#basically a disgrace to their kind.

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

She loves love notes and babies and likes giving gifts; Has a hard time accepting a good compliment; She loves her whole family and all of her friends; So if you’re the one she lets in...

Kiss her with passion as much as you can; Run your hands through her hair whenever she’s sad; And when she doesn’t notice how pretty she is; Tell her over and over so she never forgets...

Take it; if she gives you her heart, don’t you break it. Let your arms be a place she feels safe in. She’s the best thing that you’ll ever have— She’ll love you, if you love her...

On days when it feels like the whole world might cave in, Stand side by side and you’ll make it. She’s the best thing that you’ll ever have— She’ll love you, if you love her like that.

— Forest Blakk, If You Love Her

#wolfstar #if you love her #forest blakk #harry potter #marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #this is the song that plays at their wedding don't argue with me #(tumblr i fucking hate you) #(why can't i put images side by side anymore) #(this post basically brought me to tears to make because i was so frustrated and i still couldn't do what i wanted) #(your new post editor is a fucking nightmare and i hate it) #(i want the old one back and i want you to stop changing shit without any kind of warning) #(i emailed your tech support like three fucking weeks ago and haven't heard a damn fucking thing back) #(you're a fucking disgrace and a failure of a website and i hate using you) #(if there was a better platform for gay depressed nerds i'd be on there in an instant no question) #(fix your broken fucking shit) #(apologies to anyone here for my usual sunshiney positivity because today i'm fucking pissed) #have a nice day y'all #(not you tumblr you suck)

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing  against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #dark!reader #jacaerys smut #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys fanfiction #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

[footieridiculosity]

On one hand, imagine doing Joan Laporta’s dirty work for free 😭 On the other hand, no pay means he won’t use the press to pressure you into renouncing your wages 👍

#real Madrid fans’ treatment of their legends like iker was utterly disgraceful but sure let’s ✨aspire✨ to it instead #i still think about the damage Jose Mourinho did #again it’s incredibly illuminating what kind of abuse fans will support #players who’ve fallen out with the manager - yes abuse #players who said no to not being paid - yes abuse #players accused of raping multiple women - WOW IF YOU BOO THEM YOU’RE JUDGE JURY AND EXECUTIONER AND BASICALLY JUST KILLED THEM

[bigshotautos]

I really like your theory about Spamton basically haunting a mannequin after death. Have you ever touched upon the reaction from Jevil (or anyone, really) upon seeing the new Spamton? Especially considering Spamton isn't even aware he 'died'.

^ how i think jevil's first sight of Spamton would go. i love this ask. this is referring to some headcanons I made a while back, I'll link it here for the one post and the general ghost spamton theory is linked in that one as well. Going to elaborate on it more under the cut for those interested + more art.

In general I think that people from Spamton's past wouldn't really care if they notice at all, since he wasn't in the business of making close friends with anyone. With the Addisons, in my interpretation he had a "weird co-worker" relationship with them, and while Addisons in general treated each other like potential business competitors that they had to make-nice with, Spamton is especially easy to single out for being visibly and temperamentally different. His altered, current state is something they'd feel at least uncomfortable by, but many wouldn't have been too close with him to begin with for them to talk about it with him directly. Would get whispered about between each other for sure, like we saw with them talking about Spamton after the NEO fight. It moves him from the "disgraced guy I used to know" category to the "actually unpleasant to look at or think about" territory. This goes for Swatch, Queen, and Seam (less so), who seem to buy heavily into the Lightner and Darkner dynamic, with Spamton corrupting the Lightner's dream being a strong taboo against what it means to be a Darkner.

As for what Jevil thinks, Spamton during the NEO fight is both a beautiful and horrifying display. Jevil at this point hasn't seen him in years since his imprisonment, and in their time apart Jevil has grown to find novelty in the cage that everyone else besides him is in since he's created huge emotional distance between him and the reality he lives in. Seeing the fact that Spamton had corrupted an abandoned dream of a Lightner and was causing so much chaos to the established order of the world would be exhilarating, but at the same time seeing that Spamton had accomplished this and still had his strings visible (and changed to a marionette puppet with no symbolic agency), it'd be a painful confirmation of his worldview that even Spamton, who deep down he still cares for, could never have been free.

Jevil would think at first he'd just gone through some nebulous situation to change what he looks like, since ofc he himself has toy-like traits (arguable if that happened with Gasterfication or not), Seam is a plushie cat, and other Card Castle Darkners are based on toys, but feeling the lack of life combined with the symbolic body of Spamton would mean to him something bigger had went wrong. He wouldn't dare to bring it up in an empathetic way, stuck in his mindset that it doesn't matter, but it'd still hit a part of him he doesn't like to think still exists. It's something he gets over quickly, almost performatively going back to fucking with him and taking advantage of his fear for entertainment, but it didn't sit well at first.

To me, the fact Spamton "died" isn't really a huge deal, kind of like with the ghosts in Undertale where no one really cares they're just ghosts. They're just doing their thing. To me it'd be fine if neither of them find out what happened for certain, but it's something that adds Flavor to his character.

#asks #deltarune #spamton #jevil #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER ANON LOL. its been a month or something #i asked tumblr user funnywormz for consulation on this for his thoughts as well since he's my accomplice in ghost spamton truthers #my art #ofc this is all just my internal worldview on the thing it's by no means definitive but its just for Fun! #btw as for queen im hardly even joking i think she would have deleted spamton from her memory banks because he was so sucks. #also in the image up top susie cant hear jevil saying this shit it definitely wouldnt have helped. #i think darkners can detect the itemized darkners but lightners cant like with tasque manager and spamneo noticing jevil

[livlaughloveluke]

Reader getting neglected by her mom Hera bc she was a mistake? And Luke convincing her to join him and in the end she does- or she doesn't bc she is still loyal to Hera and Luke leaves her because of itt

𝗚𝗢𝗗𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗦 - 𝗟.𝗖 🫧

luke castellan x daughter of hera! reader 🦚

summary- basically just the request

warnings- use of y/n, few curse words, female reader, spoilers for tlt, heart wrenching angst

[a/n]- a lot of lines inspired by the last episode of the good place (literally my favorite show) and a line from the song “anything” used

2.3k

You were a mistake. 

There was no alternative way to phrase it, at least not in the eyes of your godly mother, Hera. You were conceived in a fit of jealousy; your mom wanted to get petty revenge on Zeus for some clueless error he made. And so, within the blink of an eye, she transformed into a mere mortal and seduced a random man, otherwise known as your father.

When you stumbled into camp, bruised and bloody from a Cyclops attack, not a soul expected you to be the malicious goddess's daughter. Hera was loyal to her husband, even claiming multiple times that she forebode affairs, only allowing Zeus to commit the unfaithful acts. However, while she may have been the goddess of marriage, her extreme jealousy overpowered them all.

Which is why she detested you. You were a symbol of her errors, a constant reminder of her regretful affair. 

You had a total of two interactions with her, the first one being her claiming of you and the second one being a spiel about how she resented and wanted absolutely nothing to do with a ‘disgrace.’ 

She was the reason you were so alone your whole life. There were no siblings to talk with, no mom to spend time with, and no father who could actively be present. In fact, the cabin hadn’t even been furnished when you arrived; no one thought your mother would commit infidelity. 

With no bed to sleep in, at least until the one Mr. D ordered online arrived, you stayed in the Hermes cabin, a place welcoming to all. You were fourteen when you met Luke Castellan, who had already been claimed by his father and who generously made you feel included. He stayed up with you on those late nights, helping to calm you while you vented about your neglectful mother, and he saved you a spot at the picnic tables when no one else would. 

From that point on, you and Luke had formed an incredible relationship. Even after you moved back into Cabin 2, you remained close friends. Seeing that you were the only daughter of Hera, you joined Cabin 11 for the daily activities, which only amplified your connection with the boy. Eventually, with the help of your friends, Chris and Clarisse, Luke worked up the courage to ask you out. You happily obliged, and ever since then, you have been dating. 

Four years later, your bond with the boy was admired by nearly all. The two of you were a symbol of hope—that even in the pandemonium of demigod life, you could find love. As you grew into young adulthood, you became a profound woman, one with elegance and kindness, despite the hauntings of your past. 

With Luke by your side, you began to love the simple joys life provided. You cared for the campers like your own kin, in hopes of providing the external fondness you were never granted as a child. 

