#who is…by his own proclamation…a god…of gods | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 1 year ago

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Safe Keeping | 1

Part 2

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut (wedding night, loss of virginity, mild dub con, PIV, biting, praise kink), emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, baby fever, typos, etc.

A/N: what do we say to big scary murderers? all together now: i can fix him. the smut is at the end so just keep scrolling to the bottom if you wanna pass (: originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

A collective gasp resonates in the hall upon the utterance of the proclamation. The blonde boy basks in the reaction. I release a breath, hand on my churning belly, as I stand there in front of the Iron Throne. The agitation that filled me threatened to spill from my lips when I curtsied to the king. But by the gods, I manage to mutter, "you have honored me with such a decision, your grace."

King Joffrey smirks, "yes," he shifts in his seat, "I have." He stands from the throne and raises a beckoning hand, "dog!"

All eyes turn to one corner.

The rustle of fabric and the clink of steel fill the hall. I watch as he walks towards me. I watch the large man, clad in darkness from head to toe, hand on his hilt, face adorned with a large burn, come to my side but pay me no mind. He turns to his king, "your grace."

"My king," queen Cersei mutters to her son, "he is a member of the Kingsguard, he cannot--"

"My word is law, is it not?" the boy says.

His mother looks at him then us, and says no word.

Joffrey grins, "I present your new ward," he raises his arms, "orphaned at war, parents and brothers dead, house left with no heirs. She turned to me for counsel," he points to his chest, "for she would die on her own. And now I give her you," he clasps his hands, "to have and to hold in holy matrimony."

The room is dead silent.

"Consider it a gift for your loyal service," he turns to me, "a rather generous one, given your infliction," he turns back to him.

The man on my side nods once.

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes."

I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine father."

A loud and shrill laugh echoes in the chamber, demanding everyone's attention. Joffrey wheezes until he's red and tumbles back into his metal chair. He catches his breath and nods, "he- mmm, he would," he chuckles.

The king settles himself and waves us off, "go forth and make arrangements then, my lady. Your protector awaits."

I flinch at the way the wooden door is opened. Sandor stands before me, in a dress shirt and a scowl, leaning against the opening of his chamber door. I look away and curtsy, "good morrow, Lord Sandor," I steal a quick glance at Lucy by my left, "I've had my handmaiden prepare f-"

"Hound."

I lift my eyes to his face. The sour expression he held is amplified by the scar on his side. His eyes burn into me. "They call me the Hound," he grunts, "y'know that?"

I clasp my hands in front of me and open my mouth before muttering, "yes. Yes, I do."

"Then save me of this lord business," he straightens up and walks off inside his chambers. I watch him as much as I can from where I stood outside his room. I pipe up when he is no longer in eye's view, "may I come in?"

"Door's open, isn't it?"

I look at Lucy hesitantly, motioning she stay outside. I push the door wider and walk in, seeing Sandor was now getting dressed.

I stare at him for a moment, pressing my hands closer together, "would you like for me to he-"

"I'm not the king who has a bitch for every task."

I clench my jaw at his icy words.

Sandor begins to do his clasps, "why are you here, girl?"

He does not look at me after asking. I purse my lips before replying, "I am heading to the tailor to pick fabrics and-"

"Why isn't the tailor coming here?" he asks, still focused on dressing himself.

Sandor finally turns to me after fixing his top. I look up at him, feeling a dread build in my belly, "I wanted to go outside."

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He takes steps closer.

My lips part. I blurt, "the palace is too stuffy."

"Stuffy?" he retorts, "I wonder how large your house is if you find it stuffy here."

I shake my head, "I did not mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?" Sandor says, tilting down to look upon me once he is close enough. I am unable to withhold myself from stepping back. I mutter, "there are many... looming presences. It's overwhelming."

"Looming, she says," he grumbles. "Well, little lady, you're going to be shackled to me, and I'm shackled here. You'll have to get used to these looming presences."

I turn away from him and take a breath. Must he speak to me like I'm a child? "I understand that."

"No, I don't think you do," he says.

I look back at him. His gaze is as hard as ever.

"The moment a thing like you is outside the castle walls, thieves and rapists will fight to getcha," he walks off, "get your footman to escort you right in front of the shop and back."

I furrow my brows as he heads to the door, "wait, what about you?"

He stops right in front of Lucy and turns back, "what about me?"

"I'm going to the tailor to be fitted a dress for our wedding," I explain, "I came here to bring you along with me," I point to the woman at his side, "Lucy has made food for you to-"

"Why would I go with you to a tailor?"

Will he ever let me finish speaking? I hold back my annoyed expression, "you need to be fitted for your wedding at-"

"I'm not your dress up dolly," he grumbles, face pinched in disgust, "I'll be wearing my armor and that's that."

We stare at each other for a moment. I watch as Lucy glares at Sandor from behind. I clench my jaw tightly before curtsying, "as you wish, my lord-"

"Hound," he barks.

I look at him in shock, "you wish me to call you hound?"

He narrows his eyes and scoffs, "it's what I am-- what you're marrying, isn't it?"

I debate his words, unsure if he meant it or if it was a trick, a reason for him to be angry at me, "may I call you by name?"

He feels disdain burn up from his belly to his throat, "what? Too good to admit that-"

"That is not what I said!" I quip hotly.

The hulking man is rendered silent. He did not expect that. Still, he decides not to respond and walks away.

I scoff when he does so.

Lucy makes a face at him before coming up to me, offering a remorseful look, "he's a brute, milady! Rugged and ugly and mean!"

"Lucy," I warn as she takes my arm and escorts me out. She closes the door on our way and makes a face, "he's a thickheaded oaf!" she glares behind her to no one, "he's lucky-- blessed by all gods to be promised to a lady like you, and he treats you as though you were the degene-"

"Lucy!" I quip, yanking her by the arm.

She is finally silenced because of this. We both halt in our spot.

I hiss, "if someone were to hear you, if he were to hear you..." I shake my head, "he is my lord now. He is your lord."

Lucy grumbles.

"If it could be, I would not marry anyone," I tell her under a hushed voice, "but you know that cannot be."

We begin to walk down the hall. I continue, "I had thought I'd end with an old lord, eager to inherit my estate and esteem," I shake my head, "shocking as it was to be thrown like a bone to him..." I look out the open windows, "at least... the Hound... can protect me," I look back to Lucy, "protect us."

Lucy's face falls solemn. We hold each other's gaze for a moment. She then offers, "you're right. Them forest monsters will cower in fear at the mere sight of the 'ound."

We head to the castle gates, "do you think the guards will let us-"

"We'll walk, Lucy," I reply.

"What?! But the Hound said-"

"He expected me to have footmen and you know well that I don't. I do not think it would be appropriate to instruct the servants here to go out of their way for us. Besides, the shop is not far, you know this."

"But, Lady, I- I can drive the carriage again!"

I shake my head, "don't be ridiculous, Lucy. Do you know how silly we'd look galloping in a carriage for just a few streets down the city?"

Lucy is unable to talk me into any of her ideas. We ask the guards let us through the gate then walk to the tailor.

Once there, I am greeted by the tailor and immediately attended to.

Lucy and I go through the fabrics together. I laugh at her sentiment that all the fabrics would look good on me.

"Here," the tailor says, placing a strip of fabric on my shoulder, "I think this would suit you well, lady."

I look at myself in the mirror just as Lucy says, "that's it! That's the one!"

"Lucy," I chuckle, "you've said that about all the fabrics thus far."

"And I meant it every time!" she retorts, "but this one, this one is truly better than all the rest."

I look at myself in the mirror, "this one is actually quite pretty," I agree, "it's a very pale shade of red, but I quite enjoy it."

"It is all the rage with the ladies at court," the tailor says.

I smile, "very well. I should like to have this for my wedding dress."

Lucy squeals and applauds.

"A fine choice, my lady," the tailor nods and finishes measuring me.

The moment Lucy and I exit the tailor shop, we are scared by a loud holler. We turn to our side and see the mighty Hound, leaned against the wall. He straightens up and marches towards me.

"My Lord Sand-"

"What did I tell you about going outside the castle?" he barks, glaring down at me. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. My stomach rolls.

I give him a look and push Lucy behind me, "there was no dange-

"That's what you think. But tell me, what do little girls know but to play dress up?"

I whimper when he grabs my arm and drags me like an unruly child all the way back to the palace. I do not try to fight him. I know I will only hurt and tire myself if I do.

"Maybe I should let the peasants have at you," he mutters, side-eyeing me hotly, "teach you a lesson."

"Let her go!" Lucy shrieks.

He threatens to strike her when she tires to pull me away. I shout in protest. Sandor huffs and decides to simply continue dragging me.

The moment we are past the gates, he releases me roughly, making me yelp. Lucy grabs my arm and checks if I am injured.

Sandor eyes every one of the men present, "I'll make a jump rope out of the entrails of whoever fucking lets her out again."

The Hound storms off, leaving me and my handmaiden reeling and everyone else uneasy.

Sandor walks down the halls across the keep. He notices a guard looking down from the window. He wonders if he should push him for no other reason than the fact that he can.

He doesn't. He goes downstairs. He furrows his brows at the sight of men huddled together, looking at something in the gardens. He realizes it's most likely the same thing the man upstairs was looking at.

He walks their way, because he has to anyway, but is, frankly, uninterested in whatever the fuck has these men gawking.

On his way to his insufferable master, he passes Baelish, who is seemingly chipper to see him. The man smiles, "greetings, Hound."

The Hound ignores him.

"Pretty little thing in the garden. A darling flower, ready to be plucked," Baelish smirks as he watches the large man pass, "our king truly blessed you with such a match."

His expression does not change but his ears do ring at that as he walks down the hall.

He wills himself not to think of it, Littlefinger is a leech, but by the end of the day, his words are still ringing in mind. How irritating it was, suddenly, that he did not look at whatever the fuck it was those men were gawking at.

He's fuming at the sight of more men flocked by the garden when he reaches that hall again.

"OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!" he growls, thrashing past anyone who was slow and stupid enough not to get out of his path in time.

Sandor's eye twitches as when he sees what the commotion is all about.

"So, the princess said to him, 'away with you. I would rather never feel your kiss than yearn for something I will never feel again.' " I read the last section of the page. I flip to the next part and offer a smile to the children leaned on my lap listening to my story.

"Why would she tell him to go away?" Benji asked me from my right.

Lucy, beside him, chuckles and brushes his hair back,

I offer, "well, the prince had to go away. I suppose the princess just wanted it to be done with."

To my left, Ophelia, the boy's younger sister, pushes the book in my hand down so that she can see the picture. I show it to her just as Benji says, "she should have kissed him."

I chuckle, "well, maybe she will. There are a few more pages le-"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I gasp and look up. A protective form of ire burns through me at the sound of Sandor's words. The two siblings in my arm squeal at the sight of him and cower into my breast. I glare at him, "there are children here!"

"I can bloody see that," he looks down with contempt, "what? Are they your bastards?"

Lucy takes hold of the children.

"They are not bastards!" I rebut, "they are my childhood friend, Lady Deena's children, who, mind you, travelled far to King's Landing for our wedding!"

