#survival fright
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chloesimaginationthings · 7 months ago
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What comic is the bottom left image of springtrap from? (On the post where you say why you draw him blocky)
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It’s from this comic!! A very normal father son reunion
Og post here
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cubbihue · 4 months ago
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A question for the fairies! Why do y'all have legs if you float everywhere? Is it some kindof evolutionary leftover? Or to be more familiar to humans? (Btw I love your series/headcanons, and I love the designs of everyone!)
The reason they have legs is becau-
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Oh! Yeah, sure, ok. Go ahead, Cosmo.
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....
Well you heard it here folks!!!! Right from the source!!
Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]
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nelkcats · 2 years ago
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Trapped Fear
At first Fright Knight was not loyal to Pariah, maybe it was because he was the combination of many warriors and he knew that tyranny would lead to nothing. However, because of this the former king engaged him in battle and captured his core, making him loyal.
Like all Ancients, Fright Knight could survive without his core but had to obey the person holding it. He and Clockwork shared that unfortunate fate, though Fright Knight considered being at the mercy of the Observants far worse.
When Danny defeated Pariah Dark his control over Fright Knight stopped, the knight foolishly thought he would take back what was his, but the old king was selfish and thrown the stone of fear into the human world, where he knew Fright Knight would not enter.
Disappointed but used to it, Fright Knight resigned to not finding that part of himself, he served Danny from that moment on, becoming his protector and above all, his friend. Until someone found his core and instead of being free, he was summoned and resigned to fulfill the words of his new owner.
Of course, Danny was worried when his knight disappeared from Phantom Palace, and after a long search he found his whereabouts in a city: Gotham. A man called "Scarecrow" was spreading fear in the city, and it seemed very familiar to him.
After a fight with the bats he got the information he needed: his knight was following the man. When he went to face his old friend, the king noticed that Fright Knight was not speaking on his will, he was crying and sending messages of help that only he could understand. The King was furious, and maybe it was time to show why no one messed with what was his.
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fogaminghub · 3 months ago
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https://www.fogaminghub.com/post/explore-dead-by-daylight-s-dominus-tome-a-gothic-horror-experience
🌑✨ Horror enthusiasts, rejoice! ✨🌑  
The latest Dead by Daylight update, Tome 21: Dominus, is here, bringing an epic blend of gothic horror and Castlevania legends! Uncover striking outfits, delve into rich stories, and face off against terrifying challenges. Are you ready to explore the shadows? 👻💔  
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that--unusual-person · 1 year ago
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10 years later and my shower thoughts myth busted that Michael Afton wasn’t the security guard in fnaf 3 for two reasons
1. why would he be hallucinating the animatronics from 1987 when he never had the experience as the nightguard, that was Jeremy
2. Michael doesn’t have a goddamn clue where William is. at the end of sister location, he says “I’m going to come find you.” bro lost track of his dad. Will went to go run errands and never came back
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tomboy014 · 2 years ago
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Head canon that Fright Knight's mount, Nightmare, is a Mare of Diomedes.
Also, she's a destrier. She's a WAR HORSE. She. Is. Huge. with a broad chest, large hooves and feathering for days. She's not a horse; she's a HONSE.
She will trample your skull, burn you alive, and eat your charred corpse off the battlefield. She deserves to be drawn as such.
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fazbearsecuritycrew · 1 month ago
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AU where Mercy survives Fazbear's Fright burning down.
In this AU, Mercy makes it out by the skin of her teeth and with an ounce of awareness to spare. She had to spend a few hours in the ER breathing in pure oxygen and recovering from minor burns, and then had to go home and rub the soot off her face, but it was a miracle that she didn't die.
You'd think nearly burning to death would put you off cigarettes, but Mercy still smokes even after the fire. Considering her history of breathing in dangerous shit that shouldn't be on fire, I imagine her smoking habits would catch up to her around the age of 35-years-old, but not in a fatal way. More in a "hacking up black phlegm" way.
Despite nearly dying, and because she never learns, she'd probably be back the next year to work at Fazbear Frights, although probably more as a curator or weekend shift help instead of the regular gig work she used to do. She'd probably keep partying with Luke every weekend and work her way through college, the end. There's really not much to it with her. Just reckless college-aged kids and all.
Funnily enough, Mercy was originally supposed to survive the fire, and the eye scar was a result of that. I forgot when I swapped it around, but now it's eye scar, THEN ultimate demise. Ouch.
