#the last ship feast

[seagreenstardust]

No canon ships means post-canon is anyone’s game

[simpin-on-noodles]

Quick little art dump ^^

[virtualnight1]

Why I M O, Pokeshipping is dead. ( kinda hot take, sorry pokeshippers. )

So, pokeshipping. The very 1st ship in the Pokemon anime’s history. I personally am not a fan of it, I did watch the original anime, and I personally don’t like misty’s character. It was off putting to me.

Now as to what your here for, what killed pokeshipping. There are 3 main contributors to the death of pokeshipping.

1.) The length of time from when misty was replaced to now,

2.) Serena and Amourshipping

3.) The Pokémon sun and moon anime

The length of time from when misty was replaced to now. Now while this might not have been much of an issue if the other 2 bullet points didn’t exist, it has been over a decade at this point, since we last saw misty, meaning that we have a severe lack in character development, and that gives time for other potentially better ships to be created, which leads me to my next point,

Serena and Amourshipping. Possibly one of the biggest ships right now, (which at this point isn’t going to fizzle out anytime soon. ) With Amourshipping going so far, as to introduce a major plot point in ash’s story by having Serena be his childhood acquaintance, many other points that multiple poketubers like Catch ‘Em All Saul, bring up in their videos from years past, to the kiss, and even the writers basically confirming the darn thing.

Amourshipping Confirmed?

So at this point, ( unless they throw all that away, which please. Don’t. ) there is next to no hope of pokeshipping to ever become cannon, which is only further proven by my last point,

The Pokémon sun and moon anime. Now, this is honestly the iceberg that sank the ship, because Brock and Misty returned twice in the Sun and Moon anime, which I’m pretty sure was for let’s go promotion. Now this is where all hope is lost for pokeshipping because even though they returned twice, Misty had literally zero emotional moments with ash whatsoever. No pokeshipping pandering, no flashbacks, nothing. Here’s another video explaining that further.

They did Misty DIRTY!

Now while the only good thing to come out of the re-return episodes was Brock possibly finally finding a girlfriend,

Brock x Olivia

This was the point of no return for Misty and pokeshipping in general. Misty, even though she returned twice, in the most recent anime, had literally no development, and nothing to show how she grew as a character since her absence, her return seems pointless and devoid of substance, and with another ship still gaining popularity at an exponential rate, I’m sorry pokeshippers, but,

It’s time to pay your respects, and move on.

RIP pokeshipping

1997-2023

Why IMO pokeshipping is alive and well (Kinda hot take, sorry to my brothers and sisters)

So, pokeshipping. The very 1st ship in the Pokemon anime’s history. I personally am a huge fan of it, I have watched the original anime and I personally loved misty’s character and the way she developed post johto journeys and how she became a strong gym leader and changed the entire landscape of her water type gym. It was captivating me.

Now as to what your here for, what kept pokeshipping still running and healthy. There are 3 main contributors for the livelihood of pokeshipping.

1.) The length of time from when misty first appeared in this show.

2.) Pikachu's pikachupi

3.) Mezase Pokemon master

The length of time from when misty first appeared in the show to now. Now while this might not have been much of a proof if the other 2 bullet points didn’t exist, it has been a year at this point, since we last saw misty, meaning that we have tons of character development, and that gives time for many of us fans to draw a lot of cute pokeshipping fanarts and write fluffy fanfics and that also gives the fans an idea about what plot they can include in their next pokeshipping fanfictions, which leads me to my next point.

Pikachu's pikachupi. Possibly one of the cutest nicknames for Misty right now, (which at this point isn’t going to fizzle out anytime soon. ) With the name pikachupi going so far, as to introduce a major plot point in ash’s story by calling Ash as Pikapi and Misty as Pikachupi.

And many other points that multiple pokeshipping fans bring up in their posts from the point where Misty fished out Ash in EP 1 to the point in MPM 02 where she again fishes him up with her lure tied around his arm, with Misty winking at him and even the fans got more energy to gush at the darn thing.

So at this point, there would always be more of pokeshipping fanarts,fanfics and amv's for eternity which is only further proven by my last point,

The Mesase Pokemon master. Now, this is honestly the cherry on the top of the pokeshipping ice-cream that was heartily enjoyed by pokeshippers, because Misty and Brock returned in the Mezase pokemon master anime, which I’m pretty sure was for giving a proper farewell to Ash and the OG Trio. Now this is where all pokeshipping energies got amplified pokeshipping because even though she returned after years, there were a lots of pokeshipping moments, a reference to her lure, the red string of fate mention etc. Now while also the good thing to come out of the MPM episodes was Ash reuniting with Cilan and his old Pokemon and Pidgeot coming back to his team.

This was the point of return for Misty and pokeshipping in general. Misty, returned after 3 years in MPM and had a lot of character development, and everything to show how she grew as a character since her absence and her delightful chemistry with Ash (also defeating Ash the WORLD CHAMPION!!) her return seemed to fill with positive energy and full of laughter and smiles and with the new fanfictions and fanarts still made at an exponential rate, thank you pokeshippers, it's time to make more fluffy pokeshipping fanarts and fanfics!!!

Viva la pokeshipping: 1997-eternity

[kissmefriendly]

Yo i fucking LOVE this section of the book like yeeeeeaaaahhh

SHIPS!!! SCHOONER!!!!!! FUCKED UP ISOLATIONIST HORROR!!!!! SHIIIIPPP!!!!

And re:Dracula is driving me fucking inSANE with the SFX and narration I’m having the time of my life I’m thriving all these characters are gonna die I’m having such a blast

[gghostwriter]

If You Love Me Right

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Emily asks an all important question regarding the next step of your relationship with Spencer Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.2k a/n: Back at it again with something Short n' Sweet. Unsure if this will be the last of this album inspired fics but so far the album is still on repeat. I think out of all the fluff I've written, this is the one where I could just feel how much of a green flag Spencer would be as a partner, if only he wasn't fictional. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“Have you thought about it?” Emily asked, wine glass on hand as she slid into the seat next to you.

The sun was just starting to set, covering the lush backyard in multitude of pink & orange hues. It was a Sunday and Rossi had invited the team and their extended families for an early Italian dinner feast. When Spencer inquired about your availability, it warmed your heart to hear who you are to him.

“Are you sure you want me there, Spence?” your voice coming out soft and muffled as you burrowed yourself further into the warmth of his slender neck. His invitation was a big step in further solidifying the relationship and having been in questionable situation-ships, you had to be sure where you stood.

He pulled back, doe eyes inquisitively staring into yours. His gaze had this way of making you feel known and at home. It was as if his soul has recognized yours from eons ago and needed no further introduction.

“Of course,” his calloused fingers softly pushing stray locks behind your ears. “You’re my person now and it feels right to have you there with me.”

Emily cleared her throat binging you back to the present. “Well?”

“Thought about what?”

She nodded her head in Spencer’s direction. “Having genius babies with our boy genius?”

You softly smiled, watching your boyfriend of one year perform magic tricks for Henry and Michael. It wasn’t like it never crossed your mind. If you were being honest, by the sixth date and the first time he stayed over for the night, the idea of growing old and starting a family with Spencer by your side had started to solidify. 

“Maybe,” you drawled out. A half truth that the seasoned profiler caught on right away.

“And has this—” she lifted her hands to form quotation marks in the air. “‘maybe’ been discussed with the potential baby daddy?” 

You brought the wine glass up to your lips, the outer corner of your lips tugging upwards your face as you took a sip. Dating a man of Spencer’s caliber had given you the comfort and stability to discuss any little insecurity, adoration, and realization without the unease of thinking he’d judge you for it. Gone were those nights of second guessing and reading too much in between the lines and in its place were honest discussions between two consenting adults. 

It was a real breath of fresh air.

“Do you think we should have a baby?” you casually asked, laying on his lap as he was propped up against the headboard with a book on hand. “I mean, not this second but—yeah, do you?”

There was a rustle of pages before a soft thud. “Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way but are you by any chance ovulating?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He smiled, looking down at your slowly reddening cheeks. I—uh, have actually been keeping track—” he bit his lip before rushing out to explain himself. “—not to use the information for nefarious reasons but my brain just started to notice the patterns and it feels like an invasion of your privacy and—are you angry?”

“Oh Spence, no. Not at all,” your hand twining with his to stop its nervous movements. “It might be weird but I know you meant well. Now, will you tell me some facts about why you thought I was ovulating?”

“Well, studies had shown that women feel more flirty, sociable, and more physically attractive right before and during ovulation. Some studies also support the idea of increased libido which makes sense since that is the peak window for propagation of the human species.”

You giggled, always welcoming his rambles even if it had to do with your own reproductive system. “Right, but you know what else got me thinking about it?”

A slight scrunch in between his eyebrows appeared as his mind no doubt rewound the day for any trigger. His eyes brightening when it clicked. “Was it the picture of me holding Henry and Michael?”

“Definitely,” you breathed out, starting to feel warm just thinking about how secure his hold was to the newborn babies and that smile on his face that reached his molten hazel eyes and radiated from his whole face.

He pressed feather-like kisses all over cheeks and forehead. “There’s actually also a study on why that affected you so much. It all comes down to women seeing their partners acting as providers—” he cut himself off to land a kiss on your lips. “—I’m not saying no—I’d actually really like that but maybe we can revisit the idea again in two weeks? I want to make sure this is something you really want and not something your biology has dictated on you.”

“Okay, that sounds fair. I love you, Spence.”

“I love you too.”

Spencer’s laughter floating through the air brought you out of your reverie. A slight shiver passed through you—either from the wind or the imagery of him carrying Michael and holding hands with Henry on the other as they slowly made their way back to their mother.

You turned to face Emily, no doubt that the blush on your cheeks giving you away. “Maybe.”

“Huh,” she tilted her head slightly to the left—a subtle tick you’ve grown to read into.

“What?”

Shaking her head, she leaned in to clink her glass with yours and a teasing smile forming on her face. “Nothing. Well—you’re welcome, by the way. And as a thank you, what do you think about naming the maybe baby after me?” 

You laughed. The trio had taken full credit for bringing the couple together—something that they had always brought up like it was their greatest contribution to earth.

A layer of warmth was added to your shoulders and a faint scent of books and wood wafted to your nose. Tilting your head backwards, it was Spencer sans his black coat that was now adorning your body. His garment effectively marking you as an extension of him, as if the necklace around your neck with his initials 'SR' wasn't enough already. A priceless jewelry that had a partner with your own initials that found its home around his neck. “Hi love.”

“Hi sweetheart,” leaning down to give your lips a kiss. “You looked cold.” 

You were both wrapped up in your own little bubble to notice Emily’s eyebrows arching towards her hairline. “It won’t be long now, I guess. So how many?” 

“One would be cute—” your eyes never lingering on his face as if you were tracing the all his angles and memorizing all the stubbles that had started to grow on his jaw line. 

Spencer without further explanation continued on. “—two would be better.” 

“You know, you both have to stop finishing each other’s sentences, it’s getting creepy,” Emily quipped.

You both laughed, turning to face her, and although your gazes were no longer meeting, the gentle caress of his thumb on the back of your hand was enough to communicate everything and anything in between.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[foldingfittedsheets]

For about a year my family lived in Arizona when I was a teen. It was a huge shock for me. The desert was a polar opposite to the moist lush woods I was used to. I acclimated unwillingly. I learned to check boots for scorpions and how to survive the heat.

