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barbieaemond · 7 months

Text

Iron on Silk

Pairings: Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst at the beginning, definitely angst at the end, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), choking, fingering, p in v, war dirtytalk.

Word count: 3.2k

Author's note: This was my little gift to you for the Aemondsversary. And it's still a gift now, for thanking you for 500 followers in such a short time since I remade my blog. There's a filthy extra in this filthy piece. Enjoy! :)

MASTERLIST

He wears it proudly. He wears it cruelly. It falls on his head like a halo, holy and dark. Black iron on white silk, and little stars of blood.

The crown is heavy with conquest, with tyranny, with the fire that forged it and the blood shed in its name.

"It looks better on me than it ever did on him."

It is true enough, but it does not make it any less heavy. He hides it well, but you can see it, as if looking down at a thick layer of ice, still and cold, and seeing the raging abyss underneath.

You can hear it in his deep sigh, even more in his short ones, when blinding rage is gaping its jaws to swallow reason.

You can feel it in the way he fucks you every night. Relentless. Ruthless. Merciless.

Hopeless.

Desperate to shake it off, to shake off the burden—the crown's burden, the death's burden. The one he lashed out on his family, the one who took Jaehaerys’ life, and Helaena’s. For Helaena is good as dead.

You tend to her every morning, at least you try. You try to get her to take a bath, to hold Maelor. Maelor, who cries and looks for his mother. Maelor who laughs and looks for his mother. You look at her and see her ghost while she still breathes. You look at the Queen Mother and see a shadow of flesh.

You look at him sitting in the Small Council, wearing iron on silk, and see a crown of thorns piercing through the skull.

“Does it hurt, my love?” you ask in the empty room while he strokes the skin around the sapphire. He mumbles something in return, and you walk to his seat at the end of the table, leaning your low back against it.

“No.” you say quietly “I meant the crown.”

He looks up and just stares at you, jaw clenched to trap words, the storm in his eye bubbling up from the depths.

“I have a war to plot.” He says, and that’s all he’s been saying for days.

“You have done nothing else. You look at your Lords and wait for a stab at your back. You look at our bed and see a battlefield. You lay with me holding a knife to my throat.”

He rests his lean shoulders against the seat and the wrinkles on his forehead unfold. "Tis' the first time I hear you complain about my marital duties." he says tilting his head with a cruel grin "It didn't seem much of a burden when you begged for more right after I spilled in your mouth last night."

"Must it always come back to duty? If I wanted to spread my legs for a cock to warm me every night, I would've thrived in any brothel of Flee Bottom."

He laughs at this, but it comes out wrong, like a rusted gear, oiled too little. "Such lewd words for a Queen."

“Is that what I am?” You ask with a half-teasing smile “I thought you chose not to style yourself as King.”

“Hmm.” he muses, taking hold of your waist with his long fingers, to pull you to him. “I am wearing the Crown, am I not?”

You lean over him, placing your hands on his shoulders, looking at the sharp black edges cutting the soft white silk, wondering how it could have fallen on his head by mistake when it seems that the Gods have always meant to place it there.

Your back collides against the table and you slowly hop on it, your gaze fixed on him, whose eye widens slightly, mesmerized and thrilled. A rustling of paper fills the room, and he looks at the table and then back at you, lips curling up.

“Those are my war plans.”

“It seems my husband is not capable of talking about anything else these days. Fine, then.” You incline your head, mirroring his smile “Tell me about your war.”

He remains still and quiet for so long, looking at you with that glint you know so well, so much that your chest goes up and down fast, and his hands are not anywhere near you.

But then he stands up, forcing you to raise your chin, and leans over you, slowly, silky hair tickling your chest. “It seems my wife is in need of some warfare lessons.” he whispers, ghosting his lips against yours, and you eagerly part them to kiss him.

“Ah.” he counters, pulling his head back with a sly grin “First, we need to ensure our armies are ready.” his deft and long fingers climb on your corset and he starts to pull harshly at the laces, making you jump twice.

“What if someone enters?” you ask, as shivers run down your back like ice drops.

“Indeed, what if someone enters?” he turns your question around and stops his unlacing, challenge and hunger dance on his lips.

“Then you tell them you are the King and the King can fuck his Queen wherever he wishes to.”

His eye blazes under the candles, and after a moment of trepid silence, he brings both his hands to your corset, and with a swift and strong move he rips it apart.

You fall with your back on the table, your breasts are out, nipples hardening for the cold air and the arousal slowly coiling in your belly. He grabs your ankles and pulls you close to him, making you slide on the table to tie your legs around his waist.

You pull yourself up, holding onto your elbows and frantically reach for his belt but he stops your wrists. “Alreay eager to surrender?” he hums with amusement, eye roaming on your exposed body and the hold on your wrists grows impossibly tight, hurting. “If you were in charge, we would lose the war within a day.”

“Or win it.” you suggest, tightening your legs around him until you feel his hardening crotch, winning a quiet whimper from his throat. “Women could end any kind of war, my King. We own the most powerful weapon.”

“Say it again.” he orders, hands hiking up your skirt until it’s nothing more than a heap of fabric around your waist.

“My King.” You say, shuddering as his long fingers hover on your thighs, almost tickling—a gentle touch born out of so much violence.

“Again.”

“My—King.” The words come out wrong, broken by a soft gasp as his fingers unexpectedly breach your walls. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him go deep inside, deeper than ever, and your mouth falls open.

“You are not so bold about your weapon now, are you?” he asks with a tone ridden with cruel enjoyment.

“Tis’ unfair.” You mumble, resting your head on the table.

“There is no fairness in war, my love.” he says, looking down at your damp flesh and how it clenches endlessly on his hand, and he watches and watches, wetting his lips as if pondering which move to strike on a war map. “It’s best not to be caught…unprepared when you expect an assault from your enemy. Do you know why?”

You whine quietly, biting your lip as he pumps his fingers deeper and deeper and his thumb draws circles on your apex. He does not accept that as an answer, so he slides out, and his large hand grabs your core, fully and almost painfully. “I said, do you know why?”

His tone is demanding, words laced with thunder as he does when commanding the Lords. “Why?”

“Because” he says lessening the grip on you “you give open field for what comes next.”

Air feels scorching in your throat as you look at him, black and silver and blue.

“What comes next?”

He grins like the most ruthless general at the front, the one who takes no prisoners and wipes the bloodied sword on his green cloak. “Siege.”

In a blink, your legs go up on his shoulders, a frame of flesh around iron, silk and sapphire.

He takes his seat again as if sitting down to feast, and you lift your head, breathing hard with anticipation, meeting his eye as his face hovers over your center, feeling his scorching breath lighting a fuse that quickly burns away every rational thought left in your head, if there ever was one since he touched you.

“Aemond, please…” you beg shamelessly, hands flying down to touch him, to bring his head closer and closer.

But he grabs your wrists and holds them still on your stomach. “Call me properly.”

“Please…” you say with your voice cracking, like the nerves in your neck because you can't stop looking at him “Please, my King.”

“Do you know how to conduct a siege?” he is speaking so close to your apex that you can feel his voice reverberating through your skin long before hearing it. “You strike first, hard. And then you wait, watching your enemy starve to death, until they surrender.”

He puts his words into practice by running his tongue flat on your folds and then he is sucking, hard, so hard you fear he is about to devour you.

He moans contentedly, closing his eye for a moment as his jaw moves nimbly and his tongue pierces inside. Your head falls back and you cry so loud you are sure the guards outside are aware of what's happening in the Small Council room.

Just when your hips are beginning to rock on their own against his face, feeling the bone of his long nose, he licks a long stripe and then pulls back.

You raise your head with a sound of protest, but his hands are still pinning your wrists like iron chains, and he is looking at you with a victorious smile, face all wet. And he licks his lips, thoroughly. "If only my enemies tasted half as sweet as your cunt."

With cruel delight, he watches you writhe beneath his hands, breathing hard and unconsciously rocking your hips on nothing to soothe the painful ache between your legs.

“Perhaps I should say mine by now.” he ponders, roaming his gaze on your whole body “This siege seems to be surprisingly short. Do you wish to surrender, my Queen?”

“Yes. Yes, I surrender.” And you press your ankles on his shoulders, hands desperate to free from his hold and seize him, to force him to seize you.

He finally releases your hands and stands up, your legs sliding down and your hands going to his breeches. You pull two laces, but then your right hand locks on his wrist as you see him about to take the crown off his head.

"No, keep it."

His eye turns pitch black, making a deadly contrast with the sparkling blue of the sapphire, and your hands go back to the laces, pulling quickly until you have just enough room to slip your hand in and grab his hard cock.

His lips twitch as pleasure makes his head numb, makes his limbs heavy and his blood boiling and falling down, right where you can feel it, harder than the iron resting on silk. You feel his breath changing with every stroke of your palm, his waist moving almost imperceptibly as he chases your skin, like falling into the warm embrace of a siren’s chant.

The sight only makes you smile, though it stokes your ache for him so much that you mirror his heavy and slow breaths. “Who’s besieging who now?” you point out, almost regretting it when he grabs your neck, squeezing lightly with a dark promise curling his smirk.

“This is your lesson, not mine.” He declares, despite the labored breathing.

You swallow, quietly gasping for air as you look at him.

“Who told you to stop?” he asks, with the same cold purpose he questions the up-and-coming Lords who seek council in that very room, tightening the grip on your throat, almost relishing in the choked sound that escapes your lips.

“Did you forget, sweet girl? You surrendered.” His eye lingers on every detail on your face, and his free hand flies through your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear. The gesture is gentle, almost delicate, the opposite of the hold of steel around your throat. Hostility and devotion doomed to a ceaseless chase to purge one another.

“Siege is over.” He says, sliding his hand up your chin “Now it’s time to claim.” two of his long fingers breach into your mouth, grazing your tongue, and you sense the faint taste of yourself. “There will be some fool who will rebel against the new order. But the rest? They will kneel before their new King.” he leaves your mouth only to grab you by your cheeks, angling your head so he’s whispering to your ear “And who will you be, my dear wife? A fool on a spike or a dutiful subject?”

You recognize that tone, playful but dangerous—the one that will make you wonder if the next grip will be hostile devotion or the opposite. “What if I’m both?” you whisper, moving your head so you can look at him once more. “What if I want to serve you and die by your hand?”

“Then kneel.” He orders, but in your ears is the sweetest death sentence.

His eye glints as soon as your knees hit the ground; it thrills him, it always does, to have you like this and he’s not shy about showing it, for how his chest heaves more and more rapidly as you part your lips to pledge to him.

“No.” he croaks, almost sneeringly given the trepidation pulling his bones so taut, so close to snap. “Look at me and speak the words.”

“I pledge my allegiance to you, your Grace. I vow to honor and serve you until the last of my days." you swear and there's no acting in it. "Long may he reign.”

Your mouth closes around him and he gasps deeply, jaw falling slack as he looks down, at your lips so perfectly laced around the tip, at your eyes looking up with devotion, no hostility. Never. “Gods, you are so beautiful like this.” He pants, pulling your hair away from your forehead and immediately thrusting his hips so you can take all of it, up to the base.

It's a matter of moments before his hand tangles in your hair, pulling and pushing slightly to give you a steady pace that leaves you breathless and gasping for air. It doesn’t matter though, not when his eye almost rolls back for the pleasure you’re giving him, not when he’s so lost for words that he has not even breath for his snarky remarks. He just moans and groans like a primitive beast, thrusting his cock as deep as he can, growling when you hollow your cheeks around his wet and hard flesh.

Suddenly he tugs at your hair harshly, pulling away as you recline your head to look at him, mouth open to catch your breath. “Why?” you whisper, panting “Did I not serve you well, my King?”

He helps you get up only to make you sit on the Small Council table once again. “You served me exceptionally well, my love. But you will serve me even better by taking my seed into your sweet cunt.”

He hikes up your skirts and revels in the way you spread your legs for him. “Do you wish for a King to fuck you?”

“Not a king, no. My King.”

“I shall do more than that.” He says, panting slowly, eye all foggy but urgent with pleasure, and he takes your face, cradling it between his hands. “I shall put a child inside of you, to strengthen the Crown and see you swell with my offspring.”

“Here?” You tease “On your war maps?”

“Fuck the war.” His delicate hold turns to iron, and then he’s kissing you, as he always does, harshly, smothering, slumping his tongue into your throat.

His hand moves yours away, and your jaw falls slack as he thrusts into you, sliding easily all the way in. You fasten an arm around his shoulders, your parted lips brushing against his, struggling to breathe. He ties your legs around his slender waist and climbs halfway up the table, leaning over you.

Papers rustle and fall to the floor, a sound soon covered by your flesh clashing hard against each other as he ruts into you, and you are utterly besieged. The air fills with moans and growls, and you are not sure whether it is him or you as you climb together toward the final peak.

"Look at me." He laces his fingers around your neck, squeezing lightly. "Look at your King."

You do as he asks, straining to keep your eyes open, frowning with painful pleasure. "Yes, like this, my good girl." He praises, panting loudly, "My Queen."

He thrusts even harder, sweat dampening your skin and his forehead, and he is the most beautiful and dreadful sight you have ever seen. Black iron and white silk, blue sapphire and fire, fire and fire.

"I want you to come with me." He whispers, grabbing your chin with his fingertips, his hand still clutching your throat. "Can you do that for me?"

"Y-yes." You manage to choke out, "Anything."

"My beautiful wife. So dutiful." he says laying wet kisses on your chest "So perfect for me."

His words, uttered so gently compared to the violence of his sieging thrusts, only pushes you up and up, staggering to not fall. "Aemond, I can't—" you whine, digging your nail into his shoulders "I can't last for long."

Your legs are trembling helplessly around his waist, but he fastens the grip on your throat, hard, making you gasp for air. “Hold it.” he orders, groaning because he’s close too, “Just a little more, my darling. I know you can take it.”

It is true, but it does not make the coiling pressure between your legs any less painful, beautiful and painful. He turns sloppy, panting and cursing each time more loudly while you whine, pleading under your breath for him to let you fall into a depth of bliss.

And finally, when your muscles were starting to ache for how much you were holding it back, you hear his breath change, slow and labored, and you know the end is near.

At last, he comes with a choked groan, making sure that not a drop of his seed goes to waste. And you are falling with him, spasming all around his waist, shoulders and cock.

His head falls on your chest, covered by silk and iron, and perhaps the crown has never been less of a burden as it is in this moment, while he rests against your collarbones, as a place where he can lie, or even die.

When sunbeams filter through the bars of your cell, you look through them, though no heat is able to warm you anymore. Except for the life growing inside you.

From a distance, you hear a clamor of men in the courtyard, guards getting ready to carry out the sentence.

If you stand up on your toes, you can even catch a glimpse of the pike on which your head will be mounted in a few days, or perhaps a few moments.

It doesn't really matter.

You look at the puddle of mud on the ground and think of the lake.

You wonder if, at least under the Gods' Eye, the raging abyss beneath the ice has gone quiet, or if the waters have simply swallowed him.

#iron on silk #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond x wife reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfic

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months

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Unique Burdens.

Enver Gortash x F Reader.

Warnings: Dark themes™, unhealthy relationships, implied kidnapping and major power imbalances. Word count: 1k.

Where there are sparks, there can be fire.

Concentrate. Hone your thoughts. Refine them, sifting through any impurities. Ichor is woven into your flesh like threads through a hallowed loom. These threads contain arcane energy that some spend lifetimes pursuing, their noses buried in esoteric tomes.

For you are a scion of a being most high — the Lady of Love’s darling daughter.

Sune’s always had a soft spot for you, fickle as her favor may be. Whispers carried by the wind offered encouragement at the beauty your artistry brought into the world. Your mother may be distant, but so is the sun, both of which provide satisfactory warmth regardless. This distance never bothered you. So long as you were free to wield a quill, lyre, or rapier, you were content.

Indeed, her distance never bothered you, until you realized that just like the sun, celestial bodies must give way to the night.

Focus, focus, focus.

The faintest hum of the Weave resonates within. It reaches out to you, incorporeal hands longing to touch. This is it. Your chance. Your spark. It’s tentative at first, a shy reunion—

—And then it’s gone. Silenced.

Extinguished.

Your shoulders droop as yet another failure joins your ever-growing resume.

Your shoulders droop as yet another failure is jotted down.

“I never took you for a masochist,” tyranny incarnate muses from behind. “That must be it. Why else would you torture yourself so?”

“I’m no more a masochist than you are a worthy ruler.”

You try to keep your tone steady and indifferent. Regrettably, of all your artistic talents, acting is not among them. The bitterness seeps out like blood through thin gauze. He must’ve sensed a fluctuation in the ‘connection’ you share. You thought yourself subtle with your tampering, but your sentimentality betrayed you.

“Ah. That’s where you’re mistaken. There are no ‘worthy rulers,’ only rulers who make their reign worthwhile.”

“That’s your intention?”

“That’s my intention,” he mimics your cadence.

Unwilling to withstand further provocation, you whirl around, ready to slink off. Your abrupt motion proves to be a mistake. The world loses its sharpness, the outline of every object smearing together as your balance falters. A wicked throb blasts through your skull — your reward for this little rebellion. The black fabric fastened around your throat greedily swallows the meal you just offered.

Its creator steadies your body as if he isn’t the source of your malaise. His hands, covered in golden gauntlets, slither around your bicep. You’re vaguely aware of the short journey to an outdoor table set. Water rushes from the garden’s ivory fountain, the sound crescendoing into something unbearable. The evening sun feels too hot, the summer air, too humid; and the deceptively delicate-looking choker around your neck too tight.

Gortash barks out orders toward the maids here to serve ‘you.’ They scurry about, their hurried gait like that of a discovered rat colony. You sit at his behest. Commanding others is second nature to him, he enunciates every syllable with the confidence of a man who knows he won’t be challenged. No good comes from fighting it. You panic, you struggle, and then finally, you sink, succumbing to a riptide you never had a chance against.

He holds a crystal vial to your lips, which you part without prompting. It’s syrupy on your tongue, an artificial sweetness intended to make the tonic more tolerable, owing to your many complaints. Whether he adjusted the formula for your sake or his, you can’t say.

The viscous liquid stubbornly sticks to your esophagus. Eventually, you force it down.

Gortash’s elixir circulates throughout your body and soothes the tempest you incited. There’s little you know about the magic that siphons your divinity, but you do know it’s volatile. The insidious inventor sat aside his pride to explain that much. He foresaw that you wouldn’t sit pretty while he sapped your celestial power. An accurate estimate, considering your current predicament.

He recognizes your lucidity returning before you do.

“Foolish girl,” Gortash sneers. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing eye contact. The bags beneath his eyes appear darker than when you first met. You suppose you’re to blame for that. “Are you so eager to undermine that you’ll put yourself at risk?”

“What does it matter,” you reply, your glare communicating what your weary voice cannot. “Pain is all I know around you.”

Gortash releases you as if your skin scalded him.

“Pain? This? You know nothing of pain, aasimar. The word is lost on you.”

Righteous fury churns your stomach in on itself.

“Then show me!” You demand. “Show me, if that’s what it takes for you to stop flaunting your godsforsaken ‘benevolence.’ A benevolent warden! Can those two roles coexist? Or are you the one ignorant of words and their meanings?”

You fight for each breath. It’s been some time since you’ve snapped at him like this. For good reason, you think, noting the murky abyss in his eyes. Lord Enver Gortash isn’t to be spoken to in such a discourteous manner. People have had lips sewn shut and fingers unnaturally contorted for less. His cruelty isn’t random, there’s a methodology behind each stitch and snap.

Yet here you sit. Physically unharmed, adorned in fine garments, aureate bracelets, onyx earrings, and his favorite shade of rouge upon your lips. You don’t know what to make of this, you didn’t want to know for the longest time either. Should he confirm what you dread, well… at least you’ll have clarity amidst the revulsion.

He studies you like he would a defective construct he’s one adjustment away to fixing. You loathe how vulnerable you feel beneath his scrutinizing stare, that he has the means to take you apart and piece you back together.

An eternity passes before Gortash speaks again.

“... You’re frightened,” he surmises. “Frightened over what it means to be the subject of my affection.”

Your pulse quickens as the cool metal of his gauntlets brush against your hand.

“You want my wrath. The sting of a riding crop, the indignation from the welt it forms.”

The gauntlet’s tips dig into your flesh. It almost hurts, until he lessens the intensity of his grip. He’s mastered applying just the right amount of pressure to leave indents behind without breaking skin. He could break you, but he wants you whole, as proof he could conquer you at your best.

“Keep wanting, you won’t ever receive it. No,” Gortash smiles, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling from mirth. “Endure what it means to have earned my affection instead.”

#2024 is the year of objectifying old men #i'm speaking it into existence #this is just a lil something so i can get a feel for what it's like to write bg3 ....#gortash x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 x reader #enver gortash x reader #my stuff

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y-rhywbeth2 · 3 months

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Hello I love bane totally normal amounts, so do you have any favorite fun (or fucked up) trivia facts about my emotional support god of tyranny?

I might've mentioned some of this before, but here's some trivia (and sometimes my musings upon it):

He has absolutely no indoor voice when he's excited. -

If you're invited to pray with the Banites and refuse, expect Bane to curse you with constant debilitating pain that prevents you from being able to cast spells (too much pain to concentrate) or fight, or walk very fast. This doesn't go away until you get a cleric to cast remove curse on you. If you do join them in honouring the Black Lord then your alignment will magically switch to lawful evil and you basically convert to Banite on the spot (if you're a priest then your god fires you immediately and won't take you back); this is either 1e nonsense or a sign of Bane brainwashing you, and either is just as likely. -

He - in his own words - has an "ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder". He also has 10 levels of wizard, which might tie into that. -

He seems to have a monster making hobby. There are so many monsters and monster variants that have been copyrighted by Bane it's ridiculous: banedead, baneguard, baneliches, banelar nagas... I'm pretty sure that Bane is actually credited with creating the beholders ("eye tyrants") of Toril, though I don't have the time to go looking for a source on that.

Either way; he has a lot of beholders in his service. -

I'm pretty sure I remember something about his inventing his own traps during his stay at Zhentil Keep, so there might be an engineering hobby in there somewhere. -

He's a nerd about human biology and geeks out about blood cells and neuroscience - not that he'd admit it because the idea of being thrilled by mortality terrifies him (also I think he just hates positive emotions in general). Before the Time of Troubles he used to enjoy possessing mortals as hosts instead of manifesting avatars, which would presumably allow him to experience what they did and geek out about it while pretending he wasn't (although he didn't look after them very well and inevitably ran them into the ground - basic human needs are beneath him). -

He seems to like using black and red lightning of some sort as a kind of signature. -

(...I think this guy would be very happy as a supervillain living in his secret lab somewhere, performing mad scientist experiments as he plots to take over the world.) -

His domain can be annoying to pin down, because technically it started off in the plane of Acheron, but he's also supposed to be rooming with Loviatar and Bhaal in the Barrens of Doom and Despair in Gehenna, so who knows! -

He has a pet raven called Koravis, who he has a mild telepathic connection with. This raven is actually a fiend in the shape of a raven, but that pretty much just means he has an evil pet raven.

It's been stated that in his mortal life his character class was Blackguard - or an evil paladin, in 5e terms, dedicated to the service of evil powers. I suspect his patron was his master, the primordial Maram, who he served as a battle slave. As the evil pet raven is a Blackguard class feature (fiendish servant) I suspect he had Koravis when he was mortal. The bird/fiend was likely given to him by Maram (much like a warlock's pact familiar comes from their patron) and I guess the bird stuck with the winner. -

He managed to piss off the earth goddess Chauntea at one point, trying to destroy her sacred pools/portals in the Moonshaes. I can't find the sourcebook for the details at the moment though (it was successful enough that his followers still have the moonveil spells though). Bhaal was also trying to kill her over there at some point, so I wonder if that's connected?

#lore stuff #the idiot three #asks #long post

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calliesmemes · 3 months

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A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS FROM SARAH J. MAAS’S BESTSELLING FANTASY NOVEL, A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES.

CHANGE gendered words as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“ I had no other choice. ”

“ You’re so much better at it! ”

“ You should talk some sense into her. ”

“ We need hope, or else we cannot endure. ”

“ What is your business with me? ”

“ I do hope you are taking precautions. ”

“ What payment could we offer in exchange? ”

“ Your eyes are like stars. ”

“ If you’re wise, you’ll keep your mouth shut. ”

“ Keep your head down, and no one will bother you. ”

“ He could do with someone snapping at him, if you’ve got the courage for it. ”

“ I didn’t make the rules. ”

“ Have you even apologized yet? ”

“ I don’t want to hear the details. ”

“ I’m going to warn you once. Only once, and then it’s on you. ”

“ Do not do whatever it was you were contemplating. ”

“ At least you’re willing to put up a fight. I’ll give you that. ”

“ Do you have some sort of problem with me? ”

“ They’re under orders not to even touch you. ”

“ We might be many things, but we’re not stupid. ”

“ How old are you, anyway? ”

“ I’m sorry for your loss. ”

“ Did you fight in the war? ”

“ Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade? ”

“ Do you ever stop being such a prick? ”

“ I can’t just give up on it, no matter what you say. ”

“ It’s not safe to travel alone at night. ”

“ You don’t hold on to power by being everyone’s friend. ”

“ Has anyone ever taken care of you? ”

“ I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are, or what you really are, or what you want. ”

“ I hope your secrets are worth it. ”

“ It’s good that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut. ”

“ I think I’m starting to like you. ”

“ You will be safe. ”

“ Do not interfere; do not go looking for answers after today. ”

“ It is too late. ”

“ I heard you scream. ”

“ Is there going to be a war? ”

“ It’s none of your concern. ”

“ The less you know, the better. ”

“ I wish I could have been there to help. ”

“ Lying is an art. ”

“ We never willingly lied to you. ”

“ Is it supposed to be hard? ”

“ I don’t need your help. ”

“ They’re fools. Fools for not seeing it. ”

“ You gave up so much for them. ”

“ Do you even know how to laugh? ”

“ Against slavery, against tyranny, I would gladly go to my death, no matter whose freedom I was defending. ”

“ You — you altered their memories? ”

“ Keep still. You’ll bleed out faster. ”

“ I want to go with you. ”

“ I might die of surprise — you made a joke! ”

“ Come on; I want to show you something. ”

“ Don’t you want to know what it’s like? ”

“ What else did you figure out for yourself? ”

“ You can’t possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger. ”

“ It seemed like the right thing to do. ”

“ Why do anything — anything this kind? ”

“ Come here whenever you want. ”

“ If it grieves you, then I don’t think it’s absurd at all. ”

“ Don’t feel bad for one moment about doing what brings you joy. ”

“ One day — one day, there will be answers for everything, but not until the time is right. ”

“ All will be right as rain soon enough. ”

“ What did you hear? ”

“ There you are. I’ve been looking for you. ”

“ May I escort you somewhere in the meantime? ”

“ Stay in your room tonight. ”

“ You drove me mad. ”

“ I searched for you, and you weren’t there. ”

“ I don’t know if I should be pleased or worried. ”

“ Good that you aren’t losing your common sense entirely, then. ”

“ Who taught you how to do hair like this? ”

“ I came here to do what I could. ”

“ You do look beautiful. I mean it. ”

“ Tell me that there’s some way to help you. ”

“ I want you here, where I can look after you. ”

“ Just another of my many shortcomings. ”

“ What about your part of the bargain? ”

“ I should bring you home. ”

“ You’re exactly as I dreamed you’d be. ”

“ Are you out of your right mind? ”

“ You’ve been noticeably absent again. ”

“ I don’t recognize him at all. ”

“ It’s not my safety that I’m worried about. ”

“ This was just their idea of a prank. ”

“ You’re not your father. ”

“ I want to show you something better. ”

“ I’m thinking I might kiss you. ”

“ I came here to offer you help, and you have the nerve to tell me to leave? ”

“ If I told you those things, there’d be no fun in it, would there? ”

“ You didn’t tell me this would happen! ”

“ Do I have you to thank for this idea? ”

“ I can’t tell you — no one here can. ”

“ Shit, it’s freezing in here. ”

“ Thank you. For helping me, I mean. ”

“ Taunting him is my greatest pleasure. ”

“ What do you want with me? ”

“ Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. ”

“ I figured that would get you to stop crying. ”

“ Keep your damned mouth shut about it. ”

“ You’re a disgusting bastard. ”

“ Do you actually intend to put yourself at my mercy, or are you truly that stupid? ”

“ I’m not your slave. ”

“ How did you not think that someone else would realize you were gone? ”

“ You can leave if you’re just going to insult me. ”

“ One wrong move, and we’ll all be doomed. ”

“ Why do you think I’m doing this? ”

“ It’s the only claim I have to innocence. ”

“ Any words to say before you die? ”

“ Oh, don’t look so miserable. Aren’t you having fun? ”

“ I’m going to make you pay for your insolence. ”

“ Don’t pretend that you care. ”

“ It was the only way we could save you. ”

“ We’ll find a way out of this. ”

“ I didn’t want you to fight alone. Or die alone. ”

“ Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. ”

“ Pity those who don’t feel anything at all. ”

#askbox meme #askbox prompt #rp ask meme #ask box #roleplay sentence meme #sentence starters #roleplay prompts #* sentence meme #roleplay sentence starters #rpc help #acotar rp #fantasy rp #historical rp

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shadowqueenjude · 6 months

Text

The only parts of ACOWAR you need to know

Did you hate ACOMAF and you're scared of reading ACOWAR? I gotchu. This is all you need to know from ACOWAR (this will be pretty long):

2 pages later... “You sent the Bogge after them!” Tamlin roared at (Feyre and Lucien). Not long after...

I would've chosen Lucien... Lucien's POV:

Later...

And now the real drama begins...

Rhysand: “I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.” “No,” Tamlin said with equal ease, “you’re just in the business of fucking them.” “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.” “And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.” “If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.”

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,” (Feyre) breathed. “You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.” *gets ignored* Tamlin: “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?” Azriel: Be CaReFuL hOw YoU sPeAk To My HiGh LaDy. *gets ignored* Tamlin: “It was not enough to sit at my side, was it? You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no …” A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

Rhys: Well, played, Tamlin. You're learning. Tamlin: “You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.” He jerked his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane—the few other members of their retinue who had remained silent. “You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?” A finger flung in Rhysand’s direction. Rhys: “I had no involvement in that. None.” Kallias: “You stood beside her throne while the order was given.” Rhys: "I tried to stop it." Kallias: “Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered. That you tried."

Rhysand: “When your people rebelled...She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias. I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?” *Rhysand gives another bullshit sob story* “Stories and words,” Tamlin said, lounging in his chair. “Is there any proof?” Kallias: "Why are you here, Tamlin?" Tamlin: “I am here to help you fight against Hybern." Thesan: “You will forgive us if we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.” “Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements? Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands? I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that? It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family. Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?” Mor: “Watch your mouth." *gets ignored*

Helion: “Noble as it sounds, who is to say that information is correct—or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?” Tamlin: “Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?”

Feyre: “You’re insane. Do you hear what you’re saying? Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!” Tamlin: “Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” Feyre: “What do you want? An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?” Tamlin: “Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?” *Rhysand does violent shit and ruins our fun* Mor: “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.” Eris: “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.” *Azriel tries to choke Eris to death because he's crazy*

Daddy Lucien to the rescue as usual

Rhysand: “Then don’t take (the antidote). I will. My entire court will, as will my armies.” Tamlin: “At least you have armies to give it to. Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer? Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenseless against Hybern. You primed my court to fall. And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They’re nothing more than cinders now. And while you’ve been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviors, I’ve been piecing together my forces—regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East—where Hybern has not yet marched."

Beron: “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain? Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment? And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly …Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his—” *Feyre attacks Lucien's mother like a bitch then gives a pathetic apology* Beron: “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.” *Rhysand attacks Beron like a bitch* Then Nesta stands up and gets every mfing High Lord to listen without attacking anyone because she's a goddamn queen! And that delightful Neris moment: (Nesta) looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

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muffin-artz3 · 19 days

Text

You know how they say 'if you want to be good at something, you have yo become obsessed with it'? Well, I've found my inspiration for art.

Its Dr Veritas Ratio.

Like a Renaissance artist possessed, that man has become my Muse. Every medium I have, I WILL draw him. Oil paint, water color, gouache, digital. Through tyranny of will, this man HAS become obiqutous to me. And I plan to be a menace to the fandom.

#just your local dr ratio simp #honkai star rail #veritas ratio #dr ratio

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starryevermore · 1 year

Text

to be loved by him ✧ tech

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Tech meeting a cute racing mechanic and 100% being smitten and stumbly and bumbly but when he races he's cool and calm and confident. They 100% make out in the pit stop after he wins - @captainsbestgal

pairing: tech x fem!mechanic!reader

summary: when tech comes to safa toma, you find yourself smitten. lucky for you, he feels the same.

word count: 2,085

warnings?: mild spoilers for season 2 episode 4 of the bad batch, fluff, making out, little bit of teasing, pet name (cyar’ika), not proofread

Working as a mechanic at Safa Toma Speedway was not the sort of work you always dreamed of you. Working as a mechanic? Sure. That had always been the plan. Machines made more sense than people, after all. There were only so many responses, so many actions, a machine could make. People, though? People…Well, they didn’t like you. They thought you were “too much”. They thought you talked too loudly. They thought you laughed too much. They thought you overbearing, annoying, exasperating, irritating. But machines? Machines didn’t think those things. Except for droids, of course, who were maddeningly opinionated. But that was why you didn’t often work with droids. Until now, of course. But these were extenuating circumstances.

When the Republic became the Empire, everything changed. Your home planet was no longer safe—or, at least, it wouldn’t be. You may not have liked people, but you knew enough to know to recognize patterns. And the way things were looking, you could already feel the cold, iron grip of tyranny squeezing your home. You took the first ship out of there, which, unfortunately, put you on Safa Toma.

Safa Toma wasn’t…a great place to be. It housed criminals, smugglers, gamblers, and the like. It wasn’t exactly the safe haven you were hoping for. You supposed it was your fault for not paying more attention when you bought your ticket. But, you were here now, and you made do.

You ended up being employed at the Safa Toma Speedway. It wasn’t the best work, but it paid well. All you had to do was make sure the droid racer, TAY-0, was working fine and that his speeder ran well. And, of course, aid him in modifying the speeder, since the speeder wasn’t designed for racing. You were grateful for the work, so you kept your head down about the seedier aspects of Riot Racing. Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth, as they say.

And, oh, were you glad that you decided to stick around.

Cid, who often bet on TAY-0, had come to the track, alongside two…bodyguards? And a child. (Part of you wondered if the child was also a bodyguard. Though she didn’t look much older than ten or eleven, she looked like she packed a punch.) You more interested in the handsome, goggles-wearing bodyguard, though. If you weren’t busy working, you would have made a proposition or two. Though, you mused, you might just still have the opportunity.

The race had gone well, until it didn’t. The other racers destroyed the speeder. It crashed. In the wreckage was the broken bits of TAY-0. An unfortunate turn of events for Cid, who bet her freedom on TAY-0 winning. But then the child—Omega— but in, and raised the stakes. If TAY-0 won the next race, Cid was free.

Your hand was brushing against Tech’s—one of Cid’s maybe-bodyguards (you still weren't sure on the arrangement)—as you reached for a tool to repair TAY-0.

“Ope, sorry,” you said, pulling your hand away.

Tech passed you the tool you had been reaching for. “No need to apologize.”

You offered him a smile before turning back to your task of reconstructing TAY-0’s arm. Kriff, you felt like an idiot around him. Tech, you mean. Not TAY-0. (TAY-0 could kick rocks.) You usually had so much to say that people would tell you to shut up. But when you were around Tech, your mouth suddenly became dry. Your palms became clammy. You struggled to even figure out how to form a sentence. What the hell was he doing to you?

“So, uh,” he coughed, “how’d you end up working here?”

You stared at him. Was he trying to do small talk? Curious. He didn’t strike you as a small talk sort of person.

“If it’s too personal, you don’t have to say,” he rushed out. There was a pink tint to his face. “I thought it might be nice to talk. Fill the air, you know. We’re going to be here all night. Based on my calculations, we’ll be lucky to have everything repaired and in working order before the race begins tomorrow. And—”

You cracked a smile. His words died in his throat. It was endearing, how nervous he got around you. At least you weren’t alone in that camp. “The Empire,” you said. His brows shot up. You were quick to add, “Nothing happened. Nothing specific, I mean. But they took over my home planet, and I got a bad feeling about it. Decided to trust my instincts and booked the first ship outta there. Ended up here, which wasn’t much better.” You took a moment to look him over. “I think it was a good decision, though. I probably wouldn’t have met you if I ended up somewhere else.”

The pinkness in Tech’s face burned red. “Oh—I—uh—“

“What about you? How’d you end up working for Cid?”

Tech eyed you, hesitancy overtaking his demeanor. Had you overstepped a boundary? Had you said something that triggered bad memories? Oh, dear. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

Tech stared at you, unblinking. He didn’t blink very much at all, though. His wide eyes constantly took in his surroundings, calculating and categorizing all that he saw. It should have been unnerving, but it wasn’t. It was…comforting. You liked knowing he saw you. “I would rather talk about you,” he said finally. “How did you end up a mechanic?”

You pondered for a moment, tried to formulate a response. You didn’t want to make yourself sound like a fool. “Just what felt natural, you know? I was always good with my hands, always had a mind for puzzles. That’s all being a mechanic is, really. Figuring out the puzzle of the machine, determining what pieces you needed to fit together to make a cohesive picture.”

Tech nodded along as you spoke. “Is it not what you wanted to do?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

No one had ever asked you that before. When you told your parents of your chosen career, they shrugged with a quiet sort of indifference. Something about how mechanics are always needed, so you’d always have a job. That it made decent money, so you could have a good life. It was nothing of prestige, so it wasn’t something they got excited about. But it also wasn’t something outlandish, so they didn’t protest, either. Now that you thought about, perhaps your feelings were more similar to your parents’ than you once believed.

“You said being a mechanic felt natural, but there’s no emotions behind your words. Rather, you only speak with a reluctant acceptance. It is reasonable to assume that you don’t care much for being a mechanic. That it is not what you’re passionate about.” Tech tilted his head. “What are you passionate about?”

You considered his words. There was one thing, a long-forgotten dream that you stuffed away to the far crevices of your mind. It felt strange to be pulling it back out now. “I suppose I always wanted to be a pilot. That wasn’t really an option on my home planet, though. People stuck to the ground. But I remember one time, my family and I visited a cousin on a different planet, and I was mesmerized by the stars, the feeling of traveling through space. When I came here, when I was on the ship that brought me here, I felt like that little girl again. Mesmerized by the stars.”

Tech’s hand came to rest on top of your own. You froze at the contact. When was the last time someone touched you? “When this is over, you should come with us,” Tech said. “I serve as our pilot now, but it’s not really something I care for. If you would like to, I mean.”

“Really?”

“I could teach you the basics, if you’d like, and then you could take over—”

“TECH’S GOT A GIRLFRIEND!” Wrecker shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. He made kissy noises in your direction.

You jumped away like you’d been shocked. Tech whipped around to glare at his brother.

Omega tugged on Wrecker’s arm, forcing him to return to their task. “Shh, let’s let them be.”

Tech looked back at you. “We can talk about it more later, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Now, you worried you would never get the change. TAY-0, who you and Tech worked so hard in restoring, was destroyed just before the race started. All hope seemed lost, but then Tech volunteered himself as the racer. Kriff, it made you sick to think of him on the track. He could handle himself, probably, but there were so many risks. People played dirty out there. If he wasn’t careful, his first race might just be his last.

You muttered a prayer to the Maker as the race began. You didn’t want to lose him. Not when you just met him. You watched as his speeder took off, falling behind everyone else.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” you asked, anxiety biting at your nerves.

“Of course I do,” Tech reported. The nervousness he had around you before had melted away. “I’m being strategic. I have a lot of incentive to win, don’t I?”

Your face grew warm. “Yes, yes you do.”

Wrecker bumped his shoulder against yours. When you looked up at him, he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Lotta incentive, huh?”

“Hush!”

You chewed on the corner of your nail as you watched the race. With every movement, you worried that Tech wasn’t going to be able to pull through. Then he took the tunnel to the left, and it felt like you died then and there. Didn’t he know that he wasn’t supposed to take that one? Didn’t he know that was dangerous?

“Tech, I swear, if you die out there, I’m gonna kill you,” you muttered.

He laughed. “Worry not, cyar’ika. I have not intention of dying today.”

And you were glad he didn’t. As he crossed the finished line, winning the race, all of your worries and anxieties exploded into pure joy. All around you, the crowd shouted his name. Tech! Tech! Tech! He got out of his speeder, looking out at the crowd in amazement. Then his focus turned you.

You ran toward him, throwing your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Oh! This is nice,” he said, his arms wrapping around you.

“If I’m going to go with you, you’re not allowed to scare me like that again!” you said.

Tech’s mouth twitched slightly, a small smirk forming on his face. “You know, I think I deserve a good, proper reprimand, don’t you?” When your breath caught in your throat, he continued, “Perhaps we should take this to the pit?”

That was how you ended up seated on a table, legs wrapped around Tech’s waist, fingers pulling at his hair, kissing him so hard you were sure your lips were going to be bruised. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you close against his chest, like he was trying to mold you into him. His tongue darted out, tracing along your bottom lip. Your lips parted, letting him in, his tongue exploring your mouth like he was trying to commit every part of you to memory.

“We should,” you mumbled against his lips, “go rescue Cid.”

“Wrecker and Omega got it handled,” Tech said, pulling away for a moment to catch his breath. He nuzzled his nose against yours. “Let me enjoy you.”

“Hey, is this is how your flight lessons are going to go?” you asked, your breath fanning over his face.

Tech let out a chuckle. “Only if you’re a good student.”

“Mm, I promise to be on my best behavior then.”

Tech leaned back in, his lips molding against yours. You moaned slightly, tugging him closer. But, you weren’t given the opportunity to enjoy him like you wanted to because—

“TECH? Where are you? We need to get Cid—OH MY GOD!” Wrecker shouted. “We already got one kid to deal with, don’t be adding another to this!”

You pulled away, laughing so hard you snorted. Tech glared at his brother, but reluctantly unwound himself from you. He held out his hands and helped you down from the table. One hand held onto yours, keeping you close.

“We will continue this later.”

“I look forward to it.”

And, oh, you did.

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