You and Annabeth became as close as ever, bonding over the experiences Camp Half-Blood provided. Her flawless skills in battle proved she didn’t need any protection, and yet you were always there to guard her from the dangers life presented. While Annabeth was reticent to most, after many weeks of being friends, she opened up to you.

You had that welcoming effect on nearly everyone, helping arrivals settle into their chaotic lifestyle. Which is how you ended up being chosen to complete a treacherous quest along with the new camper Percy, the satyr Grover, and your honorary little sister, Annabeth. 

After packing the evening before departure, you headed to say goodbye to Luke. You both knew that the trip would be dangerous, with a chance you wouldn’t return, so you decided to relish in each other’s presence by the lake, just in case.

He sat on the dock while you lay in his lap, gently stroking your scalp as you watched the sun set and paint bright colors atop the sky. 

“I’m gonna miss you.” You spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“It’s only ten days. I went fourteen years without you; I can manage a week.” He said, smiling softly while looking down at you. 

“Yeah. Ten days is nothing. I’d wait a hundred years for you.” You agreed, mirroring his expression. While you chatted, the colorful sky eventually faded into a deep blue, signaling that your time by the lake was coming to an end.

“Cmon, everyone’s asleep by now.“ He alerted you, standing up and offering you a hand. You accepted, interlocking your fingers and walking back to the cabins.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You pondered as you strolled to Hera’s cabin. Sure, it was against the rules, but you just wanted to spend the last night with him. And what’s the worst you could do while surrounded by twenty other children?

“Course. The campers owe me a favor since I took them to the lake last Friday, so they won’t snitch.” Luke replied, changing course to the Hermes cabin. 

Sleep came easy that night as you laid on Luke’s chest while his hands rested on your waist. Leaving the next morning was hard, but with the words from last night still present in your mind, you left with a smile. 

The mission was nearly impossible, with monsters chasing you around every corner. After traveling to (literally) hell and back, you finally arrived back at camp.

Campers lined up cheering; a whole festival was planned for the victory brought by Percy. While most would miss the warm, safe beds in the cabins or the hot showers, you only craved one thing: your boyfriend. One short Iris message during your trip wasn’t enough. You wanted to listen to him blink, to listen to his hands soothe, to listen to his heart beating. 

And so, within minutes of your arrival, you had found yourself embraced in Luke’s arms. All of your worries pertaining to the Lightning Thief faded away as you ran your fingers through his curls, your knees practically buckling at the sight of him. 

“I missed you.” You whispered into his ear, swaying side to side as you hugged him. 

“I missed you too. Camp hasn’t been the same.” 

“I’m here now. We have all the time we need.” 

“There’s too many people around. I found a new spot in the woods if you want to join me, and we can talk about the quest.” He spoke softly, his tone honey-sweet.

“Lead the way, Castellan.”

And so he dragged you deep into the secluded woods, the final location remaining a mystery as you hiked through hundreds of tall trees. The walk was suspiciously long, but with him, time seemed to fade away, and you grew blind to the flaming red flags.

Finally, you reached a clearing, surrounded by luscious greens. You both sat down, leaning your head on his shoulder as you glanced up at the stars. He was silent most of the journey to this unusual destination, just listening to you babble on about everything that happened during your time apart. And his nonverbal attitude didn’t disappear as you sat down, but this time you joined him in the comforting silence while staring up at the stars.

Gazing at him through the moonlight, you watched as his deep brown eyes lit up with a feeling you couldn’t determine. Curious, you queried what roamed his mind. “Whatcha thinking about?” 

“I’m-“ he let out an angry sigh, pausing to gain composure. “I’m tired of the gods treating us like shit and getting away with it.” His indignant behavior staggered you, but Luke was prone to these fits of loathing after speaking to his neglectful father, so you assumed that’s what caused his wrath tonight. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. Rough interaction with your dad again?” You tried to ration, hoping to calm his resentment, but instead it seemed to irritate him more. His jaw clenched with fury as he snapped at you. 

“Why are you apologizing? Don’t defend the gods. They’re ruthless idiots who won’t even spare a glance in your direction.” 

His cruel words made you question everything, praying this was just a dumb prank or something not as serious as he was letting on. Quietly, you asked what he meant. “What are you.. What are you saying?”

After a long pause, he looked away from you and spoke up. “I want you to join me. To join Kronos.”

Your heart sank upon his confession, and you scooted away from him frantically, standing up and trying to brace yourself for whatever he was going to do next. He lifted himself off the ground after you, taking a baby step closer.

“Kronos? You’re joking, right? Luke, please tell me you’re joking.”

You made eye contact with him, realizing that the mysterious tint in his eyes was now readable. It was hatred, pure evil.

“No. I can’t stand to watch them carelessly prance around while their children suffer. I’m standing against them, and I want you to be by my side.”

You grew vexed and infuriated that he was ruining your years-long relationship for some stupid dream. “Are you kidding me? I’m not joining you.” You snarled.

“You’re choosing them? Over me? You’re choosing your mother, who has ignored you your entire life, instead of me. Instead of us?” He growled, approaching you as you trudged backwards. For the first time in your life, you were scared of Luke. Scared of the man you loved.

“I’m choosing my friends at Camp Half-Blood. My family. What about Annabeth? And Percy? Do they know?” Thoughts of Annabeth finding out one of her closest friends was a traitor flooded your brain, hurting you more than Luke’s words ever could.

“No, not yet, at least. Why won’t you stand up for what’s right?”

“You’re starting an unwinnable war here. Tell me, do you really think you could overpower them?” You replied, fuming with anger towards him and the gods, too. And if we’re being honest, you were mad at yourself, too. Mad at yourself for still loving him even though he was hurting you. 

“I will overpower them. With or without you.”

“You're—you're really leaving?” You questioned, and the rage dissipated. 

“I have to.” He demanded, looking down at his feet while clenching his eyes shut. 

A wave of memories washed over you, and suddenly, you didn’t want him to go. You wanted the boy who picked you the freshest of flowers—the boy who came knocking on your bedroom door at night, just wanting to chat.

“Please, Luke. We can forget all about this and go back to living our lives.” You pleaded, your bottom lip quivering as you fought back sobbing. 

“It’s too late now. I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Please don’t leave. I was alone my whole life before you, and I told myself I liked it that way, but I don’t. I don’t want to live a life without you. I can’t.” You choked out through mangled sobs, and his demeanor shifted to one of guilt.

“I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. And I can’t let you leave here and spoil my plans before they even start.” 

The air became thick as he finished his sentence, and your tears subsided, freight replacing the sadness that lingered deep in your heart. 

“What does that mean?” You entreated. Was he going to kill you? 

“I love you. Maybe in another universe we can be together.” He said this, fleeting into the shadows. 

“Wait! Luke, you can’t just leave me here!” You yelled, attempting to run after him, but he was nowhere to be found. You stood alone in the darkness of the woods, with no clue as to how to escape the woods. 

Every fragment in your body was telling you to give up, to let go, and to sob. To silence out the cruel world and lay on the earth floor, to wait for your impending death, from the freezing cold temperatures or one of the hungry monsters that lurked in the night. But the thought of Luke getting away with this and letting him escape untouched fueled you. You hiked out of the path you came from, praying you could get back to camp alive.

Eventually, you met the forest ends, stepping foot into a camp that was blissfully unaware of Hermes’ boy’s plan. You shoved through crowds of partying teens, eager to find Annabeth and Percy and warn them.

After searching through every crook, you spotted them talking to Chiron. The look of concealed misery on the young girl’s face told you everything. Luke had already visited. 

You were grateful the two preteens were even alive, but you know how hard this was. They were only kids, not deserving to experience such heartbreak at a mere twelve years old.

Running up to Annabeth, you wrapped her in a comforting, empathy-filled embrace. Her muscles tensed up at first before accepting the hug and leaning in.

“I’m so sorry.” You muttered into her ears as she sighed. Pulling apart to read her emotions, you asked a simple question. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She murmured unconvincingly.

“Promise?” 

“Swear.” Annabeth replied.

“And you promise you’ll come talk to me if you’re not?” You asked again. 

“Promise.”

You smiled for the first time in hours, basking in the warmth of your family. 

“Is he... gone?” You whispered to her, and it didn’t take an Athena kid to understand who you were talking about.

“Yeah. He escaped through a portal.” 

“Oh.” Was all you could reply, trying to shield the way your heart shattered.

“I’m sorry.” Annabeth said, looking into your glossy eyes. 