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Now, let me tell you that I have never seen someone become so attatched to a design of mine in such a short span of time until Survival Games here.
But before we discuss the lucky bugger, let's discuss the ideas. I took inspo from our lovely Yvel Assasins for this one, decked out in a red and black military vest {or an attempt at one}, black cuffed jeans and the best off-white shirt you could ever wear to a death-game. That mask they carry too, fully customisable with the right coding know-how, though it seems to only be capable of blue and red designs, maybe it's a colour preference or a fault with the model?
And finally the Species choice... Porcupines are dangerous and can impale you if you're not careful :)
Unfortunately for anyone eying this design up, it's already on hold for @cherrykitkat who while I was making them more or less offered up their soul for this thing.
Thanks Kit, you have a problem /j
THE LINEUP
Day 1 - The London Dungeon Day 2 - Magma Day 3 - Coven of 13 Day 4 - Orion Day 5 - Vampire Day 6 - Below Day 7 - Curse at Alton Manor Day 8 - Wolf Legend Day 9 - Depths of Darkness Day 10 - Octonauts Rollercoaster Adventure Day 11 - Electrick Circus Day 12 - Mandrill Mayhem Day 13 - Survival Games Day 14 - Mystic Timbers
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bonnies-bowling-alley · 1 year ago
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Millie being a baby bat [young goth] is so silly to me. Like gurl probably listened to the cure, sisters of mercy and stuff like that alon side with something not part of the goth genre but tbh who 14 year old goth kid hasn't listened to my chemical romance at this point?
This kid blasting music like this in her ears to drown out the world fr...
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frightnightindustries · 1 year ago
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Stereotypical animatronic horror game, but near the end, the protagonist finds a gun.
Shoots a monster
It bleeds
#writing prompts#mascot horror#idea from one of my own ideas for a game#which is actually where the name “frightnightindustries” came from#it was inside a massive pizzaplex style place but more focused on horror with its own shitty company and franchise#and you wouldve gotten trapped inside after lagging behind to pick some stuff#you would be a dayshift guard#and you arent supposed to be inside there after 8pm#so you get locked in there and the creepy animatronic monsters would chase you#the building would be called “julius's nightmare extraordinare”#and there are different sections like a sci-fi themed place where the amals chase you (melted robots)#a ruined town where toon-like monsters roam#including the main antagonist#julius the deer of death#there would be a riverboat place that would be like a boat ride but also survival horror thing#and the company would be called “Fright-Night Industries”#and it turns out that the monsters are real monsters (except for the amals)#because some interns fooled around and accidentally summoned them#and the ceo made a deal that they would only eat people who stayed after 8pm and would stay in the building cause the monsters found it fun#and the company isnt money hungry they're just fucking stupid#and there would be multiple endings#one where you become one of the monsters#one where you escape and resign#one where you escape on a motorcycle#one where you escape#get an explanation about where the monsters came from#and became a sort of handler for them because julius got attached#and you need the money
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thehigh-waytohell · 9 months ago
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youtube
"if you're having girl problems i feel bad for you, son
i got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one"
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charactergobbler · 1 year ago
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Noooo i definitely didn’t go to thorpe park for fright night and definitely didn’t go in one of the mazes called survival games on sunday the 22nd Noo definitely not =]
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nezuscribe · 20 days ago
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gojo is used to strange people with strange requests. he gets paid for doing people’s dirty work, things they’d never do themselves, so this is pretty standard in his line of work.
he had to survive somehow, and if becoming the bidder of bad tidings was what made him coin, then he wasn’t one to complain.
another thing that gojo had gotten especially good at is knowing when somebody is looking for him. it’s usually scurried glances and sweaty palms that give them away. which is why now, as he’s resting an ale in hand at the back of the tavern, does he feel this sense go off.
he sits alone, not looking up from his drink as he feels a set of eyes on him. tonight was his night of rest, his horse was sleeping outside, and he had booked a room just for himself. he didn’t care what they gave him. he was checked out for the night.
the room is crowded, with loud and boisterous laughter filling any gaps of silence. people are taking and shouting, but it doesn’t mask the set of footsteps getting near to where he was trying to hide away from everybody else.
gojo keeps his head down, his nose wrinkling in annoyance when timid hands set a pouch in front of him. filled to the brim with gold, most likely.