"I don't give a fuck about Lady Deenas or Lady Danas. Couldn't you have read to the rats in your damn chambers, girl?"

I give my handmaiden one look and, immediately, Lucy takes Benji and Ophelia along with their fairytale book. They scurry away to their chambers as the children clamor.

I stand from the stone fence we had been sat on, "we wanted fresh air."

"You wanted attention," the Hound quips.

I am wholly offended by his accusation. Now that I was standing alone in front of him, my confidence from having something to protect dwindles. I don't get to ask from whom he thought I wanted attention because he's soon berating me all over again. He quips, "does it please you to know all the guards in King's Landing want to fuck a baby into you?"

I am appalled by his venom.

He grabs me by the arm and begins hauling me off. A squeak spills from my lips at his brute force. Part of me wishes to fight back this time; I do not want him to humiliate me by dragging me around again. And yet I find myself unable to do anything more than latch my fingers into his iron grip, trying to at least loosen it.

Sandor, of course, does not budge.

"Is it a crime to read to children?!" I whine out in frustration, finding it immensely difficult to keep up to with his wide strides.

He does not make a sound, save the sound of his boots on the stone floors. I pant as we hike up the steps, yet still, I find myself explaining, "I would have done the same to our children!"

I do not see that Sandor reacts to this because I am too busy trying to match his pace.

I thank the gods when he finally releases me. When I catch my breath, I realize I am in front of the door to my chambers.

"Do not stroll around as if you actually live here," Sandor quips, raising a finger at me.

"But I do-"

"Last time I checked, you're not marrying into royalty," he cuts me off.

I watch the large man walk off right after speaking this. I rub my arm as I feel my eyes water. More than his heavy grip, I was once again hurt by his jagged treatment. My voice breaks as I shout out, "wou-ld you at least tell me what exactly I've done to have angered you so?!"

He does not slow, nor does he look over his shoulder when he barks back, "I don't want to see you fucking reading to those children again."

Needless to say, I crumble into a fit of tears the moment I get into my chambers.

When Lucy comes to my side on my bed, he curses the Hound and does her best to console me. She rubs my back as I weep my woes out into my pillow, "oh, Lucy, he doesn't just despise me, he despises children!"

Lucy scoffs, "why am I not surprised."

She regrets saying this when I turn to her with wet cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She gives a guilty expression, "milady, I-"

"That's all I ever wanted," I sniffle, "all I ever dreamed of-" my lips quiver, "being a mother. Having children. You know this."

Lucy bites her lips tightly as I continue to sob. She mutters, "pardon my foolish words, lady."

"Oh, what does it matter-" I rub my philtrum, "you're right. This is not a surprising development."

"You can still get him to give you his babes! Men like making babies, not really taking care of them. And of course, I would never leave your side. I would help you raise your darlings, protect them from him," she speaks sincerely. I knew her words meant to comfort me but in truth, I don't think they do.

It seems she can tell that, which is why she's apologizing all over again.

I shake my head and place my hand on her cheek, "it's alright, Lucy... you needn't worry... it's all... going to be alright.

Sandor and I look starkly contrasting at the altar. He is dark and brooding, clad in hard armor and a perpetual frown. I am bright and jittery, wrapped in pale reds and nervous smiles.

The septon binds our hands together in fabric. We turn to each other as we speak our vows.

My heart races when we are told to kiss. I suck in a breath and get on my tiptoes to reach his lips. I crane my neck up; he makes no effort to lean down in return. Still, our lips meet and in that moment, I am his.

The audience applauds us, the sound of King Joffrey's laugh is apparent even through it. Our wedding was not a grand event; the king wanted it to happen in haste, and I could not afford to make it a grand anyway. There were also not so many people in attendance, and yet it felt like the whole world was watching me in this moment.

The celebration feast that came after was terribly tedious and severely unenjoyable for me, and for Sandor. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the merrymaking though, namely the king, and I suppose that was enough.

I did nothing but smile and thank my guest from my seat next to Sandor. He did not speak to me, let alone anyone who came up to us with congratulations on their lips. All he did was eat. I suppose it could be worse. At least one of us could stomach eating at this moment.

The only life I felt was when I was introduced to a babe of one of the ladies. The sweetling had only seen 4 moons and she was as sweet as can be. She was so precious. I just had to hold her. I was inspired to even stand and frolic a bit with her in my arms.

Her mother and I conversed much about babies and child rearing. My stomach rolled in a mix of excitement, dread, anticipation, and worry all at once, knowing this was to be the next part of my life now.

I enjoyed all the stories she told me. I was flattered when she said I would be a great mother, for her child in my arms did not fuss one bit and she was known to be quite fussy. I giggled at all the wonderful memories she had with her other children who, she said, were even fussier than her daughter. I nodded solemnly at her advice in child birth and breastfeeding, making sure not to let a single word go unheard.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Sandor was watching this all from his spot with the cup of wine before him. He did not avert his eyes once; he watched each and every move.

Well, it was unbeknownst to everyone excluding Lord Baelish, who was rather amused by it all, which was why he decided to act.

"Lady Clegane," Lord Baelish comes up to me and raises a hand, "might you spare me a dance?"

I turn form the babe in my arms to him. I smile a small one, "I'm afraid my darling friend here makes me unwilling to do anything but coddle her."

The child's mother on my left laughs, as does Baelish. He links his hands together, "well, judging from your darling friend's temperament, I'd say you would be a fine mother."

"I agree," the lady says.

I grin from ear to ear, heart soaring at the sentiment, "I would like to be nothing more."

Baelish presses his lips into a smirk, "may the gods bless you with many children then," he raises his hands "and may they all take after your sweetness, grace, and beauty."

The way Baelish speaks those words were intentional, as was everything was with him. The comment leaves an air of tension between us. The man basks in it and decides his work is done here.

"I-It is kind of the king to assign a larger room," I muster up as I walk into my new chambers-- our new chambers.

Sandor follows after me, locking the door behind him. He hums, "I doubt it was the king that thought of it. It was probably the queen."

I stand by the end of the bed. I brush the sheets with my hand. I mutter a correction, "kind of her to think of us."

When I turn, my breath hitches at the sight of Sandor standing right behind me. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in his expression. His face is barely visible in the dark. I can only see as much as the moon allowed. Still, I can tell he is stoic, hard, and predatory. This was it.

My hands tremble. I fiddle with my fingers, "shall I-" I bring my palms to his chest plate, "help you out of your armor?"

Sandor does not respond to me.

"H-husband?"

He takes my hand, taking a shaky breath from my lips along with him. He leads me to his claps and shows me how to undo them before releasing my hand to do it myself. I continue to undo all the claps until his armor is off him. When he is left in his shirt and trousers, he snatches my wrists before I can undress him any further. I freeze in my spot.

My belly churns at his touch. It is reminiscent of the times he has dragged me by the arm, and yet the firm grip is a notch gentler. The way is brows furrow is barely visible because of his burns, but I see it. He leans down and his dark hair spills over his scar, "do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

My breath hitches. I take a moment to even my breathing before responding, "yes."

He hums and lifts his nose, "what's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly. I am shocked when he swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

I look up at him with wide eyes as his own rake me up and down. I feel incredibly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I want to push him away and hide under the sheets. Yet still, I am rendered frozen in my spot.

"Tell me honest, have you ever done this before?" he speaks rather softly.

I feel my body burn. I shake my head, unable to speak.

Sandor allows me a second. He believes it yet finds it hard to believe. "I would not judge you if you did," he adds.

I shake my head faster.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't--" he grabs my ribs and spins me around. The action makes my heart hammer. He pushes my hair to the side, over my shoulder. I squeak softly when he begins to undo the back of my dress. He completes his thought, "-- you're a good girl."

Though he was loosening my ties, I was finding it harder to breathe. He very soon slips my dress off my shoulders, leaving me in my shift. After doing so, he begins to remove the pins in my hair. It takes a while for him to accomplish it. I count the clinks that come from him dropping the clips onto the floor.

When he is done, he gently combs through my locks and lets my hair run loose. It was then he nudges me, "on the bed. On your back."

I shudder and crawl on the bed. I watch him take his shirt off the moment I lie on my back. I immediately turn away and close my eyes when I notice his bulge. His hands undo the string of his trousers.

I press my thighs together. I feel my heart pound. It pounds intensely between my legs.

"Aren't you curious to see what it looks like?"

I curl my legs up at his words.

I gasp and flinch when he grabs my ankles, my eyes ripping open to see what he was doing. He straightens my legs out and pulls me down; I gasp once more when he does so.

I catch sight of his opened trousers. I see the way the hair on his wide, battle-scarred chest trails down to the thick, dark hair beneath his navel. I see the imprint on his pants clearer. I shut my eyes again.

I hear him pull his trousers down. I feel the bed dip as he crawls over.

My hands dig into the sheets as he knocks my legs apart. I am passive and obedient; I make room for him. I can hear my pulse from my screwed eyes.

Goosebumps form on my skin when Sandor's hot, calloused fingers brush up my thighs. He lightly kneads my flesh. The action almost makes me moan. He stops and pushes my skirt up when he feels something by my hips, "where did you get this?"

I feel him ghost over the deep scar on my left hip. I cover my face in the crook of my elbows, "I was attacked."

He does not respond.

"That was the day my family died."

Sandor feels bad for asking. He feels a bit more when the thought does not prevent his cock from hardening. He adjusts his grip, hiking my shift up higher. His hands claw on my hips but only one remains. His mouth waters.

I gasp and slap my thighs close, or at least try to, when I feel him brush something firm and damp against my pulsing core. He uses the sheer size of him to prevent me from actually pressing my thighs together.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh-" he tuts, "this is for your own good. Believe me."

My toes curl and my hands dig into my pillow as he fondles with me. The sensation makes my body twitch and the wet squelching sound that pierces my ears fill me up with an unnamable sensation. Soon enough though, I feel myself become undeniably aroused.

My hips begin to roll and my back begins to arch.

Sandor grunts and licks his lips, loving every moment of his private show, "good girl."

His words strike up my belly like lightning.

Lewd sounds begin to dribble past my lips. I feel my body begin to tingle. The sopping sounds intensify.

"Feel good?" he asks, "you like it?"

I find no room to deny it. I instantly respond, "yes."

"Good," he trails off.

My grip on the pillows loosen when he begins to slow. I bring my hands to the side when he falls to a stop. Just as I am about to look down to see what was wrong, my heart races all over again when he hooks his fingers behind my knees and nestles between my thighs. He positions against me. I feel him guide his hardened length into my folds.

I let out a loud groan when he slips into my wetness. He grunts and cusses as he sinks down, balls deep. My nails claw at his shoulders. He pushes my knees back to the mattress. Surprisingly, the weight of him is not suffocating, in fact, it was welcomed... it was delicious.

I whine viscerally when he begins to buck his hips slowly.

"Mmm, fuck," he pants, "so fucking tight. So pretty and wet and warm, my sweet virgin."

My jaw drops at his words.

"My sweet lady wife," he growls, "all," he drags out, "mine."

My breath strains and escapes my throat hotly. My sounds match each of his thrusts; they are deep and lewd. Sandor's male ego is through the roof because it if. He slowly picks up the pace.