“It’s okay. I’ll tell you everything later, but I’m just going to go to bed for now.” 

You left, tears pouring down as you lightly jogged to the Hermes cabin. Slipping off your shoes, you plopped down onto Luke’s bed and sobbed.

His cheap cologne mixed with the citrusy shampoo he used lingered in the hot air, and for a moment, it was like he was still with you.

[luke masterlist] ★ [request here] ★ [hera moodboard]

#luke castellan #luke castellan angst #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x reader #hera #liv’s writing !

[gulnarsultan]

May I request for yan House of the dragon platonic like everyone is platonic yandere for reader? And basically, the reader is Rhaenyras little sister, who was born when Aemma died. Rhaenyra hates readers because she thinks reader killed her mother. So, while Rhaenyra isn't there, Alicent is and comforts/mothers reader. The reader is close to all her siblings ( minus Rhaenyra) and her niece and nephew. Timeskip to the night in Driftmark,. The reader walks in and sees Aemond and asks what happens, somewhere along everyone fighting Rhaenyra snarkily says "don't think I didn't notice you ran to their defense" and reader snaps back and is like "when have you done anything kind to me? Why should I stand by you when your cruel to me" Alicent smirks as Rhaenyra realizes how much of a bad sister she was. The reader ends the big argument by saying "while my nephews do deserve some punishment, taking their eyes is far too extreme" and after, while reader was in their room, Rhaenyra came in a begged for forgiveness

Hello.  Everyone is a platonic yandere for the Princess.  Did I understand the question correctly?  I hope you liked it.

   The birth of Queen Aemma begins and her first Princess is born. There is no problem at the moment.  However, Baelon's birth causes the death of Queen Aemma.  Prince Baelon dies a few hours later.  Rhaenyra blames her father Viserys and her younger siblings for her mother's death.  Rhaenyra never approaches or cares for her sister.  King Viserys is very angry with Rhaenyra for her behavior.  King Viserys spends most of his free time with his newborn daughter.  He tries to be the best father he can for the little princess.  Alicent takes the little princess under her wing.  Because she knows what it's like to be without a mother.  Moreover, Hand of the King Otto and the Velaryons are determined to play a role in the Princess's upbringing.  They will do anything to make sure the princess has a good life.  Over the years, the Princess turns into a very beautiful and intelligent young lady.  The Princess becomes a good big sister to all the children Alicent and Viserys have.  The princess is devastated by the loss of Laena.  She is in grief with the Velaryons.  When the princess arrives in the throne room, she is shocked to see her brother Aemond's face.  She immediately hugs her brother and tries to comfort him.  Rhaenyra's impudent behavior angers the Princess.  The anger of the Princess, who did not even raise her voice until this age, surprises everyone.

   "Sufficient."

   Everyone was quiet and attention was focused on the Princess.

   "What could be more normal than to be with them? Why should I be with you and your children? You have treated me like an enemy until this age. I will be with my family who love and protect me. You cannot be a family by blood. I hate and detest you. You are not worthy to be a princess. You are the disgrace of our house."

   Rhaenyra was shocked by the words she heard.  Her sister, whom she had been an enemy to for years, had put her in her place.  The princess turned to face her father.

   "How can you remain silent while Aemond's questioning is demanded? Do not try to do such a wrong, Father. I want justice for Aemond right now. Lucerys will be swept away. Or he will be stripped of all his privileges and titles. And he will never appear in court again."

   King Viserys could see the fire in his daughter's eyes.  The princess finally stood up after so many years of silence.  King Viserys had chosen the second option.  Everyone but Rhaenyra supports the Princess' decision.  The princess turns to Aemond with a triumphant smile.

   "Justice has been served, brother, don't worry. No one can harm our family anymore."

   Alicent tearfully hugs the Princess.  Aemond admires his older sister, who literally fights for her like a dragon.  Perhaps the innocent admiration in little Aemond's heart will turn into a dark obsession in the future.

#yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere platonic #yandere family #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #house of targaryen #house targaryen

[spacexseven]

Trying to find the post I originally saw it from would take too long and plus the person who made it didn't go into detail they just said "reader with a God ability" like I'm guessing an ability that makes you God or something? I'm not too sure but if you want you can try to make it into something

But I REALLY wanted to know how would Fyodor would react because you know the story with him and god

basically reader is a kind of (forgotten) god but i didnt go too much into it so feel free to imagine whatever you'd like ^^

cw: yandere character

sometimes it occurred to you that divinity, in a world of gifted people, was ultimately meaningless. after all, who would choose to believe in a god—a presence so unclear and foreign—when they had people with powers only gods could have? when there were people with powers that defied logic, powers that decimated cities, and powers that could change the fate of the one affected within moments, what did your divinity matter?

what could you do that some ability user out there couldn't?

despite knowing there wasn't anything you could offer to regular people, you liked to walk down their streets and watch them go on about their day. there was something captivating about their lives, something that resembled what you had lost a long time ago. though in this bleak part of yokohama, most of the people you saw seemed to be weighed down by regret.

once in a while, you'd see some spectacular show of power—paper turning into a weapon, accidental deaths that you knew were not supposed to happen, people on the brink of death brought back to life in perfect health—such things did not amaze you as much as they worried you. maybe that worry came from a place of inadequacy, knowing that your own powers, while typical for a divine being, was overall unimpressive compared to these wonderful and terrifying feats.

however, the worry and the shame did not compare to the delight that followed when talking to someone. you felt alone, isolated by the things you knew and had seen as compared to the mundane lives most people lived, yet you yearned for company. most people were too busy to talk to you when they saw you seated alone, and some were put off by the strange feeling that something about you was not exactly human, but there was always someone who'd approach you first, and those people were almost always the ones that stuck with you the longest. years ago, it was a man wearing a hat and holding a cane, and more recently, a woman with red hair.

and now, it was this man with dark hair and amethyst eyes.

the very moment fyodor uttered his first words to you, you could already tell that he was unlike anyone else you had talked to before. there was something about him that was simultaneously alluring and unsettling, something that glinted in his dark eyes that told you that he knew everything you were trying to hide. even the way he held your hand in his felt like he was trying to sense something from you. still, his expression did not change—calmness evident in his face when yours was definitely teeming with intrigue. it should have embarrassed you that a human was better than you at controlling his emotions.

but there was something unusual about fyodor—the way he carried himself, the contrast between his sharp gaze and sleepy smile, the words he spoke—you could already tell that he was someone destined for great destruction. (or maybe, he was destined to be the harbinger of destruction?) he spoke to you like you were an old friend, someone he had known all his life, not finding any unease in slipping into deep conversation. his voice was soft, but each word felt purposeful.

and then, he mentioned his belief in god.

"what does a god matter," you finally asked the question that had been plaguing you for all this time, "in a world of people that are treated as gods?"

he smiled at you then, like he had been expecting it, "that is simply a result of the follies of man. isn't it disgraceful that they think of themselves as gods?"

"but what can a god do for you that some ability user out there can't?"

"what i sought, what i received, was guidance," he whispered, "my eyes were opened to the truth, and i realized my purpose. ability users parade themselves as gifted, special, but they only bring misfortune."

your heart wavered then, for the man in front of you. you never believed that ability users were blessed, or whatever some groups liked to say. in some cases, it appeared to be more of a curse than a blessing. something unwanted. was he haunted by himself as well? before you could stop yourself, your next words leaped out of your mouth, revealing your identity and subsequently confirming his suspicions.

"if so, what does that make you?"

he smiled then, wider than before. the very sight sent chills down your spine, even though very little still scared you now. he straightened up, clasping your hands within his with a newly gained fervor, with more strength than he appeared to have.

"a sinner seeking repentance from you."

you exhaled sharply, but he wasn't finished, "i know now for sure that this is the right path, and under your guidance, i will deliver your judgment, and i will reinstate you to your former glory."

danger was easy to miss when it looked like fyodor dostoevsky, and it was too late for you now. realization dawned on you a moment too late, as tendrils of consciousness slipped away from you.

among the ghosts of yokohama, fyodor was the harbinger of great destruction. and his reign of terror would start with yours.

