🪻

<-------- back to ot8 masterlist

<--------- back to main masterlist

The Tutor - OT8!Stray Kids x Reader w/ @astraykidforsure

Becoming Lee Felix's tutor was quite possibly the best decision she could have made. Toxic exes, university assignments and a whole lot of confusing feelings, how does SKZ fit into this equation?

Anti-Hero - Poly Bang Chan x Hero!Felix x Villain!Reader | Superhero AU

Their paths were destined to meet one way or another. it just so happens it all goes down in a way chan least expected.

Perfect Nights - OT8!Stray Kids x Idol!Reader 💚🖤

In which Stray Kids are watching the opening show of their girlfriend's tour, sonder, and they come to realise a song is dedicated purely to them.

Cigarette Duet - OT8!Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader 💚🖤

You get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. How will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

Cover Me - OT8!Stray Kids x Reader 💚🖤

Money, work, school. it was only a matter of time before the boys would see her crumble, and be there to pick up the pieces

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nightmarewolf937 · 7 months ago

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The Devil's Hounds

Gn!Reader X Dagur the Deranged

[Part 2]

Summary: Just when things are looking okay and progress is being made, life throws a huge curve ball your way in the form of a person you thought you were escaping.

It's 2am rn, so I'm sorry for any errors, I also figured out a title.

So far, so good.

It had turned to night earlier than you expected and your pack of dragons had grown even more agitated when darkness covered the land. You could see a few feet infront of you, the moon could only provide so much light and dark clouds would sometimes block it's light.

That caused you to come up with an idea, you were currently seated on DeathStrike's back and at the moment he was very content with his human being so comfortable. Of course GoreWing was whining up a storm until the largest deathgripper silenced him with a threatening click of his stinger.

GraveTail was too busy guarding you and his packmates from any potential danger to be jealous right now, his bright yellow eyes scanning and assessing any movement or noise.

It was getting tense as you got closer to where you had seen smoke coming from and it was clear the dragons were getting ready for a fight. You slipped off DeathStrike's back before raising your hand and silently requesting they stayed back for the moment, you noticed the pack split and hide.

"Good boys," you whispered, knowing they heard you and knowing they loved praise.

You looked back at the campfire, you were right, there was someone else on the island and now you were right by their little camp. This was not your best idea, but you decided to investigate as you saw no movement or life.

Glancing back at DeathStrike, who had scaled up one of the trees and was hidden amongst the branches of leaves, you shook your head and he reluctantly remained still. You didn't need to reveal all your cards yet, especially if there was actually someone wandering around.

What if it wasn't just one person? What if it was a group of hunters and they hurt your friends?

You wouldn't risk it and so you signaled the pack to stay back, your hand found purchase on your dagger and you crept forward. It was the only weapon you had and you felt better knowing it was within your grasp, you quietly stalked towards the fire and looked around at all the swords. Most were stabbed into the ground which you found odd, this wasn't some random viking or hunter.

Who in their right mind would disarm themselves so much on an island full of dragons?

"What in Thor's name...?" You found yourself whispering outloud, spinning around when you heard a twig snap behind you and readied your weapon.

"Woah!" A young boy yelped, holding his hands up in surrender with his shield still strapped to his arm. "I-I...sorry? I didn't realize anyone else was on the island, didn't mean to intrude on your campsite."

"'My campsite'?" You repeated, shaking your head. "I thought this was your campsite."

"Oh..." The boy lowered his hands, looking just as confused as you and started to fidget with his shield. "It's not mine, I'm just...exploring?"

You lowered your dagger, not feeling as defensive as you were, you glanced over his appearance and took note of his metal leg. He was a thin boy with shaggy brown hair and green eyes, a toothy and awkward smile on his face. He didn't look like the brutish dragon killer type, but that didn't mean you were gonna drop your guard completely.

This world was full of different characters and you never really knew which ones were good or bad.

"Right," you responded, not believing his words and he knew. "I'm just passing through, see ya, I guess."

But just as you started to walk passed the campfire, the boy was tackled by something and you got ready for a fight, holding your dagger and prepared to strike whatever you deemed a threat.

"D-Dagur?!"

And with that single word, you felt your hope come crashing down and noticed your hand become shaky as shock overtook your face. You quickly signaled your packmates to stay back.

You did not want them getting anywhere near this older boy and watched as he effortlessly picked the smaller boy up to place him on his feet. He still looked as you remembered, but taller and more built with his hair now long enough to be tied back.

"Hiccup! Old friend, you're alive!!" Dagur's voice hadn't changed too much either and now you atleast had the younger boy's name — Hiccup.

"Uhh, last time I checked. So, uh, haven't seen you since that—"

"Since you saved me from that dragon attack back on Berk. You fought off a Nightfury!" Dagur exclaimed, you raised your brows in shock at the mention of such an elusive and though to be extinct dragon. "I mean you were like—"

During the conversation you had been so silent that the young beserker hadn't noticed you, but as he turned to do something his eyes locked with yours. You now felt that heavy dread flood your mind as he dropped his sword and you didn't even notice how curiously Hiccup was watching this exchange.

"BELOVED!!!"

You were tackled, not to the ground, but now you were being held in his arms and his muffled, excited rambling was not registering for you. Everything was muffled as you were trapped in the arms you had tried to escape all those months ago, and yet you felt your body relax with the warmth.

"I can't believe I found you!! I've been searching island after island when I heard that your tribe thought you had gotten stranded out at sea. But I knew you were okay! Even when they believed you had died," he rambled, squeezing you once more before he pulled back and just held your waist.

"Dagur..." you finally managed to find your voice, the initial shock and panic wearing off, you still felt pinned to your spot by his eyes though.

Wild and vibrant green met cautious [e/c], his words had only started making sense in your mind once you managed to calm your racing heart and his previous words hit you. It felt like a gronkle had just landed on you from a 10ft drop.

".....they believed you had died..."

Wait...your family thought you had...died?

"They think I'm dead?" You blurted out, quiet and hesitant, but loud enough for Dagur to hear over his own voice.

You knew they would say you were missing and eventually announce your presumed death, but for it to be so soon and to hear it with your own ears...it felt so much worse. This feeling of pain seemed to blossom in your chest and spread all through your body, it was throbbing and suffocating.

"My love?"

You snapped out of your darker thoughts and refocused on the situation, Hiccup hadn't run away (yet) and he had awkwardly shuffled over to the logs, taking a seat and fiddling with his shield again. His eyes nervously darting around and actively avoiding your little 'moment' with Dagur.

"I'm fine," you answered before he could ask, managing to force a small, fake smile. "Can we sit down, please?"

This has certainly been some of the most awkward and tense moments of your life, every now and again you'd signal the pack to back off. You could feel three sharp gazes on you and the two boys, you even heard the faintest and most softest click of one of their stingers opening.

After sitting down on one of the logs, you had nearly jumped out of your skin when Dagur yanked you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders as he spoke with Hiccup.

You had been listening intently when the nightfury was mentioned, it was a dragon most feared and yet it was one of the most elusive beasts. Perhaps the lack of knowledge on them gave them that terrifying edge or maybe it was the sharp accuracy of the nightfury's blast that really struck fear into vikings?

It remains an unanswered question to you, but being around three dangerous dragons yourself had made these other dragons feel less scary.

DeathStrike was certainly one of the most vicious and intelligent dragons you had ever stumbled upon, he was scarily agile too and you had seen him flip a monstrous nightmare over with his tusks. The same tusks that he would retract whenever he nuzzled against you.

GraveTail was the more observant dragon, you had grown acutely aware of whenever there were eyes on you thanks to this dragon. He was also quite stealthy and had snuck up on even the most alert dragon species such as terrible terrors and nadders.

GoreWing had taught you how to dodge really well, you had always been someone who relied more on their agility and reflexes than brute strength, but the smaller deathgripper had certainly improved that. You'd often have to duck to avoid being tackled and even then Gore would find a way.

You had just glanced up from the fire when a distant and yet loud roar pierced the air causing Dagur to immediately leapt to his feet, grab his crossbow and stand even closer to you.