I am a mess of whines at the feel his manhood stretching and prodding into me. My body shivers every time he collides with the tender spot in me. It feels so good; it's nothing I've felt before.

Sandor grunts and shifts on his knees. He adjusts me beneath him like I weighed nothing, and maybe I didn't to him. I slip out a scream when he batters into me with such delicious force.

"Shhhhh," he hushes shakily, hands forcing my hips down in place so I didn't shoot off as he snapped his hips into me. With every hit of flesh, his stones knocking into me, his wet skin, slapping into my dripping folds, I feel my body burn and tighten more.

"Don't be too loud," he scolds emptily, for in truth, he would love it if he got something even louder. He leans lower, "wouldn't want you to wake all of King's Landing." But please do.

His words momentarily push sense into my mind. It doesn't last. I can barely mask my loud cries and he fucks into me. My nails dig into his scalp. He lets out a sound because of it.

Sandor shifts again. This time, his buries his face next to mine. He presses against me, chest to chest, grabs the bed frame with one hand, my knee with the other, and rams into me so hard, the bed creaks and knocks into the wall.

My eyes roll back and my open mouth latches onto his shoulder. I naturally then sink my teeth in is taut flesh. It does wonders to muffle my sounds but it pulls out some from Sandor.

"Gods, girl. Yeah," he heaves, "sink your," he gives two particularly rough thrusts, "fucking teeth into me."

My breathing grows erratic after this. An intense pressure begins to build in my belly.

"S-Sandor- Sandor-"

He hums and maintains his intense pace, "come girl. Just a bit more. Come around my cock like a good, dirty girl."

His words push me on the edge. I crumble and convulse beneath him exactly like it, a good, dirty girl. My voice is just as shaky as my thighs are. My body bursts into an intense, burning pleasure.

My body drips in sweat and slick and spit and tears, all purely out of bliss. All the air is pulled out of my lungs as I fall into this feeling.

Sandor curses. His thrusts grow erratic. I would scream if I wasn't so winded and exhausted. He stabs so roughly into me, I flinch because it feels like he's hitting the very depths of my mind. Then, he breaks into a growl and I feel him throb so strongly until his movements come to a halt.

Once he is still, I am obliterated. I cannot move. I can only feel heat and pulsing. I feel terribly sticky and so full. I love every inch of it.

I sigh and lean into him. I can imagine now why many paid for this pleasure, why people had so many children. My fingers scratch into his nape. I rub my face against his cheek; I feel the texture of his burn. Sandor stiffens.

The next moment, he pulls away, and it was then I realized doing that, nuzzling into him, was obviously a mistake. I gasp at the sudden lost of contact, the emptiness. I watch him jump out of the bed, as if I was fire and I had burned him. I press my thighs together and push my skirt down, feeling shame wash over me as I watched him tuck himself into his trousers like he was eager to leave me.

And he looked exactly like he meant to leave me at this moment.

"Where are you going?" I ask him, but my voice is so small and unsure that he doesn't hear it.

He grabs his shirt and puts it on. He heads to the door, unlocks it quickly, and insults me by saying, "good night."

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laifromthecosmos · 1 month ago

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Bharani Nakshatra and Fertility: The Cycle of Life under the rule of Venus

port-br

When watching films or plays that take place in the Middle Ages, you notice that some of them have the figure of the “herald”, those messengers who arrive at the location and open the letter (which looks like a parchment) and read the message aloud. The Heralds carried announcements and messages from the kingdom to the population, made solemn proclamations, verified titles of nobility, announced war and proclaimed peace. They were a preform of diplomacy. When they were going to announce something to the people, they would stand on a platform in the middle of the public square and shout the real news, usually wearing clothes that differentiated them to attract more attention.

Bharani Nakshatra (Aries 13º20' - 26º40') are the heralds of the energy of Venus, as they act as messengers or representatives of the essence of Venus in the world, carrying Venusian qualities, manifesting them in their lives and behavior. Venus is advocacy, seeks equity and is a peacemaker, devoid of aggression, but when it joins Mars, aggression and anger can be used as a tool of diplomacy (description by mike sleeping dog). In the eyes of Vedic elders, the star of this nakshatra forms the female sexual organ and thus became its symbol. This organ symbolizes the fertility aspect of life and a portal between two different worlds. In the Vedic point of view, it is described as death and birth, transformation and regeneration. It also represents restriction, care, jealousy, sacrifice, sexuality, nurturing and maternal love. Bharani carries all these attributes. It is the star of restriction that has the power to cleanse and remove impurities.

The main deity of Bharani is Yama, the god of death. Yama had a twin sister named Yami, who is considered the lady of life. Yama and Yami are a divine pair of creative deities. Yama is what connects mortality and immortality that carves mortal paths through death. In it is time and through time it describes a course for life, after the course life is absorbed into time. Yami is moved by Maya's emotions and love. Yama is mortal, but Yami is not. The procreation of mortals was granted thanks to the sacrifice that Yama made in annihilating himself, thus creating a debt (cyclic yajña). Through debt, exchange is created, and it is through exchange that the world moves forward.

There is a story that Yami fell in love with her brother Yama and wanted to have sex with him, arguing that this would not break dharma. She wished Yama to induce the embryo in her womb. It was a natural instinct that awakened in her mind and body after she reached puberty.

"She offered many arguments as to why this would not break dharma, but he knew that sexual intercourse with his own sister would go against dharma in the mortal world, where every action provokes a seen or unseen reaction. His reward for such self-control was to become chief justice of the universe." - Mike Sleeping Dog.

Bharani is a 16-year-old girl about to deflower, a baby in the womb or a person who faces the Yamadutas (heavenly angels whose task is to guide souls in the afterlife process) after death. Because of its childlike quality, Bharani is one of the most eager nakshatras. Just like a child wants to experience the entire environment, Bharani natives want to experience the environment to the fullest. There is a primal innocence in the way they experience things, people and places. They may go by instinct instead of reason. Most of your feelings and desires are so overwhelming that very little can be done to contain or calm them. Once again, the evolutionary status of the soul in question comes into play. All Bharani natives have a creative impulse within them. Females generally express this creativity through bearing children, while males attempt to be creative on stranger levels. Bharani is a nakshatra where interaction between man and woman takes place. This makes it one of the most sexual nakshatras in the zodiac. Bharani is representative of the force of nature that creates attraction between opposites. Bharani natives experiment, surrender, become victims and try to understand this force.

Bharani is the nakshatra that belongs to the first sign of the zodiac and is the first nakshatra ruled by Venus, this symbolizes the entry of the initial energy of creative feminine energy into the zodiac. Therefore, it is a feminine nakshatra. This is no longer a surprise, as Bharani represents everything feminine. It is the second nakshatra and the first female nakshatra. Just like the number “2” in numerology, it is the initiator of the feminine principle at all levels of existence. It is the beginning of duality and maya, and in it lies the essence of the complex functioning of the feminine principle. Bharani is considered a balanced nakshatra. Bharani is actually an extreme nakshatra, but it is classified as 'Balanced' due to its tendency to balance opposite extremes like birth and death. Bharani natives often lead double lives, reaching two different extremes. So, overall, their lives can be seen as balance. It is part of the Rajas Nakshatras (rajas is action to get desires fulfilled. It is the passion that drives one to action, often not getting the expected results, which leads to more actions), this can be easily accessed from the govt. of Bharani by Venus. Venus is seen as the most rajasic among the planets. Its relationship with terrestrial life processes is very strong. In a way, you could say that it is only Venus that makes life worth living. As Bharani heralds Venusian energy, its expression here is primordial, highly concentrated and explosive (all rajasic expressions). Venus is the planet of fertility, creativity and pleasure. In Bharani, these qualities manifest in the idea of giving birth, both literally and symbolically. Fertility here is not restricted to procreation, but also the ability to create and nurture ideas, projects and new phases of life. Bharani, governed by Yama, also remembers that every beginning is accompanied by an end, a continuous cycle of renewal. Bharani represents the phase in which the seed is planted (the creative act that precedes growth. Being the first nakshatra of Venus, Bharani symbolizes fertility in its primordial state, the impulse to generate life. Fertility is linked to the feminine receptive nature, the ability to sustain life, something that Venus dominates. Bharani, with her association with the uterus, also speaks of the importance of gestation, essential elements of fertility. All goddesses, especially fertility goddesses, are linked to Venus.

Bharani is the nakshatra of karma and reincarnation, one of the least understood concepts in modern times, especially in the Western world. Bharani is the name of the stage where the masculine and feminine, which have arisen from a single genderless source, copulate and, in doing so, carry forward the process of creation.

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doberbutts · 9 months ago

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I’m wondering if you have thoughts on James Baldwin’s “open letter to the born again”? I’m struggling a bit with what his point is in that piece; it feels kinda dismissive on Jewish zionists agency in creation of Israel? But I may be missing parts or not getting things

The text in question.

And the segment I think anon is struggling with:

I know what I am talking about: my grandfather never got the promised “forty acres, and a mule,” the Indians who survived that holocaust are either on reservations or dying in the streets, and not a single treaty between the United States and the Indian was ever honored. That is quite a record.

Jews and Palestinians know of broken promises. From the time of the Balfour Declaration (during World War I) Palestine was under five British mandates, and England promised the land back and forth to the Arabs or the Jews, depending on which horse seemed to be in the lead. The Zionists—as distinguished from the people known as Jews—using, as someone put it, the “available political machinery,’’ i.e., colonialism, e.g., the British Empire—promised the British that, if the territory were given to them, the British Empire would be safe forever.

But absolutely no one cared about the Jews, and it is worth observing that non-Jewish Zionists are very frequently anti-Semitic. The white Americans responsible for sending black slaves to Liberia (where they are still slaving for the Firestone Rubber Plantation) did not do this to set them free. They despised them, and they wanted to get rid of them. Lincoln’s intention was not to “free” the slaves but to “destabilize” the Confederate Government by giving their slaves reason to “defect.” The Emancipation Proclamation freed, precisely, those slaves who were not under the authority of the President of what could not yet be insured as a Union.

It has always astounded me that no one appears to be able to make the connection between Franco’s Spain, for example, and the Spanish Inquisition; the role of the Christian church or—to be brutally precise, the Catholic Church—in the history of Europe, and the fate of the Jews; and the role of the Jews in Christendom and the discovery of America. For the discovery of America coincided with the Inquisition, and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. Does no one see the connection between The Merchant of Venice and The Pawnbroker? In both of these works, as though no time had passed, the Jew is portrayed as doing the Christian’s usurious dirty work. The first white man I ever saw was the Jewish manager who arrived to collect the rent, and he collected the rent because he did not own the building. I never, in fact, saw any of the people who owned any of the buildings in which we scrubbed and suffered for so long, until I was a grown man and famous. None of them were Jews.

And I was not stupid: the grocer and the druggist were Jews, for example, and they were very very nice to me, and to us. The cops were white. The city was white. The threat was white, and God was white, Not for even a single split second in my life did the despicable, utterly cowardly accusation that “the Jews killed Christ’’ reverberate. I knew a murderer when I saw one, and the people who were trying to kilI me were not Jews.