#heres a game; can you tell all the abilities + ability users ive referenced here? #this is me practising writing oneshots btw which is why its like way too long #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bsd x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere fyodor dostoevsky #yandere fyodor #yandere fyodor x reader #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #bsd x you #bsd x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #ask 🐟 #bsd 🐟 #fyodor 🐟 #drabble 🐟 #god reader 🐟

[pristine-rose]

✧ LILAC FUMES

⊹ characters : albedo, ningguang, kaveh, la signora

⊹ synopsis : bad habits ( in which only you can see )

⊹ warnings : all sfw :] , smoking ( ningguang )

⊹ female reader, not proofread, sry for writing albedo again

minors can interact, but do not follow. this is just more sfw to pass the time! will hopefully return to n.sfw soon

⊹ ALBEDO

self-doubt

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

Brush strokes race rapidly across the canvas, but somehow even quicker than normal. He used more colors than he usually does; He puts in more care than he usually does, too. He paints you so beautifully. Perhaps even a little too perfect, as well. But that’s the way he sees you—no flaws, but in a way that ms so perfectly human, that you’re practically perfectly imperfect. And Archons, he loves that about you.

Is he allowed to say that? Allowed to even think it? Loving you? This is why he paints you—because he can’t show these feelings any other way. And he hates this about himself. Why can’t he kiss you the way other couples do? Why can’t he hug you without being so tense? Why, why, why did he have to be created without a heart?

You deserved someone more human than him, he feared. Someone who would pour his heart out to you so emotionally correct, and not towards a painting like he is doing now.

“Albedo…” He felt his body jump in horrific surprise. “This is…”

Ah. He forgot to lock his studio door. He was so stupid—he could never think logically when it came to you. And now you were here, seeing something he didn’t want you to see. “Albedo,” you called again with your hand over your mouth, “you’re so kind…”

Kind? He could almost scoff You were calling him kind? He was a disgrace here, he could not even understand the basics of love in a way to show it to you physically or verbally; And here you were, staring at him like he was the most thoughtful of lovers. He didn’t know how to show love. In fact, he didn’t even know what he was doing.

And yet, when you ran up to hug him so tightly, he thought, perhaps you knew him better than he knew himself.

☁️ —

⊹ NINGGUANG

smoking

Smoke-lined silk screen, glass room, bed frame, light post.

A huff, clouds filtered between red lips.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that?”

When she looked up at you, her pearly whites were playing with the wooden tip between her lips, toying with it as if it were like secondary skin. She looked unbothered—genuinely confused, even—as to what exactly you were asking of her in the first place.

“Enough of what?”

You gave no verbal response as your eyes glanced down at her mouth for just a second. Oh. “My pipe?”

“Your smoking problem,” you told; only to, of course, garner a response along the lines of ‘I don’t have a problem’. You could only scoff, really, and the Tianqian wasn’t sure if she liked that. To be almost belittled and scolded like a child ( which, in truth, was not happening at all—she just conditioned herself to see such a false reality ) was not a setting that Ningguang took kindly to. And if you were any other subordinate telling her what to do, you’d be a dartboard by now.

She blew out slowly. Secondhand smoke hit the tip of your nose and your brow raised. “You’re being dramatic,” she rolled her eyes. “Come. Grow up, and give me a—”

“I will not be kissing you with your smoker’s breath.”

She almost cracked the wooden pipe with the clench of her hand from annoyance—but that would be giving into you, wouldn’t it? She almost didn’t like the winning smile that crossed your lips. What she didn’t like even more, however, was being put into place right in front of you.

☁️ —

⊹ KAVEH

overworking, worrying

“Love you so m— Oh, wait! Do you think you can make another coffee for—?”

His words died into mumbles when he saw the hesitant look you gave him. “Coffee?” you questioned, leaning at the doorframe in a way he didn’t like. A lean like that meant you’d be questioning him. He got nervous when you did that. “At this hour?”

His fingers fiddled with his pen. “I have this big project to hammer out tonight, I fear…”

You only sighed. So simple, yet he could not take his eyes off of you. They were widened with a stir of caffeine and sleep deprivation both simultaneously—the bags under his eyes only causing even more concern. But he stared at you out of habit, for a large part of it was fear and insecurity. His eyes were always, always widened, searching for any trace of disappointment in your gaze. He didn’t like it when you were concerned over him; Not because of annoyance, no.

But over worry you would leave him for his self-sabotaging habits.

“Sorry,” he muttered when you pushed yourself off the doorframe, beginning to make your way towards his desk. “This project is really important to me.”

“You said that all your projects are important to you,” you remarked. The way you tiredly slouched yourself over his back and rested your chin on his shoulder made him only feel worse. “And I can see that,” you continued, “they are your life’s work.”

Kaveh stayed quiet. He stared down at his work-in-progress blueprint, trying his best to look like he was working. And truly, he was working fine just a moment ago—But how could he continue that focus now, when you’re making him self-conscious? He didn’t deserve such concern. You should’ve just left him by now.

“You’re shaking.” He didn’t notice that until you placed your hand on top of his, which was gripping his pen so tightly. “You can continue your masterpiece when you have enough sleep, okay?” you muttered as you kissed his temple. He sighed, melting in his seat. Perhaps he could spare to continue in the morning.

☁️ —

⊹ LA SIGNORA

secret keeping, overthinking

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Her lips landed under your own once she felt the pull of your fingers on her chin. She was seated, feeling your presence loom over her like a sense of warm security that was so reachable in this palace of ice. And yet it left her breathless—she, who was never surprised by anything. She, who was so cautious and careful about who she adored.

“Was there something you needed?” she whispered, feeling small as her breath brushed your lips.

“You were heating up,” you said with such concern, “worryingly so.” Her head slightly tilted back with a widened eye, looking up when the back of your hand gently pressed against her forehead. She could almost smile—you cared so much, and it almost made her hopelessly romantic again. “Are you developing a fever, Signora?”

Her brows furrowed together. No, of course she wasn’t.

“Perhaps I am.”

But she couldn’t tell you that. She couldn’t tell you of the scorching, liquid fire that coarse through her veins. She could not explain the self sacrifice she committed centuries ago, or how she was prepared to die.

“Do you mind walking with me to my room?”

Because why would she tell you, when you would probably become scared of her? You—who was just like everybody else—thought she was perfect and ruthless. But also you, who she could not afford to see the disgusted face of.

For now, you only smiled; And she planned to keep it that way.

#genshin x reader #albedo x reader #ningguang x reader #kaveh x reader #la signora x reader #signora x reader #genshin impact x reader #ga #genshin women x reader #genshin men x reader

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

(Submission) Why do people feel so sorry for JGY and NMJ again? I enjoy both of their characters but it’s so plain that they both made their bed (the coffin) and must lie in it.

---------

Hello there. I think because many prefer to approach works and characters less from an analytical and outward standpoint,and more of a "well this is what I would do if I were in this situation instead". Which then of course leads to where I can sympathize with these men, despite the surrounding context from the story that lessens that sympathy, very much on purpose.

Yes, Jin Guangyao had a very difficult childhood due to the cruelty of classism, yet he still had a mother that loved him and wanted the best for him, and tried within her means. His love of her though did not mean he had to torture older women still living in brothel life and killing them, he did not need to condemn an entire clan to death because they called him the same as Wen Ruohan and use them once again to claim they killed his son out of hate, when it had been his own hand because of his own obsession of appearing saintly kind and untouchable to the masses of gentry he wanted to be part of fully and idolized.

He is not a working class hero that his fans try to say he is. He didn't do a thing to help civilian life within text, that is actually still pointed to be something only the Lans participate in, and Lan Wangji's own students even more so. He wanted to erase everything about his beginnings because he was ashamed and thought lesser of them, he states that he is better than those he came of.

He also manipulated his own friendship with Lan Xichen to start poisoning Nie Mingjue into Qi deviation and on page confirmation of true demonic arts. Whatever prior to his rise to power, is not an excuse for his continued desperate hold for more even after he was on top especially when he very much tried to kill his nephew who he had raised from birth twice on page. And through all of this displays no remorse for these actions other than miming very weak reasons that even a very naive Lan Xichen can see with nothing but terror at this lack of taking claim for one's actions from malice and manipulations.

As for Nie Mingjue, there is another idolatry with the idea of a strict, but kind righteous brother. When he is not even that. His own traditionalism blinds him from the actions of sympathy and he condemns an entire group of people based on hate of people that have already died, while hypocritically he sits in the same room of those that once had it. While he is proud of his own name, he does not allow the surviving Wens even that because of his hate that has no place after the war he won. He is not even kind to his own brother who he doesn't understand and mocks for not wanting to be anything like Nie Mingjue, partially out of yes, love and worry, but also because his own way of life is the only way of life. That is not tolerance and he wouldn't be even if there was some change to the external plot details.