Then there was silence, your eyes were darting around the sky while Dagur was aiming his crossbow around and Hiccup held his shield. However, there was just more silence and you eventually sighed, looking back at the campfire.

You couldn't stay focused on the conversation happening around you, the feeling of three pairs of eyes observing you and everything happening around you was certainly a worrisome distraction. If DeathStrike grew impatient and decided enough was enough...you had very little confidence in yourself to stop him.

You needed to sneak away and get off this island.

But that small hope was crushed when Dagur decided the three of you should hunt this night fury and dragged you with him, his arm around your waist and his other hand rested his crossbow on his shoulder.

This night was becoming more and more complicated with your chances of escaping decreasing as you were dragged further into the island.

#httyd x reader #dagur x reader #deathgripper #dragon rider #gn reader

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call-me-copycat · 2 years ago

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Masterlist [1]

➤ Welcome

Info about me and what I write for along with the rules I have

♡ Fics:

Aizawa x Sick! Child Reader

▶ Platonic + Gender Neutral

▶ Pairing: Father!Aizawa & Child! Reader

▶ Summary: Child Reader gets sick and Aizawa overreacts

▶ Word Count: 1,713

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Declaration of Distortion

▶ Platonic + Gender Neutral

▶ Pairing: Nothing direct, but reader just hangs around Aizawa and Shinso. Tokoyami is there for a split second as well.

▶ Summary: A courageous reader with striking white wings and a powerful quirk falls victim to a malicious mushroom spore quirk. Along with many others, they are ruthlessly mind controlled and forced to battle numerous heroes, and their own mentor Aizawa, a formidable hero in his own right.

▶ Word Count: 15,420

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Sounds of Sorrow

▶ Platonic + Gender Neutral

▶ Father! Aizawa and Reader (Aizawa's kid, age unstated but around 16

▶ Summary: Time has never been on your side. You've always been counting down the minutes until your father might up and leave you, but Aizawa thinks otherwise. He just needs you to understand.

▶ Word Count: ~ 4229

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Escaping The Night (Series - Ongoing)

[Part 1] ••• [Part 2] ••• [Part 3] ••• [Part 4]

[Part 5] ••• [Part 6] ••• [Part 7] °°° [Part 8] ••• [Part 9]

▶ Romantic (Shinso) + Fem Reader

▶ Father/Mentor Aizawa & Reader

▶ Summary: A Vigilante reader is caught and apprehended by Aizawa. Aizawa decides to take you in and see if he can help you live a fulfilling life. (Also a slowburn for Shinso)

▶ Word Count: I try to hit around 5k-ish words each chapter

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

In the Wake of Chaos (Coming Soon)

▶ Platonic + Fem Reader

▶ Father Aizawa and Daughter Reader

▶ Summary: A cruel villain kills your innocent friend, and the idea of revenge settles in your head. Later, after seeing the villain still alive, you attempt to get payback, only to be stopped by Aizawa's comfort and logic.

▶ Word Count:

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Disconnected (Coming Soon)

▶ Platonic + Fem Reader

▶ All of class 1-A and other characters (focus will be on Shinso and Aizawa)

▶ Summary: After being hounded for being the traitor without proof, you come to a new realization as only a select few stand up for you, as the others turning their backs away. No one sees you again, that is until the war breaks out, but you aren't happy to see them.

▶ Word Count:

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

No Ordinary Temptation (Coming Soon)

▶ Romantic (Shinso) + Platonic (Aizawa)

▶ Shinso x Fem Reader and Father! Aizawa & Daughter Reader

▶ Summary: A hurt/Comfort fic for anorexia

▶ Word Count:

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Purity Prevails at Midnight (Coming Soon)

▶ Romantic (Either Bakugo or Deku) x Fem Reader

▶ Summary: Reader has a unique quirk that's garnered a fair amount of attention over the years, both good and bad. When a new statue is suddenly found sitting on display it brings a bought of cruel irony to the reader, who grows a distaste for it. Eventually people begin to go missing all over town, and no one can seem to find the suspect. And it all happens when the clock stuck midnight.

▶ Word Count:

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Serendipity Soiree (Coming Soon)

▶ Romantic/Fluff (Shinso x GN Reader)

▶ Summary: You and Shinso are best friends, and together you're both celebrating Halloween with some friends. An unexpected concession catches you off guard.

▶ Word Count:

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

The Weight of Regret

▶Dadzawa Hurt/Comfort

▶ Reader who developed a bad habit of smoking and gets help from Aizawa

▶ Word Count: 6868

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Sweetly Smitten

▶ Tamaki x GN Reader

▶ Reader works at a bakery and develops a crush on a certain indigo-haired boy who regularly visits. Both are too shy to confess, so Mirio and Nejire decide to take matters into their own hands

▶ Word Count: 11,800

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

You're Not Alone

▶ Bakugo x Reader (Relationship/Gender unstated)

▶ Bakugo hears reader crying in the shower and offers some words of comfort

▶ Word Count: 1251

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

WRITING EVENT:

Lunchtime Troubles

▶ Present Mic x Reader (Platonic/Fem Reader)

Go To Bed

▶ Aizawa x Student Reader (Platonic/Gender Unstated)

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

A Runaway's Hope

▶ Aizawa x Daughter Reader (Platonic)

▶ Reader gets kicked out of her mother's house and goes to live with her father, Shota Aizawa, consequently forgetting to let him know in the process.

▶ Word Count: 2746

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

What I Owe To You

▶ Aizawa x Self-Harming Reader (Platonic)

▶ Heavy warnings with this one. Aizawa walks in on reader self-harming and helps them get through it.

▶ Word Count: 2925

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Love Knows No Bounds

▶ Yandere Dadzawa & Daughter Reader [Platonic]

▶ Genre: Kind of fluffy + Yandere themes

▶ Summary: Aizawa's never really taken a liking to kids. But you keep finding him somehow, and he wonders why he's now constantly worrying about you. He decides you're the only exception he'll make.

▶ Word Count: 4547

▶ Warnings:

This is yandere, so there's bound to be a slightly unhealthy mindset

Aizawa's not a creep, I promise

Implications of deaths of citizens

Graphic description of those citizens fear before said deaths

Mention of slight stalking

I'm not too great at writing Yandere, so it's not too bad

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

When The Clouds Part

▶Shirakumo x F! Reader

▶ Genre: Fluff, little bit of comfort

▶ Summary: The ask sums it up, but overall Shirakumo gets a little help deciphering his feelings towards you from his friends and plans on how he'll tell you how he truly feels

▶ Word Count: 7640

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Only You

▶ Summary: You've been feeling a little forgotten, Shinso's popularity bringing in people who take up more of his time. Shinso, however, lets you know that you're far from it.

▶ Shinso x Reader

▶ Genre: Comfort

▶ Word Count: 3134

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

The Hollows of The Mind

▶ Summary: You receive... Threats. Luckily, Aizawa's the best at both protection and comfort

▶ Father! Aizawa & Reader

▶ Genre: Comfort

▶ Word Count: 2146

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

Listen to The Tears

▶ Summary: Aizawa consoles you through your loss

Mentor Aizawa & Reader

▶ Genre: Comfort

▶ Word Count: 1416

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

So Should She

▶ Yandere! Shinso x Kianna Komori (OC)

▶ Genre: Comfort

▶ Summary: Shinso confronts her about her eating disorder and decides to take a step forward in helping her heal

▶ Word Count: 1884

♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡♡ ••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ♡

♡ Notes:

• As of this time, requests are open! They might be a little slower than usual because my mental state has been all over the place, also I need to get my phone fixed.

° Did I miss anything? Please tell me! Should I add something? Also please tell me!