My dad, whether by carelessness or obliviousness never changed his habits. This caused some problems for him. See, after a year I was so miserable that I jumped ship and moved in with my nana back in my home state. My mother wasn’t ready to lose her last few years with me at home and followed suit a few months later.

My dad soldiered on alone. He’d stay for three weeks in Arizona then come visit us for two weeks. It was rough but we all made it work. However that left my dad a bachelor for long stretches at a time, doing his own cooking and cleaning.

He’s never been much for house work.

Lazy or stupid, I’ll never know, but that man took to eating in bed. If crumbs or food detritus graced his sheets, well, he reasoned, he’d get to it sometime.

My mom or I would have caught his behavior if we’d been there, but we weren’t. See, what we’d learned from our stint in the desert is that times are tough. Animals have to work harder to survive and any low hanging fruit would soon be a target for an opportunist.

That’s how my dad woke up covered in a whole colony of ants who’d moved in overnight to feast on the remains of his lonely meals. The ants were gracious enough to leave the white meat sack alone as they indulged in his leavings.

He told us about his shame on his next visit and we both scolded him soundly. You’d think he’d have learned better what to leave lying around. But I think you know he didn’t.

Over the summer my mom and I joined him there, heading out to a local swimming attraction. It’s called Slide Rock. The river forms a natural waterslide over smooth algae covered rocks and we were all delighted to go for a weekend. On the second day of our visit we arrived at the park and took turns changing into our bathing outfits in the privacy of the van.

My mom and I were preparing to wait for my dad to change when he came bursting out of the van moments after having gone in. Flailing and naked, his dick felt the touch of the sun while I joined his screaming and averted my eyes.

You see, my father had left his damp swim trunks on the floor the night before. A cool moist lump of fabric is like a luxury hotel to desert critters and my idiot dad thought nothing of scooping his trunks right up to wear a second time.

He hadn’t noticed the extra guest. Which is how he’d started to pull on his trunks only to see a scorpion skittering avariciously toward him. Every jagged point of its carapace from pincers to sting was aimed menacingly at the soft flesh of his family jewels. He’d come flying out of the van sending both his trunks and the scorpion flying having finally learned his lesson.

[madrone33]

Number 1 Rule of adapting the Odyssey into EPIC is: if it can be more dramatic, it will be more dramatic.

The Greeks decide to throw the infant Trojan prince from the walls because they're scared he'll try to avenge his family? No, Zeus comes down to personally give Odysseus a vision of being killed and says his family WILL die. Kill the baby that reminds you of your son right now, it's the gods will.

Odysseus goes to greet the inhabitants of an island and gets trapped in a cave for two days by the cyclops that's eating his men one by one? Nope, we got BOSS BATTLE 30v1 in the Ithacans' favour until BAM fourteen pancakes are made by Polyphemus' club and oh shit Polites is DEAD-

Athena is just vaugely absent for the whole journey until the end? We got emotionally charged platonic breakups instead, with yelling and insults and "well I'm breaking up with you FIRST!"

Smooth sailing to Ithaca? STOOOORM-

Odysseus' great-great-great-grandfather giving him a speed boost to help him on his way home? Get ready for trickster wind gods, mischievous winions, and a game that was rigged from the start.

Random-ass suspicious and greedy crew mates open the bag? It's Eurylochus, his second in command, his brother-in-law, the man he trusted, Eurylochus WHYYY

Parking in the wrong harbour and getting boulders thrown at the fleet by angry man-eating giants while Odysseus backs away veeery slowly? Nah Poseidon himself pulls up to dunk on them, and Odysseus has to make a last minute getaway using the power of STOOORM to avoid being curbstomped like his fleet.

Odysseus gets some stronger drugs from a god to make him immune to the other drugs of a goddess? Well these drugs actually give him magic powers which he uses to engage in a Pokémon/Yu-Gi-Oh style BOSS BATTLE!

Get some closure with dead loved ones and acquaintances, and be the first interviewer of the fallen heroes of past ages? Nope, we just got TRAUMA and a whole boatload of guilt!

A neat outline of what the rest of the journey will look like, a warning against an island of cows that will slow him down, and the way to appease Poseidon? This Tiresias just says "Y'know there used to be a world where you made it home, BUT I DON'T SEE IT NO MORE. IT'S GONE. IT'S OVER. Also, your palace is fucked."

Sailing past the sirens while getting to be the first mortal to hear their song and live? M U R D E R

Sailing past Scylla to avoid Charybdis and accidentally getting six men eaten because he thought he could totally take Scylla, even though Circe said he couldn't, and then he realised he, in fact, cannot take Scylla? ... Eurylochus, light up six torches.

Eurylochus waits till Odysseus is out hunting and then goes behind his back to mutinously rally the crew and feast on some sacred cattle? Betrayal on both sides, stabby stab, K.O., and then Odysseus helplessly watches them make the greatest mistake of their lives as they ignore his pleas.

Quick clean and easy lightning-strike to the ship, leaving Odysseus to cling to some driftwood and paddle away? Zeus himself appears to the mortals, monologues, makes Odysseus be the one to choose, and then smites the whole ship leaving Odysseus to nearly drown anyway.

Telemachus gets advice from a disguised Athena to yell at the suitors and then sail away to look for news of his missing father? Telemachus gets into a full on beatdown with the suitors and gets FIGHT CLUB TRAINING from Athena!

Athena goes "dad I want my favourite mortal back? Did you forget about him? I think you forgot about him" and Zeus instantly replies "nonsense. How could I have forgotten that funny little mortal? Of course you can have him back my sweet favoured child <3" and then Athena skips off to Ithaca? "Father please-" "LIGHTNING BOLT! ANOTHER LIGHTNING BOLT! LIGHTNING BOLT TO THE FACE HOW DARE YOU ASK ME OF SUCH A THING!"

Poseidon does a double take "wait they let him go?? Oh hell nah!" and then sends a giant fuck off storm for Odysseus to swim through until he reaches the Phaeacians? No, Poseidon's just been there on Ithaca's shores, waiting for eight years, now get in the water BITCH- except Odysseus is just like "oh yeah? Fucking FIGHT ME"

You thought the suitors in the Odyssey were bad? Jorge really just said "dial that shit up to ELEVEN"

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART FOURTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, idk how to label this one so as always be warned? masterlist a/n: this is a more chill chapter w some drama ooo. next chapter i will try to make longer because we have a lot about to happen and a lot of progress that's being made but needs to move faster :,) i work two jobs now and work 14 hour days so thank you for being patient with me as i navigate through that. this story's lowkey falling off and not as many people seem to be into it which is fine but as always ily <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

You woke with a heavy heart riddled with anxiety. The room was empty and dim, the sun fighting to peek through the small window without much victory. The air felt unusually gloomy, more than it normally did majority of the time.

You weren’t sure where Soap and Gaz ran off to, but you were more than grateful to have the time to yourself. Last night had you in a chokehold, and you knew it was the reason your heart felt like a thick lump in your chest.

Giving the telescope to Gaz. Sitting under a wishful sky together. Feeling his finger graze your cheek in a way that had your heart fighting against your rib cage.

Was he going to kiss you? Is that what that was? The mood of it all, it was so foreign you could barely grasp the concept, but it was the only theory you could come up with.

The mere thought had your mind in shambles, but your soul erupting a fire. You didn’t know what that meant, nor did you know if it was what you wanted to happen.

The Captain wouldn’t be too happy if his crew were messing around with you, would he? Why were you so worried about what he would think?

You could feel the tension in your head building to the point it was near explosive. With a groan, you stood from the bed, trying your hardest to shake it off for long enough. You didn’t want to seem like you were avoiding Gaz, or like you were having an inner battle with yourself. You wanted to appear absolutely normal.

You couldn’t help but glance in the direction of your dresses, where they were folded neatly on top of the desk. You had yet to wear them, and the many shirts you’d borrowed from them up until this point were beginning to bring you a sense of dread every time you’d be forced into a new one.

It wasn’t hard to make up your mind on which one. You had mostly muted colors as not to stick out like a sore thumb, so you picked the one that’d keep you most hidden, even if it was just the five of you on a ship to nowhere.

Preparing yourself for departure, you crept down the deck of the ship. The weather outside was unhappy, the sun tucked away behind gray clouds that looked ready to boil over any minute. The waves weren’t the calming serenity they were last night, replaced by ones that angrily kissed the sides of the wooden ship and rocked you off balance.

The breeze carried the scent of seawater, and you inhaled greedily, using it to calm your nerves. Why were you nervous, anyway? It was silly to even ask yourself, but maybe you were overthinking Gaz’s intentions. A lack in judgment, something you were worried you made.

You lifted a hand, grazing across the cheek he’d touched just hours ago. If you focused really hard, you could still feel it, and you did your best to ignore the somersaults in your stomach.

Entering the food hall, you were greeted with the sight of the men sitting around one another, feasting on breakfast just as they had done the first time you ate with them. They looked like animals that had never seen food in their life.

How long had it been since you all properly sat down and ate as one? You couldn’t remember.

“Dove!” Soap called out, a smile instantly brightening his face. You cringed at the mess surrounding his mouth.

You failed to notice Ghost stiffening in his seat, as well as Gaz sitting up straighter at light speed. The Captain turned his head to you, greeting you with a warm smile.

“Mornin’, dove,” he said, and you offered a nod, stepping up to the table.

Before Price could offer you a seat, Soap patted the empty one beside him, greedily taking up the attention.

“Yer wearin’ one of the dresses,” Soap awed, taking in the simple details stitched into the fabric.

Having a moment of self consciousness, you awkwardly plucked at one of the stitches, nodding. “It’s not too much, is it?”

“Not at all,” he assured, beaming. “Right, Cap?”

You looked up to meet Price’s eye, who cleared his throat, nodding uncomfortably. He took a swig of his drink before placing it back down, hand lingering around the cup. “Mm. S’nice.”

You shooed away the brief flicker of disappointment that threatened its way in. You were going crazy. Why did you have the urge to seek approval anyway? It was absurd.

Soap was quick to his feet, claiming to grab you some food before he’d be right back. There was an awkward gap in between you and Gaz and when you looked at him, he beat you to it, eyes raking down from your face to take in the dress.

You felt your skin turn warm to the touch.

You quickly averted your attention to Ghost, praying to have a bit of normalcy but he was avoiding you rather than looking at you like Gaz was. His shoulders were tense, gaze laser focused on his bowl of breakfast. You could sense the furrow of his eyebrows, even beneath the mask. There was something about him that seemed lost, deep in thought.

Ghost always looked like that. Today, however, felt different.

“Good morning, Ghost,” you greeted kindly. To your surprise, he said nothing, only giving you a low grunt of acknowledgement that was tinged with a slight bitterness that made your ears hurt.

Frowning, you plucked at the stitch on your dress harder, only stopping when Soap returned with a hefty bowl of fresh breakfast, enough for a family.

“Soap, I do not think I need that much,” you worried, watching him set it down in front of you before plopping next to you.

“Nonsense, bonnie, ye gotta eat up,” he encouraged, pushing the bowl closer to you. “Ye look nice, by the way. I told ye the dresses were pretty.”

“You said pretty?” Gaz asked, raising an eyebrow.

Soap scoffed, waving him away. “Droolin’ like a dog, mind ye. Wipe yer mouth.”

Gaz sputtered, grumbling to himself and finally tearing his eyes away. You grew embarrassed for him.

Reluctantly, you began eating, taking small bites at a time. Soap watched you like a hawk, enough to where Gaz kicked him under the table, muttering a, “who’s droolin’ now?”

“Dove,” Price said, and you perked up. “I’d like to discuss a few things with you later. Would that be alright?”