“i need your help,” a voice, frightful and cracking, says.
gojo rolls his eyes. this isn’t the first time a girl has run away from his rich family and begs him for a chance away. but he’s done that too many times, gone through too much. he’d rather just kill the parents. he takes a sip of his drink, resting his back on the wall.
he knows how this usually goes. a girl wants to run away, she finds him, they end up running away, only for the girl to feel guilty and beg him to take her back home. either that or she has no plan in mind and forces him on an endless chase to somewhere she doesn’t even know.
judging by the tone of your voice, he’s betting you’re a mix of both right now.
“i’m not offering any help right now,” he says, twisting a ring back and forth on his fingers, one he had stollen a while ago.
“i have more gold,” you beg, “i need your help… please. i heard you’re the only person who’s made it through the north alive.”
gojo glances up at you briefly, taking in your bruised and cut face, most likely from running away, at your eyes filled with tears, and at the way your lips trembled.
his eyes flit away momentarily, not expecting you to take him by surprise. you look more roughed up than the other girls he’s seen so far, a certain heaviness in your stare.
“no.” he says bluntly and your gaze seems to waver just slightly. you gnaw on your lips, wondering how you could change your speech to change his mind.
“my father wants me to marry this man. he’s,” you shudder a little bit at the thought, “inhuman. if i don’t get away soon his men will find me. i,” your breathing shudders, “i can’t let them find me.”
gojo sighs deeply though his nose. so much for a relaxful evening.
his eyes search yours again, and he feels a different urgency that he’s never felt before. something that tells him that this is different, that if he doesn’t help you it’s going to be more than a simple punishment of your father taking away your allowance.
“where’s the rest of your gold?” he looks to your empty hands and then back up to your face.
you sputter, looking at him in shock.
“i-in my satchel,” you swallow thickly, “i left it near your horse.”
his mouth almost quirked upwards.
“where do you want to go?” he asks, watching as your posture straightens up a bit.
“to the shore,” you say, “i’ll get the soonest ship out.”
gojo stares at you and you stare at him. he surveys the pouch of gold, knowing it’s more than he’s ever made in months, something he desperately needs.
he rubs a hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he thinks.
“when do you need to leave?” he asks although gojo already mows the wretched answer.
you look bashful as you duck your head down.
“n-now, if possible.”
gojo stares at your pouch a little bit longer. he downs the rest of his drink as he stands up, eyes raking over your features. if it weren’t for time and place he might’ve asked you to accompany him back to his room.
you stare back at him silently and he quirks his silver brow.
“what?” he grumbles, “get your things. we’re leaving.” a small smile breaks its way into your face as you collect your measly bag and your satchel of gold.
gojo knows he shouldn’t have said yes the moment he saw you grin, knowing that you weren’t an ordinary girl and this wasn’t an ordinary request. but he didn’t find it in himself to care.
at least for now, he didn’t.
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ailesswhumptober · 6 months ago
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Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024
As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!
We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.
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FAQ and Rules
What sort of content can I create for this event?
You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.
Do I need to make 31 things to participate?
Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.
What are these alts about?
If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.
What are these themes about?
Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)
How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?
It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.
There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.
That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!
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Plain text versions of the prompts:
October 1 - Torture Tuesday
public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”
October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday
Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”
October 3 - Trauma Thursday
Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”
October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday
Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”
October 5 - Sensory Saturday
Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”
October 6 - Surprise Sunday
Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”
October 7 - Medical Monday
Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”
October 8 - Torture Tuesday
Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”
October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday
Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”
October 10 - Trauma Thursday
Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”
October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday
Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”
October 12 - Sensory Saturday
Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”
October 13 - Surprise Sunday
Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”
October 14 - Medical Monday
Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”
October 15 - Torture Tuesday
Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”
October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday
Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”
October 17 - Trauma Thursday
Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”
October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday
Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”
October 19 - Sensory Saturday
Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”
October 20 - Surprise Sunday
Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”
October 21 - Medical Monday
Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”
October 22 - Torture Tuesday
Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday
Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”
October 24 - Trauma Thursday
Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”
October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday
Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”
October 26 - Sensory Saturday
Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”
October 27 - Surprise Sunday
Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”
October 28 - Medical Monday
Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”
October 29 - Torture Tuesday
Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”
October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday
Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”
October 31 - Trauma Thursday
Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”
Alt prompts:
1) Pistol whipped
2) Co-dependency
3) Animal bite
4) Zombies
5) White room torture
6) Shock collar
7) Pulling teeth
8) Kidnapping
9) “You always make everything worse!”