• I wish you all a lovely day, thank you for being here for me ໒꒰ฅ́ ˘ ฅ̀꒱১ᦂ

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w3ath3r-0f-sw34t3rz · 1 year ago

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forcing myself to pick a top ten (no particular order) for my favorite artists

why? because!

cavetown

this is home

boys will be bugs

smoke signals

devil town

it's u

poison

pyjama pants

empty bed

guilty

a kind thing to do

conan gray

best friend

summer child

footnote

the exit

comfort crowd

affluenza

jigsaw

heather

fight or flight

winner

chloe moriondo

take your time

killbot!

cdbaby<3

hotel for clowns

hearteyes

plastic purse

hell hounds

silly girl

girl on tv

i want to be with you

melanie martinez

milk of the siren

nymphology

evil

teacher's pet

numbers

field trip

cry baby

leeches

pacify her

mad hatter

boywithuke

so cold

kind of sick of life

falling for you

zoning out

heart of ice

out of tune

migraine

problematic

lucid (interlude)

bad things

penelope scott

cigarette ahegao

lotta true crime

moonsickness

rät

sweet hibiscus tea

mommy fwiend

you should know

soap

warm regards

born2run

mitski

geyser

old friend

pink in the night

washing machine heart

your best american girl

first love/late spring

francis forever

strawberry blond

liquid smooth

bag of bones

tv girl

better in the dark

pretty boy

blue hair

taking what's not yours

song about me

not allowed

loving machine

heaven is a bedroom

louise

lovers rock

the neighborhood

the shining

softcore

you get me so high

reflections

daddy issues

greetings from califournia

ferrari

sweather weather

flawless

honest

frankie cosmos

i'm it

being alive

fool

embody

on the lips

is it possible / sleep song

outside with the cuties

sappho

my i love you

rings on a tree

girl in red

serotonin

did you come?

body and mind

hornylovesickmess

apartment 402

watch you sleep.

dead girl in the pool.

we fell in love in october

forget her

say anything

arctic monkeys

r u mine?

arabella

why'd you only call me when you're high?

i wanna be yours

one for the road

secret door

d is for dangerous

fluorescent adolescent

the bad thing

505

#uhhh yeah #cavetown #conan gray #chloe moriondo #melanie martinez #boywithuke #penelope scott #mitski #tv girl #the neighborhood #frankie cosmos #girl in red #arctic monkeys #music #music lover #music listener #song recs #music recs #non lotd

55 notes · View notes

anamazingangie · 1 month ago

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a princess and a painter | Daemon x Rhaenyra

☆ Rated E ☆ 7.5k words ☆ Complete! ☆ by AmazingAngie ☆

tags: Royalty!AU, smoking, loss of virginity, cousin incest, period typical attitudes

She wondered what it was like to be an artist. She wouldn't find out, no, if anything she was doomed to be some sort of object in a gallery. Carved from marble. Chunks of what she could have been and would have wanted, chipped away until all that remained was pale and smooth and inoffensive. Until she was exactly what her parents wanted her to be. Because that was her purpose in life, wasn’t it? That was what they had always told her. Her appearance—her actions, her existence, was a reflection of their parenting. Of their family. Of their country.

Vaguely inspired by 'The Crown' in which Rhaenyra is a well behaved princess and Daemon is her cousin who pushes every boundary given to him and inspires her to do the same.

Read on Ao3! (or below the cut)

England, 1938

Rhaenyra hadn’t had many boys in her rooms, though she supposed this boy was more of a man. Daemon Targaryen was twenty-four to her sixteen, and he looked it. He was tall, and though not the most muscular of men, he walked and moved with a lithe confidence that spoke to his strength.

She imagined he could be an intimidating man if he wanted to be. But in her presence, he had chosen to be charming and he succeeded in that quite fantastically. They had met the previous morning—nods of recognition that were suitable to pass between a princess and a man—her cousin, she thought? Or her uncle once removed? Her grandfather's, brother's, youngest son, if she recalled correctly. Farther from the throne than she was, but still with a strong current of royal blood in his veins.

It was funny, how obvious that was. She didn’t need the nose of a hound to know his last name was Targaryen, no one would, not with his eyes and hair and smirk. But he was a bit of a pariah, the third son, and not one willing to fall in line behind the others.

She didn’t know much about her cousins, at least not more than whispers her mother discouraged around the dining table but embellished when taking tea with friends. But she knew of Daemon—his photos were often in the papers, or rather, photos of him.

Not him making speeches, or cutting ribbons. No, they were of him at bars, drunken in the streets and disheveled. She had to hide her grin when they met that morning, when she got to see him in the flesh—his hair slicked back save for a stubborn strand that fell across his brow. He looked every bit a prince then, as he did now, so many hours later. The newspaper didn’t do him justice, smudges of dark ink creating shadows where there were none, and hiding the best and brightest of his features.

Daemon hadn’t gone into service—even with talks of war brewing. He hadn’t turned to the faith. He hadn’t even attended university to learn the laws and become a solicitor. He had gone to France, to art school. Her father had scoffed at the notion, of a son, of a man in line for the throne—albeit not near the front, choosing such a ridiculous path for life.

But Rhaenyra had admired it then, when she heard. Thinking it must be nice to live a life creating things others liked to look at. She admired it now too, perhaps even more given that Rhaenyra spent her days feeling like she was one of those things that had been created for others to look at.

A bit like a sculpture, maybe? Carved from marble. Chunks of what she could have been and would have wanted, chipped away until all that remained was pale and smooth and inoffensive. Until she was exactly what her parents wanted her to be.

Because that was her purpose in life, wasn’t it?

That was what they had always told her.

Her appearance—her actions, her existence, was a reflection of their parenting.

Of their family.

Of their country.

Daemon didn’t seem impressed by the space she called her own, despite the large size of elaborate quarters carved out for her in the palace. His seemed to carefully scrutinize the walls—the furniture, and even the floor. He wasn’t looking in awe at the grandeur, and his eyes didn’t widen in envy at the luxury she spent her time in.

No, instead his first words were about what it lacked.

“There are no mirrors?” Daemon said, looking around her bedroom curiously. It was an odd thing to notice, she thought—made stranger still by its relevance to the thoughts that had seemed to swim in her head throughout the day.

Perhaps it was coincidental, but no one had ever noticed the absence of them in her rooms. For her walls were hardly lacking decoration—papered with something thick and expensive, with foiled vines stretching across it like they were trying to reach the sun. It was a droll tragedy, how they were doomed to end at the ceiling, never reaching the sky. Sadder still were roses entwined with them, all mere buds that would never bloom.

She hadn’t chosen the paper. She had even tried to rid the room of it, once, finding a seam and picking at it with a hair pin until a maid found her and scolded her. Sometimes she looked at those marks—scratches in the thick paper that couldn’t be repaired that remained a reminder she had tried to change her circumstances once.

A constant comfort, perhaps.

She had chosen the paintings on her walls, at least. The expanse of them big enough to hold several of her favorites—pieces deemed to garish for the gallery, but not inappropriate for a girl of her age. She liked some of the darker ones—the heavy oils that displayed realistic scenes of murder or adultery. Works from the Renaissance or when her ancestors walked these halls, then gruesome acts and religious imagery were some of the few subjects artists felt drawn to.

But she liked pretty things, too. Viserys had once called her taste childish, scoffing at the bright colors and abstract styles that impressionists used. Rhaenyra thought it interesting, how so much could be said with so little detail. How much richer it was to look at, when such things were left up to imagination.

It took talent, the modern paintings equivalent in her mind to a poem that shared as much as a published volume of history. More words didn’t make something better. Didn’t make something true. Perhaps that was why she hated her reflection, for it was more detailed than any picture or portrait, but it didn’t seem to portray who she was at all.

Maybe it was part of what drew her to Daemon, curiosity not stemming from his unruliness but rather his shared interest in the world. Or maybe it was envy, either for his talent or his passion and ability to commit years of his life to its study. She would have no such luxury, at least not within the walls of a classroom.

She had her tutors, but her concerns once her education finished would be with the country, the people, not silly pictures, as her mother called them. Everything Rhaenyra liked was silly, her interests brushed aside while her mother insisted upon the importance of charity work and appearances. As if they weren’t one in the same, money directed towards causes that would make them look better, prop up their position even higher while doing alarmingly little for the lower class.

Not that she cared about that, either. She was just tired. Tired of true intentions being hidden behind bobbed hair and bright smiles. Speeches about how they were doing their best that people would accept simply because her father was nicely dressed and descended from the Kings and Queens that lined the halls of England's finest gallery.