But the state of Israel was not created for the salvation of the Jews; it was created for the salvation of the Western interests. This is what is becoming clear (I must say that it was always clear to me). The Palestinians have been paying for the British colonial policy of “divide and rule” and for Europe’s guilty Christian conscience for more than thirty years.

Finally: there is absolutely—repeat: absolutely—no hope of establishing peace in what Europe so arrogantly calls the Middle East (how in the world would Europe know? having so dismally failed to find a passage to India) without dealing with the Palestinians. The collapse of the Shah of Iran not only revealed the depth of the pious Carter’s concern for “human rights,” it also revealed who supplied oil to Israel, and to whom Israel supplied arms. It happened to be, to spell it out, white South Africa.

Well. The Jew, in America, is a white man. He has to be, since I am a black man, and, as he supposes, his only protection against the fate which drove him to America. But he is still doing the Christian’s dirty work, and black men know it.

My friend, Mr. Andrew Young, out of tremendous love and courage, and with a silent, irreproachable, indescribable nobility, has attempted to ward off a holocaust, and I proclaim him a hero, betrayed by cowards.

For context: Andrew Young, considered the right hand of MLK Jr, had a longstanding and occasionally fraught relationship with the Jewish community. He stepped down from Congress shortly after being forced to choose between voicing support for Palestine and continuing to work towards black-jewish interests by his constituents and fellow politicians, as he felt very strongly about supporting both. This was a fairly unpopular move. While I don't believe he ever called himself Jewish by the strictest sense, he was actively involved in Jewish communities and the known "white" ancestry within him is a Polish Jew in his great grandparents.

To be honest, I don't really see much a problem with this as I think it fairly closely matches up not only with my understanding of the history of this problem but also my own country's part in it as well as my personal feelings on it decades later. It pretty blatantly says that Zionism is utilizing a machination of white supremist colonism due to the extensive history of antisemitism and having had the ancestral land dangled in front of them like bait on a hook from the British Empire, which owned Palestine at the time. It also goes on to say that many Zionists aren't even Jewish and are antisemitic in nature, but are Christians happy to get rid of as many Jews as possible and how that tracks due to the Christian church's millennia-deep history of antisemitism.

I don't think it lets anyone off the hook. I think it pretty much flat out says this is a problem caused first and foremost by white Christians who hate Jews and Arabs alike and have a vested interest in getting the two populations to fight because it'll be easier to kill off just the one group instead of both of them, if one ends up eradicating the other. It even talks about the friction between the black community and the Jewish community, what caused it, what drives it, how that friction in itself is a tool of white supremacy to hurt us both.

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hana-no-seiiki · 2 years ago

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I WORSHIP THEE (pt 2)

yan! god (yun/me) x afab! reader smut.

warnings: sacrilegious elements. porn with little/no plot. piv sex. again im not a smut writer-

continuation of this sacrilegious one i made before - amab versions of these will come soon.

requested by @moonlight1717 !

MINORS DNI - By pressing the Keep Reading button you are confirming that you’re 18 and above + consent to seeing dark / sexual content.

As the Earth revolves around the Sun so does your world to your God. He who has always been there. Since the dawn of your creation up until the dusk of your demise, you knew he would be there to watch over you.

You, however, did not predict that you’d be given a place close to him so soon.

God halted in his movements. His lashes flickered, pulling your attention away from his pulsing cock to his eyes. Adorable was he, innocent in visage in spite of the actions he was about to carry out.

His divine face neared yours, and the next few moments could only be described as bliss in its purest form. His lips took yours again, claiming it. Contrary to the way he kissed you before this one felt even more possessive, aggressive in nature. His proclamation, though silent, was the loudest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

You are mine.

As it was meant to be from the beginning. You belonged to him since your conception, you are his til now and shall be his forever more.

Before you even realized it he had already entered you while his lips were locked with yours. The aftershock of pleasure hitting you in waves.

God starts off slow, savoring the taste of your cunt. Your mind was in a haze. Was this actually happening? You simply couldn’t believe it. Dazed and confused, all you could do was hold unto him for dear life.

He stops kissing you, and you whine at the loss of his lips. He giggled softly at your response, “Relax, Darling.”

Once he saw you follow his command, he started fucking himself into you. Kneading your breasts with one hand while holding your waists with the other. Mouth attached to your neck and then your collarbone.

His thrusts are brutal despite his loving ministrations, seemingly beginning to care little about your own pleasure in comparison to his. His right hand left your breast to grab ahold of your legs, putting them over his shoulders. Now at a better angle, he shoved dick back into you; harsher, hungrier and infinitely more indulgent than his first entry.

“ You truly are — ngh — my greatest creation.”

Tears escape your eyes. Every sensation was overwhelming you and God has long since abandoned playing nice. His words of praise only do so much to ease the overpowering pleasure and pain you were enduring.

Hah, so even the creator himself was nothing in the face of lust. What could he do but turn into the worst forms of man when met with pussy as tight and cute as yours?

He doesn’t even notice you cum and spasm around his cock before he flips you over. Tugging your hair back so he’d be able to see your face as he rocked into you.

“ Remember the feeling of your God inside you, Darling. For you shall feel it for the rest of eternity. “ He pecked your cheek, thrusting so hard you think he’s trying to mold your insides into the shape of him.

His cock twitched and pulsated inside you. Soon your walls were covered by his release, jumpstarting another one of your own.

He slowed down to whisper into your ears, “You’ll bear the children of God. Won’t you?”

And he let go of your hair, causing you to crash down unto the soft mattress underneath you. His pace quickened yet again, no doubt planning to fuck you until his seed took root in your womb.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere smut #oc x reader smut #yandere god #yandere god x reader #yandere x reader smut #oc smut #oc x you #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader

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calisources · 8 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑? 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different media and some made from scratch about the royal succession line and the troubles it brought during a medieval/fantasy period. Change pronouns, names, titles and locations as you see fit.

You poison a king so that they may take his place.

Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance.

If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.

Princess Catherine. Your loss has endeared you to the people. They share your grief.

You've had your courses for days, but you do not tell anyone. I don't understand.

God would have me wed Prince Harry.

But you are his brother's widow. It is impossible. It is forbidden.

I am every inch the soldier... And commander.

In England, widows don't handle swords, much less a widow carrying a prince in her womb.

And I'll wager that you were praying for a boy.

My mother is already planning my next marriage, though in God's eyes it will be my first marriage.

If you are still a maid, then, Catherine, I can be your husband.

I will raise you up, you... you and all of England. You will be my princess and... and my queen.

Ten years since the king has been on the throne and there is no heir apparent. Only his brother, gods forbid.

Daughters don’t inherit, sons do.

You have a son but you must have a spare too. Gods know what would happen if the boy dies.

The line of succession is clear on these matters. Girls are the last resource.

I am a woman, whoever I marry must be clear on his duty. He is not the crown, I am.

His Majesty has no male heir and will have none but he, Buckingham will succeed to the throne.

By assassinating His Majesty.

Right of Conquest is still a rightful way to gain a throne. Has anyone banned it as a law?

Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?

God forbid that the king should abandon her just to ease his own conscience. I don't think the English people would ever forgive him.

She is threatening the peace in this realm by playing the king with empty promises. No one can predict a son.

Perhaps the succession must change, this dynasty is large and will survive.

Your Majesty, I beg that you yield to the King's will.

To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.

You think he might invade England in support of the queen?

You underestimate the support he/she has with the smallfolk and highborn alike. They would go to war if you dismiss them.

Perhaps, one day this little girl will preside over empires.

Now I am indeed Queen.

Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine!

Perhaps there should be reasons to annul the marriage and make the king consider marry another. He is still young.

Nothing like a young bride to make a man forget his troubles.

He will have his heir or else he will have my head.

Tell Sir Francis to double the guards around the Princess Mary and defend her with their life- for if the King dies, some will be for the boy, others for her.

There shall be a proclamation soon, the king shall announce his heir and the realm will rest.

A lifetime of building an empire can fall in a day because of the wrong successor to the empire.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.

He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away.

When the crown is weak and struggles, anyone can come and sweep it away. And in this world, it is allowed.

This small council tried to work out what that meant for the line of succession.

If she were to wed him, her claim to the throne will increase, as her popularity.

While the king entertains the highborns, the prince/princess makes friends with the people they rule. The decision is easy.

Whoever he marries is as important as how many heirs he can produce.

Sons are good for the realm, Daughters are good for alliances.

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.

I would rather feed my sons to the dragons, than have them carry spears and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a king.

I understand why you're angry. And you are my sister and technically have a claim to the throne. And believe me, I would love for someone else to rule. But it can't be you.

Father would hate to see you sit in his seat, when it was never you he chose.

The pretty decent king split the crown between his heirs.

Proclamations are good, but this should have been in written, send to every corner of the world. Now we have war.

When the king needed to be replaced, one of the royal family would be elected to be the new king.

Succession is never peaceful. The King new this and the reason he called a council for his new heir to be chosen.

The line must always continue.

That little bit of dragon blood in him allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on the throne and continue.

Our son is a wastrel and a halfwit. We shudder to think of the throne in his hands.

My greatest hope is that you will surpass me in every way, consigning my name to some forgotten corner of history.

What's most important is what he isn't like—his father. I think you'll find him to be a reasonable man.

The King is easily controlled by those in his council. All too happy to give some of the power away to another.

A king is a martyr to their ideals.

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

Women can rule as wise as men, perhaps even more.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield.

Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand.

The princess remains your best bet to step closer to the throne. Seduce her, marry her.

In the end, history will remember little, as history is written by the winners.

You have not one son now but two, Your Grace. Perhaps some changes to the successions are to be made.

I know why you are here. Men want my crown as much as they want the pleasure of a woman.

I need to give the realm an heir and plenty of spares.

What use is to gain a throne if you are already in crisis by having no heir by blood?

I can give you what she never gave you. Another son.

Are the rumors true, then? There is a child in your belly?

All of my father’s work will crumble if I leave it all to a weak sickly child.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #medieval meme #tournament meme #tourney meme

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earlgreytea68 · 11 months ago

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The Fall Out Boy Year in Review

Because did anything else happen in 2023?????

This was a band that started this year with a bunch of people with all these theories that they were going to announce their retirement and they ended the year rejuvenated, reenergized, ready to go.

Let me count the ways Fall Out Boy was amazing this year:

At the very beginning of the year, they gave a performance, and Pete and Patrick did a pre-show interview, and Pete leaned his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and they grinned and grinned at each other and it was amazing and it was like, “Is this how the year is going to go????” AND LO, THAT’S HOW THE YEAR WENT.

The show at the Metro, when they threw Calm Before the Storm into the setlist and it felt so extraordinary and the crowd just shouted every word at them and then they played their first “Saturday” of the year and Patrick said how it always means a lot to them but it means more at home, YOU SEE, THE WHOLE YEAR WAS LIKE THIS.

They went to a gay bar and Pete and Patrick approvingly joked about sucking dick, so YEAH, THEN THAT HAPPENED.

Pete said that at least once a week he was told by people that their faces would melt off if they played this song live, so he wanted to see faces melting off, and then Patrick barreled into Headfirst Slide and the crowd was so loud at him that he let them take the “get unique” line, grinning the whole time, EVERYTHING WAS LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME.