“Ach, Cap, let the lass eat,” Soap scolded, and quickly slumped down like a kicked puppy when Price threw him a look of warning.

“That will be alright,” you assured, smiling politely. “Is it to do with Graves again?”

Before Price could reply, Ghost slammed his hands flat on the table, pushing himself to a stand. He gave none of you a second glance before he was stomping out of the dining hall, slamming the door aggressively on his way out.

The sound and sight made you recoil, visibly wincing. Ghost had been on edge, and you knew it was slowly building. Graves must have been driving him mad.

Guilt tugged at your heartstrings.

“I’ll go check on ‘im,” Soap mumbled, pulling himself out of his seat and following after Ghost mindlessly.

It wasn’t until it was only you, Price, and Gaz that the tense silence was broken.

“Poor lad,” Gaz murmured to himself, shaking his head and stabbing at his food with his fork.

“What’s happening with him?” you asked, worried.

Price tapped his fingers along the table, lips pursed and eyes stuck on the door. “Nothin’, dove,” he sighed.

You frowned at him. “No. You’re doing it again, Price.”

He turned away from the door and at you, cocking his head. Price frowned back at you before nodding slowly in understanding. “Right,” he muttered. “He is… rather guilty of everythin’ happenin’ with you. Killin’ himself about it, really.”

The irony. Ghost was practically undead until Graves decided otherwise.

“Guilty?” you repeated in surprise. “What is he guilty for?”

Gaz sighed heavily, appearing more tired than he did before. “He thinks you’re cursed ‘cause of him,” he explained. “If you hadn’t been with him that day in the town, Graves never would’ve seen you. He blames himself.”

Your eyes went wide the more he spoke, and you felt your own harboring guilt only grow. You felt sick. Not once had you considered Ghost to be the enemy, the reason for your misfortune. Graves was the only one to blame in the game.

“That is nonsense,” you wavered. “He is not to blame.”

“He thinks so,” Price replied glumly. “Do not take it to heart, dove. He has care for you as we do. He simply struggles with it more.”

You knew Ghost cared in his own strange way. He was emotionally constipated, unable to express himself the way a normal person should. You understood why.

“Should I talk to him about it?” you asked, more so to yourself. You weren’t sure how Ghost would take it. He was a firecracker.

“I think that would be nice, birdie,” Gaz agreed with a warm smile that made you stumble for words. “Don’t expect to get very far, though. He’s a stubborn bastard.”

Price snorted quietly, nodding. You couldn’t help but agree as well. You learned that the hard way.

“We do not have to talk until later,” the captain explained. “Finish up eatin’ and talk to him. See where it goes.”

With that, you made quick work of scarfing down the food Soap graciously piled up for you, eating as much as you can. Price dismissed you, giving you an encouraging smile. Gaz nodded to you as you left, hurrying out of the dining hall to find the doomed man where he hid.

You weren’t sure where to start, but the first you assumed was his room. He often resided in there by himself, hiding away like an urchin, quiet as a mouse. You’d never been to his quarters, so the thought of entering had you nervous.

The closer you got, the more your heart pounded. At least Soap would be there to ease the tension, perhaps he could even be helpful in opening Ghost up.

Ghost’s quarters were on the other side of the ship, away from Soap and Gaz’s, so when you stepped into the small hall leading to it, you paused when you noticed the door opened.

Faint murmurs could be heard from beyond the doorway, but it wasn’t loud enough to make out.

Creeping up to the door, you peeked your head in, darting your eyes around before they landed on Soap. Then Ghost.

You had to hold back a noise of surprise when you saw Ghost being coddled by Soap, the Scot’s arms encasing him with his lips to Ghost’s ear, speaking softly to him. The embrace was something passionate, almost as if being held by a lover.

The thing you noticed was Ghost free of his mask, the skull token sitting on the floor as if thrown off. The balaclava beneath it was next to it, and you saw the tufts of blonde hair poking out wickedly on Ghost’s head.

His face was marred, littered with brutal scarring and faint black veins that traveled up his neck and to his jaw. His nose was crooked, as if somebody had bashed it in and it never healed it properly. A nasty scar crossed on his mouth, starting from his top lip and finishing at the bottom.

You were looking at Simon. The one who hid beneath the mask as Ghost. And he didn’t even know you saw.

The guilt became only worse when Soap curled a hand under Ghost’s chin, his thumb stroking his textured cheek before leaning in.

You quickly pulled back from the doorway, heart racing. You looked away before you saw anything more, but you knew what was about to happen.

Had this been going on the whole time? Were you oblivious? Did the others know?

Images of them embracing flashing repeatedly in your mind, and you felt trickles of envy. The softness of the moment, to have such intimacy and care shared between one another… It was something you longed for and never knew you wanted.

You longed for a hug. You yearned for affection.

When living in the village, it was something you never desired. You despised the idea of settling down with another and spending your life loving them. Now, you realized that it wasn’t the idea you hated — it was that you never saw anybody in that light.

The realization began to hit you fast and hard. And it didn’t feel as great as you wanted it to.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease with your place in life, you were lost all over again.

You don’t know how long you stood there. You were in a trance, and just as you snapped out of it to rush out of the hall, Soap stepped out, Ghost trailing behind him. Both of them paused in the doorway.

“Dove?” Soap asked in surprise. “Are ye alright? What are ye doin’ here?”

You startled, forcing yourself to act indifferent. You didn’t want to seem strange, as if you’d been lurking. You didn’t even mean to.

“I just got here,” you lied with a forced smile. “I knew you were speaking, so I was waiting outside until it was okay. I was going to speak to Ghost, if that was alright.”

You risked a glance at Ghost. His mask was back on his face, covering the trauma beneath.

“We’ve got a couple of things to do around the ship,” Soap said apologetically. “Lookin’ like a storm’s comin’ soon. Gotta set everythin’ up so we don’t tip over and drown, aye?”

Soap nudged your shoulder with a snicker. You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed and isolated.

“That’s alright,” you murmured quietly.

Ghost eyed you, narrowing in like he didn’t believe you. You swallowed.

“C’mon, lass. Let’s get ye back, aye?” Soap hummed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He began to guide you out of the hall.

“Price wanted to speak with me,” you said. “I will just go to his quarters.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised and he let his arm drop, giving you a nod. “Alright, dove. Ye feel okay? Ye look a bit tired. Didn’t sleep well?”

You dismissed it with a hand, forcing a reassuring smile. “I’m quite alright. No stress.”

Soap looked skeptical and he glanced at Ghost, who merely looked away. “Okay,” he huffed, not quite believing you but trusting you regardless. “Go on then.”

You gave the two a farewell, going your separate ways while you walked back to Price’s room. The walk felt slow, your shoes dragging along the old wooden floors. Your anxiety gnawed at you like a pest, your fingers finding that now familiar stitch on your dress to once again pick at.

Your mind was in shambles and you didn’t want Price to notice. How were you to explain what you saw? What if he wasn’t aware of the affair happening between his crew and you ruined it by asking?

You were so engrossed in your own mind that you failed to notice you were already at the door to Price’s. You briefly wondered if he had even returned from the dining hall. He was expecting you to arrive later.

A couple knocks on the door later, Price opened the door. He looked puzzled when he saw you, ushering you inside.

“I take it you didn’t get to talk to Ghost?” he frowned. You shook your head solemnly. “That’s alright. Did somethin’ happen? You look unwell. Was it breakfast? Did it not taste well to you?”

“What? No, breakfast was perfect. Thank you,” you assured. His gaze flickered over your face, studying you. “Ghost and Soap are handling the ship for the storm. The clouds look rather angry, don’t they?”

He knew you were bluffing. He could tell from the way you rambled about the weather of all things.

“Yes, they do,” he agreed suspiciously. Nevertheless, he encouraged you to take a seat at his desk, joining you on his side. A lone cigar sat in his ashtray, unlit, and he grabbed it with nimble fingers to hold it to his mouth and light it with a match.

You watched silently as the smoke began to pour out of his mouth, swirling into wisps in the air.

“The weather always makes me feel a bit uneasy,” he hummed, holding the cigar with two fingers and letting his arm rest on the chair. “Gives me nasty headaches. You got anythin’ that helps with that?”

“Back in my quarters, yes,” you explained. “I still have quite a few balms from my village. I have been meaning to make more. Perhaps I can show you how.”

Price huffed out a laugh, a faint smile hidden in his heard. He took another heavy hit from the cigar, dabbing the excess ash off in the tray. “That would be useful,” he agreed. “I’ve been curious about your skill since you stitched me up so long ago.”

You couldn’t help but smile. The memory at the time was one you weren’t fond of, but now that you look back on it, it wasn’t so bad. You were just scared.

“I have told you from the beginning that I am not a trained medic,” you teased.

“Ach, your stitchin’ job barely left a scar. No need to be so humble.”

You shared quiet laughs before falling into comfortable silence. You allowed him to nurse the cigar until he was ready to speak, but the silence made your mind drift back to what you’d seen moments ago. Curiosity got the best of you.

“Sir?”

“Hm?”

“Are Soap and Ghost… together?”

Price paused, cigar hanging from his mouth. He cocked his head curiously, taking in your question. “Why do you ask?”

You fumbled, wringing your hands in your lap awkwardly. “I am just… wondering.”

He stared at you as if could see right through your deception. “Define, together.”

“I think you know what I mean, sir.”

Price snorted, resting his cheek on his hand. “Does that bother you, dove? Or perhaps you want to join them?”

Your eyes widened and you quickly sputtered out an explanation, shaking your head. “No, not at all!”

Price barked out a laugh, eyes crinkling with it. You chewed on your bottom lip until it felt raw, wishing you hadn’t even asked.

“I am simply teasin’ you. Relax,” he mused, tapping out the cigar. “It is a complicated relationship. Much more complicated than you could assume.”

“Is that so?” you murmured to yourself, wondering. “Complicated how?”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he remained quiet for a moment. “I did not take you to be the type to gossip about love of all things, dove.”

“Please do not jest me.”

Price smiled in amusement. “My apologies, princess,” he taunted. You scowled. “Curiosity killed the cat, don’t you know that?”

“Of course I know that,” you uttered in annoyance at Price’s inconspicuous mockery.

“Unless it is Soap you wish to be with,” he continued.

“I—” You hated how the thought made your heart jump. “It is not!”

“Good,” he said with a smile. You shut your mouth, frowning at him in disapproval. “I was goin’ to speak more with you about Graves, but perhaps Soap was right. You need a break from it for the day. Rather, would you like to show me that medicine makin’ that you mentioned?”

Medicine making? The Captain was a strange man. The strangest of them all. He gave Soap a run for his money.

“I’d much prefer that,” you grumbled, standing so you could return to your quarters to collect things needed to create jars of herbal medicine.

As you walked out with plans of returning, Price called out once more, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

You let out an annoyed groan, slamming the door on your way out. It wasn’t enough to silence his snickering.

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART IV)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Sexual content (but MDNI 18+ just to be safe), dry humping (-ish?), violence, alcohol consumption, toxic dynamics, swearing, themes of prejudice and misogynism, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

WC: 5.6k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As the winds guided Ser Tyland's ship to the Free Cities, the excitement regarding the wedding of the future Princess of Dorne and the Crown Prince buzzed in the air. No ravens had to be sent, for the whispers began within the palace walls, spread through the bustling streets of Sunspear, and were carried by the desert winds across the dunes, reaching the furthest Dornish houses.