It was exhausting, the inability to be yourself, even in your own rooms. Though this was the closest she could come, and so she shouldn’t have felt the need to justify her decor choices to him, a near stranger despite their shared blood.

But they were her choices and for once, she was curious what someone would think of them. What he would think of them. He had a quick wit that kept up with her own. He was handsome, and he knew it, but he didn’t hold that like a weapon against her throat—didn’t use it as an excuse to make cutting remakes. At least not towards her. She didn’t think he would tease her, if she told the truth—and so, she did.

“I don’t like my reflection,” She admitted. The words sounded silly between them, and she suddenly cursed herself for not making up another reason.

Her distaste for such a thing had stemmed from her childhood, the warnings of how she was a reflection of her family turning literal in her younger selves mind. She feared she would see them looming behind her in the pane of glass, like a shadow of ancestors warning her of the potential for disappointment.

She grew out of the childish fear, but not the dislike for such objects. She didn’t like looking at herself—being forced to see what others did. See what others believed. The good girl who always had fresh stockings and polished shoes, skirts the perfect length—necklines appropriately modest. Compliments towards her were endless, and well earned by the effort she put in. She knew she was comely, not needing a mirror to prove she was pretty.

Not just pretty, but perfect.

She didn’t feel perfect. She didn’t want to be perfect. And she didn’t want to see evidence of the illusion her appearance gave. Didn't want to become convinced by her own tricks, for fear she might lose sight of her own self.

“You surprise me.” He admitted, though the words sounded fond. “I thought a princess would want to do little but stare at her beauty.”

She tilted her head up, trying to stand taller—as if that would disguise the feeling that curled in her gut, the one that made her feel uncertain and small from her inexperience . She’d been called beautiful before—many times in fact, far more directly than his comment, which was really more of an implication than a statement.

But it felt different between the four walls of her room. Different when they were alone. Different when it was Daemon, and he was looking at her like that.

She laughed, hoping it sounded natural despite the tightening of her throat— “Hardly so.” And then she smiled, though it wasn’t as genuine as she’d like, either, “Are all princesses not beautiful? What need does a rose have to remind itself of its petals?” It was his turn to laugh, a sound quite a bit deeper than hers—and one that made her feel something deep inside her own gut

“Are you a rose then?” He asked, and she shrugged. “Perhaps.”

He took a step closer, “A proper english rose?”

She took a step back, and it wasn’t lost on her that he was herding—for that’s what it felt like, her closer towards the bed. This was supposed to be her territory, but somehow he was the collie and this was his field.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, feeling quite like a dim sheep.

Daemon paused—seeming surprised that she had discontinued their banter. But he wasn’t discouraged, going so far as to reach his arms out and pull her towards him. She followed his lead, as he folded her into an embrace.

Rhaenyra hadn’t hugged many men—perhaps a dozen? And none so recently as a girl—near women, of sixteen. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. How good it felt to nuzzle closer against the crisp lapels. The warm scent of smoke and spicy cologne they used to try and cover it was so distinctly man . It distracted her into relaxing, though she had enough awareness to notice the comically loud sniffing noise.

She pulled back, affronted—looking up at his grinning face. “You smell like a rose.” He said, and she laughed, tipping easily back into his arms and making a point to noisily sniff his collar—she had to go on her tiptoes to do so, and her lips brushed his jaw in the process.

She didn’t think it was intentional on her part. But maybe it was. She certainly didn’t protest at his response, which consisted of catching her face in his palm. Tipping her chin up until her gaze was forced to meet his own. His hand stroked down her jaw, thumb pressing at the hollow of her throat before cupping her neck.It was odd, the weight of a hand there, though not unpleasant.

It fell to her waist, pulling her closer to him still before he tipped his own jaw and brought their lips together. Rhaenyra had kissed a few boys, and a few men, but none like this. This was the type of kiss children weren’t allowed to see—it wasn’t a promise of affection, it was a promise of more, of lust.

She’d heard whispers of naughty stories, even thought she’d come close to being kissed in such a manner herself! But this was different. It was intoxicating, the way his tongue pressed against hers—exploring her mouth and claiming the territory as its own before his teeth followed, scraping against her bottom lip and inspiring her to follow his lead.

They ended up on her bed, somehow. He must have had more awareness than her, because she felt them moving—felt his hands running down her back and gripping her hips as she attempted to straddle him. She swore at the style of her dress, too narrow for what she wanted. The rayon made noises of protests as it tore from the strain, but the stiff lining beneath trapped her legs all the same.

It wasn’t elegant how she huffed, jumping off Daemon before fussing with hooks to try and remove it. Daemon laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel sound—simply one of amusement over her antics. He pulled her closer to him, attempting to undo the hooks at her side while he remained seated on her bed. He wasn’t doing a very good job, she noted. He seemed distracted by looking at her. His eyes unapologetically meeting her own, as if looking for an answer to something.

Finally she grew frustrated, “What?”

He shook his head, returning to the task at her waistline while he spoke, “I just, can’t imagine why you wouldn’t like looking at yourself.”

Her breath caught. “It’s not that.” She said, wetting her lips—her mouth that had seemed wet to the point of embarrassing when they were kissing now felt dry. “I just don’t think it’s very accurate.” she paused, “Or maybe it’s too accurate.” she pondered, wondering if that was the truth of it.

“Have you had your portrait painted?” He asked, successfully freeing her from the taffeta skirts. She awkwardly slipped out of it, hating the inconvenience of side closures. She was sure she looked a mess now—hair rumpled and in nothing but a slip, but it was hard to be embarrassed with the way Daemon looked at her.

“No,” she said slowly. “Not since the invention of cameras.” she teased.

“A painting wouldn’t show you what you look like. It would show you what I see when I look at you.” He said, sounding awfully serious despite her state of undress.

“Are they not the same?” She asked, fingering the undone lengths of his tie.

He smiled, leaning back against the bed. “Let me show you,”

“Now?” She teased.

He shook his head, “No, now I’ll show you something else.”

It was her turn to grin.

She hadn’t planned this. Inviting him to her room. She thought he was handsome, true. Interesting, perhaps. But she hadn’t expected this fascination —the way her eyes followed his every move. She understood now, the way maidens would wait on their suitors every breath. It would have been pathetic, maybe it was, but he was too charming to make her feel anything other than warm.

And then after dinner, he had cornered her.

“I wish we had more time to talk privately, princess.”

“Talk?” She had queried, a bit skeptical.

“In your rooms, maybe.” He had hinted, reaching to wipe something from her shoulder—a piece of imaginary lint, to be sure, her attendant would never allow her to leave her room with such a thing on her person.

“My mother would say you are seeking an invitation for something less savory than talking ” She said, blushing a little at the implication. If she was wrong, if he truly craved mere conversation, he’d think her probing foolish.

“And if I am?” He asked, not looking the least bit bothered by her search for the true meaning of his words.

“I suppose…I would say to follow me.”

She hadn’t spoken to him of her inexperience. She assumed he knew of it—she was a princess, with few opportunities, and few interactions with men willing to risk their place by propositioning her. Not to mention the scandal it would cause if news broke that she…before marriage...

It felt too late to mention it, when she had already agreed to have him in her rooms. She knew what the implications of that were, she wasn’t dim.

When a man asked to go to your room, it was because it had a bed, and beds were for….

She knew the basics of what they were for at least. She just didn’t know about… this. She thought it would be awkward. A bit of fumbling before two nude forms met each other. She didn’t expect the teasing—the tongue tracing her shoulder blades while teeth plucked silk straps from them.

There was so much kissing—endlessly their mouths met, drinking each other's moans and laughs and cries as their hips ground together in a way that inspired their lungs sing in pleasure.