I’m five points in and just getting to the fact that they released a new album and it was incredible from start to finish, every single song was amazing and extraordinary and so very them and so very what it’s like to be alive in 2023. THE ALBUM WAS GREAT AND WOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH ON ITS OWN BUT THEN SO MUCH MORE STUFF HAPPENED.

Then they ran around promoting this album and Patrick said that Pete is his reason for getting out of bed in the morning and that’s one of, like, sixteen different proclamations of adoration about Pete that he made in a span of a week BECAUSE THE WHOLE YEAR WAS JUST LIKE THIS.

Then they went on tour and somehow got it into their heads to play a new song every night, just, like, why not, right, just pulling all the most meaningful songs of their career out of their back pockets as if they had never given the impression that they would never, ever play that song, BUCKLE UP, THE WHOLE RIDE WAS JUST BEGINNING.

Pete gave a speech about how he doesn’t lay under a blanket thinking about being dead anymore, oh my god, these boys who figured out finally how much they’re loved, HOW THIS ALL HAPPENED IS AMAZING.

We got to watch Pete grow and develop all of his little concert speeches and then Pete was like, “Oh, also, I’ve decided to add in this feature called Riff with Patrick,” and all this segment was was them grinning at each other, because WHY NOT JUST ADD THIS TO EVERYTHING ELSE THAT HAPPENED THIS YEAR.

They released an updated version of “We Didn’t Start the Fire” and it’s fantastic and was a big hit for them and anyone who likes to think Fall Out Boy doesn’t know how to write lyrics because it’s not chronological needs to just think for two seconds about it, THE SONG IS GREAT AND THE YEAR ALREADY HAD SO MUCH AND THEN ANOTHER SONG!!!

Patrick. Played. “Spotlight.” Like. Unthinkable. Absolutely unthinkable. He played “Spotlight” and the crowd sang with him and he looked out and laughed and said, “That’s a lot of lights,” AND THEN THE YEAR COULD HAVE ENDED BUT IT DID NOT.

PATRICK PLAYED THE DRUMS, sorry, I will never be over that, ever, ever, ever, ever.

At some point in there Pete gave an interview with a rabbit puppet on his hand? And Patrick petted the puppet very carefully???? WHY WAS THIS YEAR LIKE THIS??????

Patrick sang “I’ve Got a Dark Alley” so gentle, so beautiful, so gorgeous, that it was like kintsugi being done right in front of our eyes, it still makes me cry to think of his version of that song, ALL THE GENTLENESS AND HOPE IN THIS EMO BAND THIS YEAR.

Patrick heard Pete struggling and turned to him to play “Bob Dylan” directly at him until he found his place, BECAUSE THAT WAS JUST HOW THIS YEAR WENT.

Meanwhile Patrick went stumbling over unfamiliar lyrics and Pete careened across the stage to get to him to rescue him, BECAUSE, AGAIN, THIS IS THEM IN 2023.

I went to a concert personally and they played me “Sweet Caroline” and “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” so THAT ALSO HAPPENED THIS YEAR AND IT WAS AMAZING AND PERFECT.

Patrick suggested they play “Pavlove.” ??? Hang on, read that again. Patrick. Suggested. They. Play. “Pavlove.” And then they. Played it. Like, yup, ALSO THAT HAPPENED.

Patrick said, quick and sincere in an unplanned aside, that he’s pretty sure this is the best tour they’ve ever done, EVERYONE WAS SO IN LOVE ALL YEAR.

Patrick suddenly decided to grow his hair long?????? Still don’t even know what that was all about, he was just like, 2023, FOLKS!!!

They played a Halloween show in the most Them costumes ever chosen BECAUSE WHY NOT?????

Then to close the year out Patrick dragged out “Yule Shoot Your Eye Out” ????? Like, again, WHY NOT???????

AND THEN “PAVLOVE” SHOWED UP ON STREAMING SERVICES, BECAUSE WHY NOT??????

#fall out boy #fob #sorry there are no links #i was being very lazy

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aeithalian · 1 year ago

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Hermes: the ultimate middle child

And now for the other promised meta!

There was a great discussion on the TOA discord earlier that I got the chance to read once it was over that was basically exactly what I wanted to talk about - Hermes as a character and how he is very subtly contrasted with Apollo in multiple ways.

First, for a curiosity I've had ever since I finished TON. We learn several very interesting things about Hermes in the scene when Apollo returns to the Council:

He initiated the bets on Apollo's success (and then has the nerve to say he was worried about Apollo)

He bet against Apollo (and it was enough money to make him look visibly upset by the loss)

He was not among the gods who looked happy at Zeus' proclamation of Apollo's success (Artemis makes sense for being happy, Dionysus makes sense for not, but Hermes is supposedly a close brother figure in the myths, so what gives?)

He immediately suggested that Apollo cause outright harm to some mortals with his renewed power, despite displaying no such malice in his previous appearances

There is an interesting play of contrast here when you look at Hermes' other notable scene in the Riordanverse - his conversation with Percy at the end of TLO.

Hermes is generally portrayed as much more serious right here. He's grieving Luke's death at this point, but Hermes knew that was coming, and this demeanor is consistent with his other appearances up until this point: put-together, down-to-business, pragmatic, and so on.

This doesn't seem like the same person we see at the end of TON: making jokes, placing bets, and the like. And THEN you go back to the myths and the Hermes there seems much more similar to the one we meet in TON.

My point being, there is a very obvious disconnect here between who Hermes used to be, who he is now, and who he is pretending to be.

And it has a lot to do with Zeus, and as a result, Apollo.

I think there's a twofold reason for this dichotomy: one, Hermes and Apollo have fundamentally contradictory views on both fate and change which have larger implications for Hermes' overall morality; and two, Hermes resents Apollo for being Zeus' favorite when Apollo probably doesn't deserve it (or Hermes believes he deserves it more).

Part I: Fate and Change

I'd like to go back to that conversation between Percy and Hermes at the end of The Last Olympian. The entire conversation is so strange to me: here's a sixteen-year-old who has never had a positive father figure in his life (save Paul, who is still a recent addition to his family at this point) trying to comfort a 4,000-year-old god that he's not a bad father:

"I thought you were a bad father," I admitted. "I thought you abandoned Luke because you knew his future and didn't do anything to stop it."

The main point of that conversation comes from Hermes' response to Percy's statement. To paraphrase, Hermes says 'I couldn't have saved Luke, it's against the laws and I can't defy the fates. I loved him, yes, but I couldn't save him. Those laws aren't going to change anytime soon, and neither are the gods.'

What we get from this conversation is this: Hermes was resigned to being unable to help Luke because he views the future as inevitable and the Fates as all-powerful (as does Zeus). He also doesn't believe that gods can change in the ways Percy wants them to; he scoffs at the idea that Percy's proposed changes will be permanent:

"No one can tamper with fate, Percy. Not even a god."

and then:

He laughed. "After three thousand years, you think gods can change their nature?"

To Hermes? Fate is inevitable and the gods can't change.

On the other hand, to Apollo? The future is behind any number of unlocked doors, and the only thing stopping the gods from changing are themselves:

[Regarding Frank burning his stick in TTT] "Frank went into that tunnel knowing he might die. He willingly sacrificed himself for a noble cause. In doing so, he broke free of his own fate. By burning his own tinder, he kind of... I don't know, started a new fire with it. He's in charge of his own destiny now."

Frank broke free of his fate, and the way Apollo talks about it indicates that he believes that such things are certainly possible.

And this:

[After regaining his godhood in TON] I could only try to be different from [Zeus]. Better. More... human.

Apollo intends to change the way he acts now that he is returned to Olympus, and has the support of everyone else who noted that he has already grown as a person: Jason, Sally, Will, Reyna, and so many more.

I feel like Hermes has always felt that he has the excuse of being a god when Percy asks him to do better for the sake of Luke's memory: "We gods have never been very good at keeping oaths." and "Eventually we'll become forgetful. We always do." and generally lots of other sentiments that give the impression that he believes that failure to do right by mortals is inevitable for gods. He's been so used to thinking that Luke was resigned to his fate from the very beginning, and that Hermes was never capable of changing it. Hermes didn't fail because he didn't try to succeed.

But Apollo ruins that for him when he returns - Apollo has not and will not let that same excuse stop him, and now Hermes is losing the only reason he had for not helping Luke. If Hermes is right, that gods can never help their mortal children and Luke was born to die at Kronos' hand, it was excusable for Hermes to turn his back on his own son. But if Apollo is right that gods can change and you can shape your own destiny, then it was Hermes and his inaction that killed Luke, not Kronos.

And we know that Apollo is right. Apollo did defy his fate. Apollo did change. And Hermes saw it all from the safety of his throne on Olympus.

Which means that Hermes was always wrong, and he knows it now. Hermes says that not helping Luke was the hardest thing he's ever done, because it would have amounted to nothing. Hermes thought he was completely incapable of helping Luke, but Apollo is living proof that he could have.

So now, Apollo is a daily reminder that Hermes failed Luke. Every day.

That would be enough to drive a wedge between any two people, much less two gods. And I don't think Apollo would ever truly realize that this is the case, so one day, Hermes is going to break, and Apollo will be left blindsided.

It only makes sense that Hermes might have some very heavy clown makeup on when we see him at the end of TON. I can't speak for him when we talk about the gambling, but I bet it's because Hermes, like he did with Luke, thought that Apollo would be resigned to his death the very moment Delphi-Python said that "Apollo will fall". And the fact that Apollo survived against all the odds (and seemingly against the Fates themselves) is just another smack to the face. I believe his behavior and comments in this scene are him lashing out in anger and frustration at the solid fact of the matter; that Hermes failed his own family, which is something he values to no end.

That's got to suck.

But now I think we have to closely examine why Hermes believes those things. Hermes has been brainwashed in a sense to believe that he can't defy fate and can't change. By who, then?

Do I really need to answer that? You have a brain. It's obvious, isn't it?

Part II: The fight to be the golden child

Let's rewind a bit, shall we?

The entire discussion had over on discord was started with talking about the potentials of Apollo's relationships with Ares and the rest of his siblings, then someone (I believe it was @fearlessinger, along with some very valid points made by uke) said this:

...but Ares, who was always the least favored of Zeus's children, the family's scapegoat, and who gave up on trying to get on Zeus's good side basically as soon as he was born and deemed a failure… he of all ppl would actually have no reason to resent Apollo for his success, nor for throwing away that success

To which I replied:

so i wonder then who has the reason to resent Apollo the most?... it’s probably a son, because they’re the ones who have to fight the most for Zeus’ approval ... maybe Hermes? because he’s never really done anything wrong and still doesn’t receive the title he deserves ...

To summarize: Apollo was the golden child, and used to be Zeus' favorite. We are certain he faces a lot of resentment for this fact (he admits to it himself), and Hermes definitely fits the bill.

Think about it.

Besides Luke, what has Hermes ever done that would put him out of the running for golden child? He's useful, talented, powerful enough to be on the Council, and despite being a god of liars and thieves, is work-driven enough that his father still trusts him. Even in the myths, he's clever in a very Zeus-y way.