Princess Y/n sat before her mirror, watching her handmaiden, Melynda, fasten the back of her dress. A sweet girl of one-and-twenty, Melynda had been brought from Pentos on a cramped boat, a former slave traded by her master for coin. Ever since she had served the Princess with quiet devotion, her nimble fingers always making a masterpiece out of her.

Despite being draped in the finest fabrics of deep sapphire, adorned with intricate golden swirls and beads of amber, Y/n stared blankly at her reflection. The celebrations leading to the wedding were set to last a fortnight, a long stretch filled with feasts, ceremonies, and endless politicking. In mere hours, she would be facing the guests, forced to smile and charm as she and the Velaryon boy persuaded them to align with Rhaenyra's cause. She didn't even know where to begin looking for the strength and willpower she had to gather to convince those lords to join a war she herself didn't fully believe in.

“Is it too tight, Princess?” Melynda asked meekly, noting how Y/n had remained quiet the whole time she had been preparing her. "Princess?"

Suddenly, Y/n's bottom lip began to quiver as she felt a knot forming in her throat. 

“Gods be damned…” she muttered, feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. “How did it all come to this?” 

“If it's too tight, mayhaps I could—”

“Of course, it’s bloody tight! It’s damn near crushing my guts!” the Princess burst out, causing her handmaiden to stumble backward, her hands trembling. “I apologise, Melynda,” she sniffed, feeling the guilt pool in her chest. It wasn’t the first time she had taken her anger and frustration out on the younger girl. Of all the people in the palace, she was the least deserving of such crude treatment. “It’s just—”

“I understand, Princess,” Melynda smiled sadly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y/n held her hand softly, holding back her cries. “To be betrothed to someone who you don't truly love must be a punishment for the soul.”

“I’ve been trying to avoid this all these years. Gods forbid a woman who wants to live a life free from all this nonsense," she muttered bitterly.

“You are to be the Princess of Dorne. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But not with a Targaryen… someone who sees us as nothing more than goatfuckers.”

“Once you get to acquainted with one another, I’m certain he’ll see past the veil of prejudice that blinds the rest of Westeros.”

“Oh, we’re well past the point of acquaintances, and I’m certain we’ve both made it clear that we’d rather kill each other than push forward with this betrothal.”

“And yet, you've hardly spent a moment alone together, away from prying eyes. Forgive me if I'm wrong, my Princess, but this hostility you feel towards one another... it feels more like the weight of your houses than your own. He’s not truly wronged you, nor have you wronged him... well, apart from the few wounds you’ve exchanged.”

“I wish it were as simple as you say, but the hatred between our houses runs deeper than that trial. We’re talking about years of bloodshed, of lives torn apart by their desire to conquer what was never theirs. How can we ever forget that? If anything, those Targaryens are only reaping what they've sown.”

“I understand, Princess, but is it truly fair to place the sins of the forefathers upon their children? Yes, the Targaryens once sought to conquer Dorne, but they failed. And since then, they’ve left us to rule our lands. Why should Prince Jacaerys suffer for the wrongdoings of his ancestors when he himself hasn't harmed you?”

“You speak the truth, Melynda. But do you truly think the rest of the Dorne will see it that way?” She stared at her handmaiden's reflection. “The pain the Targaryens have caused... it’s not just written in our histories, it’s engraved into the souls of our people.”

“I’m not saying that your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys will reconcile your houses overnight, Princess. In fact, it may take generations to heal these wounds. However, if Queen Rhaenyra proves to be the rightful and just ruler she claims to be, and honours your demands... and you and Prince Jacaerys unite the Seven Kingdoms as promised, then mayhaps it could be the beginning of something.” 

Suddenly, both women were startled by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Y/n cleared her throat.

“My Princess,” Ser Domeric said from the other side. “The guests have begun to arrive, and your presence is expected shortly.”

Princess Y/n quickly composed herself, ensuring that any trace of sorrow had vanished from her face, and replaced her semblance with a mask of indifference.

The late afternoon breeze crept through the palace windows, stirring the heavy air in the Hall but doing little to lift the mood. Spirits were low and the lingering music was drowned out by the quiet murmurs of the guests. Lords and ladies from House Yronwood to House Qorgyle had traversed across the arid deserts to Sunspear, not out of enthusiasm, but out of duty, their gazes shifting warily as they gathered to pay tribute to the Princess. Even Y/n herself, appeared as though she wished to be anywhere else.

At the high table, the Martells sat alongside the Targaryens, not able to look one another eye to eye. They faced the great houses, whose semblance didn’t hide their disdain for the dragonriders. They showed no efforts for forced pleasantries, bracing themselves for the next chapter of conflict rather than celebrating a wedding that would unite the Seven Kingdoms.

Before anything, Prince Qoren stood up, ready to speak before his people.

“It is truly an honour to welcome you all this evening, and I thank each and every one of you for making the long journey to Sunspear. Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate the betrothal of my beloved daughter, Princess Y/n Martell, to the Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon... but also, the union between House Martell and House Targaryen,” he spoke, the enthusiasm fading in his voice. 

The crowd fell into an immediate hush, the lords and ladies exchanging uncertain glances, some full of resentment, and some full of disgust. Y/n felt each pressing gaze suffocating her and tried to hide her discomfort behind the rim of her cup, already expecting those pessimistic reactions. After all, who in their right mind would willingly wed a Targaryen?

“Out of all of the suitors that have lost their lives willing to serve you and our realm, you chose to spare the one whose ancestors sought to conquer our lands?” Lady Liara from House Briar’s voice trembled, barely able to hold back her anger. “Could you not have shown mercy to my sweet boy Eldritch instead?”

The Princess had always been taught to hold back in such moments, especially in front of such a large audience, but before she could stop herself, the words were already spilling out of her mouth.

“My Lady,” Y/n began, trying to push down the feeling of irritation rising up her chest. “Remind me… who sent your son, alone, to seek my hand? As far as I know, someone that young shouldn’t be burdened with ‘providing me a strong heir’ or ‘making Dorne more prosperous than it already is.’ Those aren’t words a boy of three-and-ten should be speaking.” 

Lady Liara sank back to her seat with a scowl. The Princess’ gaze swept across the Hall, their faces etched with grief and bitterness, never forgetting the lives lost in pursuit of her hand. 

Whilst the guests sat in silence, waiting for either Prince Qoren or Princess Y/n to justify such a decision, Rhaenyra seized the moment to capture the crowd’s attention. She cleared her throat and rose slowly, her lilac eyes lingering on each guest, meeting the same eyes that had carried pent-up hatred for generations.

“By coming here, we are not denying the sins of House Targaryen,” she paused, allowing her words to settle, her gaze never leaving the crowd.  “I understand that to many of you, we are still the enemy. I am aware of the blood that was spilled and the pain that has lingered for generations. But the true enemies now are the Greens, who have usurped the Throne and seek to bring all of Westeros to its knees. And I know Dorne will not bend without a fight. Join us, and we will stand together. We can prevent the war that the Greens will bring to your lands.”

Despite Rhaenyra's words, the guests still mumbled with one another and her plea fell on indifferent ears. She clasped her hands together, holding her composure.

“So, the Greens are the enemies now, eh?" A voice echoing across the hall finally broke through the whispers. “To them, you are the usurper. And as far as we are concerned, they have yet to come to our lands to pester us with this petty war of yours.”

“Do not mistake their silence for mercy, my Lord. When they come, they will not ask. They will take. And by then, it may be too late to decide where your loyalties lie,” Daemon retorted.

“They have left us with no other choice,” Lord Lysander Dayne scowled. “Is this why you brought these beasts? So they can burn us if we refuse to join?”

Upon the mere mention of the dragons, the fear of the crowd became palpable. Prince Qoren’s face was flushed with anger, seeing that the celebration had somehow turned into a council meeting.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Prince Qoren bellowed, rising to his feet and jabbing his fist to the table. "We are here to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my daughter, not to squabble over this bloody war! If I hear more of it tonight, I’ll throw you in a pit of scorpions myself," his voice cut through the crowd, making the lords shrink back into their seats as he glared at Rhaenyra.

The music, which had momentarily ceased, began to play again. Princess Y/n exhaled deeply, gripping her cup as she swirled the crimson liquid. If she was going to endure the remainder of this night and persuade those thick-skulled lords to support Rhaenyra, she would need wine. A lot of it. She downed the first cup, the sweet taste lingering on her palate as her gaze shifted across the room, spotting the lords she had to sway.

Lord Lysander of House Dayne sat with his lady wife, his stern face etched with displeasure. He had made it clear where he stood, opposing any involvement in the war. Yet, he was infamously known for his ambition; he was the sort of man who would bend the knee for the right price, advancing his own house in exchange for his formidable army. Then there was Lord Thaddeus of House Yronwood, head of the second-most powerful house in Dorne, capable of providing enough supplies to sustain the armies at sea; a practical man, loyal to tradition, but always open to negotiation. On the other side of the Hall, she spotted Lord Ander of House Jordayne, who owned the largest fleet in Dorne.

Ser Domeric, being part of House Uller and their loyal informant, would provide whatever support was asked. And lastly, House Santagar, though not enthusiastic, had always been fiercely loyal to the Martells and would stand by their house regardless.

Despite the collective disappointment lingering in the air, as the feast came to an end, the guests stood up to salvage what remained of the evening. Jacaerys’ eyes followed Y/n as she rose from her seat, weaving through the multitude and making her way to Lord Lysander. The man bowed his head and extended his hand, offering the Princess a dance which she accepted with a smile that seemed far too charming than she would normally allow herself to be. Jacaerys couldn’t tear his gaze from Y/n, watching how she leaned towards Lord Lysander, her lips closely brushing his ear, as he nodded eagerly so as not to disappoint her.

“A celebration of our upcoming betrothal?” Jacaerys scoffed, already feeling his blood boil at the sight of the Princess with another man. Had they been at the Red Keep, the whispers would have already circled around, rumours of the Princess enjoying the company of other men, even while bound by a betrothal to him, that would call into question not only her honour but the legitimacy of their future children. He could already hear the council’s scandalous whispers behind closed doors–whispers that had been haunting him all his life.

“She’s quite gifted, isn’t she, my dear sister?” Elyas remarked, turning to Jacaerys. “She has a way of making men dance in the palm of her hand.”

“Only if one is foolish enough to fall for whatever games she is playing,” Jacaerys muttered.

Jacaerys and Elyas watched how Lord Lysander placed a kiss on top of her hand. With one final whisper, she slipped away from his arms and disappeared into the crowd, only to be seen again; that time with Lord Ander, who offered the Princess his hand without hesitation. 

“There are a couple of things you should know about her,” Elyas said with a sneer, glancing at the Princess. “One of them is… you’ll never be her only one.”

“You need not tell me what I can already see. It seems your sister is not familiar with the notion of faithfulness.”

“Faithfulness? As far as I’m aware, neither of you are bound by vows just yet,”  Elyas grinned, noting how Jacaerys clearly wasn’t enjoying the conversation. "But listen, this celebration isn’t meant for you to sulk in a corner, watching my sister dance with every lord in Dorne. It's for indulging. There’s a place not too far from the palace, where we know how to truly celebrate. Who knows? You might not even survive this war you’re throwing yourself into. You may as well enjoy the finest pleasures our land has to offer before it’s too late," Jacaerys’s knuckles whitened around his cup, his repulsion palpable, but Elyas only leaned in closer. 