Rhaenyra didn’t have much insecurity about what lay beneath her slip, constant dress fittings and physicals long sense undoing her sense of modesty. She had un-stylishly full breasts that felt heavy but sat high on her chest, even when the hooks of her bra were undone. Her waist was small, but curved into hips that she swore made their own sigh of relief as she peeled her girdle off. Curves weren’t in fashion, much to her chagrin. The suit of nylon an attempt to hold in what her body begged to truly be. Because of this she was unsurprised by the fact the metal suspenders had dug in, leaving angry marks behind as she tossed aside her hose.

When she turned back to Daemon—feeling relief over the removal of the offending garments rather than embarrassment over her bare body, she delighted in his expression. It was a bit awed, a bit dumbstruck. He looked younger—lighter, and it was so sweet she had to stifle a giggle.

He made no move to well… move, and she huffed, her patience wearing thin even if he was looking at her so nicely. “It’s your turn.” She said firmly, and he nodded—his tie had been loosened by her wandering hands, so it came free easily. She was sure a few links for the buttons would be found in the plush carpets of her room, so that garment was swiftly set aside too. It was hard to care about her potential carnage, when she was so eager in wanting more of him to be exposed to her.

And when he was… dear lord.

Rhaenyra thought she knew what the male form looked like. She treasured her books on greek sculpture after all! She’d been to galleries across Europe. Her fingers had traced the marble lines of Michelangelo's most famous works. And so she didn’t think a nude man would be a stranger to her, and it wasn’t strange! It was…gorgeous.

She realized she probably had a similar expression that he’d had a moment prior—something dumb as she took in what was his naked body. As she came to terms with what she wanted to do to his naked body. Desires she certainly hadn’t felt when looking at the marble forms in a gallery. She swallowed, before gesturing for him to come closer. It tickled her, how he obeyed, how he brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

He was softer than a statue, made from flesh and bone and sculpted by a pantheon of gods rather than the palms of a mere mortal. Perhaps that was why he was even more lovely than any creation she’d seen in a museum. But she couldn’t reflect on this for long, not when his fingers were roaming and tongue lapping at the swell of her breast.

He was lazy in the exploration of her body, unhurried in a way that both tormented and thrilled her. Though he seemed to move too slowly, time was passing so quickly, pleasure seeming to turn to steam and rise through the air before grasp it with her palms or come to terms with it at all. And when his mouth met her cunt—

Gods, indeed, for this was the sort of pleasure out of mythology rather than bibliography.

This must be what people lived for. What they killed for. What wars were waged for. This feeling, it was everything. She was lost in it, the tongue battling against her folds despite both being on the same side that was her pleasure. She didn’t know when her fingers found his hair, but they were twisted in the silver locks—holding on so tightly it must have hurt—but when she let go he growled. It was as if her grip had kept the beast at bay, and now it was freed from her thighs and ready to strike, its mouth meeting her own as they teeth clashed and in a sloppy kiss.

Her hands found his hair again, and their bodies found each other too—slotting together like they were made for this, it took the simple guidance from Daemon’s fingers to press his length inside of her. She thought it hurt, but she was distracted by the fact she was being devoured. By the fact his teeth were digging into her neck and his thumb twisting the peak of her breast. There were too many sensations flowing through her for the contractions in her cunt to phase her.

Not until they started feeling good.

She was quiet now, she thought—no longer moaning, her lips silenced by Daemon’s own. The noise was of him inside her the slick slapping sound of flesh repeatedly meeting each other. The sound reminded her of a baker kneading dough until it was ready to rise, and that made her want to laugh too—but she couldn’t, she didn’t have space inside her to make sounds. She was too full of him.

Perhaps he was kneading her rearranging her with his cock until she was perfect for him. And she was rising for him, too, everything seeming to tighten as she approached a new height she didn't think she was capable of. She was delirious now—comparing herself to baked goods! Whatever she was, whatever this was, it truly was good. It was better than good. It was… everything.

It was perfect. But better than that. Because it was tangible and real.

She was still holding onto his hair when he came, ducking his head in the side of her neck and pressing gentle kisses to the curve of it. She winced when he slipped out of her, the absence of pleasure making lingering pains noticeable.

He stood and slipped the rubber from his length, which she was equal parts fascinated with and disgusted by, before lazily throwing it in a waste basket that was decorated with baroque scrolls.

She had a moment of fear when he reached for his pants—it was mixed with embarrassment and attraction to his nude form, but the fear overshadowed them both for she was worried he would leave.

He didn’t, though. He fished out a lighter and a package of cigarettes before dropping the wool trousers to the floor. When he returned to her, he propped himself back against the headboard, and made no move to cover himself before lighting the coil of paper.

“Have you smoked before?” he asked, looking at her curiously. She shook her head, eyes following the trail of smoke that blew from his lips.

When he passed it to her, she took it eagerly—-following the steps she’d seen her father and his men do thousands of times before. She coughed inelegantly, inhaling too deeply and too much before cringing in embarrassment at her poor showing. When she caught her breath, she was happy to pass the offending thing back to him, shivering a little at the drag of his calloused fingers against her own.

“It takes practice.” He insisted, showing off by blowing a ring of smoke towards her ceiling.

“Does that get better with practice, too?” She asked, looking at the space between them to implyl the true meaning of her words.

“You hadn’t done that before, either.” He said, catching her gaze. She didn’t think it was a question but she shook her head all the same.

“When you come to my studio, you can find out.” He said, a little smug.

She tried not to show her enthusiasm, her pleasure that he still wanted to see her again. She had heard of men and their appetites, knew that his charm might be as much of a facade as her own. Falling from his features when he was alone and had no need for her body for his pleasure.

“You still want me to come?” She asked, trying to be brave as she stole the cigarette from his hand. She didn’t cough this time, which seemed to please them both.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, his expression one of amusement, causing little wrinkles to form at the corners of his eyes. She reached out to feel them, stretching the skin that wasn’t her own with her thumbs and grinning because he let her.

“Some might say a deflowered rose has little left to offer.” She said, a bit primly, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to see how he’d respond.

He surprised her, putting the cigarette out on the lacquered surface of her night stand—chemicals melting and mixing with the scent of smoke. It would leave a mark, she realized. One she’d have to explain, but that was for later, and for now he was pulling her back into his lap—a duvet between their loins but leaving enough skin exposed to make her blush.

“I don’t think that’s true.” He said, leaning back against the headboard and cradling her hips with his palms. “About the deflowered rose, they still have lots to offer.” He specified.

She giggled, cupping his face, “Like what, exactly?” she asked.

They were maybe an inch apart now—noses brushes, breath tangled, when he whispered, “They still have thorns.”

Daemon left that night, like she knew he would.

The smell of smoke faded.

Rhaenyra wrapped the rubber in toilet paper, stuffing it beneath every bit of garbage she could find in her room with hopes of disguising it. The sigh of relief she felt when trash was emptied with no question was astonishing.

No one asked about the mark on her side table, but it remained. A divet in the lacquer, showing a man's defiance—only a few feet away from her own act of rebellion, scratches at the seam of foiled paper.

It was the only outside sign of his presence in her rooms. Aside from the square of paper he’d withdrawn from his pocket before leaving. It had the address, for his apartment and his studio on it, written in the hand of a well bred Targaryen, not a loop out of place—too ingrained in them from a young age to be absent even in a casual missive.

The paper was worn now, from being folded and carried in her pocket. Even though she had memorized the numbers that very night she took it with her everywhere. Too afraid someone else would find it. Too afraid to throw it away. She needed it as a reminder he was real. That this was real.

His studio was small, in a good part of the city but a poorly maintained building. The windows were big, and the amount of light extraordinary—but it was drafty, curtains doing little to hide this as they blew in the breeze from the gaps in the window panes.

The floors were old planks, the finish long since having worn away, leaving them an uneven shade of brown that was barely remedied by the cedar oil she could still smell in the air. It hid the scent of damp, at least, mixing with the smoke of his cigarettes and his cologne.

She loved it, though. The mismatched pieces of furniture and the large rugs clashed horribly but did a great deal to cover the damaged floors. And there was art everywhere. Not the type in her books, or in the galleries, or not just those types.

His collection was varied—he seemed to dislike most of them when she inquired, which amused her endlessly. But he had such an appreciation for their existence and creativity. The way he talked about art, the way he respected things for being different, rather than trying to make them all the same.