Apollo, on the other hand, acts like a complete and utter fool pre-trials. He's vain, self-centered, and shallow. He's a chronic attention-seeker, and, in the myths tried to overthrow Zeus, and had angered him to the point of turning him mortal, not once, but twice. So what gives? Why is Apollo the favorite son, and not Hermes?

Honestly, I couldn't say, besides vague suggestions that it's because Zeus likes the idea of having the powerful and popular son as a favorite, rather than the less noticeable behind-the-scenes son. But who knows how Zeus and his favoritism work. Apollo doesn't, and I don't think Hermes does either.

I rather think Hermes is, as I said in the title, the ultimate middle child. Overlooked by his father in favor of his siblings, whether they be rebellious (Apollo), perfect in every way (Athena or Artemis) or just plain failures (Ares or Dionysus). In comparison, Hermes is invisible, having never done anything to make him stand out in the eyes of his father, nor having done anything that deserves a strict punishment. Nothing worthy of attention.

I've seen people wonder why Hermes never suffered the same consequences for Luke's actions in the way Apollo did for Octavian. But that's because Hermes never broke Zeus' fundamental law: do not interact with your mortal children.

The problems Octavian caused were supposedly because Apollo defied Zeus and created a forbidden connection with his legacy.

On the other hand, the problems Luke caused were because Hermes obeyed Zeus to the letter.

Why would Zeus punish Hermes for being obedient? And why wouldn't Zeus punish Apollo for breaking the 'ancient laws'?

Arguably, Hermes is Zeus' best behaved child (which is ironic, considering a few notable domains of his). Hermes is one of a trend that we see a lot with toxic parents who don't give attention and approval freely - Hermes and Apollo are on opposite sides of this spectrum. Apollo in the past has acted out in order to gain attention, whereas Hermes has glued himself to Zeus' side in an attempt to be perfect.

And this perfection includes indoctrinating into Zeus' belief systems and fears. Zeus fears the inevitability of fate. So does Hermes. Zeus refuses to let the gods change. So Hermes believes change impossible. Zeus says that you may not have contact with your mortal children. And although to Hermes this is the hardest of all, he turns his back on Luke.

And yet, 'golden child' is still not his title to claim. That rests with Apollo, still, who has not met Zeus' standards, openly rejects Zeus' belief systems, and yet continues to rise above the rest.

That is the formula for a deteriorating relationship between brothers: Apollo's mere existence being an everyday reminder to Hermes that he is a failure both to his son and to his father.

Everyone say hello to our old friend resentment.

Now, I'm not necessarily saying that Hermes and Apollo's relationship is inherently negative. But there's a lot of reason for there to be some contention coming from Hermes (and I didn't even touch on May Castellan - basically, I think Apollo refused to oversee her attempt to become the next Oracle because he knew it wouldn't work, which is why he wasn't present for May's attempt, but was for Rachel's; later on, Hermes could start seeing Apollo's domain and subsequent absence as the thing that drove her mad).

We don't have a lot of hints for whether or not he plans to act on those feelings of resentment. But they're there. And in a new, post-trials Olympus, they're going to come to light sooner or later.

Because Percy was right.

"I thought you were a bad father," I admitted. "I thought you abandoned Luke because you knew his future and didn't do anything to stop it."

That's exactly what happened. And because of Apollo, Hermes now knows it.

(a list of my other metas if you'd like to read)

And a very special shoutout to @firealder2005 for writing this absolutely gut-wrenching and angsty but super cool fic based around this very idea that i am absolutely in love with and everyone should go read it ❤️

#toa #riordanverse #trials of apollo #apollogists #pjo #lester papadopoulos #hermes #greek mythology #pjo hermes #toa hermes #toa apollo #pjo apollo #the last olympian #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa

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tcshi · 2 years ago

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BLUE LOCK YANDERE : mikage reo

⚠︎ : dark content ahead ! obsessed!reo, noncon/dubcon, hints of kidnapping, drugging, fingering, reo is an absolute creep in this one, lmk if i missed anything, minors do not interact.

reo loves you most like this.

docile and putty in his arms.

well... he knows it's because it had been 9 months since you've touched, conversed or seen any other people besides him. but this thought lies trivial in his head because reo had already made himself believe that it's certainly not the case.

his pretty doll... you're here because you want to, right? you're here staying with him in his impractical, grandiose manor an hour and a half away from the city because you love him, yes? you love him. and nothing could change that irrefutable fact.

not even when there are certain days where you would stare at him, dark glaring eyes and frowning face as if telling him without needing to open your mouth that you disgust me and i fucking hate you as you're sat on your side of the bed, chained to the ceiling of the room while he slips on his training gear. not even when you would utter the words that you knew reo loathed, especially coming from the same mouth who blabbered incoherent proclamations of your love for him when you're all dopeyㅡall because of a special drug concocted just for him to use on you, something that his multi-million dollar name can provide and can hide from the public just like how his name managed to manipulate the case of your disappearance.

so when you take your own initiative to seek for him and his comfort, reo takes more than what you're offering. it's because it's rare. it happens once in a blue moon and who's to predict when this'll happen again? right? right.

so when you start pushing his hands away from wandering underneath your (his) shirt, his cold fingertips dragging against your skin until they're fiddling with the hem of your cotton panties, he's ignoring your pleas of stopping. your voice is nothing but a soothing melody that reaches his ears, warms his heart and sends a bolt of shock that makes the length in between his legs throb with want.

reo ignores the way your tears cascaded beautifully on your cheeks and although he takes more than a necessary second to watch your crying face, he dips a finger inside your panties with comforting words that weren't at all comforting.

you continue to writhe against his hold but to no avail, you were still too weak from the events that took place not even a full 24-hour ago and instead continue to voice out your pleas for him to stop.

reo doesn't stop of course. you're in no place to tell him what to do. he loves you, very much so but he will never take your word for anything except when you're trying to convince yourself (and him) that you love him.

he traces the sheer arousal that coated your pussy lips, planting soft kisses on the side of your head before he finally slips a finger in, expertly maneuvering his digit to the spot that had you moaning and finally temporarily ceasing your annoying cries for him to stop.

thank fuck that you did. reo really doesn't want to resort in plastering your lips with duck tape again because he loves to shove his tongue inside your mouth while he's fucking you. he also loves hearing you whine and moan for him but he can't exactly do those things when you've got your lips sealed right?

reo makes a quick work of easing down his own shorts with one hand, slipping it off from his ankles and letting the fabric fall down the bed while he's busy finger-fucking you.

he traces the outline of your breast through your shirt, palming your chest before he's pinching and rolling your hardened nipple in between his fingers.

“god... so fucking pretty...” he groans in your ears, rubbing his dick against the skin of your plump ass. he licks the tears that fell down from your eyes, moaning at the salty taste as you gasp and trash in his hold, mouth pleading for him to go fasterㅡstop, please but you're very much evidently grinding against the flat of his palm, rubbing your engorged clit against the rough skin.

reo chuckles darkly, raising your shirt up and bunching it in his palms before he's shoving it in your mouth. he cups your bare breast with his free hand, continuously pumping his finger in and out of your cunny before he’s pushing two more fingers in, one that had you sobbing.

“reo please... i need itㅡplease..” you babble incoherently. gone completely was your cry of asking him to stop, oh so sweetly whining his name and pleading with him while you're busy grounding yourself against his hand.

he gives your temple another kiss, eyes glazed over as he watches his fingers covered in your slick disappear in your pussy.

“yeah?” reo challenges, other hand tweaking your pebbled nipples. “gonna let me take of ya, my pretty baby?”

when you nod your head erratically, he knows the newest version of the drug in your system was more than a success and was more than efficient enough to hold its effects. he'll just have to observe the longevity of this one, then he'll be back into slipping one of the same pills in your drink and watch as you tether between your morals or succumbing to him completely. you'll come around, and it won't be for far too long.

#☆ . ༄ marked : blue lock #☆ . ༄ marked : yandere!blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #yandere!blue lock x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader x nagi seishiro #reo x reader #yandere!reo #yandere!mikage reo #blue lock smut #mikage reo smut #yandere blue lock #yandere reo #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock #mikage reo #reo mikage #reo mikage x reader

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toaarcan · 4 months ago

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I think my favourite thing about the Thunder Saga is the decline.

It's much sharper for Odysseus himself. At the outset, during Suffering, he's horrified to learn that the only path to Ithaca is through Scylla's cave, because he knows at least six men will die on their way through. But Siren-Penelope is correct, it's the only path he can take because it's the one place Poseidon won't go.

I'll go where Poseidon won't reach us.

Still, during Different Beasts he proclaims "No more of us deceased" even with that knowledge hanging over him. He's probably trying to come up with a plan that gets them all through safe, but he fails.

And then, at the beginning of Scylla, Eurylochus reveals his own betrayal from back in Keep Your Friends Close, and that's the point where "I'll become the monster" stops applying to the crew. From Mutiny onwards, his proclamations about making it home are mostly personal rather than collective. "I will not let you get in my way!", concluding on his last lines in Thunder Bringer, "I have to see her" and upon being told "But we'll die", he can only say "I know."

He became the monster back in the Underworld and he's increasingly becoming a force of nature more than a man, his crew having gone from brothers and friends to tools to obstacles, and, having abandoned his conscience, there's nothing to stop him throwing them away.

The final antagonist of the Odyssey is not Poseidon or Zeus or a monster either of them spawned. It's a group of Ithacans. And what we've heard of King/Odysseus gives him the same ominous chanting of his name, with no apparent diegetic source, that's typically reserved for gods and monsters.

With Eurylochus and the crew it's more of a gradual thing. During Different Beast, they initially sing as a collective, "We are the men made monsters, we are the ones who conquer, you are a threat no longer and we won't take more suffering than you."

In the second chorus they echo Odysseus' lines from the first, "We are a different beast now, we are the ones who feast now, no more of us deceased 'cause we won't take more suffering from you", and then repeat the previous quote.

At this point, the crew are 100% down with Odysseus abandoning his previous mercy. And then he orders them to kill the Sirens in an extremely brutal way, slicing them in half, throwing their human halves back into the water to let them drown, and sings "KILL THEM ALL" over and over as they carry out his order.

And the crew? They sing the final chorus with different words. "He is a different beast now, he is the one who feasts now, no more of us deceased 'cause he won't take more suffering from you. He is the man made monster, he is the one who conquers, you are threat no longer, he won't take more suffering from you."

They've recognised that Odysseus is the monster and they are not, but they're still down for it because they think he's on their side.

That illusion is shattered for Eurylochus when he feeds six of the others to Scylla in order to escape her. Eurylochus is left standing, staring at Odysseus as he stands completely still at the prow of the ship, perfectly harmonising "We are the same, you and I" with Scylla. He finally gets that Odysseus' internal transformation is not a good thing.

And he tries. He tries to find some reason for what happened that isn't the obvious one, he all but begs Odysseus to tell him that he's crazy and that didn't just happen. But when Odysseus says he can't answer? "Then you have forced my hand."

The crew side with Eurylochus, they end up on Thrinacia, and despite Odysseus' pleas to not do it, they kill one of Helios' cattle, and call down the wrath of the gods on them again.