As much as Jacaerys despised watching Princess Y/n flit from lord to lord, he wasn’t about to lower himself to her games. What was she trying to prove? Was she testing him, daring him to show any signs of jealousy or anger? Or mayhaps she was simply making it clear, once again, how much she misliked him?

Jacaerys refused to give Elyas the satisfaction of a response and merely shook his head. Elyas smirked, amused by Jacaerys' restraint, and stood up, ensuring he ruined the evening even more before leaving.

“Oh, and just so you know… whatever illusions you have about loyalty and honour, you'd best cast them aside. If you think my sister will suddenly change her ways after this betrothal of yours, then you’re completely wrong. I’m telling you now, she won’t. She’s as Dornish as they come… untamable and always chasing trouble. The more you tighten the leash, the more she’ll struggle to break free. And she’ll keep playing her games, whether you like them or not... so you better learn how to play them if you don't wish to end up as another one of her playthings,” Elyas said, slapping Jacaerys’ shoulder playfully before walking away.

Jacaerys hadn’t even realised how tightly he was clenching his jaw until the sound of Elyas and his sworn protector’s fading footsteps pulled him back to reality. He let out a breath, trying to shake off the bitterness away, and downed a gulp of wine.

But what he hadn’t noticed was a pair of dark wide eyes watching him from the other end of the table. It was Farien, whose gaze had been flickering between him and Elyas the whole time. When Jacaerys caught the boy's gaze, his expression softened. He set down his cup, watching how the little boy stood up and made his way over to him.

“If you marry my sister, does that mean you’ll become my brother?” Farien asked. 

“I suppose,” he forced a smile, though he wasn’t sure if the little boy was particularly glad about that.

Farien climbed on to the empty seat beside Jacaerys, glancing around the nearly deserted table and making sure none of his family members were nearby. All of the Martells were tending their own business, leaving the Targaryens seated in silence. The boy leaned in close, cupping his small hands around Jacaerys’s ear, scared that someone might hear what he had to say.

“So, does that mean I get to ride your dragon?” He whispered. 

Jacaerys looked at him, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“If your father allows you, then I suppose you could… but are you not afraid?” He asked.

“I’m really, really scared. But I wonder what it must feel like to see the world from up above. The closest I’ve ever gotten to flying is in my dreams, you know? It feels like I’m one of Father’s falcons, soaring high in the skies. Father says I have the gift to turn into one of them at night and watch over the desert,” he glanced up, his eyes gleaming in wonder.

Jacaerys looked at the boy and allowed himself to smile, as Farien somehow reminded him of his younger brother, Joffrey, whom he hadn't seen in a long time.

“Anyway,” Farien continued, “I think we could be brothers, you and I. We even look alike, see?” He pointed at Jacaerys’ curls. “It would be nice to have another brother... because, well, Elyas... he’s nice, sometimes. But not always.”

Jacaerys held back a scoff, figuring as much. 

“And what about your sister?” 

“We like sneaking sweets from the kitchens and feeding them to the horses,” Farien’s eyes suddenly lit up. “And she loves fighting, too. But not the angry, shouting kind, no. She says that sometimes, fighting feels like dancing, and that’s why she enjoys it. She’s really good at it. And I think you are too. But my sister is better.”

Just as he was about to ask Farien what other things his sister enjoyed, one of the little boy’s servants approached them. 

“My Prince, your father has sent me to take you back to your chambers to rest,” she smiled at the little boy, who had no choice but to accept dejectedly.

As the servant took him in her arms, Farien waved at Jacaerys with a small smile. He nodded at the little boy, unable to stop himself from smiling back.

“At least the little one is not as irritating as the rest of his family,” Rhaenyra said as her gaze softened, noticing how the little boy never tore his eyes from them as he got further and further.

“Give him a couple of years. He will turn out exactly like his older brother,” Daemon muttered. 

Then, Jacaerys' gaze trailed back to the Princess once again, who was still locked in a dance with Lord Ander. The exchange of whispers seemed to grow more intense, as his lips lingered on the shell of her ear, making her nod as her smile never left her lips.

“Jacaerys,” Daemon’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you not have a duty to fulfil?”

“I have been fulfilling them since the moment we arrived,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. As Jacaerys had been doing everything he could to uphold his duties, Daemon merely sat back, watching the spectacle he had set in motion unravel before him. 

“You have, but sitting and watching the Princess be courted by every lord in Dorne is not one of them. Listen to me, these men are doing everything in their power to pull her away from our alliance since they can see she does not favour you,” he paused leaning in closer. “You are no stranger to this. If you two are to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she needs to be seen by your side.”

Jacaerys rose from his seat as he exhaled, growing frustrated by the second. It was all in the name of duty, after all. He headed towards the Princess with steady steps, disappearing into the crowd and dodging every drunken lord and lady that stood in his way. Lord Ander, who seemed to have more intentions than just dancing with the Princess, held her close, too close, his hands lingering on her waist. 

“My Lord,” Jacaerys cleared his throat, barely containing himself. Lord Ander snapped his head towards his direction. “I would hate to interrupt your conversation, but the hour is quite late, and Princess Y/n needs to rest.”

“Is that so?” He pulled Y/n even closer to him, making Jacaerys’ blood boil. “How come the Princess seems to be enjoying herself?”

Jacaerys’ eyes flicked to the cup in her hand, the liquid threatening to spill from the rim. He wasn’t a stranger to that dazed look and that loose smirk playing on her lips. 

“The Princess seems to have indulged in one too many cups. You may continue whatever… conversation you were having on the morrow, my Lord,” Jacaerys forced his words through his teeth. 

“Is that an order from the Crown Prince? Or from a boy who is still learning how to hold a woman’s interest?” Lord Ander raised a brow, sliding his hand even lower on her waist. 

The Princess’ gaze flicked between the two men, unaware of the escalating tension. She took another sip from her cup, her eyes landing on Jacaerys, finally acknowledging how dashing he looked in a Dornish ensemble of deep blues and golds.

“Gods, spare me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You two sound like you’re ready to start another war.”

“If it means winning your favour, Princess,” Lord Ander said with a grin.

“Mayhaps that's a battle for another day. Besides, the Prince is right, the hour is quite late,” she said softly, growing tired at the show of bravado between the two men. She moved away from Lord Ander and took a step towards Jacaerys.

Jacaerys, whose heart was pounding with both anger and relief, offered her his arm. Y/n would’ve hesitated at first, but under the effects of wine, any qualms were long gone. She noted how he tensed his arm uncomfortably, unaware that she was putting pressure on the wound she had given him not too long ago. 

Casymir leaned against one of the pillars with a hint of amusement on his face, watching the whole scene unfold before his eyes. Once Jacaerys and Y/n were away from the crowd, he finally pushed himself off the pillar, approaching Jacaerys, who was struggling to keep her in place.

“Allow me, my Prince. The Princess is in good hands with me,” he said, extending his arm. 

Jacaerys glared at Casymir as he adjusted her weight in his arm, wondering what he was smiling for.

“You are the Princess’ sworn protector, are you not?” He raised his brow. 

“Yes, my Prince,” he smiled proudly.

“Yet all you did was stand and watch how the Princess wandered into the clutches of men with less than noble intentions,” Jacaerys tried to keep his composure, though his anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Do you question my service to the Princess, my Prince?” He chuckled, brushing the Prince’s concerns aside. “The Princess was in no immediate danger. And as far as I’m aware, a dance with a lord hardly constitutes a threat.”

“If you think a man whose ulterior motives are clearly written in his face not to be dangerous, then mayhaps we have very different understandings of the word danger,” Jacaerys said. 

“You greatly misunderstand the Princess. Lord Ander was eager, but he knew better than to cross the line. And besides, she would’ve ended his attempts long before you stepped in. As you might have already… experienced, the Princess knows how to handle herself and hardly needs to be coddled,” his blue eyes trailed at the way their arms were intertwined. “Though, it seems she doesn’t mind letting you try.”

“So, what are you here for, then? Just for decoration?”  

“Is picking fights with other men a favourite pastime of yours, my Prince?” The Princess laughed, poking fun at Jacaerys as she unconsciously tightened her grip around his injured arm. “You do seem to have a talent for making enemies wherever you go.”

Jacaerys hesitated, unsure if replying to the Princess was even worth the efforts given her current state, so he merely scoffed, shaking his head in defeat. However, one thing he couldn’t ignore was the feeling of having her so close as she mindlessly ran her hand up and down the length of his arm. He tried to calm his heart, but he couldn’t keep his composure with each stroke of her fingers that made him lean into her touch ever so slightly.   

Once they reached the Princess’ chambers, Casymir leaned on the door, his arms crossed with an infuriatingly calm expression on his face. 

“If you wish to be escorted back to your chambers, my Prince, I can call for a servant,” Casymir offered, implying that Jacaerys had overstayed his welcome.

“No. I wish to stay. The Princess and I have a few words to exchange,” he said.

“I’ll be fine, Cas,” the Princess slurred, assuring her sworn protector with a slow nod.

“As you wish, my Princess. I'll be just outside, should you require any assistance.”

Jacaerys stood by the door, unsure of what to do now that he was inside the Princess’ chambers. It wasn’t improper of him, as her soon-to-be husband, to be seen there, so he found himself leaning against the wall, trying to regain the composure that he had repeatedly lost throughout the night. His eyes trailed around the intricately carved golden statues that adorned the corners and the colourful tapestries that swayed slightly, catching the faint breeze that slipped through the windows and bringing with it the distant murmurs of the ongoing celebration. 

Only when he heard a soft clink and the steady stream of wine being poured into a cup, he snapped out of his thoughts. Before he could even think, he turned to Y/n, walking towards her and snatching the cup and jug from her hands, causing her mouth to hang open in disbelief and indignation. 

“You will not drink any more tonight,” he ordered, pouring the liquid out of the window and slamming the cup aside.  

“Well, isn’t this absolutely perfect?” She spat, throwing her arms in the air in defeat. “Not only will you take away my freedom, but now you wish to take away one of the few things that bring me joy?”

“You must live a very miserable life, Princess, if wine and men are the few things in life that bring you joy,” Jacaerys burst out, no longer able to contain the pent-up anger that had been brewing all night.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll have a miserable life once I marry you.”

“And what makes you think I want to marry you? That behaviour of yours… is unacceptable,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I do not wish to marry someone who is a slave to their desires.”

“A slave to my desires? Is that what you think of me?” Y/n shouted, unable to control the fury taking over her voice.

“What else am I supposed to think when you go from lord to lord like a marionette whose strings had been cut?” He paused, taking in her dishevelled appearance. “I was not aware how these Dornishmen could name someone so ruthless and so debauched as their Princess.” 

“And I didn’t know you Targaryens go around crowning bastards just to keep your house on the Throne,” she spat, making sure to rest her gaze on his dark eyes and on his brown locks long enough.

“You whore–!”

Before Jacaerys could finish his sentence, Y/n's palm collided with his cheek in a stinging slap, his head snapping to the side. His eyes widened, more in shock than pain, as his hand instinctively rose to the reddening mark on his face.

“A whore? A savage? A goatfucker?” Y/n's voice trembled with fury. “Is that all you see me as?” She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backward until his back hit the wall. Her finger jabbed into his chest with every word. “You,” she spat, “should be thanking me for getting my hands dirty, persuading those lords to join your petty war!”

Jacaerys was stunned into silence momentarily, feeling every ounce of her rage bleeding through her words.

“And who told you to do that on your own?” Jacaerys shot back. “You could have asked me, we could have gone together and spoken to them like it is expected of us!”