It was…extraordinary.

He is extraordinary, she thought, when they reached his own works. The talents of the old masters mixed with an innovative palette, creating something modern but respectful and not at all like she had expected from him.

It was genuine, when she said she loved his work.

It was scary how genuine she thought the same words might be in regard to her feelings for him.

He drew her with charcoal first. Portraits and limbs and a dozen poses. Quick sketches that hardly looked like her but exposed so much in the ways they did.

His hands were a sooty mess after, leaving prints on her hips when he fucked her. He’d laid her over the drafting table, every thrust of his hips pressing her breasts against his drawings, smudging the lines and obscuring the subject further.

“They’re ruined,” She said, running her fingers over the dark lines that dragged across the page. Sweat and oils from her skin having distorted the beautiful forms he’d outlined on the paper. But he shook his head and sounded confident when he said, “They are exactly what I wanted.”

She wondered if she was what he wanted.

She was grateful she wore black that day, as she pulled the cotton twill over her smudged chest. Grateful for her etiquette lessons, for it kept the tears at bay when she said goodbye.

“You’ll be back.” He said, and it wasn’t a question. But she wasn’t sure it was something she could promise, either.

That night she was intentional in the way she looked at her reflection. Thinking for the first time she looked like something of her own making. Or of his.

It washed down the drain, leaving behind once more pale skin.

She was punished for missing her lessons. Questioned about where she went and what she did. The unaccounted for hours in her life seemingly unacceptable to those who were paid to care for her.

Viserys assigned her a new guard, a man of the faith turned devotee to the crown, who watched her like a hawk with clear blue eyes. Her every step was shadowed by his own, his looming presence at her door long after she went to bed. The worst of her indiscretions had not been realized, but she was being punished for them all the same.

She saw Daemon once at a dinner, weeks later, but they didn’t have a chance to mingle or speak.

He was not shy in the way he gazed at her, she would even say he was rude in how he started. But she didn’t mind it. She liked it, the feeling of being alive under his gaze, of being seen. She had forgotten how heady that feeling was, how desperate she was for more of it.

But it seemed life was determined to keep her from it. He was noticeably absent from the small birthday celebration they had for her the following month, the larger party canceled due to talks of war which would make celebration seem uncouth.

“Oh, his behavior towards you didn’t seem quite appropriate.” Her mother admitted, giving her an apologetic smile along with the explanation.

His interest in her hadn’t gone unnoticed. And her mother—or the crown, did it even matter which? Had decided it wasn’t of her interest.

Rhaenyra stared at the mark on her nightstand.

Then, one day, it was gone.

“There was a dent—some sort of damage, I do apologize for it not being noticed earlier.”

It was replaced with something eighteenth century—white with gold gilt. It was pretty. It fit the room perfectly. It was as if the previous piece was never there. A priceless antique that had been in the palace for centuries was easily replaceable to a family like hers.

She wondered if she would be replaced that easily too.

Her brother Baelon was young, but of just as good breeding. His hair was platinum and his irises purple. He would have the same tutors as her, and tailors. Even more opportunities than her thanks to his gender. What would happen if she stumbled? If she became marred like the nightstand was. She might not be thrown away—but she would be set aside, something better taking her place.

She didn’t get much sleep—her eyes were searching for something that was no longer there.

Her mind was searching for a reason to stay here.

She should have been ashamed, that when she heard the news of an invasion that could motivate England to finally act, that her first thought was of freedom. People were scared, and when scared they were sloppy.

She stole a coat, giggling despite her unease in regards to this escape. It swallowed the red burgundy velvet of her gown, hiding the stretches of skin that had been allowed for the evening and falling past her hands. It was easy to slip away while cocooned in its embrace. She kept her head ducked low while she caught a car.

The address spilled from her lips quickly, eagerly, the engine revving as it accelerated towards the outskirts of London. The driver was listening to the radio so loudly it hurt her ears, but she could barely hear it over the pounding in her chest. She was grateful for it, either way, that he didn’t try to make conversation.

The car didn’t linger, seeming to disappear as soon as her heel met the curb. Four steps lead to the door that boasted his address, something old and grand and appropriate for a member of her family to have.

Leaves decorated the stoop, saturated with water and squelching unattractively beneath the leather soles of her shoes. She realized, somewhere between paying her fare and knocking on the door before her, that this was perhaps a foolish idea—what if he wasn’t there? What if he laughed at her? What if—

The door opened.

The hall behind him was dimly lit, and she realized he must have been sleeping because a pair of half buttoned pajama pants were all that covered his form. She couldn’t help but grin at his tired state, his rumpled hair.

A giddiness at being close to him again overtook the nerves and then he was kissing her.

The next morning he made her eggs, while she watched in rapt fascination—never actually witnessing the task before. He drank coffee instead of tea, offering her some only to laugh when she nearly spat it back into the mug. “It takes some getting used to,” he said.

“I think I’d like to get used to it.” She admitted quietly, looking down at the mug of dreadful liquid. It may have been vile but she was grateful for the grounding nature of its heat in her palms, the euphemism it offered when discussing a more challenging topic.

“There would be a media storm,” Daemon mused, though he didn’t look bothered by the thought.

“We’re British, we can handle some rain, can’t we?”

“I do have experience making women wet.” He said cheekily. She gaped at the jest, reaching over the counter to hit him, but he caught her palm and pulled her to him.

“I’d like to weather a storm with you.” He said, more serious now.

“I’d like to do more than just that.” She admitted, smiling before their lips met—and she found coffee didn’t taste as bad from his tongue.

They went to his studio—the radio turned off, eating rations an older woman from upstairs insisted on dropping off. She was nearly blind, Daemon whispered to Rhaenyra before letting her in. Daemon told her that they were newlyweds and the woman grinned, saying she would be back—- muttering something about fuel before trudging up the remaining stairs.

Daemon posed her, and sketched at a canvas for what felt like hours before they broke for lunch. They ate her offerings and napped on a dusty chaise lounge. They didn’t wear much clothing, too enamored with each other's nude forms to bother.

Daemon became nearly frantic in his work—layering oils and mixing paint until the smell of turpentine permeated the air, growing even stronger as hours passed. He was too caught up in his work to take breaks for smoking, or —to her annoyance, sex, at least not until the light turned bad.

Then they would come together, in more ways than one.

When he showed it to her, she almost wanted to cry. Because it was her. Hair long, eyes alluring, lips turned up in something her mother would call a smirk. Her form was bare but for a sheet, as was her face and she had never looked more...perfect was a cursed word on her tongue. She wouldn’t use it.

But this was how she wanted to be seen.

And it was how he saw her.

And that was all that seemed to matter.

She felt very young and small as they left his studio—dressed in an ill fitting navy suit and large sunglasses that hid the most notable of her features. She’d huffed, when the store didn’t have any pants—a novel style she had never been offered the opportunity to wear in her life in the palace. Daemon promised she could have all the pants she wanted, they just had to get out of this god forsaken country first.

It was strange how no one looked at them on the busy streets, too caught up with their jobs and lives and concerns with war to be bothered by the pair of blondes slipping onto a train.

Daemon had a friend file paperwork for them, ink drying on the license declaring them wed before they even stepped off the train. They stayed at an inn, a raunchy establishment named Silk Street. Daemon loudly exclaimed his intentions towards his new bride before the evening began, and though she had been embarrassed at first, she drank too much and had too much fun dancing with him to care by the time they retired.

“They have to know I deflowered you,” he said between kisses, “Can’t let them take you away from me.” he insisted, sounding almost desperate, justifying the treatment he gave her with a few more whispers before dropping his mouth to her cunt.

She tried not to give him the satisfaction of screaming—biting her fist until the marks bruised. But soon she couldn’t resist, whimpers and shouts turning to broken cries while her hands grasped his hair.

When they left the next day, there were jeers and glares in equal measure.

The room on their ship was, thankfully, better insulated.