Eurylochus' last sung line (He has a few more spoken ones) in the Saga, and in Epic as a whole, is "I'm just a man."

They're all still men, except for Odysseus.

And then Thunder Bringer is the cataclysm that brings it all to an end. In the original telling, Zeus just blasts the ship with lightning without ever showing his face, but here, he comes down and presents Odysseus with a sadistic choice, to sacrifice himself to absolve them of the sin they've just committed, or allow them all to die so he can live. But Zeus already knows what he'll pick. He's already convinced Odysseus to throw a baby off the top of wall in order to protect his family. He knows what Odysseus was capable of when he was just a man, and now he isn't one any longer.

The Thunder Saga is the fallout of Odysseus' decision to become the monster, the things he's capable of now, and the consequences to those he once protected.

#Epic: The Musical #Epic: The Thunder Saga #Odysseus #Eurylochus #Zeus #Scylla

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moondirti · 2 years ago

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I’m so down bad for Ghost 😭 imagine one day he catches on to the things his voice does to you, he’s talking to you one day and noticed the way you suddenly get tense the moment he praises you and then he takes it and runs with it, absolutely cocky at the fact he can ruin you without even touching you

Every time I hear a voice line or watch a cutscene with him, I get weak 😭 god just kill me pls

i listen to his voice lines to help me go to sleep at night. something about that accent, man

Ghost is not a verbal man. He's best known for his strength, brutal efficiency - that cutthroat quick thinking in moments that mean life or death. In the rare instances that his words don't form barked commands or interrogative jabs, he finds that they come out... awkward sounding. Like the consonants don't meld with the vowels, and two syllables make one. Praise, whispered nothings, affection; tender proclamations fit like kernels in the gaps between his teeth. He's just never had anyone to model it for him.

The most he gives you is a nod, a low grunt of approval when you pitch in with helpful insight during a debriefing. But for all his faults, he is nothing if not observant. Ghost picks up on the subtle hitch of your breath, the glossy sheen over your eyes that glints as you perk at the reinforcement. He's not dumb, either - he knows what it means. The rookie's got it bad; either for him, for his voice, or maybe just for any validation you can get your hands on.

It's not purposeful. At least, he doesn't intend to feed into your little secret. But it finds its way into his treatment of you, like a fixture gnawing on an ego he's tried to conceal eons ago. He hums contemplatively as you speak, echoes your advice as demand, even goes to the unprecedented extent of clipping out a husky 'good' when you hit a target right on the mark. He isn't just doing it to sate you. You're genuinely intelligent, and skilled, and absolutely fucking gorgeous when you try to hide your delighted grin behind a trembling hand.

So perhaps it's perversion. Perhaps he's an deeply disturbed individual who revels in the fact that a person as brilliant as you has likely never been told as much. He doesn't have it in him to care. It's his own little game, a whim to pass the time between gunfire and detonations.

That is, until everyone else starts to notice.

Because of course they do. Ghost rarely ever spoke before you, let alone gave out consistent praise. Consequently, they take it upon themselves to assume shit for it, crafting increasingly ridiculous rumours that put both you and him into question. It manages to inspire an acrid emotion inside him, a mix of unbridled anger and violence that has him seeing bright red. He shuts them down before they gain any traction, looming over officers who think they're being discreet. It's no wonder that, quicker than it happened, the gossip stops.

You're still outcast, though. Jealousy is a vile thing.

But it only means he has a larger chance to get you alone. And when he does?

"Chin up, sergeant. You're at a level they can never hope to reach."

The image of your parted lips sears itself onto the back of his eyelids. He looks for it in his most shameful points, a hand wrapped around his thick length as water beats down his back.

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kawaiigirly21 · 3 months ago

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“House Vaelnaris has yet to swear fealty to anyone. They remain neutral.” Otto Hightower spoke. Upon hearing the name, Aegon perked up. “Vaelnaris? Lady Naerya is from that house is she not?” He questioned with a small smirk on his face. He knew Naerya well. She was his first love. A highborn girl who was sweet as she was passionate.

“Yes she is your grace.” Another council member spoke up. “Good. Send a raven immediately. I wish to marry her.” Aegon smirked. Hs grandfather and hand of the king was quick to respond. “Your Grace, I must speak against this marriage proposal. We know not of who her family swears to!” Aegon countered with his own argument.

“I know that. So we take their loyalty by force. Political marital force. Naerya is the only heir to House Vaelnaris. I marry her, I have her house’s loyalty and their large army.” Otto fought to roll his eyes at his grandson. “And what of the rumors of her being impure? Her supposed affair with Daemon?” Aegon looked at his grandfather with an expression that could only be read as frustration.

“Rumors. Thats all they are. From those damn pig fuckers! They’re all just pissed that she would never stoop to their level and allow their flaccid cocks to bruise her jewel. Not like me!” The keep froze in dead silence at their king’s bold proclamation. “Not like you? What do you mean by that Your Grace?” Otto asked lowly. “When we were only children, she promised herself to me and me only. She would never betray me. I know that. Now send the damn raven!” That night, House Vaelnaris stirred with the news of a proposal to their Lady Naerya.

“Are you going to accept?” Vaenar, Naerya’s uncle asked with genuine curiosity. The man watched as his niece laid on her bed staring at the tiny parchment with and unreadable expression. At least to him. For Naerya, she was close to combusting with excitement. The boy of her dreams sent her a raven. A marriage proposal! She couldn't possibly turn this down.

“I'll accept. It would be good for our house, imagine the prestige?” In truth, she couldn't have cared less about the prestige of being queen. She cared about marrying Aegon. Not his name or his status as king. She just wanted him. Ever since they were children, Naerya was deeply in love with the prince, now king and protector of the realms.

It only took a week before Naerya arrived in Kings Landing and was escorted to the palace. Once there, the young woman was taken to a room to see Aegon, who just so happened to be out on business concerning their upcoming wedding. She was told to wait for him there. As she looked around the room, Naerya spotted a beautiful dragon statue with her name carved on the wing.

Her fingers traced the wings and the scales ever so slightly before turning around when the door to the room opened. Seeing the silver white hair and the black clothing, she knew immediately that man was her beloved. Running to him, Naerya placed a kiss on the man's lips. “Aegon! Oh how I missed you! It's been too long! I must ask, what happened to your eye?”

Moving to touch his eye patch, Naerya felt her heart jump as the man caught her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her fingers. “Oh Aegon you charmer.” Suddenly a voice interrupted the two. “A charmer? Is that what you think? I'd hardly call it so. Right, Aemond?” Naerya turned her head to the man who had her in his warm embrace.

“A-ameond? That's you? Oh my goodness… by the gods I… I'm sorry! I didn't recognize you! I thought-” Pulling her out of his brother's arms, Aegon pressed a sweet kiss to Naerya's temple. “Beautiful. It's quite alright. You haven't laid those gorgeous eyes upon me for so long, you mistook my brother for me. It's nothing to cry over. I'm not mad.” Aegon spokesman sweetly.

He only reserved this tone for her. Strictly for her. He then leaned in for a steamy kiss. His lips never left hers but his eyes found his brother's. He knew even as a child, Aemond wanted to marry Naerya. He knew he loved her. That's why Aegon pursued her, at first he thought courting her was a chore. Now everytime he thinks back to those days, he holds no regrets.

Through his game to try and hurt his brother, he found love. True mind blowing fire burning love. “Come, I wish to show you something my love.”

I need your help guys! I'm not too sure on this chapter. What are your thoughts? Any feedback before I commit to this plot line?

#character x oc #oc #x black oc #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aemond targaryen #aegon x reader #aemond targaryen x black reader #x black reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #house of the dragon x reader

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kckt88 · 6 months ago

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Ashes.

Summary:

Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Upset, Dark Aemond, Reference to Sex, Mild Violence, Madness, Referenced Deaths, Character Death.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x DAELLA (DAERON TWIN SISTER)

Word Count: 3060.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

"Aemond-" implored Daella, her voice tinged with desperation, "-How many more innocent lives must perish? Our family already lies shattered, broken by the flames of war, and yet you seek to continue this madness."

Aemond turned to face her, his features hardened by resolve. "The Targaryen legacy must endure, Daella-" he declared, his voice unwavering.

Daella shook her head in dismay, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "But at what cost? Aegon, Helaena, all of their children and Daeron have been lost to the chaos of the Dance of Dragons. We are all that’s left of mother’s children-must we subject her to more pain and suffering“

Aemond's jaw tightened, his grip on the hilt of Dark Sister growing ever tighter. "I will not falter now, not when victory is within my grasp." he insisted, his voice laced with bitterness.

Daella took a step closer, her gaze piercing through the darkness. "Victory?" she echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. "What victory is there in the ashes of our family? Do you not see, Aemond? We are but shadows of what we once were, our house consumed by its own ambition".

"I will not back down," he declared, each word dripping with venomous resolve. "I will do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of our house, we will rebuild the Targaryen legacy and ensure it returns to its former glory”.

“-And how exactly are you going to that-in case you hadn’t noticed the Targaryen’s are in short supply at the moment” said Daella.

“For now-but once you birth the babe you currently carry, I will wait for the sufficient amount of time for you to heal and then I will get you with child again-“

“I’m not your broodmare” snapped Daella.

“You are my wife-it is your duty to provide me with as many children as I desire”,

Daella watched him, her heart heavy with despair. "Where has my sweet husband gone?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the echoes of his fervent proclamation. "You’re not the Aemond I know. You’ve changed and not for the better”

But Aemond paid her words no heed, his mind consumed by thoughts of retribution.

In his eye burned the fires of vengeance, casting shadows across the once noble features that now seemed twisted by the weight of his pursuit of power.

Daella's heart ached as she reached out to gently grasp Aemond's hand, her touch a silent plea for him to listen, to remember the love they once shared amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

With trembling lips, she spoke words heavy with emotion, her voice barely above a whisper yet filled with desperation.

"Aemond, what of our child that I carry," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill over. "-Please let us leave this place, just you and me. We can raise our child away from this war, away from all the death."

Her words hung in the air, a fragile hope clinging to the shadows of the throne room.

But Aemond's gaze remained cold and unyielding, his hand tightening around hers with a grip that spoke of determination rather than tenderness.

"We cannot flee, Daella," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "Our enemies must be vanquished. I will not rest until all who oppose us are dead".

Daella recoiled at his words, her heart breaking with each syllable that fell from his lips. "But at what cost, Aemond?" she pleaded, her voice trembling with anguish. "Do you not see the madness that consumes you? Our child deserves better than a life steeped in bloodshed and revenge."

But Aemond remained unmoved, his eye blazing with a fervour that chilled her to the core. "I will do what must be done," he vowed, his words a solemn oath that echoed through the empty halls of the Red Keep.

“-And what is that supposed to mean?” asked Daella as she ran a hand over her round stomach.

"You have no idea the sacrifices I have made," he spat, each word laced with bitterness. "You do not understand what I have endured, what I have done to take the crown-"

Daella recoiled at the intensity of his words, her heart heavy with sorrow and disbelief. And then, as realization dawned upon her like a bolt of lightning.