10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”
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targaryenrealnessdarling · 5 months ago
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Rage Becomes Her
Aemond x bastardTargaryen!female
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Summary: of all the Targaryen bastards he could have underestimated, it should not have been her | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings: smut, Aemond being a fat douche, mentions of sex work, angst, oc described as having Targaryen features
No day was as cursed as the day her mother looked between her bloodied thighs, glancing up at the faces of her friends and common women, with shame and fright. The babe between her legs was pink and crying, their skin glistening with afterbirth, and a tuft of silver hair atop their tiny head.
What was survival, when the Gods had bestowed a Targaryen bastard into her belly.
Her own daughter lived as her mother did, learning the ways of the body and pleasure. She could recall the first time a man leered at her. Only two and ten and barely formed into the shape of a woman. Somehow the silver sheen to her hair made men think they could have her before her ripening. Plucked from the tree too early.
If only her mother could have resisted the irresistible pull of greed. Purses of gold coins lined her pockets, paid to her with the virtue of her only daughter.
An income. Nothing more.
It was only when she died, that she formed her own protection. Madame Sylvi gave her more freedoms than the usual whores. Bestowed upon as her ‘choice’. Something she had known little.
The brothel was tucked away in one of the narrow, winding alleys of King's Landing, a hidden enclave where nobles and commoners alike sought the pleasures denied to them in the light of day. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the low murmur of whispered promises. Sweet ones, from between the lips of whores.
The men who paid for the service or fucking a young woman with silver hair were usually all the same. Drunken fools with egos far bigger than their cocks, eager to stick whatever they pleased between her legs to make themselves feel like men.
She rarely spared it much thought. She moaned sweetly and whispered hushed mutterings to inflate their already fragile masculinity. Did what she had to do to survive, like so many around her.
But she would be remiss not to think about her most recent patron. One whom she had stolen from Madame Sylvi, who did not seem particularly precious about the loss, seeing as the One Eyed Prince simply crossed the threshold to her room instead. As long as business was within her four walls, she was content.
He was, at first, quiet and required work and effort to calm his fraught and tense muscles. But like most men, the second he sheathed himself inside her, he was a man driven by the inescapable warmth of not only her cunt, but by the comfort of what it provided. However false.
The night is seared firmly into her memory. His body heavy with Milk of the Poppy, he staggered as he pulled his clothes off, and for some time he was unable to become hard due to its calming effects. And she saw the familiar pang of annoyance most men got when their fleshy counterparts would not do as the mind commanded. 
She will never forget the look upon his face as she knelt in front of him, took his heavy manhood in her palm and pressed her lips to the shaft, stroking upwards with her touch and tongue. Beneath him like this, his face angled and sharp, one could be mistaken he was a statue. His skin resembled such porcelain. Made smooth by the hands of the Gods themselves. 
He had looked upon her as if she were an entity of the Seven Heavens. And when she took him into her mouth, his breath hitched, and his hands instinctively tangled in her hair. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and relief that washed over him in waves.
She moved with an expert's grace, her rhythm steady and unhurried, drawing soft moans from his lips. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist; there was only the warm, wet heat of her mouth and the exquisite torture of her tongue. He closed his eye, surrendering to the pleasure, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away. Aemond's grip tightened as he guided her movements, lost in the sensation and the raw intimacy of the act.
He fucked in very much the same way. With urgency. As if someone were to take her away.
Was it some necessity this great man needed, away from the bustling court and the duties of his birth?
Or she reasoned he fucked her because he was simply bored of Sylvi.
But as it became more and more regular, she began to realise that her forbidden parentage played a more significant role than she had first thought. He wanted someone who looked so like his ideal, but someone who ultimately was destined to remain, steadfastly, inferior.
Aemond Targaryen pushed open the heavy wooden door, its creak swallowed by the hum of conversation and laughter inside. He pulled his hood lower, shielding his face from prying eyes. Though he was a prince, here he was just another man seeking escape. Several women crowded him, offering wine, their bodies and services with doe eyes and lips framed with rouge.
The back of the brothel was shrouded with silken curtains, providing no real privacy but rather giving one the security of feeling it. Pale pinks, lilacs, warm amber glows bounced off the stone walls, a warm emanating through the space as if walking through honey, and willing to be drowned in it. It was a dangerous feeling indeed. The warm, sticky call of a woman’s body.
The first time he saw her he did not like her. The whore with silver, golden hair. She had a bastard’s taint on her bloodline despite its noble sheen. There was a part of him that refused to admit that despite the muddied nature of her birth, that she was beautiful. He was still willing to be held by Sylvi back then, cuddled against the woman’s breasts like a babe.
It was different now.
Sylvi regarded him, using her body as somewhat of a shield, to part him and the heavenly depravity that lay across the threshold. She said nothing, and simply extended her hand, to show her palm. Aemond noted the surprised look in her knowing eyes when she felt the weight of the purse, the familiar tune of coins ringing true and greedily.
She fetched a hefty price compared to the others. One Aemond was willing to pay for her company.
When he pulled the silks aside and stepped within her lair, she was seated as usual, upon a chaise draped with rich fabrics, her posture relaxed and yet alert. Her hair, so much like his own, caught the flickering candlelight, like looking up to the stars when one was too deep in their cups, only to find the silver light stretching across their vision.
Only the muffled music was heard, and the rapid thud of his heart.
The fabrics lay like water on her skin, cinched at her waist. The translucent material had her rosy buds perk beneath it, the glimmering and blushing shade of pink almost alike to her own flesh in the low and intimate amber light. She did not need to show herself to entice, he thought.
“My Prince.”
She greeted with a soft, warm melody of enchanting, in a manner that eased his shoulders but not his soul. He regarded her face the same way Sylvi did to him. One eye glazing over her familiar features. 
His motions were easy to memorise. He would do no more than was necessary, as most patrons did. He would strip from his clothing, lay between her thighs and take her roughly. Preparation for someone as lowborn as her, and getting paid for it, was no necessity for a customer, nevermind a prince.
There were glimpses where it was enjoyable. But Prince Aemond was guarded, sometimes so much so she hardly thought him capable of the act. But he would surprise her. And once he was done, he would lay beside her, and he would talk, with only their flesh as comfort.
Sometimes, like right at this moment, he would just lay beside her, running her bright locks, ruffled from their salacious acts, through his long and slender fingers. She often thought he looked like a lost soul, eyepatch discarded and bared in this wretched place for her to lay her eyes upon. And then another thought lay under that still. The thought that this man before her had such hate in his heart for his half sister’s children, and yet visited her every other evening to sink into the haven that her own existence offered.
An existence she was sure he internally loathed.
But it seemed he loathed himself more than anything else.
“Do you dream of being more than you are.” Not a question. An inquisition shaped as a demand.
She hesitated, knowing that her answer must please him. "My dreams are inconsequential, my prince. My only desire is to serve you and to bring you comfort."
He smirked, satisfied with her response. "It is the natural order of things. Your role here suits you, providing solace to those of us born to higher stations."
She felt her brows furrow in annoyance, but tried to soften her features, his keen blue eye boring into her face. Your role here suits you. And what was that exactly? A whore who merely existed to be a sheath for men’s blades whenever it suited them. A vessel, nothing more.
"I would never forget, my prince," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "Your presence is the only thing that gives my life meaning."
Aemond reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "Sometimes, I wonder if there is more to you than just your services to me."
Her heart quickened, but she kept her voice calm and composed. "I am whatever you need me to be, my prince."
Often, that was all it took to sate him. 
He would always come back, in varying moods, and she felt the reins on her white-hot temper begin to slip, the flames rearing to the roof of her insides the more delicate insults came out of his mouth. Those among her argued that he cared for her deeply. But how can a man care for a woman and say such hurtful words in exchange?
A bastard, indeed she was. But her existence strayed the line between demanding some semblance of respect, drawn to her by the milky skin and pale hair that he recognised in himself. She pondered this contradiction endlessly. Why did he come to her, night after night, seeking her presence, only to remind her of her inferiority? What was it about her that captivated him, despite his disdain?
Her thoughts often wandered as she prepared for his visits, trying to unravel the mystery of Aemond Targaryen. Did he see something in her that he could not find elsewhere? Was it the shared blood, tainted as it was by her illegitimacy? Or was it simply the thrill of asserting his power over someone who mirrored his own visage?
“You seem troubled.”
“It is nothing,” his response was cool, followed by the discarding of his hood, only turning when she urged a decently full glass of wine into his hand.
“You forget, my prince, that I am well-versed in the art of reading men. Tell me, what burdens you tonight?”
Stealing the wine from his lips, he cannot help the wandering of his fingers, tracing the golden spun locks of her hair that glow moonlit as he touches them. “Your features betray you,” he muses, “do you ever wonder what it would have been like, had you been born legitimate?" he asked, his tone laced with condescension.
She hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of sincerity, but found only the cold amusement that so often accompanied his words. "It is not my place to wonder such things," she replied, her voice steady. "My fate was decided long before I drew my first breath."
He tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, you bear the mark of our blood so clearly. It must gnaw at you, knowing you could never rise above your station, no matter how much you resemble the dragonlords of old."
"Perhaps," she admitted softly, "but we all have our roles to play, my prince. Even those born amongst lust and lechery."
Aemond's fingers continued their path through her hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You speak wisely for one of your birth," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It is a pity you were not born to a higher station. You might have made an interesting rival."
"Or an ally," she suggested, daring to meet his gaze.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Or an ally," he conceded. "But as it stands, you are here, and I am there. The order of things remains unchanged."
"And you come here to see me," she retorted, her gaze unwavering. "What does that say about you, my prince?"
“I enjoy you.”
"Or perhaps the dragon seeks something he cannot find elsewhere."
Aemond’s expression hardened, his pride pricked by her words. "Do not presume to understand me. You are here because I allow it."
"And you are here because you need it," she countered, her voice a seductive whisper. "What drives you to seek solace in the arms of a bastard? A whore?"
He pulled back, his eyes narrowing. "You speak too boldly-"
"I speak truth," she said, her gaze unflinching. "Something even a prince cannot escape."
Aemond regarded her for a long moment, a mixture of contempt and fascination warring within him. She was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of her bloodline. He hated and desired her in equal measure, drawn to the mystery of her existence.
She let out a breath, surprised when his fingers wrenched around her face, tugging her towards him. But her expression never faltered. “I wonder who is the depraved cunt who sired you,” Aemond murmured, deep and low against her face.
“Prince Daemon or the late King Viserys, it does not matter. Half of the whores on the Street of Silk knew the shape of their cocks-”
Aemond's grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. "Watch your tongue," he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. "You may have Targaryen blood, but you are still a whore. Do not forget your place."
She winced but refused to look away. "And yet here you are”. Her voice was steady, defiant, challenging him despite the pain.
His eyes narrowed, the fury in them warring with something deeper, something he could not name. "I am a man who indulges in his whims," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Nothing more."
"Is that all it is?" she whispered, her voice softening, searching his gaze. "An indulgence? Because if that's true, you wouldn't keep coming back."
Aemond's grip loosened slightly, his fingers trailing down her cheek. "You know nothing of my reasons," he said, a trace of vulnerability slipping through his hardened exterior.
He looked at her for a long moment, the conflict within him evident in his eyes. "You remind me of what I am and what I can never escape," he said finally, his voice a raw whisper. "The blood we share, the legacy that binds us. You are a mirror, showing me my weakness. The weakness of my House."
"And you, my prince, are the reminder of what I could have been. The life I was denied, the nobility I can never claim."
Aemond's hand twitched, a sudden urge to pull her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his, but he forced himself to remain still. He could not afford to show that side of himself, not to her, not to anyone. In another world, she might have been born legitimate, a sister to him, one he could wed, bed and breed at his leisure.
And yet.
"You speak of nobility as if it is something you could ever grasp," he said, his voice softer, yet still laced with condescension. "You will never be more than what you are now. A whore, a bastard, a mere footnote in the history of my House."
Her eyes flashed with quiet anger, a smouldering fire that burned beneath her calm exterior. How dare he speak to her this way? He knew nothing of the struggles, the pain, the countless indignities that had shaped her life.
"How fortunate you are, my prince," she said, her voice measured but tinged with bitterness, "to never have known the struggles of those who are less fortunate. To speak so easily of things you can never truly understand."
Aemond's gaze hardened, but he did not interrupt her.
"You may see me as nothing more than a whore and a bastard," she continued, her words steady, each one a dagger aimed at his pride. "But you know nothing of the world outside your gilded cage. You have no idea what it means to fight for every scrap of dignity, to claw your way through a life that was decided for you before you even drew breath."
Aemond's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something he couldn't quite name. "You forget yourself," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget to whom you speak."
"And you forget, my prince," she shot back, her voice unyielding, "that respect is earned, not given by birthright alone. And certainly not because you have a dragon."
A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken truths and simmering tension. They stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down, both caught in the web of their shared blood and conflicting worlds. There was a strange respect in his gaze. As if he had seen the same flames that captivated him.
Slowly, she reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out the purse Aemond had paid her that night. She held it out to him, her hand steady. "Take it back," she said quietly, but firmly. "I don't want your coin."
He stared at her for a long moment, the purse heavy with silver between them. Slowly, he reached out and took it from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was brief, but electric, a spark that neither could ignore. He could not help the smile that rose to his face, testing the weight of his coin in his palm. Looking down upon the woman in front of him with a cold but unyielding respect.
The events of that night lingered in Aemond's mind, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. The war was intensifying, and the tension within the Red Keep was palpable. It was during one of these tense small council meetings, that Aemond found his thoughts straying.
“Prince Daeron’s dragon, Tessarion, has at last taken to wing. Your brother expects to join the fight soon.” 
He half listened to Lord Wylde, his head half turned, eyes darting to listen to the cries of the smallfolk so loud it was as if they were in the room. Screams. Cries of terror.
“Dragon!”
“Get inside!”
“And when he does…the Hightower host will be unstoppable.”
He acted on instinct, feeling the hot whips of something he would not admit was panic at the back of his neck. The doors gave way to a bright, sunny afternoon. His one eye squinted to peer into the blue abyss, narrowed to the appearance of a great beast.
A dragon, its silver scales gleaming in the sunlight, descended from the sky.
Silverwing.
And there, riding atop the great beast, was her. Her silver hair flowed behind her like a banner for war, and her eyes, filled with determination, met his with an intensity that took his breath away. Aemond's mind raced, understanding dawning on him as he realised the implications.
Rhaenyra's recruitment of Dragonseeds had borne unexpected fruit.
She guided Silverwing to soar over King's Landing, her movements graceful and confident. She made several passes, almost as if she were flouting. The dragon's powerful wings created gusts of wind that rippled over Kings Landing, sending leaves and dust swirling, with smallfolk and merchants knocked off balance.
Aemond stood there, watching in a mix of awe and resentment. There was a part of him that couldn't help but admire the sight, the sheer power and majesty of the dragon, her commanding presence. But another part of him burned with anger. The idea of a bastard riding a dragon, flaunting her newfound status above the city, challenged everything he believed in.
What did that make him? How was he special if bastards could claim dragons? The exclusivity of his birthright felt tarnished, the unique status of House Targaryen diluted.
She seemed to sense his gaze, turning Silverwing to circle back and hover momentarily over the Keep. Her eyes locked onto his, a silent challenge in her gaze. She was revelling in her newfound power, asserting her place in a world that had tried to deny her.
Aemond's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. He liked her, there was no denying that. She fascinated and infuriated him in equal measure. But the sight of her riding Silverwing, basking in her defiance, stoked the flames of his inner conflict.
As Silverwing ascended higher, leaving King's Landing behind, Aemond's eyes followed them until they were mere specks against the sky. He stood there long after they had disappeared, wrestling with the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. Admiration, anger, attraction, and resentment collided in a storm that he couldn't quell.
The sun was setting by the time Aemond reached Vhagar. The great dragon stirred, sensing her rider's agitation. Aemond's resolve hardened as he climbed onto her back. With a command, Vhagar spread her immense wings and launched into the sky, the force of her takeoff shaking the ground below.
The flight to Dragonstone was swift. The wind whipped through Aemond's hair, his mind racing as fast as the dragon beneath him. He couldn't let this challenge go unanswered. 
As Dragonstone came into view, the outline of Silverwing against the darkening sky confirmed his target. He urged Vhagar to increase her speed, but the older dragon's pace couldn't match Silverwing's agility. Aemond's frustration grew with every beat of Vhagar's wings, the gap between them refusing to close.
She watched him, the man who had insulted her, bedded her, wronged her, as he turned his great beast mid-air, her own dragon purring against her touch atop the peak of a tower of Dragonstone. Even from afar, she could sense his frustration, the simmering anger that radiated from him, and she revelled in this unique reaction, savouring the way it felt.
For a moment, their eyes met, and in that silence, a thousand emotions passed between them. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as she sat firm atop her beast, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The tension in the air was palpable, but there was also a sense of resolution, a quiet acknowledgment of the lines they had drawn.
That this was no surrender.
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teatyryn · 9 months ago
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ok im working on a character sheet for pookie trust...I'm literally starving on content
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me when i get interested on that one loser character with a total of 10 fics featuring him ...
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