Rumors didn’t break of that night, or their travels. Though Rhaenyra had little doubt word of it made it to her parents—the crown. She hadn’t heard from them either, despite sending them her address months prior. It was her friend—another cousin, Laena, who told her that they placed a tiny announcement in the paper. There wasn’t even a photo, just a short message saying she had wed and moved to another country with her husband.

Baelon was announced as heir a week later.

Rhaenyra was right, she was easily replaced—at least in their eyes.

There never was a media storm like they worried, she thought, looking down at a newspaper sticking to the wet concrete while she waited for the stupid beasts they called pets to find a place suitable to pee. They were unbothered by the rain that dampened the shoulders of her coat, the scent of wet wool mixing with the rose perfume she still favored.

It hadn’t been long, since they had left. Months, though it felt like a lifetime sometimes. Reminders were still easy to come by, poking at fears that had yet to come to fruition. Her parents held the strings too tightly for her betrayal to be fully revealed. But she had worn a veil at first, when she left their apartment—not because she mourned her old life, but because she feared strangers would recognize her in this one.

She didn’t bother anymore. Between the flush that winter left on her cheeks, her loose hair, and the dark coat, she found there were few similarities to the english princess she once was. She liked wearing Daemon’s old things, hanging off her shoulders and belted tight around her tiny waist. But he kept his promise, buying her pants, though they both preferred her in skirts for… reasons.

She painted her nails red. Wore red lipstick, too, and though Daemon complained about the marks it left on his neck, he didn’t seem to mind them late at night when it left rings around his cock. That was something she had learned about, too. There was freedom in this life, a type she’d never known.

The pair of hounds pulled her towards home golden and red coats shiny even in the poor weather. They stopped twice to sniff in front of a barber shop, where a large mirror served as a backdrop for their list of services. She found herself unbothered by it, blinking mindlessly at her reflection before pulling the beasts towards home.

She was eager to be home—tossing the twill leashes, coat, and keys into a heap by the front door. Daemon would scold her for it later, but she didn’t care. He thought he was so much more dignified than her, learning menial tasks while he was at university. She’d had maids for those things, and hadn’t quite built the habits he boasted just yet.

She hadn’t tried that hard, either. But she would rather learn than get a maid—she didn’t want to give up their privacy. The luxury of being responsible for the state of their own things. She wasn’t sure they could afford one, either. .

They weren’t rich the way her parents were—how could they be, when they were people rather than an institution? But Daemon had his mothers old apartment and investments, teasing that she was his favorite, given that she willed it to him despite being the forgotten third son.

“Is that why you are so attention seeking?” She had asked, “Worried they will forget you if you aren’t in print at the breakfast table?”

“Me? Of course not. I’m unforgettable.” He had argued, and Rhaenyra found she couldn’t disagree.

He made sure she would never be forgotten, too.

Every stroke reads like a sentence, leaving the finished piece more akin to a love letter than a painting. It’s extraordinary how he captures her—his wife of twelve years, and the once princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen. It’s her nude body we admire, but it seems only a fair exchange given the way her husband bares his soul.

It’s no wonder they’ve taken the art scene by storm, and I feel lucky to have been in its path. The wreckage of emotions left behind is a gift as it renders you more time to examine the beauty of their shared work. .

#hotd #fanfic #ao3 #daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #house of the dragon #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #fic #a03 #daemon x Rhaenyra #HOTD #Angie writes

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adventure-showdown · 1 year ago

Text

What is the Best Doctor Who Story Ever Told?

Hello everybody and welcome to this, frankly ridiculously sized, tournament between not only every televised Doctor Who story, not only the spinoffs, not only a large number of minisodes, but over a 100 audios and dozens of other stories from other corners of the EU.

Now we will have to whittle over 600 stories down to jusst one, that is a lot of matches, a lot of rounds, just a lot, until very late in the game, rounds will be posted across several days. Right now the goal is to post (up to) new matches daily from Sunday to Thursday, with Friday's a day off for my own sake, which in my current plan places the final on the 18th of December (thats right, this'll be out of date before its even over, during round 2 in fact)

You can use this form to submit propaganda for your favourite stories (or anti propaganda for ones you hate). there is a more checkable list of nominations here if you want to know what you can submit propaganda for

without further ado

ROUND 1 (Group Stage)

earlier in the year I ran some polls between televised Doctor Who stories, the top 50% for each Doctor have automatically advanced to Round 2, which is why (a) there are stories missing, and (b) the groups between the remaing stories are a lot deadlier

Every day will have groups from across the Doctor Who Universe, from Classic Who, New Who, TV Spinoffs, and the EU

Day 6

Group 1

The Twin Dilemma

Attack of the Cybermen

The Two Doctors

Timelash

Mindwarp

The Ultimate Foe

Group 2

Time and the Rani

Paradise Towers

Delta and the Bannermen

Dragonfire

Silver Nemesis

The Greatest Show in the Galaxy

Group 3

The Tsuranga Conundrum

The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos

Praxeus

Can You Hear Me?

Flux

Legend of the Sea Devils

Group 4

The Ghost Monument

Arachnids in the UK

Kerblam!

Orphan 55

Ascension of the Cybermen/The Timeless Children

Revolution of the Daleks

Once, Upon Time

Survivors of the Flux

The Vanquishers

Group 5

Mutant Copper

The Custodians

Taphony of the Time Loop

Robot Gladiators

Mind Snap/Angel of the North/The Last Precinct/Hound of the Korven/The Eclipse of the Korven

Group 6

For Tonight We Might Die

The Coach with the Dragon Tattoo

Nightvisiting

Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart/Brave-ish Heart

Detained

The Metaphysical Engine or What Quill Did

The Lost

Group 7

The Last Beacon

Serenity

Rhys and Ianto's Excellent Barbecue

A Spoonful of Mayhem

The Lumiat

Too Many Masters

Group 8

Expiry Dating

Ghosts

The Cars that Ate London!