"It was you wasn’t it, you killed Aegon," she accused, her voice trembling with accusation. "You murdered our brother."

Aemond's expression remained stoic, his features hardened by the weight of his confession. "It was a mercy killing," he declared, his voice devoid of remorse. "Sunfyre was badly damaged after the fight with Meleys at Rooks Rest and Aegon severely injured, his bones twisted and broken, his armour melted onto his skin”.

“S-So you just took it upon yourself to kill him-he was our brother, our King” said Daella.

“It was a kindness to put him out of his misery” replied Aemond.

“You say that it was Meleys who injured Aegon, but how do I know that it wasn’t really you. Three dragons took to the skies that day and only one survived. Awfully convenient isn’t it-the lone survivor able to spin any tale he likes”.

“-I survived, Aegon didn’t what more is there to say” said Aemond.

His words struck Daella like a physical blow, leaving her reeling with shock and revulsion.

The man she had once loved, the father of her unborn child, stood before her as a stranger, a cold and calculating figure consumed by his own ambition.

Horrified by the depths of darkness that now lurked within him, Daella could only stare in silent disbelief, her heart breaking with each passing moment as she realized the true extent of the monster her husband had become.

Daella's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and resolve as she met Aemond's gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Aemond-you're breaking my heart-" she whispered, her words a desperate plea for him to see reason, to turn away from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

But Aemond's response was not one of understanding or compassion.

Instead, his features contorted with rage, his eye wild with madness as he reached out to grasp the back of her neck with a vice-like grip.

"Our mother turned against me," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Don't you turn against me."

Daella's breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers tighten around her neck, the threat of violence hanging heavy in the air.

She stared into his eye, once so full of warmth and affection, now clouded by a darkness she could scarcely comprehend.

“A-Aemond” gasped Daella.

“I killed Lucerys, I chased him and his pathetic mouse of a dragon through the skies above Storms End-I watched as Vhagar tore him and his little dragon to shreds-“

“Y-You told me it was an accident” said Daella.

“I told you only what you wanted to hear, my sweet wife pacified by my false words of remorse and my cock-fucked you good that night didn't I-Do you remember how ravenous I was, how I made you peak over and over, my desire for you was unrestrained” exclaimed Aemond smirking.

“J-Jaehaerys. He was killed because of what you did-it’s your fault he’s dead, our sweet sister lost to madness after what she witnessed after what they made her do-she took her own life”.

"I killed Daemon-this you know" declared Aemond, his words dripping with cold satisfaction. "-I struck down the once great Rogue Prince along with his dragon, their bodies left to rot in the waters of the Gods Eye and I would do it again without hesitation."

The air seemed to grow thick with the weight of his words, and the shadows that danced across the walls of the chamber seemed to whisper of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

"My spies on Dragonstone have informed that word of Daemon's death has reached our half-sister-" he spat, his eyes ablaze with fury. "-And that wretched whore has fled across the Narrow Sea with her only surviving son."

Daella recoiled at the venom in his words, her heart heavy with sorrow at the thought of their family torn asunder by treachery and bloodshed.

"W-What will you do?”

Aemond's laugh was cold and mirthless, sending shivers down her spine. "I will hunt them down, no matter where they hide. There is no place they can run, no sanctuary they can find, that will protect them from my wrath- "

Daella's heart sank at his words, the realization dawning upon her that there was no reasoning with the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Tears welled in Daella's amethyst eyes as she pleaded with Aemond, her voice trembling with desperation and love, as she reached out to him.

"Please-" begged Daella; her words choked with emotion. "-Don’t do this“

“I will extinguish our half-sister’s line once and for all”.

“Aemond-you’re going down a path I can't follow” exclaimed Daella.

“-ābrazȳrys” growled Aemond (Wife).

“-Because of what you've done, what you plan to do, I beg you to stop this madness. I love you Valzȳrys " (Husband).

Her hand trembled as she ran her fingers through his long silver hair, seeking to soothe the storm raging within him, to bring him back from the edge of darkness that threatened to consume him.

But Aemond's singular eye remained wild, his expression twisted with a madness that sent shivers down her spine.

"There is no turning back," declared Aemond, his voice a harsh rasp that echoed through the chamber. "I will not rest until our enemies are vanquished, and justice is served."

Daella recoiled at the coldness in his tone, the distance that had grown between them, until she felt as though she no longer knew the man standing before her.

The realization of his descent into madness struck her like a physical blow, leaving her heartbroken and afraid.

As she stared into his eye, searching for some trace of the man she loved, but she knew that she could no longer reach him, that the darkness that consumed him was now beyond her grasp.

Daella's voice trembled with fear as she spoke, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth she could no longer deny. "I'm frightened, Aemond," she confessed, her words barely above a whisper. "Frightened of what you've become, of the darkness that consumes you."

Aemond's expression softened at her words, a flicker of something resembling remorse crossing his features as he pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace, the roundness of her stomach pressed against him.

"I know, my love," he murmured, his voice a gentle reassurance amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. "But together, we will conquer our fears. Together, we will rise above the chaos that has plagued our family for many years"

Daella clung to him, her heart aching with the hope that his words might hold some shred of truth, that the man she loved might still be buried somewhere beneath the layers of ambition and madness.

"But how, Aemond?" she whispered, her voice filled with uncertainty. "How can we find our way back from this darkness?"

Aemond's grip tightened around her, his fingers digging into her back.

"Once Rhaenyra and her last remaining child are dead," declared Aemond, his voice low and menacing, "Then together, we will rule the Seven Kingdoms as King and Queen. Our wastrel of a brother wasn't fit to rule, and neither is Rhaenyra."

"What of those who supported Rhaenyra?" asked Daella, her words barely audible above the hushed whispers of the shadows that surrounded them.

Aemond's gaze hardened at the question, his jaw set in a grim line as he met her gaze with a chilling resolve. "They will have a choice," he replied, his voice cold and unforgiving. "They will either bow to me and acknowledge me as their King, or they will face the consequences."

Daella recoiled at the cruelty in his words, the brutality that lurked behind his steely exterior. "But Aemond-" she protested, her voice tinged with desperation, "-Surely there must be another way. The realm cannot be subjected to another war-Vhagar and Vermithor are the only remaining dragons that have riders, and I am due to birth our child very soon”.

Aemond's grip tightened around her, his eye blazing with a fervour that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Every single one who opposes me will suffer," he declared, his voice echoing through the chamber with a chilling finality. "There can be no mercy for those who dare to stand against the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

Daella's heart sank at his words, the weight of his ruthless ambition pressing down upon her like a leaden weight.

In that moment, she knew that the man she had once loved was gone, replaced by a tyrant consumed by his own thirst for power.

Daella's voice trembled with resolve as she drew back from Aemond's embrace, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. "I'll have no part in your anger and lust for power," she declared, her words ringing with a quiet strength that belied the fear that gnawed at her heart.

Aemond's expression darkened at her defiance, his features contorted with rage as he reached out to grasp her arm, his grip like iron.

"You cannot walk away from this, Daella," growled Aemond, his voice a low warning that sent a shiver down her spine. "You are MY wife, and you will stand by my side."

But Daella stood her ground, her gaze unwavering as she met his with a steely resolve of her own. "I cannot stand by while you destroy everything-” she insisted, her voice firm despite the tremor that betrayed her inner turmoil. "I will not be complicit in your madness."

Aemond's grip tightened around Daella's arm as she attempted to pull away, his fingers digging into her skin with a bruising intensity.

"You will not leave me," hissed Aemond, his voice a low, menacing growl that reverberated through the chamber. "You belong to me, Daella. YOU ARE MINE!!."

Daella recoiled at the possessiveness in his tone, the fear that clawed at her heart as she stared into his eyes, now darkened by the depths of his rage and desperation.

"Let me go, Aemond," pleaded Daella, her voice trembling with a mixture of defiance and fear. "I cannot stay here with you, not like this."

But Aemond's grip only tightened further, his eyes ablaze with a fervour that bordered on madness. "If you dare leave me," he snarled, his voice laced with a chilling threat, "I will rip the world apart until I find you. There will be no place you can hide, no sanctuary you can seek, that will protect you from me-"

“Stop-“ begged Daella.

“I will kill you before I let you leave me” snarled Aemond.

Daella looked at her husband and knew he was serious, never before had he threatened her in such a manner and now as she stood before him, there was only one option left to her-

Despite the fear coursing through her veins, Daella leaned forward and pressed her lips against Aemond's, her kiss filled with a mixture of desperation and determination.

For a fleeting moment, she lost herself in the embrace, her mind racing with the knowledge that this might be her only chance to escape the darkness that threatened to consume them both, to do what she must in order to protect her child.

As Aemond's lips met hers, his grip on her arm momentarily loosened, allowing her to discreetly withdraw the dagger from his belt.

With a surge of adrenaline, she plunged the blade into his chest, her hand steady despite the tremors that shook her to the core.

Aemond pulled away from the kiss, his eye widening in shock as he looked down at the dagger embedded in his chest, the hilt stained crimson with his own blood.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of Daella's ragged breaths as she watched him with a mixture of horror and relief.

With a choked gasp, Aemond stumbled backward, landing on the stone floor with a heavy thud, his hand clutching at the dagger protruding from his chest.

Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his green doublet, his gaze fixed on Daella with a mixture of betrayal and disbelief.

With tears streaming down her face, Daella knelt beside Aemond, wrapping her arms around him as he gasped for breath, his life slipping away with each ragged breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered through choked sobs, her voice breaking with the weight of her anguish. "I can't let you hurt anyone else. The realm cannot be ruled by a tyrant."

Aemond's eye met hers, filled with a mixture of pain and regret, as he struggled to speak. "Daella," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, "Forgive me-"

Daella leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, her heart breaking as she felt the warmth of his life fading beneath her touch. "I forgive you," she whispered, her voice filled with sorrow and love.

As Aemond's breaths grew shallower, his eye fluttered closed, his body growing limp in her arms.

With a heavy heart, Daella held him close, cradling him as his life slipped away, leaving behind only the echoes of a once great and powerful man.

And as she laid him gently on the cold stone floor, the black crown of the Conqueror resting beside his lifeless form, Daella knew that she had done what was necessary to save the realm from the darkness that had threatened to consume it.

Suddenly, a shuffling sound behind her caught her attention, and she turned to see her mother, bending down to pick up the Conqueror's crown from where it lay beside Aemond's body.

Daella watched in silence, her heart heavy with uncertainty, as her mother approached her, the weight of their shared loss hanging heavy in the air between them.

"M-Mother"

"It was necessary-you did what you had too" muttered Alicent softly as she stared at the lifeless body of her second son.

Her darks eyes lingering on the dagger still buried in Aemond's chest, an odd mixture of sorrow and relied etched upon her face.

"What are we going to do now?" Daella whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, as Alicent turned away from Aemond and held out her hand to her daughter, her last remaining child.

Alicent's expression softened as she took Daella's hand in hers, her touch gentle yet firm as she helped her daughter to stand.

With a solemn grace, she placed the crown of the Conqueror upon Daella's head, the weight of its significance settling upon her.

"Now-" Alicent said, her voice steady and reassuring, "-You will rule".

The End.

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