His hate is the reason he is a mindless dumb corpse unlike Song Lan and Wen Ning, who at their core were always kind people that were strong because of their faith in kindness. Nie Mingjue did not believe in kindness but righteous zealotry and when he thought one was not adhering to his form of righteous zealotry, they were unworthy of basic humanity.

He himself has no qualms with calling Jin Guangyao as he is due to being born from a whore as if that's why Jin Guangyao is evil and cruel. He is a hypocrite in his own words as he is offended that Jin Guangyao views himself as better than lesser class individuals, yet is quick to say it's the reason Jin Guangyao is what he is. That is classic classism in verbiage. It also isn't due to the cruelty that Jin Guangyao exhibits that he cares about, it's what he views as a disgrace to any sort of "righteous" tactics that should be employed instead.

Yes, these men are very nuanced and very deeply layered, but nuance does not mean they were well meaning, kind, tolerant in action, especially when the text implies they are like many many politicians that exist in the world, and even get these same long winded metas cooing over them and making up reasons as to why they're men to be admired, loved, and coddled. Ironic really, from a sociological look into the ways of fandom speech and underlying bias from world wide isms that permeate societies.

#submission #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #I hate jin guangyao (｡･ω･｡) #nie mingjue #jin guangyao stans don't try me

[thana-topsy]

Sarel was only a few months old when he was abducted from the Alftand caverns as part of a college-sanctioned research project to study the intelligence, development, and magical ability of the Falmer. His abductor and head of the project, Aiden, was a disgraced mage from the College of Sapiarchs on a mission to prove his worth as a formidable scholar. Aiden operated under the assumption that the Falmer were a "devolved" race and did not possess the ability to communicate or develop past most basic functions. This assumption all came crashing down around him when Sarel developed at the same speed as any elf child -- curious, inquisitive, emotionally expressive, and communicative.

As Sarel grew and developed, Aiden stopped thinking of him as an experiment and began to see him as his son. Being the only child at the College of Winterhold, as well as fully blind, presented many stumbling blocks for Sarel's upbringing, resulting in him having a very sheltered experience. Aiden was also hesitant to reveal to him the full history of the Falmer, and also kept the nature of his adoption hidden from him. Sarel grew up without knowing he was an "experiment".

On his 11th birthday, a stranger showed up at the College of Winterhold asking after him. The stranger was a man named Harukar -- a Redguard vampire hunter with the Dawnguard -- and he'd recently met Gelebor in his quest for Auriel's Bow. Knowing that there was a modern Falmer being raised at the college piqued his curiosity and gave him hope that the Falmer were not an irredeemable, lost race of elves. He wanted to pass this news onto Gelebor, but inadvertently ended up triggering a chain of events that resulted in Sarel being sent away from the college to "be with his own kind".

A distraught Aiden agrees to travel with Harukar to deliver Sarel to Gelebor. [Their story is the plot of "Halfway to the Sky", so I won't be spoiling how it ends here!]

When Sarel turns 16 he returns to the College of Winterhold to complete his "formal" training as a mage. His story after that is tentative and ever-shifting, but he goes on to be a formidable scholar in the field of ancient Dwemer research as well as modern Falmer anthropology, acting as a translator and ambassador. Eventually, much later in his life, he assumes the role of Arch-Mage at the College of Winterhold, promoting cultural exchange and study between the College and the Alftand settlements.

#Sarel the Falmer #topsy’s OCs #Falmer #skyrim oc #skyrim fanart #skyrim fanfic #skyrim #elder scrolls #topsy draws

[seleneprince]

If Severus had been a girl, her story would have been mostly the same as canon, except that the Marauders maybe wouldn't have been so harsh with their bullying because "she wasn't a threat to James' crush on Lily" and "she's just a girl, girls are fragile". However, she would have still been in love with her and James knew that, so he still despised her, thinking she was holding Lily back from him.

Now unto my personal headcanons (because they fit and they make me happy):

- Fem! Severus wouldn't have shared a room with Mulciber and Avery, so she would have befriended her female roommates instead. I believe the fanaticism for the Death Eaters cult was more prominent in boys than girls, because society expected them to stay at home and raise more purebloods than participate in battles. However, she would've still hung out with them because they shared the same interest for Dark Arts.

-Her roommates would be Dorcas Meadow, Pandora Rosier (Evan Rosier's cousin) and Theresa Flint (the last one is an oc of mine)

- She would be a tomboy for the first few years, having her hair cut short and wear the male uniform instead of the female one. Partly because she's used to wearing boy clothes and partly to avoid embarrassing pranks from the Marauders. Due to this, she's often mistaken for a boy and fits in better with her male classmates.

- She knows wizards are more respected that witches, so she strives to imitate a masculine appearance to earn that (at first). It's not a case of "I'm not like other girls". She wants to survive.

- She's been infatuated with Lily since they met, but this crush wears off as Snape sees Lily's selfishness and hypocrisy. By the time their friendship is over, Snape is already disillusioned with her but still tries to hold into their old bond out of emotional attachment rather than love.

- She faced her own prejudice and hardships in Slytherin for being a poor half-blood, with a disgraced pureblood mother. She only earned her place when she showed off her talent and bested a few of her housemates. Basically, she had to win fights, physical and magical, against her own housemates until they deemed she deserved to be in Slytherin.

-In canon, Lucius took Snape under his wing and treated him like a brother in Hogwarts. In this, it's Narcissa who sees the potential in Snape and practically adopts her, and Lucius follows her example. Thanks to the older girl, Snape experiences nice clothes and good school tools for the first time. Narcissa is quite her sugar mommyl, but Snape is also her pet project.

- She's a bit of "one of the boys", although they're not really friends until fourth year. The boys were Mulciber, Avery, Wilkes and Rosier. They accepted her because they didn't really consider her a girl and they begrudgingly respected her skills. It was a mutual understanding that they used each other for their own benefits, Snape helping them with her intellect and spells while they helped her into getting assimilated with the other Slytherins. As they grew and got to know Snape beyond her blood status, they became protective of her and started to cherish her truly as a friend (althought Rosier took it to another level)

-Which brings us to my next headcanon. In my au, Rosier and Snape had a nice connection on first year when they sat together during History of Magic. He's one of the few that was welcoming of Snape since the start and always treated her like an equal. She's very fond of him because of it, and they grow to be very close friends.

-Regulus still looked up to her when they were students. He didn't trust her at first, because of her blood status and all, but seeing she had Narcissa's favour, he decided to look past it. And after witnessing her talent, he decided he wanted to learn more about her, so he began to follow her around to know her better. Snape was annoyed initially, but she eventually appreciated his company.

-She showed some genuine kindness to Barty Crouch Jr on his first year at Hogwarts, and the boy latched unto her like an eager puppy since then. That's how he befriended Regulus, with both of them following her around so often.

-They were both her little brothers, her precious babies, who couldn't do nothing wrong even if they tried. She was patient and permissive with them in a way she definitely wasn't with her other friends.

-She's the brain of the group, so she's usually saving their asses from the consequences of their actions (Mulciber, Avery and Wilkers) and helping them with their schemes (Dorcas, Rosier and Narcissa).

-In her desire to remain in Lily's life and have the girl's love, Snape repressed herself and kept her Slytherin friends at arms' length, which caused many arguments. When she and Lily had that fallout, Snape fully embraced her identity and, in return, her housemates embraced her too, as if they had been waiting for her.

-She was a natural Occlumens, unconsciously developing her ability while she learnt to mask her feelings and thoughts, product of the abuse and harassment she went throught.

-Her boggart used to be her father, Tobias Snape, but after "the prank", it became a werewolf instead.

-After what happened in the Shrieking Sack, she inmersed herself in researchs about lycanthropy and possible cures in order to forget her fear.

-When she experimented with potions, she tried them first on small animals, mostly rats and birds. Then bigger animals, like owls and cats. And lately, in the final phase of testing, she tried them on herself. Only her friends knew about this practise, since Snape made them promise to not tell a soul, since she didn't trust the Hogwarts staff to be understanding about it.

-When something goes wrong on the final test, she heals in the privacy of her bed while her friends take care of her, lying to the teachers that she's sick. They dread this practise of hers, since they can't stand seeing her in pain, but also had mad respect for her because of it.