A Photograph to Remember

Psychodrome

Iterations of I

Group 9

Living Legend

The Martian Invasion of Planetoid 50

The Bekdel Test

Oh No It Isn't

The Eleven Day Empire/The Shadow Play

Smoke and Mirrors

Group 10

Dooms Day hour 1

An Adventure in Space and Time

Shada (1992) version with linking narration from Tom Baker

Shada animated reconstruction

Return to Shada webcast with 8

Group 11

Dreamland

Real Time

Scream of the Shalka

The Infinite Quest

Ronald Rat continuity announcement

The Man from M.I.5

Group 12

Dr Who and the Daleks

Dalek's Invasion of Earth 2150AD

Doctor in Distress

Doctorin' the TARDIS

I'm gonna Spend my Christmas with a Dalek

previous days under the cut

Day 1

Group 1

The Sensorites

Planet of Giants

The Web Planet

The Crusade

Mission to the Unknown

The Massacre

The Celestial Toymaker

The Savages

Group 2

Marco Polo

Galaxy 4

The Myth Makers

The Ark

The Gunfighters

The Smugglers

Group 3

The Underwater Menace

The Ice Warriors

The Dominators

The Krotons

The Seeds of Death

Group 4

The End of the World

The Unquiet Dead

Aliens of London/World War Three

The Long Game

Boom Town

Group 5

The Christmas Invasion

Love and Monsters

Gridlock

Voyage of the Damned

Planet of the Dead

Group 6

Invasion of the Bane

Revenge of the Slitheen

Eye of the Gorgon

Warriors of Kudlak

Whatever Happened to Sarah-Jane

The Lost Boy

Group 7

The Last Sontaran

The Day of the Clown

Secrets of the Stars

The Mark of the Berserker

The Temptation of the Sarah-Jane Smith

Enemy of the Bane

Group 8

Prisoner of the Judoon

The Mad Woman in the Attic

The Wedding of Sarah-Jane Smith

The Eternity Trap

Mona Lisa's Revenge

Group 9

The Marian Conspiracy

The Apocalyspe Element

The Shadow of the Scourge

The Holy Terror

Storm Warning

Group 10

Minuet in Hell

Loups-Garoux

The Chimes of Midnight

Seasons of Fear

The Time of the Daleks

Group 11

Jubilee

Neverland

Spare Parts

Creatures of Beauty

Doctor Who and the Pirates

Group 12

Omega

Master

Zagreus

Scherzo

The Natural History of Fear

Group 13

The Room With All the Doors

Grey Matter

Lepidoptery for Beginners

Something Borrowed

Nothing at the End of the Lane

Group 14

Divided Loyalties

Fear of the Dark

Fear Itself

12 Doctors, 12 Stories

Scratchman

The Stranger

Group 15

Vampire Science

Alien Bodies

Seeing I

The Scarlet Empress

Unnatural History

Interference

Group 16

The Blue Angel

The Burning

The Turing Test

The Year of Intelligent Tigers

The City of the Dead

The Adventuress of Henrietta Street

Day 2

Group 1

The Highlanders

The Faceless Ones

The Abominable Snowmen

The Wheel in Space

The Space Pirates

Group 2

Ambassadors of Death

Colony in Space

Day of the Daleks

The Time Monster

Frontier in Space

Death to the Daleks

Group 3

Doctor Who and the Silurians

The Claws of Axos

The Mutants

Planet of the Daleks

The Monster of Peladon

Planet of Spiders

Group 4

New Earth

Tooth and Claw

The Girl in the Fireplace

Fear Her

The Shakespeare Code

Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution of the Daleks

The Lazarus Experiment

The Sontaran Stratagem/The Poison Sky

Group 5

Rise of the Cybermen/The Age of Steel

The Idiot's Lantern

The Doctor's Daughter

The Next Doctor

Group 6

The Gift

The Nightmare Man

The Vault of Secrets

Death of the Doctor

The Empty Planet

Group 7

Lost in Time

Goodbye, Sarah-Jane Smith

Sky

The Curse of Clyde Langer

The Man Who Never Was

Group 8

Everything Changes

Day One

Ghost Machine

Cyberwoman

Small Worlds

Group 9

Arrangements for War

The Harvest

Faith Stealer

Caerdroia

Terror Firma

Group 10

Singularity

Other Lives

The Kingmaker

The Girl Who Never Was

The Condemned

The Doomwood Curse

Group 11

The Magic Mousetrap TIE

The Company of Friends: Benny's Story

The Company of Friends: Fitz's Story

The Company of Friends: Izzy's Story

The Company of Friends: Mary's Story TIE

A Death in the Family

Group 12

Robophobia

The Silver Turk

1963: The Assassination Games

The Widow's Assassin

Dalek Soul

The Grey Man of the Mountain

Group 13

Mad Dogs and Englishmen

Anachrophobia

The Book of the Still

The Crooked World

Camera Obscura

The Gallifrey Chronicles

Group 14

The Left-Handed Hummingbird

Human Nature

Lungbarrow

The Blood Cell

Engines of War

Group 15

The Book of War

This Town Will Never Let Us Go

Of the City of the Saved

Doctor Who and Shada (fan novelisation)

Harvest of Time

Group 16

The Star Beast

Voyager

The World Shapers

Ground Zero

The Flood

Day 3

Group 1

Robot

Revenge of the Cybermen

The Android Invasion

The Sunmakers

Meglos

Group 2

The Brain of Morbius

Image of the Fendahl

The Power of Kroll

The Creature from the Pit

Nightmare of Eden

Group 3

Victory of the Daleks

The Curse of the Black Spot

Closing Time

Asylum of the Daleks

The Bells of Saint John

Name of the Doctor

Group 4

The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood

Night Terrors

The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship

A Town Called Mercy

Hide

Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS

The Crimson Horror

Group 5

Countrycide

Greeks Bearing Gifts

They Keep Killing Suzie

Random Shoes

Out of Time

Group 6

Combat

Captain Jack Harkness

End of Days

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

Sleeper

To the Last Man

Group 7

Meat

Adam

Reset

Dead Man Walking

A Day in the Death

Something Borrowed

Group 8

The Blood of the Daleks

Horror of Glam Rock

Immortal Beloved

Phobos

No More Lies

Group 9

Human Resources

To the Death

The Eleven

The Red Lady

The Galileo Trap

Group 10

The Gift

The Sonomancer

Absent Friends

The Eighth Piece

The Doomsday Chronometer

Group 11

The Crucible of Souls

Ship in a Bottle

Songs of Love

The Side of the Angels

Stop the Clock

Group 12

The Fallen

The Land of Happy Endings

Old Friends

Space in Dimension Relative and Time

Time in Reverse

Group 13

The Zero Imperative

The Devil of Winterborne

Unnatural Selection

Ghosts of Winterborne

When to Die

Group 14

Summoned by Shadows

More Than a Messiah

In Memory Alone

The Terror game

Breach of the Peace

Eye of the Beholder

Day 4

Group 1

Planet of Evil

The Invisible Enemy

The Invasion of Time

The Armageddon Factor

Destiny of the Daleks

Group 2

The Sontaran Experiment

The Masque of Mandragora

The Talons of Weng-Chiang

Underworld

The Leisure Hive

Full Circle

Group 3

The Lodger

The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People

Let's Kill Hitler

Cold War

Nightmare in Silver

Group 4

Into the Dalek

Robot of Sherwood

Kill the Moon

The Pyramid at the End of the World

The Eaters of light

Group 5

From Out of the Rain

Adrift

Fragments

Exit WOunds

Children of Earth

Miracle Day

Group 6

K9 and Company

Regeneration/Liberation/The Korven

The Bounty Hunter

Sirens of Ceres

Fear Itself

The Fall of the House of Gryffen

Group 7

Escape from Kaldor

Better Watch Out/Fairytale in Salzburg

Companion Piece

Day of the Master

Paradox of the Daleks

Inside Every Warrior

Group 8

Stranded

UNIT Dating

Here Lies Drax

The Love Vampires

Albie's Angels

Group 9

Solitaire

Peri and the Piscon Paradox TIE

The Cold Equations TIE

The Last Post

The Scorchies

Nightshade

Group 10

Death and the Queen

The Sword of the Chevalier

No Place

The Creeping Death

Out of Time (individual story)

Wink

Group 11

Wartime

Zygon: When Being You Just Isn't Enough

Downtime

Sil and the Seeds of Andor

Group 12

Wall's Sky Ray lollies advert

Merry Christmas Doctor Who

Step into the 80s/On Through the 80s

A Fix With Sontarans

Dalek Weetabix advert

Famin Appeal 1985

Group 13

The Shrink

Search Out Space

Dimensions in Time

Emperor of the Daleks

The Curse of Fatal Death

Day 5

Group 1

Four to Doomsday

Terminus

Warriors of the Deep

The Awakening

Resurrection of the Daleks

Group 2

The Visitation

Black Orchid

Time-Flight

Arc of Infinity

The King's Demons

Group 3

Listen

The Girl Who Died

Sleep No More

Knock Knock

The Lie of the Land

The Empress of Mars

Group 4

The Caretaker

In the Forest of the Night

Last Christmas

The Woman Who Lived

The Return of Doctor Mysterio

Twice Upon a Time

Group 5

The Jaws of Orthrus

Dream-Eaters

Curse of Anubis

Oroborus

Alien Avatar

Group 6

The Aeolian

The Last Oak Tree

Black Hunger

The Cambridge Spy

Lost Library of Ukko

Group 7

Square One

First Days of Phaidon

Gallifrey IV

Warfare

Unity

Group 8

The Queen of Time

Paradise 5

The Elite

I am the Master

Forever Fallen

A Full Life

Group 9

The Fifth Citadel

The Forgotten Villafe

Peshka

The Concrete Cage TIE

Troubled Waters TIE

The Hollow King

Group 10

Born Again

Tardisodes

Time Crash

Space/Time

The Naked Truth

Night and the Doctor

Group 11

Pond Life

P.S.

The Great Detective

The Bells of Saint John: A prequel

The Battle of Demons Run: Two Days Later

Clara and the TARDIS

Group 12

Rain Gods

Night of the Doctor

The Last Day

The Five(ish) Doctors Reboot

The Doctor's Meditation

Farewell Sarah-Jane

#doctor who #round 1 #it took so long to type all of these up

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