“You overestimate yourself,” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you even know what those lords think of you? Of your family? If it weren’t for our betrothal, they would have driven a spear through your chests without a second thought. Because to them, you Targaryens are nothing but bloodthirsty murderers who’ve come to take our lands all over again.”

“Enough!” Jacaerys grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her, slamming her against the wall. “You think I do not know that? You think I do not feel it every time I step into a room? The way they look at me? At my family? You think I enjoy being the enemy?” He seethed, feeling his throat grow raw with each word. “Gods, you are infuriating,” he grunted, realising how close their faces were to one another. 

The Princess’ lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of satisfaction lingering in her eyes. She had struck a nerve, realising how Jacaerys was always quick to react to whatever blasphemous speech she had to say about his family, and once again, she had managed to unleash the dormant wrath that blinded his actions. 

As the Princess found herself cornered between his arms and the wall, she crouched low, slipping beneath his arms in a fluid motion and spinning around to pin Jacaerys against the wall, pressing her chest to his back. Jacaerys reacted instinctively, kicking off the wall to shove her back. The sudden force sent her stumbling as she crashed on the ground, and he followed, landing on top of her in a tangle of limbs.

Just as he was about to stand up, Y/n yanked him back down and rolled on top of him, keeping him in place by locking her thighs around his waist and pinning his arms on the floor with one swift movement. Truth be told, Jacaerys could have easily pushed her away as her usual strength was halved by the wine; yet he remained still, feeling the warmth of Y/n’s body pressed into his, and how their faces were inches apart yet again, her breath hot on his skin.

Once again, he found himself under her mercy.

She stared down at him with half-lidded eyes and lips slightly open as she breathed lightly, taking in the sight of Jacaerys’ flushed face and his gaze clouded by desire. Jacaerys looked up at her and gulped, feeling his erection stirring uncomfortably beneath his breeches.

His eyes locked onto her plump lips and trailed towards to the hollow of her neck, down to her chest. He stared hungrily as she leaned towards him, his fingertips itching to explore the skin hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. As she got closer and closer to his face, Jacaerys’ breath hitched, and without realising it, his lips parted slightly as his eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. His pulse quickened, waiting for the warmth of her lips pressing against his.

But instead of the kiss he craved, he felt the hot caress of her breath graze the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Her voice, low and smooth, held him captive with each honeyed word.

“If you want to win this little war of yours, you better start by respecting me,” she whispered as she let go of one of his wrists and began tracing delicate patterns with her finger. “Just because I’ve chosen you as my betrothed doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind,” she bucked her hips against his hardened cock, causing Jacaerys to groan at the sudden spark of pleasure coursing in his veins. 

In that very moment, Y/n had uncovered yet another emotion—the primal desire that, despite her infuriating attitude, she had managed to set ablaze. If Jacaerys had to ask himself how it happened, he wouldn’t know where to begin answering. Had it all started when they first met, when she held little regard for him? Was it in the arena, when she brazenly humiliated him in front of everyone? Or was it the fact that they always seemed to find themselves pointing a blade at each other’s throats? Behind all that anger and hatred, and the prejudice that blinded him from seeing the Princess as she truly was, lay a spark of curiosity. Something he knew that once he began to explore, that spark would turn into wildfire.

With each passing second, he fought against the temptation to place his hands on the curve of her hips and make her grind herself against his cock.

“Remember, my Prince,” she purred in his ear, bucking her hips once again. “The wedding has not taken place yet, and anything could happen.” 

A/N: For some reason, i keep beating my wordcount record. istg my fanfic wc is way bigger than all of my uni papers combined, and bare in mind i was a humanities student lmfaooo.

anyway, i feel like this chapter was a mess. jace's patience continuously getting tested by everyone, and our reader making things even harder for him. i actually feel sorry for those two but the way they are handling things is not very demure, mindful or cutesy. we got the exact opposite.

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a (continued in comments)

[squidwujun]

I think we can all agree that reading the perfect fanfiction is one of the best feelings one can experience. But I think we don't talk enough about the process of finding said fanfiction. Like I am a wine sommelier searching the catacombs of the castle (Ao3) for the perfect wine for my king (me). I will be beheaded if I don't make the right choice (I'll be mildly disappointed). But I am a connoiseur, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I enter the catacombs (open Ao3) and make my way to the wine cellar (search for a ship and use filters). I slowly go through every single one of the hundreds of thousands of options like a librarian searching for a book in an endless library. I'm a professional, I will not allow myself to get distracted. I know this place like the back of my hand and I know it's secrets (tags). I find a fitting bottle and check the label (read the description) I nod to myself, I check the date (when it was last updated). Perfect. Now the most important part, I open the bottle and fill a small crystal glass with the red liquid. I swirl the wine carefully under my nose, breathing in its aroma (checking the tags). I smell berries (hurt/comfort) and cinnamon (enemies to lovers) with a hint of caramel (slow burn). I raise the glass to my lips tasting its aroma, it's sweet but it has a stale aftertaste (a tag I don't like). I go for the next bottle repeating the same ordeal. Again it's promising, but just not perfect. But I can't give up. I cannot disappoint my king, for the feast will soon begin (it's time for bed). I wander deeper into the catacombs, checking bottles left and right. Exhaustion overcomes me (I get slightly sleepy) and I am ready to accept my fate. (No bed time story)

But then, after what feels like forever (10 minutes max) I finally find it, the perfect wine. It's aroma unlike anything else, a taste even the gods would envy and I know my king will be happy (I'll read the whole night instead of sleeping)

[naggascradle]

maybe im just crazy but i think one of the main points of asoiaf is the questioning of why we do parts of culture and why we put so much cultural stake into certain habits or perform certain hierarchies. dunno how to get it out in words but its everything from the narrative subtly questioning the divine right of the targaryens & their choice to marry brother to sister as a way to put themselves above the gods, and then one of the biggest narrative strongholds around daenerys is the constant push and pull over whether she really does deserve to rule westoros because of her birth status or if she can become a good ruler to westoros when and if she does return.

i feel like the ironborn also reinforce this. the constant push to "return to the old way" of the ironborn of pillaging and the very quick turn to euron greyjoy as the new king because he promises the old way, letting everyone wax over the issues of the old way and the strife it causes (why do you think every other kingdom despises the ironborn? why do you think balon's rebellion failed so fantastically? they isolate themselves and end with very little in terms of trade partners and cannot build a self sustaining society based on the iron price. "We do not sow" and yet the determined violence of this mentality pushes them further away from any alliance.) what is the point of the old way? to die in glory? why? is the glory of battle really so worth it when everyone is like to forget your name soon after your death anyway? and why do the ironborn seemingly parallel the dothraki so heavily, yet seem to be doing considerably worse off? even to the extent grrm highlights their parallels with the joke at victarion wanting to "sail across" the dothraki sea... but is it cheaper to feast the dothraki on essos while it is simultaneously cheaper to violently demolish the ironborn on westeros?

anyway daenerys + the ironborn as the last dregs of "the old ways" is a fascinating concept and the kinda obvious equation of victarion sailing the iron fleet toward meereen + daenerys has been desperate for ships to transport herself and her armies and allies for like 3/5 books feels like it is a long time coming and wants to ask the question of if you combine the old ways together, what is the new result? is it still the old way? or is it something new? and would the people of westeros reject it?

[chibinasuu]

Captain's Seat | Luffy x Reader

Part of the Thousand Sunny Slice-of-Life Series

Find the other parts with the rest of the Straw Hats here

Summary: You checked up on the Captain, who had been sitting on his favorite seat for hours as he tried to get the first glimpse of an oncoming island Word count: 1.2k Tags: one-shot, fluff, domestic bliss onboard the sunny, platonic straw hat pirates x reader, main pairing could be interpreted as platonic or romantic, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!Reader in mind

a/n: here it is, the final fic of the thousand sunny slice-of-life series, featuring our beloved captain!! i wanna say thank you to everyone who has been following along, and a warm welcome to everyone who’s seeing this series for the first time! without further ado, please enjoy!

“This is boooring,” Luffy whined from his perch on the Sunny’s railing, one hand limply holding a fishing pole. 

The water today was calm, and the weather was sunny, but not too hot. That is to say, it was a perfect morning for fishing. But, it had also been two weeks since the last time the Straw Hats set foot on solid ground, so you could understand why your Captain was bored out of his mind.

“It hasn’t even been ten minutes, Captain.” You chuckled as you looked up at him. You were leaning against the railing next to Luffy, a fishing pole of your own gripped between your fingers. 

“But no fish is biting!” He pouted, resting his chin on top of his hand.

“Have some patience, Luffy.” You chided him, though a smile was still present on your face. Knowing full well how his brain works, you wittily added, “Don’t you want some grilled fish for lunch? Or sashimi? Maybe some fish and chips? I’m sure Sanji will make something delicious with our catch.”

Luffy’s eyes practically sparkled at the mention of food, and his focus returned to his fishing pole with renewed vigor. You smiled to yourself, nothing motivated your Captain more than a promise of a good old feast. 

“And get down from there, will you?” you told him, eyeing his precarious position on the thin railing, “I’m not fishing you out if you fall overboard.”

“That’s alright!” Luffy laughed cheekily, “Zoro will get me!”

You sighed, knowing that he was absolutely correct. 

Today’s catch ended up being an octopus, some mackerels, and a giant tuna, which was so massive that it actually managed to drag Luffy into the ocean. Zoro immediately jumped after him of course, just like Luffy said he would, and successfully wrangled the tuna onboard with him too. 

Sanji was ecstatic to see the tuna and proceeded to expertly filet the fish, treating the crew to a fresh sashimi platter before cooking the rest of it for lunch.

The meal that followed was a buffet of seafood delicacies – Sanji’s specialty – and by the end of it, everyone was so full that no one seemed to have the willpower to get up from the dining table. 

“Oh, right!” Nami suddenly spoke up, “We’ve entered an island’s climate, by the looks of the weather, so we should make landfall…”

Nami’s sentence was cut short by Luffy’s excited whoop. He immediately leaped up from his chair and charged outside, looking back only to thank Sanji for the meal. You could hear the Captain hooting with joy as he ran to the front of the ship, singing the word “adventure” over and over to a random tune of his own making.

The orange-haired girl heaved a long sigh, “I was saying that we may be making landfall in a few days. The island won’t even come into view until tomorrow, at least.” 

Robin let out a soft giggle, “Let him be, Nami. You know how excited he always gets whenever we’re approaching a new island.”

The crew returned to their respective activities after lunch. Franky and Usopp were holed up in their workshops, while Zoro was training in the crow’s nest. Nami was in the library, readying her mapmaking tools to chart the new island and the seas surrounding it. Robin was keeping her company, deeply engrossed in a book. 

You helped Sanji wash the dishes and clean up the dining room, before asking him for pieces of vegetables to feed the Straw Hats’ resident transponder snails. The little creatures usually just sleep a lot, so it was always fascinating to see their round eyes widen at the sight of some fresh greens. 

A couple of hours passed before you noticed that Luffy had yet to come down from his spot at the figurehead. Now that your chores are finished, you figured it was a good time as any to go check up on him. 

“Hey, Captain!” You called out from the bottom of the stairs leading up to the lion’s head, “Mind if I join you?”

Luffy whipped his head around at your voice, yelling out your name excitedly. His lips formed a sly grin, and your eyes widened as you belatedly realized what he was up to, “Luffy, don’t you dare!”

There was nothing you could do as Luffy’s arm stretched out, wrapped several times around your waist, and snatched you off the deck. You crashed into him, both of you struggling to maintain your balance on the curved figurehead. 

Once you were safely seated next to him, you playfully swatted his arm, “I could’ve just used the stairs, you know. Did you want to fall into the ocean for the second time today?”

He only scratched his head and laughed maniacally, “My bad!”

Luffy’s eyes returned to the horizon, eager to catch the first glimpse of the island, which, according to Nami, won’t even appear until tomorrow. 

You said teasingly, “How come you can stay up here for hours but get bored with only ten minutes of fishing?” 

“Hmm,” He seriously considered, before nodding decisively, “Because the view is way better from here.” 

You laughed, “We’re in the middle of the ocean, Luffy. The view is practically the same from anywhere on the ship!”

“Nope!” He insisted, “Here is better.”

You could only chuckle, “If you say so, Captain.”

After a few minutes, Luffy’s knees started bouncing in excitement, “I wonder what kind of adventure we’ll have on this next island! Do you think there's gonna be a jungle? A desert? A crowded town? Ah, I can’t wait to taste the food there too!”

“Looking at our track record so far, there will probably also be trouble waiting for us, huh?” You said in jest, nudging him with your shoulder. 

“Well, whatever the trouble, I’m not worried one bit.” He gave you a wide grin, “After all, I have you guys with me!” 

Luffy put both his hands in front of his face and counted off on his fingers, “I have you, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, and Jinbe. We always made it through together somehow, don’t we? So, we can just keep doing what we do until we reach the end of the Grand Line!”

You nodded in agreement, your heart filled anew with joy and gratitude for this little family of yours – this little band of misfits who had somehow found each other amid this wide, wide ocean.  

Your Captain was uncharacteristically solemn for a moment before he proclaimed, “Then, I’m going to become the King of the Pirates!” 

He had said the exact same thing thousands of times before, but the conviction in his voice never wavered. 

“You will.” You replied with equal confidence, not a shadow of doubt in your mind. 

“And you all are gonna be there by my side when I do.” Luffy said, not as a question or even a Captain’s order, just a statement that you both knew would come true. 

You took his hand and intertwined your fingers with his, “Of course we will.”

With that signature laugh of his, he took off his treasured hat and placed it firmly on top of your head, “Y'know, I’m glad you joined my crew!”

“Well, you didn’t exactly give me a choice!” You joked, recalling how he wouldn’t take no for an answer when he first invited you to join the Straw Hat Pirates. You leaned your head against his and squeezed his hand, “But, I’m really glad I’m here too.”

You sat side-by-side with Luffy for hours after that, eyes on the horizon, awaiting the stage for your next adventure to come into sight.

Maybe your Captain was right, the view really did seem better from up here.

a/n: aaahh it’s over! thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed that! this series may have come to an end, but i’d love to write some more of these slice-of-life stories if someone requested it, so if you have ideas/scenarios featuring any of the straw hats, you are more than welcome to slide into my askbox or dm!

Find the other parts with the rest of the Straw Hats here

[nerdanelparmandil]

Maglor, even tempered and with a voice like molten gold. Maglor who kills at Alqualonde and burns the ships and does not speak against his father. Maglor who runs around Beleriand with Maedhros for their hunts and diplomatic feasts. Maglor who takes the Gap and holds the front with his elder brother, keeping the other five behind their lines. Maglor whose voice is strong and commanding on the battlefield but persuading and compelling in meetings and honeyed and cristal clear when raised in song. Maglor who follows Maedhros and protects him from treachery during the Nirnaeth. Maglor who kills and kills in Doriath, in Sirion, who buries his younger brothers. Maglor who takes pity on little children and raises them, growing fond of them, as little might be thought. Maglor who is sick and weary, who has seen his land lost, his people turn their back on him and Maedhros, Maglor who prefers to surrender than to commit another atrocity, who still hopes beyond reason that there can be forgiveness even for them, that the oath can sleep if the Silmarils are safe, even if they do not have them, who hopes the Powers can render their oath void, and if not, better the Everlasting Darkness than killing again. Maglor, who caves, who kills again, who betrays one last time, who listens and follows his elder brother one last time as they stand back to back against Eldar, Men and Maiar. Maglor, who, despite everything, casts the Silmaril away. Maglor who might have faded, might be alive, alone at last.

Maglor, whose voice and words are the only thing of him left behind, telling of the sorrows of the Noldor.

[merakiui]

perverse phantasmagoria: a tentacular theatre for the timid.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, mentions of death/murder, obsession note - something short to satisfy the craving for shadow monster azul.

The monster under your bed is a marvelous magician.

Most marvelous indeed—for he can ensorcell with all manner of fantastical tricks! In flickering candlelight, shapes shift in shadow—a rabbit hopping to and fro or a bird taking flight in a flurry of feathers. A ship sinking in a sinister sea or a worm wriggling through soil. Illusions waltz upon your wall in a graceful ballet, a comforting distraction meant to soothe you to sleep when you grow somnolent.

You are the only one to witness the magnificence of this tentacular theatre. It is confined within the cubic space that is your bedroom, a nightly display projected onto the walls and ceiling, just beyond the curtains of your creaky four-poster bed. He entertains until you’re properly heavy-eyed, slipping through the slivers of reality into fruitful slumber.

While cradled in a sea of sheets, buoyed by curious, curling limbs, you dream of devilish pleasures—of treacherous temptations so visceral they would certainly scandalize the sisters at the church.

The monster under your bed never utters a word, but you know he is there.

He is cold and calm like Death, yet merciful and mystical like an angel. He carries with him odors of the ocean, enveloping you in his briny embrace every night. Tentacles loop gently around your body, sliding beneath silken nightwear, and he plays in the same skillful way he manipulates shadow. You’re strung along the highs and lows of bodily bliss, rocked gently by a creature who dwells in the darkness.

The monster under your bed does not possess a true form, but he holds bright shallows in his eyes.

Shapeless and transient, wavering through dozens of features, he mesmerizes with his stunning hues. They blink at you in the darkness, twin beacons set into a towering lighthouse. You reach for him, pushing past pitch-black phantasmagoria, and beg to see his face. He swallows all light sources, so you will never truly know if there is anything more to those beautiful blues.

The monster under your bed does not have a name, so you call him Azul. Much like his eyes when they pin you to the bed, the name sticks.

A terrible tempest rages outside, rattling the windows in their frames, battering the glass like bullets, and howling through the trees in a most fearsome gale. You lie in your bed, wide-awake and disturbed, and gaze at the canopy. Lightning cracks across the sky in a violent arc, brightening your room for a single second. The thunder follows, rumbling in deep, foreboding notes. With a shiver, you pull your duvet up to your chin. Fear is encroaching. You steel yourself, steady your pounding heart, and inhale sharply.

The monster under your bed is gentle.

He has never hurt you and you suspect he never will. But he is vindictive, a dangerous force who lurks in forgotten corridors and corners during the day. Though he remains out of light’s reach, avoiding the sun’s fingers as they spill in from windows with parted curtains, nothing escapes his glance. He is always watching. You can feel it.

The monster under your bed is brilliant pest control.

He rids the manor of rats and insects alike, swabs the ceilings of cobwebs. He feasts on venomous spiders and snakes, blood drained from carcasses small and large. Trespassers wander far enough to find themselves tangled in the tendrils of a beast. Skeletons snap and shatter in his grasp, so startlingly fast and brutal. There isn’t a scream. No tears. He does not grant them the permission to confess last words.

Flesh rots away, stripped clean from the bone. There is no distinction to be made here. Suitors are trespassers. Thieves are trespassers. Trespassers are trespassers, and they will die as such.

The monster under your bed has a sweet tooth, a discovery you’ve only recently determined. You plate pastries and slide them under your bed, and the porcelain china is returned by morning, licked clean of crumbs.

For all of his mysterious qualities, the monster under your bed is your paramour.

“Azul,” you whisper, your voice much louder in disconcerting quiet. “Are you there, Azul?”

Shadows slither up the expanse of your mattress, crawling over wrinkled linens, to meet you in the gloom. The tip of a tentacle nudges your cheek. The monster—your monster—is here.

“A detective came by today…” Blue meets you in the dark, snapped open at once. “To inquire about a select few.”

He blinks, offering silence as his stubborn reply.

“Missing lords and ladies. They say my manor is cursed and that it is these very disappearances that keep the grounds so lush. An immature accusation.” You search the shadows for a response. “You mustn’t send them to their graves, Azul.”

Another tentacle peels the duvet back to find your hand. It fits into your palm, wrapped tight like a bow on a present. Slowly and slyly, more appendages rise from the space beneath your bed to coil around your person. They massage soothing circles into your skin, exploring eagerly and peppering your flesh in frigid kisses. The effect is soporific. You slacken against the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmh… Azul, I’m quite serious…” You close your hand around the tentacle. “You mustn’t—oh!” Your legs are yanked apart then, and a thick tentacle presses up between your thighs. You peer into his narrowed eyes. If you could see his mouth, you’re certain it’d be turned down in a petulant pout. “Won’t you listen to me?”

The tentacles curled around your thighs constrict. He teases your special spot, fine-tuning your body to sing the sweetest of songs. Two more attach to your chest like lecherous leeches, tweaking your nipples under soft suckers. You sigh, pent-up emotions unfurling from their ravel. Lightning flashes again, the rain insistent, and so he drapes a tentacle over your eyes.

“There’s no need to do that.” You run your fingers over it, but you don’t pull it off. “I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. Tell me—” you whine in relief when he pushes in, your anatomy accustomed to his size after months of midnight whimsy— “Let me… Oh, won’t you speak to me, Azul? Tell me—promise me you won’t act so callous the next time I welcome visitors.”

“Intruders,” he finally answers. Despite the malice shot through those three syllables, it is a musical intonation. His voice is deep and dulcet, tickling your ears in the best way.

“You’re being rather unfair in your narrow-minded assessment.”

“And you are not narrow-minded enough,” comes his rumbling reply, synced flawlessly with the thunder just outside. “I shall protect you and this property for as long as I continue to exist. That is my priority.”

Your lips part in a retort, but all that comes out is a shuddering sigh.

“Visitors are not villains,” you manage after you’ve found your voice. “P-Please—aah—be kind… You mustn’t hurt them. They’re—haa—only visitors. I promise you I’m safe.”

“Visitors are the same as intruders. They’re unwanted. Unnecessary. Nuisances. Pests.”

Azul rocks the tentacle deeper inside you. Your nails dig into the one in your hand, and you heave a wobbly sort of groan.

“I won’t arg—ooh—won’t argue with you. I only ask that you understand. They are not dangers.”

“They are,” he snaps, pistoning roughly. You cry out when he pierces a specific spot nestled within. “They will take you away from me. Poison your head with foolish ideas. Destroy our home…”

“T-That will never happen. Not if I can help it.”

Another beat of lightning. Thunder follows suit. Gingerly, he lifts the tentacle veiling your visage. Blue blinks back at you.

“Promise.”

His whisper is broken and sad. Strangely, your heart aches.

“Only if you promise to cease your slaughter. It’s not—” A tentacle presses against your mouth, silencing you. When it draws away to give you another chance, you sigh, knowing just what to say. “Thank you…for protecting me, Azul.”

Satisfied with your submission, he smooths his pace out into slow, sensual lovemaking. You ride the waves of mutual merriment alongside him, no longer fearing the raging storm beyond your room. The world shrinks down to fit inside your bedroom, where paradise is found in the sheets, and nothing else matters here. Swathed safely in shadow, wrapped around the monster under your bed, you drift off into sleepy delirium.

He remains, ever-present like a parasite, the sole actor standing on the stage in this thrilling, tentacular theatre.

[jasminumdew]

Rafayel (merman x siren reader)

Notes: This was written based on Rafayel’s rut which was presented in the Ebb and Flow card

Summary: You went out hunting to feed your sick merman lover, but he doesn’t seem to be hungry, at least not in that way.

Event host: this fic was written for Monster Mash Event, hosted by lovely @nanamiscocksleeve

Warnings: MDNI, gore, manslaughter, merman goes into rut, public sex

W/c: 1.2k

“Captain, we’re very close to that area now”

“Prepare the spears, net, every crew member gets to the harpoon gun now. We only get one chance, either we catch it or it’s the last day for all of us”

With the captain’s order, everyone quickly rushes to the ship's sides. All eyes were focused on the sudden movement of the waves, so no one paid attention to the piercing eyes locking on their backs. It’s not until the first note sang out that they realized their mistake. 

“Everyone, plug your ears. NOW!!” The captain's screams couldn’t reach their ears anymore, since it was filled with the most heavenly voice they’d ever heard. Can this be considered a peaceful death - when your heart was fluttering, mind clouded and blurry by a symphony? You wouldn’t say that, because only 10 seconds after hearing your song, the hallucination starts. One by one, the crew members collapsed onto the floor, some jumped and fed themselves to the hungry monster under the deep sea. Their hands reach to the nearest weapons, frantic red eyes looking like it’s gonna be popped out by how irritated the blood vessels got, having to witness their own death caused by their own hands. 

You don’t feel any grief for being that cruel to them. Humans share many similar features with sirens, even more than they have with mermaids. But they are all so weak, no really, they don’t have a pair of wings behind their backs or feathers on their thighs to protect them from the harsh weather like your kind do, nor do they have tails to move fast underwater like mermaids. That’s why they are only lower species who are destined to be feasted on. You keep rambling while tearing their breast out with your sharp claws, their constant begging falls on deaf ears. You’re not familiar with skinning humans so some organs were mixed with meat and fat, normally there’s another one that would deal with this task and you just gonna let them feed you the best bits. You couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear, thinking how proud of you he’s gonna be when you bring him this fresh heart that’s still beating slowly on your bloody palm. 

As you fly back home, you find his silhouette resting on the entrance, where the waves can reach his merman’s tail. 

“Babyyy I’m back. Look what I got!”

He huffs, narrowing his eyes.

“Couldn’t you tell me already? Gosh, the smell is awful. Human meat?”

You’re taken aback by his cold and sarcastic demeanor but quickly brush it off, considering he’s not in his best condition. 

“It’s a human heart. I hope it can cheer you up or at least make you less grumpy”

You reach out to pat his hair, it always does a great job to calm him down. Before you even touched his blue strand, your wrist was grabbed firmly by his hand. 

“You went hunting alone? Do you know how dangerous it is? They have weapons that can kill us in a heartbeat. Why didn’t you tell me first?” 

The heat spreading from his palm feels like it can burn your delicate skin, you try to struggle out of his hold but to no avail. 

“But you needed to rest. I’m fully capable of killing them alone, there weren’t even a scratch”

“You’re covered in blood. Next time don’t do unnecessary things like this. You smell like dead people.” He continues his nagging, there’s no point in getting hurt over his words, you know he would never say things like this in the right headspace. You put the bloody heart aside and clean all the nasty blood on your feathers, it seems to be clear that he doesn’t want any snack right now. 

As you finish cleaning up, you take a seat on his big tail, careful not to scratch him accidentally with your sharp claws. His body stiffens when you sit on his lap, grunting in his throat as your hand touches his forehead to check his body heat.

“Raf? This body temperature is not normal at all! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine” his hands gripping on your waist to stop you from squirming on his lap, “It happens once a year. I just sleep it off” 

Once a year? Suddenly everything clicks in your mind.

“You’re in a rut, aren’t you?” Every signal is checked: abnormal body heat, labored breathing, dilated pupils, unexplainable mood swings…He doesn’t reply but his eyes shift to his lower abdomen. Your gaze follows him to find his thin fabric was drenched in precum. Blood rushes to your cheek and your heart beats with excitement when you pull it down, revealing his enormous erection. Merman’s manhood in general is way bigger than that of sirens, but it’s especially huge today, the heavy red tip rests on his belly, waiting to pump his seed all over your fertile flower. 

Your heavy wings spread out, covering your bodies from the outside world to get some privacy. 

“Don’t” 

“What?” your eyes looking up all confused.

“Don’t spread your wings. I want everyone to see that you’re mine to claim.”

You do just as you were told to, not without looking around to check for anyone around first. You don’t dare to confess, but the thought of someone watching you being such a slut for your lover caused waves of arousal inside you. Just from the smirk on his lips, you can tell he knows it already. 

He nearly choked on his breath when you ran your hand down his erected shaft, his tail splashes the waves impatiently. You kiss your way down his abdomen, licking and biting on his skin. Your mouth can only take half of his length, the rest have your hands do the work. Within minutes of you sucking his sensitive tip, he pushes your head away. His cock twitches angrily, begging for friction. 

“I need to feel you, please. I’ll make up for you later, but I really have to cum inside you”

With a nod from you, he aligns his tip clumsily and thrusts all the way in, reaching your womb. It doesn’t go any softer after he finishes, but the semen acts as an aphrodisiac to you. Your inside burns with the slow thrusts and lazy strokes on your bundle of nerves, so much that you sob into his chest, begging him to pick up the pace. At night, when your womb has no space for his cum anymore, that’s when he comes back to normal and peppers you with kisses. You’re sure that your eggs are all fertilized now, and he’ll need to find a bigger cave for your crowded family tomorrow. 

There’s so many things to prepare, but now, you just sleep in each other’s embrace without any care and leave it for tomorrow. Such an odd thing that two species who have nothing in common fell in love with each other. It’s truly beautiful, how you two can find out a whole new world that you’ve never known of, he’s the deep dangerous sea that you craved for one time to dive in, and you’re the cloud, the moon, the sun he couldn’t reach. Everything just feels right being with the right person, no matter the differences.

[novaursa]

can you please write something with the reader being the queen of a far away kingdom that is kinda similar to the targaryen house but instead of dragons they have elike either magic or something. and reader ends up befriending rhaenyra which has the reader being a very powerful ally and the greens notice this , with alicent still wanting to steal the throne but otto is like “…nahhhh” , so rhaenyra becomes queen with the reader there and just standing all badass and stuff kinda comedic if you can please

The Witch Queen

- Summary: You arrive from faraway land to aid Rhaenyra before her rightful claim is stolen.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: This might be slightly darker than you asked for, but the spooky season vibes guided me with this one. I hope you still like it, dear anon. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: long live the queen

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The wind carried a sharp, briny scent from the sea as your ship glided through the dark waters toward the docks of King's Landing, its shadow stretching ominously beneath the moonlit sky. The black sails of your fleet billowed against the midnight horizon, a ghostly procession that had gone unnoticed until now. No banners heralded your arrival, no horns sounded from the walls of the Red Keep. The city slept in ignorance of the storm you had brought.

At your side, your court stood with heads held high, their violet eyes gleaming in the moonlight, their pale, silver-gold hair swept back in intricate braids that mirrored your own. House Tyvarella was not accustomed to formalities that belonged to lesser kings or the pious men of Westeros. You were the Queen of a realm far older than this one, a survivor of Valyria’s doom, and there was no need for permission to make yourself known.

As you stepped onto the cobblestones, the whispers from the shadows began to ripple. The common folk had heard the tales—stories of your house, the blood mages of Tyvarella, feared even by those who once tamed dragons. To those of the Faith of the Seven, you were a creature from their darkest myths, a figure woven into the very fabric of their nightmares. And now, you were here, at the heart of their crumbling kingdom.

“The night brings ill omens,” Otto Hightower muttered, his hands wringing in that nervous, meticulous way of his. He stood by a flickering torchlight, watching as your procession marched through the streets toward the Red Keep. His face was pale, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of wariness and disgust. “They come as vultures, Alicent, like specters summoned by death itself. We need to leave, now.”

Alicent Hightower, now Dowager Queen, stood by his side, her delicate fingers gripping the edges of her gown as if holding herself together. Her emerald eyes, though wary, flickered with a strange curiosity as she gazed at your retinue. “They were not expected, not invited… What are they doing here?”

“Nothing good, I assure you,” Otto responded with grim certainty. “King Viserys is dead. They arrive just as his breath fades. They bring with them blood magic and ruin. If we stay—”

A distant sound cut through the air, carried on the wind—the solemn toll of bells echoing across the city. Viserys was gone. The king had breathed his last.

Alicent's breath hitched as the realization washed over her. Her husband, the father of her children, the king, was dead. And here you stood, arriving at this precise moment, as if heralding the change to come.

But her eyes strayed, flickering toward the upper windows of the Red Keep. Through the torch-lit chambers, she caught a glimpse of another figure—Rhaenyra. The Princess had been kept behind, confined within the castle after that last bitter feast Viserys had demanded, the one after Vaemond Velaryon met his end.

Rhaenyra stood by the window now, her gaze drawn irresistibly to you. Alicent noticed it in an instant, the way her rival, her stepdaughter, leaned closer to the glass, watching your every movement with a deep, unspoken longing. Rhaenyra’s eyes were fixed on you, even from this distance, her expression one of unmistakable hunger and fascination.

“Do you see that?” Alicent whispered, her voice tight. “She… she looks at her.”

Otto followed her gaze, his lips tightening. “Rhaenyra’s drawn to power,” he said dismissively, though a hint of concern tugged at his tone. “It’s in her blood. But this... this is different. Tyvarella’s magic is ancient, forbidden. If she aligns herself with them, it will be disastrous.”

Alicent felt a wave of unease roll through her, but before she could respond, the heavy gates of the Red Keep groaned open, and you stepped inside. The room fell into a hush, as if the very stones of the castle were holding their breath. You entered without ceremony, your violet eyes scanning the gathering of lords and courtiers, none of whom dared meet your gaze directly.

And then, you saw her.

Rhaenyra.

She descended the grand staircase, her silken black gown flowing behind her like the wings of a raven. Her silver hair glowed in the candlelight, and her lips were parted ever so slightly, as if tasting the air between you. The tension in the room coiled tight, palpable.

When your eyes met hers, the world seemed to fall away.

You had seen her before, of course. But this… this was different. Here, in this moment of death and turmoil, the connection between you felt like a thread of fire, burning through the distance between you both. Her breath hitched as she came to stand before you, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice soft yet carrying a weight that pulled at something deep inside of you. “You came.”

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady, though the sight of her stirred something untamed within you. “I came as soon as I sensed it. Viserys is gone, and now… the realm will fall to chaos.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line, pain flashing in her eyes at the mention of her father, but she didn’t look away. “They’ll come for me. For my children.”

“And they’ll have to go through me first.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened at your words, the weight of your promise settling over her like a shield. Her hand, pale and trembling, reached out ever so slightly, as if testing the waters between you. And then, without another word, she placed it in yours.

A murmur spread through the room. Alicent stiffened where she stood, her face pale as the dawn.

Otto watched in silence, his mind already racing, already calculating. He knew what this meant. He knew that your presence here was more than a disruption. It was a declaration.

“We should have left when we had the chance,” he muttered, just loud enough for Alicent to hear. “Now it’s too late.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, her fingers warm despite the cool air. “Will you stay?”

Your lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “For as long as you need me.”