-She was a control freak, obsessively cleaning and arranging her stuff with systems only she understands. She always knew when someone touched her things, just by seeing them moved the slighest bit to the different position she left them. Her housemates knew better than disrupt her order.

-Her talent with potions surpassed even Slughorn himself, but he preferred to praise Lily because her looks and attitude fit more in his club. He came to regret that decision years later, but Snape knows how to keep grudges.

-She considered Mulciber, Avery, Dorcas, Pandora, Rosier, Regulus and Barty her closest friends within Slytherin. The rest were just acquaintances. She was also close to Aurora Sinistra, from Ravenclaw, and Charity Burbage, from Hufflepuff.

-She and Charity danced around the lines separating friendship from romance for a while, but Snape wasn't ready for that step and Charity moved on. They remained good friends.

-She was a raging bisexual, because obviously.

-She didn't support the Death Eaters' beliefs, but she really looked up to the figure of Lord Voldemort. A poor half-blood like her, who paved his way to the top of the hierarchy with his charms, wit and power, making all the pureblood families submit to him. He was everything she aspired to be, everything she wanted to have. However, she soon realized her vision didn't exactly match reality...

And that's all. I have more but I wrote too much already. I'm on a hyperfixation, so I'll definitely write more about her in the future.

Feel free to tell me your own ideas or headcanons. I'll love to discuss them.

Tagging @love-the-purple-cat because she's also a fem! Snape stan. She has an amazing au, so go and check her!

#pro snape #female severus snape #fem severus snape #severus snape headcanons #hp headcanons #snape gang #slytherin pride #fem snape #slytherin headcanons #lily evans #severus snape #james potter #bruce mulciber #edmund avery jr #regulus black #the marauders #marauders era #barty crouch jr #dorcas meadowes #pandora rosier #evan rosier #lucius malfoy #narcissa black #marauders era headcanons

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Hehe seeing a lot of NSFW asks, if you're feeling like writing more maybe now the NSFW alphabet for Joshua?

Joshua NSFW Alphabet

➼ Word Count » 1.2k ➼ Warnings » MDNI ➼ Genre » NSFW, Romantic ➼ A/N » Always in the mood for a good alphabet

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's so kind. He'll scoop you into his arms and carry you down to one of Zion's rivers to wash you. It's peaceful, private, and just fast enough to feel good against your skin. Not to mention how cool the water feels, which is always a bonus when you live in a desert.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joshua loves your face. He loves the adoring way you stare up at him or the way your features shift depending on how you feel. He could stare at you for hours. You're the most divine thing he's ever laid his eyes on. He personally doesn't have a favorite part about himself. He considers all of him to be stained with sin, so it'd be disgraceful for him to be drawn to any of it.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He would never dare to cum inside of you. Someone as sinful as him shouldn't be allowed something so sweet. You deserve someone younger - someone who you actually deserve to have children with, or at the very least, cum inside of you. Instead, he just releases himself on the floor.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes the thought of covering your mouth with bandages to keep you quiet. He won't ever mention it. He thinks it may be too degrading for someone like you, but he does think about it a lot.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He hates talking about his past experiences, especially around you. Mostly because he finds it rude and unnecessary, but he has definitely slept with a handful of women before you.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary (haha 'cause he's literally a missionary). It's pretty basic, but he thinks it's the best position to be in when it comes to appreciating his partner. He likes being able to look at your face and trace his fingers over almost any part of your body he wants, but most importantly, it's the most comfortable for him. His burns sadly don't allow much room for experimenting, so missionary is what he sticks with.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't like being humorous when participating in something so sacred. As a follower of Christ, he takes the deed very seriously and would be ashamed if he ever took you or the act for granted.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He can't grow hair anymore due to the severity of his burns, so well groomed?

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I've said before, Joshua takes sex very seriously and would do anything in his power to make you feel that. He'll take you by the hand and gently guide you to an isolated part of Zion, where he'll set up a small camp, cook for you, kiss you, and take you to bed. The romantic parts are one of the most important factors to him, and he never fails to make it a priority.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate. It can be painful at times and he's too old to be feeling horny all the time.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's generally more vanilla in his kinks, but every now and then, he likes to do some light bondage.

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

In a nice, secluded spot in Zion will do. Usually, in a cave of some sort, but as long as it's private, he'll be happy.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's motivated by you're happiness and pleasure. It might sound cliche, but the only reason he's still fucking is because he likes being able to make you feel good. Even if it hurts him, he feels that it's his duty to honor and worship you in such a way.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He refuses to degrade, harm, or humiliate you in any way. He can't ever imagine anyone doing that to the person they love, and he certainly couldn't imagine doing that to you.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give, one because he doesn't feel he deserves something so sweet from you and second because he can't help but cringe at the feeling of teeth against his burn scars.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers to go at a slower pace, one because he doesn't want to hurt you, accident or not, and second, he likes to take his time with you.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The simple answer is no. Joshua doesn't like rushing it with you, especially since neither of you really has to, and would much prefer to take you out on a walk somewhere in Zion before properly pursuing you in that manner. He personally believes that these things were meant to take time, so it's safe to say quickies are off the table.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No, never. Hurting you or risking your well-being in any way is the last thing he ever wants to do.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually, he stops after the first round. He takes his time with it anyway, so it's not like it's disappointing at all. He's just old and struggles to stay horny long enough to please you.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he knows what a toy is, but even if he did, I don't see him using them much at all.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He hardly ever teases you. His number one priority when being intimate with you is to give you whatever you desire. He couldn't ever imagine depriving you of anything or subjecting you to any kind of humiliation.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joshua doesn't make much sound, but you'll occasionally hear him grunting above you. It's still pretty quiet, though.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to pray with you before and after sex. He thinks it's customary to thank God for granting you both the ability to feel and the chance to find one another.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a good 6 inches, bald, and covered in injuries. It's not pretty to look at, but that doesn't mean it can't make you feel good.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's not very high at all. He's old, and it generally hurts to do. 'Getting it up' is more of a holiday than an everyday occurrence.

Z -Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't like falling asleep afterward, instead, he prefers to hold you and caress gentle symbols into your skin. The Lord gave both of you moments like these to cherish, not to ignore.

#fallout new vegas #fallout #fnv #fallout nsft #nsft alphabet #nsft headcanons #joshua graham x reader #joshua graham x courier six #joshua graham x courier 6 #joshua graham fnv #joshua graham headcanons #fnv nsft #nsft fnv #nsft fnv headcanons

[madame-fear]

Aemonds twin sister being absolutely in love with Jacaerys and Lucerys. Fawning all over them when they come back to Kings Landing

Ever since you were children, and being Aemond's twin sister, you always quite fancied Rhaenyra's two eldest boys: Jacaerys, and Lucerys Velaryon. The way you stupidly swooned for the two boys whenever they were training or near you was too notorious, though Aemond at that moment couldn't care less whom you crushed on — initially.

After the eye incident, as much as you loved your twin brother, part of you understood the reason why both boys defended themselves against your brother in that way, even though you comforted and stood by your brother's side the entire time. Unfortunately, after that incident, you had to part ways and they moved to Dragonstone.

Years later, when both boys returned to King's Landing with their family, you realised your crush on them had never quite gone. In fact, it had only intensified since you last saw them. Their facial features changed, they were fully grown Princes, ans of course, their charm remained in there with them. You were wholeheartedly swooning for them when they returned to King's Landing and you didn't even bother a second in hiding it. Aemond wasn't as pleased as you to see them, especially because you're fangirling for both bastards.

You didn't doubt either on approaching them, showing kindness, talking to them, and basically trying to give them a warm welcome. Unlike your brothers, you were genuinely sweet and soft more like your older sister Helaena, to which they greatly appreciated you and were delighted to see how much you had grown and matured.

I can definitely see Aemond just silently seething whenever you approach the Velaryon boys and swoon over them whenever they have a gentlemanly action with you kskdledkd and when any of them stare at you for more than 2 seconds? He'll just be sending them death glares. Or even when they just take hold of your hand and politely kiss it while you're absolutely heart eyes for him. His hate for both boys would increase 🗡🗡🗡

Your twin brother would shamelessly make sarcastic remarks about how notoriously in love you are for them, and you literally couldn't care less. In fact, you like teasing him by flirting or even discreetly touch one of the Velaryon boys in front of Aemond.

He won't be happy at all, but he'll keep his disgrace quietly to himself only because he loves his little twin sister and prefers to see you happily in love.

♡ taglist : ♡

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @tickle-euphoria @beeebo234 @manuholland6 @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @dopepersonacloudllama @phantasyy @chompchompluke @tasty-nutella @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks

#jacaerys velaryon x reader x lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader x lucerys #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader #jacaerys strong x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys targaryen x reader #lucerys velaryon x targaryen!reader #lucerys strong x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon imagines #hotd imagine #house of the dragon x reader

[bobbin-buckley]

In The End, You Were My First Love ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 1

He’s Back

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of Ghostface/murder, Amber being an ass, mentions of Abuse/Neglect, slight Homophobia

A/n: Not spelled checked 🙃

•———————————•

“He’s Back”

Flipping through the daily news

Even if it was a new era, you could basically get the news on tv more or on phones, but you, yes you, didn’t have a phone only a house phone.

You lived in a trailer in Woodsboro, were the classic murders of the famous Ghostface lived.

Boy were you glad you weren’t involved, but that might just take a turn.

Sitting on your singular chair in your living room, looking at the papers in your hands as it talked about another Ghostface attack has just happened last night.

The person you was attacked happened to be a friend. Not just any friend, your crush.

Tara Carpenter.

God damn she was gorgeous, her dark brunette hair that almost looked black, tan skin that looked so soft, and those eyes…you loved her eyes. You loved pretty much everything about her. You guys were that close, but Tara always seemed to talk to you a lot but it was cut short when her asshole best friend Amber Freeman appears.

She was your enemy, Amber hated you. You weren’t sure why, all you did was call her a skunk behind her back but- she hates you, and calls you names whenever Tara isn’t around. Maybe Amber likes Tara, or she’s jealous of the fact Tara talks to you more.

You had zero clue, Amber was hard to understand

But looking at the news made you try not to bark out a cry, Tara was the first victim. Your Tara

You sure damn felt bad, you wanted to go check on her make sure she was alright. But your gut was telling you not to, worried her friends will shoo you away.

It was Tara, Mindy, Chad, Liv, Wes and Amber. That was the friend group you always noticed sitting on the benches outside of Woodsboro High. You don’t have any friends other than Tara, you never stood out and people always thought you were weird.

Tara saw you as the good kind of weird, but everyone else thought the bad weird.

Was is because you had abusive parents don’t have parents anymore?

The question made your stomach turn

Your parents left you when you were 15, leaving you without much money, no car, and not a good house. You were barely surviving, surprised you could even still be in school. You aren’t sure where your parents went, they never told you where they’d move, they just blocked you out and disappeared.

It didn’t upset you too much, you knew it was going to happen eventually. You came out to them, they called you a disgrace and a burden. All because you couldn’t help who you like.

What a shame, you tell yourself

Keeping things positive wasn’t easy. Every time you’d try the positive, it’ll become negative the next minute. It always does.

The only person who kept you mainly sane was Tara and your neighbor.

The neighbor was Dewey Riley, yep, the Ex-Deputy and Husband.

He was a good man, he was involved in the very beginning of the Ghostface attacks. You never harped on him about it, and he liked that. Anyone who’d recognized him would jump to conclusions about his past, making him sad. Which you were a little upset about, and you felt the same way. Amber would tease you about your parents abandonment.

Ugh…you hated the raven haired

•—————————•

WoodsBoro High

It was lunch break. You were now sitting alone outside on a brick wall. Headphones on as you sketched anything around you in your notebook, even though you were supposed to be doing homework

Feeling as if someone was staring at the back of your head, you turned and made eye contact with Amber

Well shit

Let’s just hope to the gods she doesn’t approach, you were actually having a good day she hadn’t bothered you once!

You swiftly turned your head away, still feeling her drill her eyes in the back of your head.

“Why do you hate Y/n so much Amber?” Liv asked.

“That’s none of your business.” Amber turned her gaze from you to the pink haired.

“We’ll okay jeez..” Chad wrapped an arm around Liv’s waist, making Liv feel better. She smiled at him.

“Yeah, Liv’s right.” Wess spoke, looking up from his lap, “what’s your beef with Y/n? She seems nice.”

Amber scoffed, “that thing? Nice? She always gives me these weird looks and she doesn’t talk to anyone.” “So?” “So! For fucks sake she could be Ghostface! She’s been talking to Tara and look where Tara is now!”

“Amber!” Mindy yelled. “What!?” “You can’t just go off accusing people! And Y/n is not a thing!”

“Well…I mean- Amber has a point,-” Liv hits the back of Chad’s head. “Ow! That was mean!”

“Well how do you know for sure Am? She hasn’t done anything to you has she?”

“That little shit has a freaky obsession with horror movies! And you think she’s not Ghostface?” Amber points at you, “that weirdo more than likely loves Stab!”

“But I’m obsessed with horror films, and love Stab. What if I’m ghostface?” Mindy points out. Amber rolls her eyes

“Whatever guys, it doesn’t matter because we’re all suspects. Including you Amber.” States Wess.

“Psh- well don’t come crying to me when one of you gets murdered by weirdo.”

Everyone groaned

-

You knew they were talking about you. You were well aware of their presence.

Though you weren’t sure if Amber’s friends even liked you. It seemed as if Wess and Liv were defending you, maybe Mindy but did that mean they liked you?

Who knows…all you knew is that there were some likes and dislikes. Chad seemed to be for both, he wasn’t defending you of not being Ghostface, and to your surprise Mindy was. I guess just because your a twin doesn’t mean you think the same.

•—————————-•

It was the afternoon, you rode your bike to Dewey’s for your every night hangout. But this time it was different.

When you arrived you noticed his car wasn’t the only one sitting outside. Someone else was here.

Dewey’s front door swung open revealing two young adults. Quickly you hid behind Dewey’s truck, tossing your bike down.

Both of the man and woman got into a car and drove off, leaving you confused. Getting out from behind Dewey’s truck you see his front door open and he walks out, he stops when he notices you.

“Y/n what are you doing here?” He asks, you just step closer to him. “Dewey, who were they?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just…stay here kid, I’ve got something to do.” He said sternly.

Dewey walked past you and opened his truck door, you turned around and got into the passenger seat. “Wh-what? No kid, stay here.”

“No, I’m going with you.”

“Y/n-”

“No. I’m going whether you like it or not.”

Dewey just nods, starting the truck and driving off to wherever your adventure may lead…..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: this is short chapter but I needed to finish it 😭

Sorry for the long wait but here it is ✨

#tara carpenter #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x female reader #scream 5 #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wlw

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Do you think Chase would go after any future ninjas?

Like, obviously, he wouldn't go after someone like Mac Antfee, but would he go after the ones with more potential? Like Randy, for example, especially since he summoned that giant earth worm that one time while he wasn't wearing the mask makes me think he has some form of magical potential.

Or maybe First managed to struck a deal with him to prevent him from pursuing any future ninjas? That's also an option that came to mind.

But what do you think?

Oh dude I have so many thoughts about it! I think I mentioned something about it in the first post, but I believe that after First, Chase would probably keep an eye on the Norisu Ninja succession line. But, the details would depend on the AUs.

For example, a basically canon AU where First wins a VS event and does not join Chase's Fallen Warriors harem. There could be two variations: in their fight conditions First could state that Chase never bothered anyone from Norrisville/Norisu line if First won (but that's too boring xD) or the 'unbother' conditions could have been only extended to First and not his successors.

So in this case, Chase would retreat back to his Fortress, and after First ascends into Ninjanomicon, over the years he would make surprise visits to Norrisville whenever someone worthy of his attention appears.

Would he actively try to recruit the future ninjas? I mean it would depend, but I think if one particulary powerful caught his eye, he might make an attempt to get them as a Fallen Warrior, (also as a way to grate on First's nerves). However IMO, those attempts wouldn't happen too often, only because the more powerful the Ninja is the more chances are:

they are either of particular strong will (like First) and can resist the Corruption during their tenure as Ninja and successfully give up their mask/memories/power when needed - and in turn resist Chase's offers/manipulations.

OR they are not that strong of will and will fall into Dark side and thus loose the Mask and most of their power. In that case, Chase still can try to get them into Jungle Cats army OR he can take them on as a minion! I mean, imagine a disgraced Ninja with memories but no Mask/Suit power, being suddenly offered another power by an evil warlord with a beef with your ex-boss??

So I actually think Mac Antfee would be an interesting specimen for Chase! I mean, it seems to not happen often, a disgraced Ninja while not overly powerful, but decent enough, that escaped The Ultimate Lesson, since Antfee was like the only one in recent decades. And while of no particular overwhelming skill or honor, Antfee certainly had ambitions and Chase could use that. And more importantly Antfee would decide himself to join evil, which is an big thing for Chase.

Besides, imagine Chase taunting First about how he picked up the dishonored Ninja he discarded and turned him to Dark Side? Like Oof, talk about divorced exs arguing about whose side the kids take, lol.

Randy, on the other hand is certainly no minion material, but firmly potential Fallen Warrior/Jungle Cat candidate. We all know that he is freaking powerful and took to Ninja powers/suit like duck to a water which says a lot about his pre-existing natural abilities. But Randy also falls into category of 'Strong Willed' powerful Ninjas that are not easily swayed by corruption/evil.

But I guess one can argue that he is constantly swayed by selfish needs, thanks to Howard's influence HAH, but he is also always quick to fix those mistakes, so it kind of cancels each other out? Though, one could also say Randy is vulnerable to manipulation, of which Chase is a master of, so like?? If Chase does decide he wants to get Randy as his Fallen Warrior, which is highly likely especially after RC9GN finale, ooooooo it could be an incredible temptation to get the one who could be equal to/if not greater as First.

So yeah, in basically canon AU I think it's highly likely Chase will make visits to Norrisville, to scoop out potential so to speak, with various results.

Now, there is another variation, I call Favorite Warrior AU, which is basically different outcome for VS event, where First lost, but in case of his loss he made a deal that since Chase is getting him - he would leave anyone associated with Norisu Ninja in the future alone. And Chase, as honorable as he is, would certainly accept those conditions, because well, he is getting what he wants after all. BUT he also predicts/creates a loophole to that deal (because he can be sneaky like that! >;3).

And the loophole is - while Chase himself promised not to actively pursue any future Ninjas, he promised nothing about actively avoiding them if they pursue him. And why would they pursue him, you would ask? Well, because of the First himself!

I mean imagine, in the Ninjanomicon there is a record about what happened to First (like, he still shared/recorded his memories in the book and joined Chase after, because he is honor bound to do so, and its all written down) and a warning for future Ninjas to never get into anything associated with Chase Young, the immortal warlock warlord, prince of Darkness and etc. because they would end up in his servitude, like First. It's a cautionary tale, a warning, a record of what happened to their Norrisville founder.

What do you think dumb Ninja teenagers would do??? They would try to figure out more of course! Granted not all of them, but perhaps a great number would try to seek out Chase for very different reasons.

Like, I would imagine the more honorable, goody-two-shoes would attempt to rescue First from this servitude. The success of their attempts would vary, but most of them Chase will send off back with their tails tucked, failed in their noble if dumb pursuit. Some, who are stronger, would be perhaps played with, in an attempt to make them join Chase too. (First would be very frustrated, if a little proud, to see those idiots try to save him, because he made a deal for them to be safe and here they are throwing themselves into the lion's den.)

Then there are those who would seek out Chase with less honorable intentions. Those who fell to corruption and are tempted by Dark Side, but lost the Mask, title and most importantly all that power. They would seek Chase in hopes of pledging their loyalty in return for power they so crave. And well. While Chase is certainly not going to say no to more people/ex-ninjas turning to evil, he would be more picky about accepting those kind of ex-ninjas into his Fallen Warriors army. (First would be most saddened to see those who fell into corruption though. I think he would feel guilty and like if he hadn't lost, they wouldn't have known to try and seek Chase and thus fall further into evil.)

Mac Antfee would belong to a second category (after escaping Ultimate Lesson, he would try to get more power from the one who captured the most powerful Ninja ever, because logic) and Randy will belong to the first category (that baby idiot will read that Ninja Prime was turned into a cat warrior by an evil warlord, and will be like 'Oh shoot I know what we gonna do today Nomicon, Howard! We are gonna save First Ninja!' and probably fucking succeed, lol.)

So yeah, in this AU Chase basically agrees to leave Norrisville alone, because it would become an effort-free warrior making machine for him, lol.

Anyway, sorry for the long post, hope my answer was entertaining at least! ;D

#que? #ninja showdown #my mind is so scrambled it was such an effort to write all of this down lol xD

[animentality]

Maybe a hot take, but I think Durge is the real protagonist of BG3. Like... I'm sorry, everyone love their Tavs, but from a narrative point of view, it doesn't have fucking sense. It's just another guy (gender neutral) in a The Choosen One situation. I've read this story before, hundreds of times. But Durge's recepción (or disgrace)... now that has juice! That makes sense on a narrative level. You started it, you end it, one way or another.

Anyway, I'm never (with my +500 hours) going to play a Tav run. Ever. Origins only, mostly Durge. Durge and Durgetash are waaaaay better, sorry not sorry.

You are spitting nothing but facts, anon.

You wanna know what the HONEST to GOD fundamental problem is with the writing of Baldur's Gate 3?

It's that it spreads itself so thin, desperately attempting to write an open sandbox sort of world in which ANY kind of character can fit in...that it ends up being this hollow nothing.

IMAGINE if the Dark Urge WAS the default protagonist. It WOULD'VE BEEN an amazing story, if it had been given the focus it deserved, instead of just blankly repeating the SAME dialogue you'd get as a Tav and as an origin.

The idea of a former villain turned amnesiac, and going on an adventure, learning about themselves from the perspective of an outsider and seeing firsthand the horror they've wrought? It's like a fucking Zuko arc, except finding out you were the Big Bad all along could've been written even better than that...

We could've had that blank, nothing slate that Tavs start out as...and then find out, that it has thematic significance, because WE CHOOSE who we become, after a childhood/adulthood of being unable to make our own choices, and being forced into the role of the villain before the game even starts.

It's a MUCH BETTER WAY to give people a blank slate to work with, for the fun of roleplaying, but ALSO asserting a particular theme. Which is, the gravity of your choices, big and small. To do good or to embrace evil.

YOU KNOW. How Baldur's Gate 1 and 2 did being a Bhaalspawn.

IT'S ALSO A REALLY GREAT WAY to DO an RPG because yes, you slightly infringe upon the freedom of the customizable characters a person can make, but in exchange, you actually tell a fucking story where choices are the main theme.

INSTEAD. Because they were so dedicated to Tavs and the variety of ways you could play as a Tav...they completely undersell and underutilize what could've been a really amazing character.

You can literally choose to DIE for your friends in the end...and then what?

Withers brings you back in five seconds, no one has any real reaction to you doing that, except saying good job buddy :)

And then you're basically a Tav.

And ALSO. I want to say this, because it's been bothering me.

The Dark Urge has Tav syndrome too.

They have TWO notes in the entire game that we have to read into to try and glean a greater depth to their character other than murder hobo.

And that's it. They're a blank slate too.

If the Dark Urge was the protagonist, we might've been able to look into who they were before, outside of just laughably evil flesh eating monster.

They might've had real fucking depth, instead of just tidbits.

I and my fellow Dark Urge/ Durgetash enjoyers have to do the fucking work for them and write in stuff that isn't actually there. The Dark Urge as a protagonist could've been really meaningful. We could've seen inklings that they had misgivings about being Bhaal's Chosen. We could've seen scars of resistance, where they tried to defy Bhaal, but were punished with death, disintegration by the loving hands of your own father and flesh. We could've had betrayal, redemption, loyalty to one's blood family vs one's found family.

But we don't get that, because it's taking too much time away from Tavs.

Sometimes I really wish the Dark Urge wasn't even an option. They gave me this thing, and I thought wow this is the only way to play the game...and then I look and see, ah. But the potential for greatness could drive me absolutely insane.

And it has.

Durgetash is the product of my frustration with the game's characterization of the Dark Urge.

And I know I'm pissing off the salty BG3 fans who love their Tavs and all, and think the Dark Urge is lame, and god FORBID a protagonist have a character, can't have that in an RPG, but I can't find it in myself to care.

I'm built different than the rest of y'all. I don't just feed on content, I analyze its nutrients. I calculate how good for me it actually is.

And BG3 has wonderful mechanics.

But the story has so many problems, from beginning to rotten end.

And it is what it is. I still enjoyed myself playing it.

But the story isn't good for anything except allowing you to create a far more compelling story on your own, in fanfic or in original work inspired by it.

And I guess if that's all they wanted, then fine.

But goddamnit, I'm gonna complain anyway! Divinity 2 did it fucking better.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge