#disturbing his ancestors

[itsphantasmagoria]

Draco’s hair is a hot mess when he’s sleep deprived

(Art from ch3 of Follies!)

#hes just a pretty man #yelling at a howler meant for Pansy #disturbing his ancestors #draco malfoy art #draco malfoy #drarry #drarry fanart #drarry art #drarry fic #itsphantasmagoria #mallstars

[astrarche-x]

thinking about how we never have an actual flashback from the Ouyang clan execution and how that adds to the unreliability of Ouyang's narrative about his life and death. [sorry, long rant incoming bc i have feels]

Especially in regards to the scene when Ouyang is tasked with execution of Zhang Jr.: he thinks that he willingly chose to avenge his father and to bear the suffering of his fate when he was 10. But did he?

''He was giving him a chance for his death to have meaning. He should be grateful", he thinks in regard to Zhang Jr. So did he himself just stay alive for his death to have meaning? Or - what I suspect - did he just invent all this a posteriori to justify his will to live?

Apart from the fact that the scene with Ouyang killing Zhang Jr. is one of the most memorable in HWDTW for me for the layers that it has, it highlights one of the most fascinating facets of Ouyang: his will to live vs. his deathwish.

Obviously as his whole arc is about falling downhill, we as readers don't see much of the former, while the latter is in abundance especially in HWDTW. But nevertheless this tension is very much there.

As I said, we don't see - even through Ouyang's eyes - what went down that fateful day of the massacre; did he really beg for his life to avenge his family or just for the sake of it. But personally - I'm betting for the latter. Like, come on, he was 10 AND - more importantly - he DIDN'T know that Chaghan would have him castrated as he begged for mercy. He had no idea what the consequences would be. He might have thought about revenge; it's evident that even at 10 yo, the masculine ideals were already drilled into him. But he DIDN'T choose that with full awareness; it's something he told himself over the years to justify his will to live.

And I think this is the deepest root of his shame: that he so desperately wanted to live he could do anything. Him being an eunuch was shameful too, but not so much as the fact that he PREFERS it to being dead. This is what Chaghan calls him out on and this is why the scolding is such a turning point (something I didn't catch at first): Ouyang realizes that if he wants to live free of shame and justify his existence, he must have his revenge. But to do that - ironically - he must destroy himself.

The excuse he came up with over the years to make up for his will to live is that he is a tool of revenge; he is allowed to exist as long as he is this tool. Where the tragedy lies is that he never allowed himself to imagine that he could exist after his revenge is complete. Which is, I think, part of the reason why it took him so long to start plotting it: he wanted to live. He wanted to be with Esen. (The passage "He felt a surge of hatred towards the monk. [...] Without him, how much longer might Ouyang have had with Esen?" is one of the most heartbreaking in SWBTS imo). And I think that deep down he didn't even think his revenge was actually doable.

"[...] the monk had triggered the start of his journey towards his purpose. He couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful. It felt like a violation. A theft of something he hadn’t been ready to give up. Not innocence, exactly, but the limbo in which he could still fool himself that other futures were possible."

I think that these ''other futures'' were futures in which the opportunity for revenge never came; not so much as in ''his enemies were dead by other means'', but as in "Ouyang kept waiting but he just didn't get to meet the Khan" etc. And I think that in his mind, it would have been the best possible option - he could keep on living, waiting for the opportunity that somehow never came, but hey, his excuse of being a tool for revenge was still valid, right?? nobody could tell him that he didn't want it or forgot! he just didn't have the opportunity! oh, such bad luck, sorry not sorry. (And one day he would have died on the battlefield, possibly in Esen's arms, and it would be the best life he could have imagined).

But Zhu gives him the opportunity and he feels he must act on it, which means that his excuse for existing will soon be no longer valid, and it makes him so angry. I still don't get why he couldn't imagine a life after revenge; possibly because despite everything he LIKED this life - or, at least, liked it more than the alternative. Revenge meant destroying everything he enjoyed: his life as a general of the Yuan, and - more importantly - Esen. He probably didn't imagine a life for himself after revenge not only because he thought himself a tool to be discarded, but also because he didn't see in there anything worth living for. And this is when his deathwish comes in. It practically appears as soon as Esen is dead; and the rest is history, with Ouyang's ''I have to live because I must have my revenge and I sacrificed too much for it to walk away now!". But still, it strikes me how at the beginning of SWBTS he's clinging to life as he knows it despite it not being ideal, and how in HWDTW he is awaiting death eagerly.

And - circling back to Zhang Jr. - this is why Ouyang kills the boy: for Zhu it might have been tying up loose ends, but Ouyang at this point sees that staying alive wasn't worth it. He does what is better for the boy in his opinion; he even lets him die with honour, something he himself wants. He wishes he had chosen death all these years ago.

#i mean. i can't wrap my head around the fact that Ouyang wants to live but he feels he lives on borrowed time #this was supposed to be about the execution of Zhang Jr. but i lost control #this scene still makes me feral though #the implication that if Ouyang could go back in time he wouldn't have shown mercy to himself at 10??? #the implication that he understands Chaghan at this moment??? that he identifies with his oppressor?? #and the chilling implications of ''he stared at [the forearm slash] fascinated. it seemed to have had nothing to do with the boy'' #(in a book full of Ouyang's self harm this moment was def the most disturbing for me) #also the cruel irony that HE SHARED THE WILL TO LIVE WITH HIS FATHER!! #THIS WAS WHAT MADE HIM HIS FATHER'S SON!! HE INHERITED THE SAME WILLINGNESS TO LIVE DESPITE SHAME!! #the fact that he thought himself so different from other male ancestors when in fact they were so much alike!! #anyway. bye #also food for thought: if Ouyang stayed by Zhu's side - lived past his revenge and never found out about his father - #would he be able to keep on living with the fact that he killed Esen? would he be able to have even a shred of happiness? #the radiant emperor #he who drowned the world #he who drowned the world spoilers #general ouyang

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

hi besties Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow was SO fucked up

#snw #st: snw #snw spoilers #im just. #starfleet really said 'hi la'an u get to watch someone u care about die and visit ur mass murderer ancestor from the past' #and also ur not allowed any therapy ever to deal with that shit <3 #sorry byeeee #i was a little meh about her in the beginning #but if this is the kind of stuff she gets put through on a regular basis NO WONDER she's like this #she deserves Better #and that phone call at the end. #like she knows and the audience knows her and kirk are Never going to be a thing #and it's so so so fucked #her friend/whatever he was #is effectively dead #but there's this person walking around wearing his face and his mannerisms #and its FUCKED GUYS ITS SO SO BAD #this is worse than the child murder episode hot take #actually i think i was really disturbed after that one too #i liked this one tho #i would watch it again even tho it would make me sad #would not watch child murder again. don't even really remember what it was about except that it made me very sad #snw rlly loves tonal whiplash #i hope the next one is a comedy #so glad i put off watching this one until that one had also come out #i hope she gets to talk to pelia at least #TECHNICALLY she's from all the times so #not from this time and also she was there and met James! #la'an babygirl i hope they start treating u better #no one has gone through More than Her

[tomriddleslovergirl]

House of the Dragon characters x Sick!Reader

Alicent makes sure you have everything that you need & that you're comfortable.

She'll tuck you into bed when it's time for you to sleep, fluff out your pillows, and feeds you herself.

She prays every night & makes her children pray before every meal to wish you a quick recovery.

Alicent would rather no one visits you while your sick - especially Rhaenyra - because she doesn't want anyone to disturb you or for the sickness to spread.

Helaena likes to sit next to your bed and embroider, comfortable listening to your breathing while you rest.

She'll embroider a bug that reminds her of you in hopes to make you feel better.

When she can't visit you, she'll leave one of her bug friends to keep you company :)

Aegon can't stay away from you even when your sick.

He doesn't care if he also catches your fever.

He'll sleep on the same bed as you & try to cuddle with you, even when you tell him not to, worried that he'll also get sick.

Alicent has kicked him out of your chambers multiple times, scolding him not to bother you.

Aemond likes to read to you. Preferably stories about the Targaryen Ancestors.

He'd sit next to your bed while you sleep, so he can make sure nothing will happen to you during the night. One of the candles will be left lit so he can read one of his history books.

If you refuse to take your medicine the maester had given you, Aemond bribes you with rides on Vhagar.

Rhaenyra & Daemon usually visit you together.

Daemon will sit in a chair close to your bed, while Rhaenyra sits on the bed.

Rhaenyra will tell tell you about the gossip she's heard in court while Daemon brushes your hair off of your sweaty forehead - he keeps it there almost the whole visit.

They'd both get really stressed if you weren't getting better - but worse.

Especially Daemon after what's happened with his brother.

Daemon will threaten the maester. If the maester can't help you get better, he'll find someone who will.

Rhaenyra is more patient and will try calm Daemon down.

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #alicent hightower x reader #daemyra x reader #x reader #house of the dragon

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Route to Eutopia - New WIP IF

DEMO(28K) I CHARACTER DOSSIERS I PLAYLIST (TBA)

You have one year left to live.

But are you afraid of dying? Probably not. Since you don’t even know how to live your life. You have been hidden away from public eye since young. And the only friend you have is an Alter, humanoid species born to only serve other people and nothing else. Alters live so ‘people like you’ could live.

That makes the two of you. Alive. But never here. Never lived.

If opportunities arise, would you take a chance to change it? Only you can answer.

In a world where feeling nothing at all is better than letting your emotions rule over you, your choice to break those rules and make a change will paint a new shade of history that no one ever could. 

Hidden behind shut doors to live your quiet life as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, Sole Leader of Eutopia paradise, you never experience anything except for repeating the same old routine your entire life. You are the existence which should not be known, not just for the reason that you are the byproduct of your father and his secret lover. But also because of your frightening ‘Alter-like’ eye color, most of it is silver like any Stargaze–but nevertheless… tinted shamefully by crimson streaks.

You are told to stay away from public eyes for the sake of Palmer’s reputation in which you feel obliged to. However, your life of peaceful solitude will never be the same again after tonight…

Route to Eutopia is a violent dystopian loosely-conceptual interactive story where you are a bystander surrounded by The Chosen One of your own choice. You are to designate whether this story will head towards the direction of mutual peace between Alters– a human-like species believed to be plagued by uncured disease since birth– and Stargazers —a group of survivors whose ancestors once lived on a faraway planet before an inevitable disaster occurred and forced them to flee into another dimension, or towards a doom fate that cannot be reversible.

To be noted; RtE is a heavily-relationship based game (not necessarily in platonic/romantic sense) each of your interactions with any character will determine the tone and purpose of their motivation. Any choice you have chosen, make sure to embrace the consequences of your action at your own expense.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that you don’t need to engage into a romance or specific relationship with any character to complete the story.

RtE also rated 18+ for strong language, suggestive contents, disturbing topics such as racism, sexism, discrimination against queer people, explicit descriptions of violence, murders, drug use and sexual behaviors of certain characters with optional intercourse scenes.

Setting

RtE takes place in a post-apocalypse society where the concept of time is lost and any history known was only speculations at best and rumour at worst. Trying to maintain their sense of utopia, Stargazers built and operated their space colony as a temporary base for self-preservation (in which only fews know details about) called ‘Eutopia’. 

In this dystopian paradise people’s sole purpose of living was fixated on surviving. And in order to do that, the whole population creates a solid ground rule not to let themselves ‘feel’ about other emotions that do not serve for public favors. Hence, you will be challenged to adapt to several situations and handpick the best flavor of your actions based on the emotions you have learnt or developed from your surroundings.

Who do you play as?

For now, you will be playing as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, the leader of Stargazers who already has a wife and two other perfect children, your younger sister and brother. Ones you have never interacted with nor you ever get the chance to.

MCs subjectively considered a white sheet which you can paint anything on by your preferences. Explore the world full of colorful emotions or bottomless pit of numbness by your own choices. 

But remember, Eutopia is a place where everything goes according to one simple rule ‘To survive’ hence the marriage between a man and woman will be set as the norm and only truth, and someone who will state otherwise must face and suffer the ugliness of social standards accordingly. However, I do not encourage any transphobic/homophobic behavior of the characters in this story. Please kindly be assured of that.

There might be a chance where you can start off as other characters, that is, however, still a subject-to-change matter as of now.

Introduction to the Chosen Ones [ ROs]

**Please be aware of mild spoilers below**

Vegaris (M/F) 19 Star-crossed lovers or Nemesis route, The Rebel.

They would do anything to survive, even if it means to betray the only person who trusts them deeply… like you.

Vegaris is an Alter who has so many sides hidden behind closed doors. Unpredictable, cunning, hot and cold are the words that describe them best. Due to their traumatic childhood (much like other Alters on Eutopia), they have a deep-root hatred for Stargazers. Although they were brought in by your family and treated almost the same as one of your father’s own kids. They still witness the unfairness of being an Alter in society and never afraid to point the wrong in other people’s doings. 

Their usual mask, however, is one where you cannot crack open that easily. They always remain calm and composed in front of you, and only show their fangs when circumstances arise.

Dana/Darren Regency (M/F) 22 Childhood friends, Forbidden route, The Face.

For a person who seems to be easy to read as much as an open-book, they sure talk with silence better than with their own voice.

A poster girl/boy for Regency Academy. Your former childhood friend (for some unknown reason, they're trying their hardest to avoid you) and an only child to the Head of Deans at Regency, Sandalphon. They are the precise image of how one should raise a Stargazer. Being a honor student. A model citizen. And a perfect ideal partner. They are assigned to be married with the most capable genetic-wise fiancé. As popular as they appear to be to the public, their private life (as private as it can be) is still a gigantic loophole for most imprudent reporters trying to catch even just a glimpse.

It seems like what they are trying to avoid is not just you, but the entirety of Eutopia.

Sandalphon Regency (M/F) 40 Age-difference, Single-parent route, The Pacifist.

Do you believe in something just because it's true, or it becomes the truth only when you believe in it?

Sandalphon is the most powerful influence among the deans of Regency. A group of people that has control over governing matters even beyond that of Bastien Palmer, the President. For Sandal, they are anything and everything people could ever ask for in a Regency. Kind, generous, well-versed with every branch of knowledge in the universe. Never wrong in anything. And never judge anyone based on their bias.

If only people knew the truth, they’d probably beg to differ.

Maybe they are just good at hiding beneath that gentle facade, maybe a calculated mind with strings to pull works best with neutral suggestions... who knows?

One more hidden character will be revealed in the demo, Into the Madness route, The Savior.

[ Classified info. ]

**There will be two sub ROs and flings to be introduced later in the story.**

More info will be announced.

Demo 1st update : 24/01/2024 Chapter 1 (28k codes excluded)

Datalog is completed roughly til the end of the story. Coding and polishing will certainly take time. Any more updates will be announced solely on this blog.

Reblogging is appreciated. Thank you!

#if wip #interactive fiction #cog #choice of games #hosted games #if demo #interactive game #if game #dystopia #cyberpunk #space opera #interactive novel #choicescript #dashingdon

[hismourningflower]

「 just breathe | kai's 2024 birthday special! 」 jing yuan & blade x gn!reader | hurt/comfort, nightmares | birthday fanfiction. ↳ additional tags. reader with ptsd (yet again, self indulgent for my bday!) but you can read it as reader with just nightmares in general!! ooc jing yuan & blade, kinda soppy/fluff with angsty themes. ↳ happy birthday to me part one! this is the honkai edition, there's a genshin special scheduled for later today!

data has been uploaded! - send an ask to join the taglist; specify genshin, honkai or both! @lovingluxury, @dumbificat, @starryshinyskies, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @ainescribe

the jade's guidelines | honkai masterlist | bday m.list | previous work

you could never forget the silk sheets that line your shared bed with JING YUAN, an aspect of the luxuries that the xianzhou alliance bathe themselves quite fondly over the years of their long-life species' existence. you would tease jing yuan that perhaps it was the xianzhou natives' way of comforting themselves after what happened regarding their ancestors but the more you considered it, the more highly likely it felt to be true.

every night you'd fall asleep in these sheets without fail, drowning amongst their soft touch that brushes against your skin. it slides against your every limb, wrapping itself around your body for comfort whenever you're forced to go to bed without jing yuan at your side; there'd be numerous occasions, ones that he was always forced to deal with. you'd always see the way his eyes soften and shift away from you when he admits that he'd be late to bed. it was always work related, of course it was, he was the esteemed general of the cloud knights, the luofu's very own divine foresight.

you could never be mad at him, you were lucky enough to even be on the arm of the general. in your eyes, there was no way you could complain about his workload interrupting things except when it weighs down on him, dragging on his ankles and his shoulders to the point where all he can do is smile and keep napping - this is normal behaviour you've adjusted to but where's that small smirk that you love so much?

unfortunately, there's a nagging that weighs you down too. even though you don't explicitly mention it to jing yuan, he's more than aware. he's by no means stupid and he's actually incredibly observant, especially for you, his dearest partner. he's been awake on more than one occasion when your peaceful sleep is disrupted, your brows furrowed as you clutch at the sheets - naively unaware of his presence in the first place.

the silence will fill with struggled whimpers and gasps for breath, evolving into tears you might not even know slip from your closed eyes, squeezed shut as if trying to wake yourself up. these things haunt you, remind you of your struggles and where life has taken you. jing yuan has never been one for interrupting your rest, after all you've never once disturbed him but he knows he can't let you lay there, thrashing as you cry. not only for your sake but his own, when it breaks his heart to even witness it.

jing yuan will force himself to disturb you, strong arms wrapping around you and fighting against every thrash and struggle your emotionally weak body fights with until you calm against the comfort of his chest, breaking out into muffled sobs as your knuckles go white clutching onto him. he'll let out a breath, noting that you're awake when you choke out his name between gasps for breath.

"just breathe," he coos, a large hand smoothing down your back as his face buries into your hair. long, white hair drapes over his shoulders, tickling at your nose now that it's not tied up with a red ribbon, "it's okay, i'm here."

never once has jing yuan pressed into what your nightmare was about, simply listening as you follow his instructions and take a deep breath, trying to regulate as your body calms. there's a soft sniffle every now and then, his chest damp from where you've been sobbing but he'd rather it be like this instead of the bedsheets from where you've struggled alone.

every time it'll break his heart but he'll do it over and over again, knowing that his mere presence is what soothes you and keeps the tormenting demons at bay. maybe you'll never say it to him but all you need in those moments is him and he's more than happy to hold your shaking body until you fall back asleep.

BLADE isn't a fool, in fact he has his own fair share of nightmares from the mara within him and his past deeds. even if he denies it, you're no fool too and you've been present many times when it comes to blade panicking in his sleep. you do know however not to wake him, aware of his violent tendencies - you could be anyone to him when he wakes up and despite putting every inch of your trust into him, you know that's something you can't risk with him.

the next morning, he'll always avoid your gaze. dark hair will hang over ruby red eyes, concealing them from your view as he goes about his business, still closely knit to your side. he's aware that you know, that you was there and you witnessed it. there's no convincing him for a moment that he can trust you enough just to receive some form of comfort, even if it's hours later when dawn is breaking and in his eyes, just another day begins.

despite his avoidance of the topic when it revolves around him, blade doesn't shy away from your nightmares at all. in fact, considering how well acquainted he is with them - and dealing with them alone, - blade is way more comforting than many may suspect when it comes to your nightmares. it can be a surprising addition to the relationship at first when you experience the first night of having a harsh nightmare while the two of you share a bed.

blade isn't afraid to give you a snap back to reality in the moments you need it the most. in his eyes it's better than letting you lay there and struggle, your body thrashing on woven sheets that are soft from the fabric detergent you'd recently swapped to. when your relationship had started, he'd been against the idea of you staying with him at the stellaron hunters' headquarters but blade was observant enough to notice how often you had nightmares when he'd come to visit your home outside of work. he'll never admit it out loud but that's what changed his mind about where you slept at night.

there's a cold exterior that your boyfriend wears but deep inside, he can't bear the sight of seeing you go through it. he can't bear to hear the way you cry out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck as he gently shakes you awake to wake you up from the horrors you were witnessing. that's why he'll clutch your body into his, never letting go even after you've calmed down. his fingers dig slightly into your soft flesh, his face buried into your neck as he takes a moment for him too to calm down.

"blade? you can let go..." you mumble against his scarred shoulder, bandages decorating the flesh of his upper arm. he'll grunt in response, the cold tip of his nose pressing harder against your skin.

"just a little longer," he mutters in response, albeit a little stubbornly as his hug tightens for a moment, squeezing you reassuringly, "just... keep breathing for me."

you're okay, you're awake, your breathing is slowing down. he repeats these things to himself like a mantra, ruby eyes fluttering shut behind long, dark eyelashes as he presses chaste kisses to your shoulder. you personally never understood why he seemed so affected by your nightmares as the two of you curl back up, pressed together so intimately with the sheets draped over your bodies but blade knows he can't cope with the idea of seeing you in any form of pain, whether physical or mental.

if he could, he would take every inch and sliver of your pain for you. he'd carry the weight of your past and struggles, just to never see you sob from another nightmare ever again.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

#( sealed letters ) #© thexianzhoujade #blade x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #jing yuan fluff #blade fluff #alexi's 2024 birthday !!

[zordanna]

𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓮

A fluffy fic inspired from this old drawing I did🍃

English is not my first language and I hate writing so don’t expect too much. It’s just a small scene where Sebastian realises he’s in love with my MC, you can imagine yours there too of course! I ain’t stopping you🫡 enjoy I guess?

Sebastian yawned softly as he kept silently reading his history of magic notes while sitting on the carpet and resting his back on the couch, Eleonora was next to him laying fully on it while reading the chapter trying really hard to not fall asleep.

“Ugh I swear I’m failing this time”

She mumbled while flipping pages. Sebastian rolled his eyes and spoke back with annoyance.

“You literally have the highest grades of all the students in our class, shut up-”

Eleonora huffed and gave him a soft nudge with her knee in response.

“Just because the competition prefers wandering in the restricted section more than studying actual subjects. You know- instead of  forbidden ones”

Sebastian groaned and rested his head on the couch seat cushion to look at her better.

“You are a pain in the ass.” He breathed out glancing back at his notes pretending to ignore her.

“The feeling is mutual”

She ruffled his brown curls gaining a soft laugh from him , the boy rested one cheek on the  cushion and gazed at her while his notes ended up spread around the intricated embodied carpet of Russel  living room. Sebastian  glanced at the book and got an idea.

“I can read it for you, if you want, so we both learn something at least”

His proposal sounded quite nice to Eleonora, she gave him the book and set herself comfortable as he cleared his throat. He started reading and he could almost feel her gaze caressing his skin, Sebastian didn’t know how he managed to say the words correctly without fumbling while having that lovely pair of blue eyes staring at him, the warmth of her presence, her sweet scent of lavender and soap pervading his nostrils…Merlin help him!

On the other side Eleonora’s eyes were looking at his freckles, she always thought they looked like a starry sky , sometimes she would find full constellations in them while stealing glances at her friend’s features. She  glanced  at his lashes, was it even legal to have them so long and soft? The way they fluttered while he was  reading, the way the sun was making them shine with a warm orange shade. She was mesmerised. That’s for sure. The words sounded like a sweet lullaby rather than an actual lecture on how their ancestors channeled magic trough the years, her eyes felt heavy and her body a little too relaxed. 

Maybe if she closed her eyes just for a second…yeah that should do it.

Sebastian was reading the last paragraph when he heard  soft snoring coming from his right side ,he turned his head a little to check on Eleonora and a warm smile formed on his lips as he realised she had fallen asleep. He closed the book putting it away before adjusting himself leaning closer to the sleeping girl. He rested his elbow on the couch cushion careful to not disturb her rest, as usual Eleonora needed her afternoon nap.

Memories of their third year flashed in his mind, rainy afternoons spent napping all together on the same couch down in the undercroft between a mess of books and unfinished candies. Anne was still…well Anne. No curse, no pain just Anne, sleeping peacefully while her tiny head would rest on Ominis shoulder as he was  nestled up almost like a cat. Eleonora’s long blonde hair would tickle his nose as he often found himself using her soft curls as a pillow. They always smelled so good it wasn’t his fault they felt so comfy.

Instinctively Sebastian brushed off some of her blonde strands that were framing her face, very carefully as if she was made of porcelain. Her long blonde curls that once were left wild and free were now tied up in that blue ribbon he gifted her almost two years ago.

“You keep wearing it all the time mh?”

He mumbled softly more to himself than to her. The soft blue satin fabric was a bit smudged near the knot after years of wearing it every day, that’s what happens with the things you love most isn’t it? They change. 

Sebastian always questioned why she would refuse to buy another one, a prettier one maybe made from the most expensive silk with embodied details but she always said that one was just perfect. She loved it.

And he loved how beautiful she looked with it. He loved the way it always made her eyes stand out matching their colour, he loved how it swayed like a swallowtail when she would rush around the hallways late for classes trying to not trip on other students. Swallows are a sign of hope and freedom, he was certain that if she had to be an animal she would be one of them. She was always there trying to see the good side of everything, which in his darker days was both infuriating and yet comforting. It was reassuring  having her slapping some sense in his thick skull sometimes, he couldn’t deny it.

He also loved that, her scolding tone, her stubbornness and resolution whenever he was acting like a complete ass. He loved the way she would ruffle his hair to annoy him, he loved how her soft hands were making him feel butterflies flying around his stomach every damn time…

Sebastian’s chocolate brown eyes were fixed on Eleonora’s delicate face as the sudden realisation hit him like a whole bombarda in his chest.

He was falling in love. No. He was in love. Utterly. Undeniably in love. 

He didn’t realise his face was few centimetres away from hers till now, his lips dangerously close to hers. Before doing something stupid and reckless he pulled away slightly and took a moment to gain his composure, his eyes wandered around the luxurious living room of her family’s manor, the paintings of the Russels were almost staring at him, judging him with their cold gaze.

Who was he trying to fool? He was nobody compared to her family, an orphan living in a cottage with his grumpy uncle, it would never be fair to her. Knowing her parents Eleonora had probably her life planned since day one, as her older sister Ofelia once told him they lived in a golden cage with all comforts but still a cage. It was all doomed from the start so- for now it was better to suppress those feelings. To pretend they never had been there.

For now having her friendship was more than he could hope for, Sebastian looked at the big wood carved clock and checked the time, it was getting pretty late, he sighed and with a soft spoken tone called for her.

“Hey…Birdie”

The world would never want them together, that’s what he was telling himself, yet when he saw those blue eyes and that warm sleepy smile greeting him Sebastian thought that the world could burn or destroy itself in that exact moment.

The world would know Lady Eleonora Russel but Birdie. Birdie was just for him and that was all he needed.

“Birdie? What am I a chicken?”

Eleonora said with a snort while sitting up and stretching a bit letting a yawn escape her lips.

“No more like a goose.”

Sebastian retorted with a cheeky grin. She had no idea of what passed by his mind all the short time she was asleep.

“Ouch- did I snore loud?”

“Terribly. I mistaken you for a troll or something at some point.”

Eleonora laughed at  the statement and crossed her arms in a proud stance. 

“Was I annoying you?”

“Terribly.” Sebastian said faking an exasperated sigh.

“Good. I can consider my mission accomplished then”

She added with a chuckle while they both got up to walk towards the kitchen for stealing a snack or two. Luckily her parents wouldn’t be back till next early morning considering their habit to attend balls and ceremonies  maintaining their high social status connections. That was a relief for the two of them but also for the servitude. The house elves were quite fond of Eleonora, a true ray of sunshine in that toxic household.

The afternoon passed by with their usual playful bantering like any other. It was better pretending nothing happened for Sebastian, it was for the best really.

Was it? Only time would tell. For now they were just fifteen, sitting on the kitchen counter munching a stolen slice of lemon tart while yapping about how they were both convinced Professor Garlick was hiding “special plants” somewhere in the greenhouse. 

It was a normal  spring afternoon during the end of the 19th century.

Flowers were blooming , birds were chirping and the air smelled like clean laundry and soap.

Winter was just a distant thought, none of them could ever imagine how everything  would irreversibly change in few months.

Moments like these would be soon turned into distant faded happy memories but for now…it was all that mattered.

#hogwarts legacy #art #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy mc #illustrators on tumblr #my ocs #oc art #artwork #illustration #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #fluff #oc x canon #sebastian sallow x reader

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bulbie

Debut: Pikmin

Pikmin 4 has a doggone good time being as doggy of a game as it can! I'm sure you are well aware by now of the new Funny Weird Dogs!

And I love these weird dogs! They are wonderful. I'm glad they are so important and beloved. But I would like to focus on a different dog, the very first Pikmin Dog, who we have known about since the very first game! Olimar's dog, Bulbie!

With this, I have shown you both official images of Bulbie that exist. I wish there were more! Bulbie is a dog even weirder than Oatchi and Moss, a whole different kind of critter that also happens to get called a dog. Isn't that great? These people have the concept of "dog", and so far we've only seen it used to refer to these funny bipeds! Olimar has no problem referring to both Bulbie and Moss as dogs, so I am led to believe that "dog" is more of a category of creature to these people, rather than a distinct species. Like how "mole" is a category of creature to us!

We know a precious little bit of Bulbie Lore. He is lazy, and able to sleep anywhere. He loves carrots. He farts a lot. That's about all we know. Awesome! Sure sounds like a Dog to me! And of course, Olimar loves Bulbie very much. Just like he loves his whole family! He is a Family Guy, complete with Funny Dog!

You may already know, or you may have noticed yourself, but Bulbie looks quite like a Bulborb. This is because Olimar named these creatures after Bulbie, due to their resemblance! It is also for this reason that they are members of the Grub-Dog Family. You see? Bulborb is just like a dog! While it is sweet of Olimar to name the species after Bulbie, it must also make his encounters with them even more disturbing. Not only is this a (comparatively) massive, hostile beast that could easily eat him whole, but it looks like his beloved little friend! That's like a nightmare! Especially with other, scarier Bulborb variants! I am happy to know that his Bulborb experiences do not affect his love for Bulbie one bit.

As much as I love and talk about invertebrates and funny fish, dogs have always been among my favorite animals, and always will be! They're an extremely conventional animal to love, and for very good reason. They're wonderful! And on this post about Weird Dogs, I would like to talk about how dogs are, in fact, weird in their own ways.

They're always sniffing with their wet noses, which they keep wet to smell even better. They love to lick, and lick to show love. And that love is such an important thing! Dogs are creatures of love! It is our love for dogs that shaped them into what they are today! It is what drove us to shape this single subspecies into countless distinct caricatures of its noble ancestors. All still members of the very same species! The amount of dog customization that has occurred is ridiculous. Need a better way to hunt badgers? Make a Long Dog. Yeah sure! Why not!

Obviously, most dachshund owners today aren't interested in hunting badgers. They are interested in having a Pet. And a Pet Dog is such a truly incredible thing! There are not many animals that should be kept in a house around humans, but then there is Dog, literally born to be among humans. Born to be loved, and born to love! If you don't think that's one of the most wonderful things ever then get outta here!

This is an animal that runs around and spins in circles because it sees an ape that it loves so much. An animal that ends up learning snippets of human language, because those are the snippets that make it happy. An animal that gleefully exposes its vulnerable underside, because it trusts a member of a different species to rub it in just the right way that feels so nice.

Even with the general consensus on dogs being pretty dang favorable, I feel that it's easy to take a lot of their behavior and history for granted, to see them as the "default animal", when they SO aren't. The default animal would be a parasitoid wasp, silly!

If I was not able to convince you that dogs are weird, then just look up canine transmissible venereal tumor, obviously using your own discretion, because there will be graphic photos. If you ask me, this one medical anomaly easily makes dogs a contender for one of the weirdest animals EVER! Bet you didn't know dogs could be contagious!

I like funny dog Bulbie

#bulbie #pikmin #bulborb #dogs #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

[darkfictionjude]

They say that small towns hide the darkest secrets. At least that’s what your mother always said about this one. You thought she meant how Father Simmons has a well-known drinking problem, how Mrs. Gladstone’s son looks more like his uncle than his father or that the mayor has been in power for 15 years because of voting fraud. Things everyone knows. Human Things.

But now as partially eaten bodies have been left in alarmingly rates all over this small town the world has no record of, you now know she meant something else.

Play as peculiar and disturbed individual surnamed Crown after the very town your ancestor founded, returning after a traumatic event two years prior that landed you in a psychiatric hospital. As your comeback coincides with a rapid increase of disappearances you find yourself embroiled in a town conspiracy, a past that’s more alive than ever and the ever shifting self interested motives of those who claim to be your allies.

Who can you trust? What’s the truth behind your family? What are things that you see in the dark?

Sometimes it’s hard to tell what shapes monsters come in.

Customize your MC from looks to gender

Reveal your sister’s disappearance

Rely on a group of complimentary polar opposites to find out the mystery and save your life

Befriend or romance a choice of three from enemies to lovers, childhood friends or an eternal admirer

Rating: 18+

Crown - Playlist

You. A person with some personal issues, some family issues and some murder issues.

Imre Duran - Playlist

Quintessential good-boy-next-door. The most most-liked teenager in town. As son of the mayor and pageant queen, Imre has an image cultivated by him and maintained through his status which is why his back door activities are his cherished secrets. He is rather eager to help you… isn’t he?

Nia Mir - Playlist

In the very real and present high school hierarchy Nia would be one of the nobles. As a wannabe doctor with a loathed father and an absent mother her dream is to leave behind this backwater town and all it’s weird phenomena that she doesn’t care to know more of. She liked you, once.

Lorcan Stark - Playlist

Every town needs its bad boy and so Lorcan has aimed to be as every bit worthy of that title. The shunned son of a murderer and his victim, he is not really thought of as having a future beyond prison and petty crime especially in a town like this. You don’t remember a time when he didn’t hate you.

Salvatore Crown

Your brother. The heir to whatever fortune your family has left and the only one of the family who seems to like you.

Orla Crown - Playlist

Your sister. No one ever knew what she thinking, a closed box full of unknowns. You knew she kept things, especially from you.

Mayor Duran

Seems like every other politician. Oddly enough no one ever really sees him, an entity watching over the town.

Mother

She never acted like one to any of her children. She’s never sober anymore.

Mrs. Mir

Disappeared years ago without a trance. No one remembers her first name. Was thought to have been clinically insane.

Demo (updated 5/29) | Spotify | Patreon

To episode 3, half of episode 4

#twine #twine-if #twine wip #wip #if wip #cyoa #90s #romance #horror #supernatural #interactive fiction #interactive novel

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕖𝕟: ℍ𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕩

🥀Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: ninja au, anime au, Naruto au, historical au

🥀Trope: enemies to lovers

🥀Summary: when you claim that Yeosang was a man of no emotions and Yeosang demanded you prove yourself right, a passionate and hot sex session follows

🥀Kinks: hate sex, rough sex, degradation kink, fingering (f), mean dom! yeosang, mean sub! reader, breast/nipple play, strength kink, creampie

🥀Word Count: 1,693

🥀author's note: thanks to @mejuii for helping my gears begin to turn. Apologies for any terms you don't understand, I pulled directly the anime and this was completely self indulgent

🥀Day Nine: Long Distance Sex/ Praise 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eleven: Somnophilia

Your ancestors would, in fact, be rolling in their graves if they knew whose fingers were deep inside of you. Your hips rolled into the hand that was giving you pleasure, but he wasn’t going to just let you take from him without giving back.

“What’s this?” Yeosang purred into the shell of your ear. “I thought you said there was no way that you could possibly get pleasure from anything I ever did to you?”

“Fuck off, Yeosang,” You snarled weakly, hips still bucking into his movements.

“Kinda pitiful, really?” Yeosang continued to torture you with his words. “A Senju letting an Uchiha fuck her with his fingers. We should be fighting instead of fucking.”

A jolt went through your nerves. It tightened your nipples immediately and made your lower half flood even more than it already was.

“Who’s fucking?” You argued, “You’re incapable of anything other than throwing barbed insults and using those damn eyes of yours.”

Yeosang hummed mockingly in agreement. “Right, how could a passionless man possibly fuck?”

You had been sent by the Hogage herself to infiltrate the Akatsuki. What you hadn't been aware of was that Yeosang, who had gone rogue when his elder sister had died by his own hands, had joined up with the merry band of shit disturbers. You had been sent here to figure out exactly what their grand plan was. You most definitely were not sent here to fuck the enemy, let alone an enemy that was generations in the making. 

All you had to do was keep your mouth shut, but you were so sick and tired of Yeosang's damn emotionless face. You had watched him fight, watched others die, and he never showed a single drop of emotion. You, however, had cried when the first Jinchuriki had died for the Akatsuki’s grand plans. Yeosang had accused you of having a weakness.

“Shouldn’t you have ripped your heart out a long time ago, great granddaughter of Hashirama?” Yeosang had mocked you then. 

“Oh, go find someone else to spar with Yeosang, I'm tired of you,” You had attempted to dismiss him.

What you hadn't known was that your explosions of emotions were what Yeosang looked forward to the most. He was so devoid of feeling anything for such a long time that you were refreshing, despite all his provoking. 

Yeosang quirked an eyebrow at you, making direct eye contact, the most you had ever seen that beautiful face move. “Tire of me? I haven’t heard that one before. Normally, everyone is begging me to show them something.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Like that would ever happen. I don’t think you would know emotion if it hit you on the head.” That’s when you pushed it. “In fact, I doubt anyone could get a rise out of you, including your cock.”

Yeosang cocked his head at you, face still blank. “Don’t think I know how to use the sword on my body?”

“Tch.” You sneered. “I highly doubt you could please someone, let alone be passionate.”

A shiver went from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes as Yeosang smirked. You should have been terrified. Instead, you were turned on. “Do you want to test that out, brat?”

You took a step forward that brought you nose to nose with the enemy of your ancestors. “I’d relish proving you wrong.”

And then the rough sex that followed was like nothing you had ever experienced. You both ripped your robes in order to grope at each other’s chest. Yeosang pushed your breasts together while massaging them while you flicked your thumbs over his nipples, looking for him to break. 

You wrestled and fought for the upper hand, to be the more dominant one, but Yeosang was simply a smidgeon stronger than you. He pinned you against his chest, an arm against your collarbones, and he began to play with your body even more. It wasn’t until those skilled fingers found your wet folds that you heard a low chuckle in your ear. 

“Are you having fun, little one? You’re so wet I would think you were eager to be beneath me.”

You were so shocked by the sound of his laugh but didn’t fight him when he released your upper body and instead pulled one of your legs up so he could have easier access to your aching puss. 

“That’s simply the adrenaline talking,” You argued. You had to bite hard into your lips to keep the moan that was attempting to escape your lips in. “Like I could ever get pleasure from something you did to me.”

Except now, that was exactly what was happening. And you were starting to think that Yeosang was enjoying himself. 

“Does it make you wet at the thought that I’ll impale you in the middle of this forest where anyone could stumble upon us? Hmmm, little brat? Want someone to watch while your mortal enemy fucks you into an orgasm?” Yeosang teased and tempted you.

A whine was building in the back of your throat and the plea for him to fuck you was on the tip of your tongue. But your pride was burning your throat. 

“You have to say it,” Yeosang whispered into the skin along your neck. “I could bring you to the peak of your pleasure and stop. Again and again. In fact, I could torture you with my Tsukuyomi in that very way, and only a moment would pass.”

“Make no mistake,” You panted, your body still rolling into his hand as his fingers squealched and fucked your pussy. “I hate you.”

“And yet.” Yeosang was hanging off your words. He just needed you to give him the go-ahead, and he would show you exactly how you affect his emotions and his passion. 

“Fuck me, Yeosang,” You asked lowly, “Make me feel something for you that isn’t hatred.”

Yeosang moaned. “Gladly.”

With both of his hands cupping just under your knees, Yeosang held you aloft and lowered you down on his straining cock. You whimpered as he fought his way inside of you, thrusting into your wet cunt, making room in your soft walls for his cock. Each inch pushed inside was torture because it felt so good but you wanted the whole of him inside of you; you needed to be fucked until you screamed from your orgasm.

Each whimper that you let out as Yeosang fucked you was a gift to the Uchiha. For someone who had suppressed quite a lot in his life, sex was the one time he could let loose. The way you trembled for him, begged for him, whined for him was reawakening parts of him that he thought had long died. But what he wanted the most was for you to say his name with passion. He wanted to hear your name drip like honey from your lips instead of like poison.

“Does it feel that good, being fucked by your mortal enemy, brat?” Yeosang poked at you. “Does my cock give you that much pleasure that you have no more words to throw at me like a kunai?”

Your head lolled back, pleasure making you a willing ragdoll for Yeosang to fuck. You had never felt this way with any man. It was like with each stroke of Yeosang inside of you, he was looking for you to be pleased rather than himself. It was as if he wasn’t taking from you but giving. 

“How is it so good?” You rasped hoarsely, your moans already making your throat dry. “I’ve never felt such pleasure before?!”

“There’s a reason they beg me to never leave,” Yeosang admitted tonelessly, “After one taste of me, you’ll be ruined for everyone else. On that, I can swear.”

You believed him because no cock had ever felt as good as the one sheathed between your legs did now. “Wanna cum,” You whimpered, mind solely on your growing orgasm.

“Already? You’re a greedy brat,” Yeosang mocked you. “You’re an easy lay.”

“I’m--hnnnn-not--ah, ah, ah--just--fuck, shit, Yeosang! Yeosang, just like that,” You whined, the build up of your orgasm ushered by the way that Yeosang fucked up into your pussy like a well oiled machine. 

“Say my name like that again,” Yeosang demanded.

“Yeosang! Yeosang! Yeosang!”

He came inside of you with a quiet grunt, buried deep inside of you. He unloaded into you, an amount that filled you to the brim and then spilled out. You felt as his cum dripped out of you and onto the ground of the forest. 

With the final thrust, so deep inside of you that you felt his tip nudging your womb, you came. You screamed his name, stars lighting up behind your eyelids as you were gifted with such an intense orgasm that you were happy that Yeosang was holding you aloft.

Yeosang let go of one leg, then another, a hand on your waist to make sure you didn’t collapse. “Let me fuck you like that again, brat. I promise you I can show you a lot more.”

Wooyoung’s hyena laughter shattered the illusion that Yeosang had created just as he released you. “He’s right, you know. Men and women beg for him to show them something other than his cool, pretty face.”

Yeosang had indeed used his Tsukuyomi, the power of his eyes to trap you in a moment in your own mind, and had fucked you there the minute you had met his eyes. The illusion, the mind power, was so powerful that it felt exactly like reality. 

Your face burned with embarrassment. Your undergarments were simply flooded from the pleasure your mind had thought you had received. Your clothes were not ripped either. Wooyoung’s laughter died, and he peered at you and then Yeosang with curiosity. 

“You two should just fuck already, the sexual tension is palpable,” Wooyoung observed, albeit a second too late.

You screamed in anger, triggering a tree to grow, capturing Wooyoung by the collar and leaving him hanging, not quite understanding what exactly he had said. And Yeosang, the immovable statue of the Akatsuki, laughed at his best friend and partner, unable to contain any glee at the moment.

🥀Day Nine: Long Distance Sex/ Praise 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eleven: Somnophilia

#joongfryefff24 #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #kang yeosang smut #atz smut #yeosang smut #kang yeosang x reader #topaz's work #ღatz

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Canvas of imagination (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: On the eve of Rhaenyra's wedding, Daemon decides the best gift he can give to the father of the bride is a dreamer. A shame said dreamer does not seem to share the joy of the occasion.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Period typical misogyny. Violence. Unflattering depiction of characters (You might hate me for this)

A/N: Remember please, Daemon is an unreliable narrator. Here is where things start to get dark. I researched genetics for this and ended up really insecure. Read the previous part here.

There are many ways of silencing women. Murder is, of course, one. It’s not an elegant solution, but it is an effective one. It ensures the victim takes her secrets to the grave. Daemon likes to think himself more elegant than that.

There is, too, the possibility of a ruined reputation. But that strategy is one that is only effective towards women of a certain standing. You can hardly ruin what are already damaged goods, and a bastard certainly counts as damaged goods.

Daemon still could chuck you off Caraxes mid-flight. Yet, it does not seem like a good idea, either. Each one of your servants saw you get chained to his saddle. Not even Viserys’s intervention could save him from the angry mob of commoners that would await his return to the Vale.

Besides, he likes you there, mounted on his dragon. For once, quiet, too scared of screaming and disturbing Caraxes. Daemon likes the lack of noise, but he likes your presence much more. It would be foolish to silence a dreamer forever.

You need other kinds of chains. To tie you to him. Silencing you, when he does not want to hear. One often used for Targaryen women.

Marriage. A Bronze Bitch for another. But not exactly, is it? Not if you can truly see the future.

Perhaps this was meant to happen, then. As a way of honoring his ancestors. Grabbing a pretty maid, one with Valyrian gifts and…

Well. Children are another kind of chain, right? He is still not sold on the perks of bedding you. You are wrong. Too dark, too different. Nothing like Rhaenyra, and slightly older than her. But Daemon knows the children you will birth him will be strong. The gift on you is, after all.

To be able to look so far into the future speaks of a power unseen before. Targaryens have not been blessed by many dreamers in the last generations, and the few times they were, their gifts were fickle and weak. Not far enough to allow them to see further than days. The last time someone was able to look further was in the age of Aegon the Conqueror.

It must mean Valyrian descent. Nothing else is an acceptable answer. Even if you don’t look it.

Daemon mounts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You feel soft in his arms. Perhaps bedding you will not be as bad. He had been afraid that you would be like Rhea. Those inquisitive eyes of her, the body as hard as the body of any man. They were not features he enjoyed on a female partner. It always turned him off.

It was not that he had refused to consummate the marriage. He wasn’t able to bed her, the awful bitch. Not only were her features off-putting, but her attitude. She was constantly trying to sit on his hips, push him down, and he couldn’t stand it. Daemon felt trapped. Emasculated.

He had to chase the shame, the powerlessness away, somehow. That was how he got started fucking whores, collecting maidenheads. It was much better when women were maidens. Easier. He likes the contrasts, Daemon has realized. Half women, half children are always more entertaining to play with.

You are not Rhea. You feel different in his arms. Your body is soft, all sweet limbs. There are no harsh muscles on your arms, and you smell like fresh baked pastries. Rhea always smelled of horse.

You are a girl, not a warrior like your sister was. Yet, you share her wild spirit. All the delicious curves of womanhood are already formed, a delicious pair of tits and hips that could drive any man to insanity.

Your parentage is a bit more undesirable, though. As the daughter of a whore, your innocence could be sullied. Daemon would have to ask if you were passed around when younger. He doubted it, but just in case. If you had not, bedding you would be the most fun he had in years. Open-minded, hot-blooded, but pure. It was not often you found that in a woman.

You try to squirm, but are too well bound. Getting too comfortable for his liking.

“Soves. ” He orders. Caraxes obeys. You shriek in terror, and Daemon hugs you harder against him. That, too, he likes. The helplessness, the honest reaction of someone who was denied her birthright. The amazement, once you settle down and notice that Caraxes will not drop you.

Riding Caraxes is always a thrill. It’s even more thrilling when he has a captive audience. There is something about it that does it for him. Showing others the might of true Targaryens always makes him proud.

He wants to show you all the things you have missed, being born of a whore and a Royce. It’s clear you don’t belong here, among the bronze piles of the Vale. You belong with him, on dragonback. And no one is taking you away from him.

The servants, your servants, according to the Bronze Bitch’s will, can only watch as the dragon rises in the air. No one dares deny Targaryens anything, not when faced with the truth of their strength.

Daemon perches his chin right on top of your head, so close his chest is flush with your back. Your screams do not bother him. You might be terrified, after a life spent living on the ground. But Targaryens are born to be in the skies. You will get used to it.

“Oh, Lady Cuffs, you have much to learn.” He kisses your temple, once you have screamed your throat raw and finally quieted down.

The first time he had ridden Caraxes, Daemon had, too, screamed until his voice gave. He had thought back then, like many Targaryens did, that if his egg didn’t hatch, he would get no dragon. The moment is clear in his memory. Heart beating loud in his chest, screaming commands in High Valyrian, and the absolute certainty that Caraxes was going to burn him to a crisp. Then, as he came down from sheer terror to amazement, he understood why his egg didn’t hatch.

It was a lesson. To take what he wanted, what was his by right. Targaryens were conquerors, not whiny children. It was what had got him thinking about Lady Laena, in the first place. The amount of confidence one needed to claim a dragon that big, it spoke of a power within.

Not as yours was, of course. You may lack the confidence, but you had power in spades. Dreamers were often like that. Or they were supposed to be, according to his studies. Daenys had been. A fragile little thing, scared of shadows and set on leaving Valyria behind. It had been what saved them, in the end.

Daemon wonders what it must be like to be haunted by terrors in your sleep. Some real, some imagined. How could one possible tell the difference between the two? It would lead a fragile mind to insanity.

What had it done to you? Seeing your sister’s death, thinking it a nightmare, and then watch it come to life in front of your eyes?

Fear. Horror. A cornered animal reaction, wanting to fight an opponent that could crush you like a bug if he so wished. Your loyalty to Rhea was commendable, though.

The thought of you having to go through that makes him uncomfortable. Something about the death of a sibling upsets him. Viserys. Oh, Viserys. Can’t live with him, but can’t live without him, either.

No. He needs a distraction. He is not willing to go down that road now.

“Dracarys!” Daemon screams, fighting to project his voice over the wind. As expected, you flinch and let out a tiny scream. He hides his smirk in your hair. He wonders if you would squeal like that when he took you.

A bit of fear makes for a better fuck. Lovers tend to turn pliant in the face of pain. Women's cunts flutter delightfully when choked. And you are already so responsive.

“This cannot be happening.” You mutter, under your breath. Your voice sounds small and confused. Lost. “This defies all the laws.”

“Targaryens have married sisters before,” Daemon speaks over your ear. Despite knowing that's not how dreamers work, he can't help but taunt you. It's amusing to him, how you struggle and huff. “You must have seen this already. You will make a good wife, in time.”

“I am not a dreamer!” You scream, and if he could see your face now, he would bet you are scowling. It matters not, really. Whatever you say. You would do anything to get him to let you go.

Daemon knows the truth. He has done his investigation about you. It would be no good, if he were mistaken and presented Viserys with something less. His good gesture would be ruined.

You would earn him his forgiveness. Daemon is willing to share you with Viserys, if that's what Viserys wants. He wants to keep you, so Daemon wouldn't gift you to him. But share you? It's a good gesture to show the honesty of his words.

Let it not be said that Daemon Targaryen is not humble in victory.

“Deny it all you want.” Daemon turns a finger over the middle of your back, making you shiver and try to move away from the touch. Oh, such a fierce spirit. A shame it's wasted, with how well you are tied to the saddle. “You have some Valyrian blood in you.”

“I do not!” You scream, and tilt your head to the side to glare at him. You have pretty eyes and the most enchanting nose. Closer to a goddess than a woman. How can you not be a Targaryen?

Your hair is the wrong shade. So are your eyes. But most of the time, First Men features overpower Targaryen ones. Dammed your father. Useless rat, that Yohn Royce. But at least he had given him you.

“You will birth me silver haired babes.” Daemon can do the math. With you being half Valyrian, the odds of you giving him what he wants are higher. He places his hand on your stomach, sneaking it behind the apron and touching the soft linen dress you wear.

Daemon imagines what it will be like, to see you swell with his child. The skin over your womb is warm and soft. You are young, closer to Rhaenyra's age than his. You look healthy and strong. A good environment for a child to grow in. And by the look of your bosom, you would produce good milk, too.

The thought makes him suddenly hungry. His cock twitches in interest. Ah. Good to know that your coloring won’t bring forth the same performance issues Rhea’s had.

This time, you squirm harder. Your ass rolls against his hips. Daemon rolls his hips against you, delighting in the friction. "Oh, you temptress.” He laughs.

He can't wait to have you, pinned under him and forcing you to take and take until his seed breeds true. How you would struggle, hips trying to escape him before surrendering to the sheer pleasure of it all.

“You are disgusting!” You buck against him, all wild mare. You have yet to be mounted and it shows. He bets once he does, you will be all sweet. Daemon is not cruel enough to deny you the pleasure. But you seem upset, and so he tries to reassure you.

“Just think, how strong, how true our children will be. With the blood of Old Valyria, flowing through their veins.”

It seems like the thought is not as reassuring for you as it is for him, since you start tearing up. He will have to tread more carefully. It’s clear your time with the Bronze Bitch has affected you. Perhaps, too, growing up in a whore’s house. You must have some strange ideas of women not needing marriage, or men, to lead their lives.

It was good, that Rhea got you when she had. You could have been sold or auctioned like any other woman. Taken up the profession of your mother. But you hadn’t. He knows it by the way you flinch, when he trails his hands over your ribs, when he presses his lips to your temple. Whores are used to touches like those. They melt into them. Not you.

“I’m not Valyrian!” You scream, trashing. Daemon smooths your hair down, tenderly. Perhaps this will soften you, he thinks. Many bastards share the longing for learning about their origins, after all. You should be no different.

“Your mother was, though.”

“What? No, she wasn't!” Your shrill tone makes him flinch. Gods, what a pair of lungs you have. And you are so set on disguising your origins, too. As if Daemon can’t tell. As if he can’t recognize one of his own when he sees them.

“I asked the servants about you.” He squeezes your shoulder, trying to sound encouraging. He wonders what it must be like, to carry so deep a shame you are set on denying the obvious. If Daemon had been born of a whore, without his Targaryen blood, he would be ashamed too. “They said you bathed every day. Only whores do that. And you don’t keep male company.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Your voice comes out high and questioning, confused. Oh, his poor, sheltered girl. Thinking your behavior was normal.

“You must have learned it somewhere.” He brushes his thumb against the shell of your ear. It’s a tiny thing, and soft. You give a sweet shiver, and it confirms his suspicions. You have not been touched in such a way before. Not a whore. Only the daughter of one. "Your father was said to frequent a brothel in King’s Landing, one that I’m well acquainted with. They only have Valyrian stock.”

You splutter, and whip your head to the side. You are not allowed much movement, with your binds. But gods, you try. The sliver of your face he can see is twisted in righteous anger. Similar to when he confessed to finishing the Bronze Bitch.

“Stock? How can you refer to women like that!” And it comes out so righteous, so fierce. His little warrior. Yes, it’s clear he is right about your origins. No one else would launch themselves in such a passionate defense of whores. A shame, he can’t seem to resist to riling you up.

“Oh, I have much lovelier names for women. I called your sister the Bronze Bitch.”

You let out a fierce little scream, now bucking and twisting and shifting, trying to get any kind of retribution for the slight. What a joy you must be in the sheets, all that unbridled force and passion, turning into a single objective. You just have to learn to aim it right.

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that! She is the most…” And you choke up a sob, realizing that Rhea was, not is. You do not speak the words, curling into yourself like a scared child. Hurt and sad for the first time since he took you.

“Was.” Daemon says, very quietly, and this time he is unable to distract himself from the thought. Daemon thinks of Viserys, of how angry he would be were someone to hurt him. No matter if they had parted in anger, no matter if they had not spoken a word.

He hugs you to him. You fight him, at first, but then you are sobbing too hard, too panicked to do anything about it. He presses a kiss to your nape. Even in tears and sweaty with your efforts, you smell perfect. All sweet pure maiden.

Eventually, your body sags. Daemon wonders if you accepted your fate or merely fell asleep. He doesn’t ask. The rest of the ride is uneventful. You wake up, later on, squirming in your bounds before sagging in defeat. No more words are exchanged between the two of you.

Landing is quite the interesting experience. Lyonel Strong, wearing the Hand's brooch. Next to him, stands the Kingsguard and a couple of Citywatchs.

“Is that a serving girl?” Crispin, Chris, whatever his name is, asks. He must think himself so sly, muttering under his breath.

“You were vanished.” Lyonel deadpans, eyeing you with vague interest. You scowl at him and tug on your bonds, again. Admirable persistence.

“Ah, Lyonel.” He gets off the saddle and carefully unchains you from it, making sure that your hands remain bound. Daemon keeps a tight grip on the chain from your cuffs, as he pulls you down into his arms. You kick and scream. The Kingsguard look vaguely concerned, but the gold cloaks don't even blink. They had been his men a few years back. They are used to such things.

He is not getting any younger, Daemon realizes. With you, he might need to get a better training regime because he is winded from the struggle. It's almost thrilling. You will keep him on his toes.

Daemon addresses Lyonel once again, dragging you forward.

“Summon Viserys, would you? I have something to show him.”

Good thing it’s not Otto Hightower anymore, or else he would have been detained on the spot. Lyonel is slightly softer to him, too honor-bound to let his personal feelings get in the way.

“Another of your whores?” The man asks, face unchanged. He would look at ease were it not for the way he is pressing his lips together in a grim line. No doubt remembering the Mysaria episode.

You keep struggling, rubbing your poor wrists raw. Daemon will have to tend to that later.

“Help! Help! Please!” You plead to Lyonel, once he is close enough. His lips twitch. Ah, the Strongs. Always ready to jump in rescue of a fair maiden. Your cries seem to be weakening the resolve of the Hand, and Daemon can’t have that.

Daemon places a possessive arm over your hips, showing you off. The possessive gesture will distract Lyonel from his rescue attempt, he is sure. No one gets between a Prince and his lovers, willing or not.

“No, actually. This time, the Lady is still a maiden. Although she won’t be much longer.” He smirks.

You flinch, your whole body tensing under his grip. Lyonel looks torn. He can’t order Daemon to let go of you, as for all he knows, you are but a serving girl. If you were a Lady, what he is doing might mean war. No one here cares about commoners.

Surprisingly, your rescuer is another. The dornish knight, jumping in, without the bow of his commander or the Lord Hand.

“I’ll go get the King, Lord Hand.” Good gods, what were they teaching the dornish these days? Not an ounce of respect on that one. He was getting too cocky for Daemon’s liking. He might have unseated him, but he lacked manners.

Daemon glares at Lyonel. Lyonel glares right back. The Kingsguard square behind Lyonel, menacingly, but the City Watch remains undecided on the side. Daemon grips your cuffs harder.

Crispin, Chris, whatever, comes out again after a few minutes, with an aggravated looking Viserys. You start shrieking, again, and trying harder to escape. No one pays you any mind.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” Viserys says, but his eyes crinkle. He has cooled down. Daemon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He still has everything to play for. Forgiveness is on the way.

“I think she might earn my forgiveness.” He tugs at your cuffs, bringing you slightly forward. You scowl, fiercely. “A gift, brother.”

“You come to offer me a whore? You are insane. Or drunk. Or both.” Viserys arches an eyebrow, but takes a good look at you. Daemon can’t blame him for it. You are a pretty thing, young and healthy.

Despite someone who claims offense at being offered a whore, Viserys surely looks interested. He steps closer to him, trapping you between them both. It’s Viserys, in quite the bold move, who tilts your chin up with a finger. You snarl at him, bucking backwards and right into Daemon’s chest.

“Careful. She bites. Special breed, from the Vale. All bitches.” And it’s not even funny, but it makes Viserys laugh, and that’s all that matters to him. Viserys’s laughter prompts the rest of the sycophants knights to do so as well. Only Lyonel and the dornish man remain disapproving.

“I’m quite busy at the moment, brother.” Viserys steps back, giving Daemon a long look. Unable not to twist the knife because otherwise they wouldn’t be related, he adds. “I’m in the middle of planning a wedding.”

“Ah. Congratulations are in order, then. Think of this as a wedding gift to the father of the bride.” Daemon pushes you forward, and then, insistently, to kneel. You resist, impudent little thing that you are. He pushes harder, until you kneel in front of Viserys with a sullen expression. “What better omen for a marriage than a little dreamer?”

Viserys goes suddenly serious, the hint of a smile at his antics long gone. This time, when he looks at you, his eyes are much more searching. First, to your hair. Then, your eyes. Then, to his face, incredulous.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Daemon…”

Daemon gives him a look. He would not joke about it, knowing how much Viserys has longed to be connected to that side of their heritage. He never understood it. Dreams were a powerful tool, but could be hard to differentiate from just nightmares. And what had made them conquerors had not been dreams, but dragons. That had been the part that interested him.

They had talked, once, of sharing a woman. Back when they were much younger, much less troubled. He tried to let that shine in his eyes, too. This was not something he was keeping to himself, it was a gift to his brother. If Viserys asked, Daemon would say yes in a heartbeat. Anything to make him happier. To protect him. Your dreams might not get him another kingdom, but would help keep Viserys safe and secure Rhaenyra's claim.

The silence stretched. Then, Viserys, looking absolutely fascinated and dumbfounded, stepped aside.

“Inside the throne room. Anyone else, leave us!”

As the guards scrambled to obey, Daemon tugged you inside. Viserys entered the room first, and grabbed the chain, as Daemon made sure to close the door after them. Working together with a fluidity not seen since the days of their youth.

Daemon smiled. Not even a day in your company, and you were already fixing things in the way he had wanted you to.

Viserys let go of your chain, eyeing you with quite a bit of precaution. All for naught. Instead of attacking, you tried to flee. Daemon grabbed you, and spun you to face him.

“You say she is a dreamer.” Viserys sits down on the throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She is. The bastard sister of my newly deceased wife.” Daemon can’t help but boast. He is proud of finding you. Of the smile that has formed on Viserys face. “You know how it was. Yohn Royce and his precious Silver Dragon.”

“Lady Rhea is dead?” Viserys frowns. Still, he doesn’t look too upset. Perhaps a bit angry, but Daemon knows he will forgive him for it. What is the murder of a woman no one loved to the acquisition of a dreamer?

“He killed her!” You scream, unable to help yourself. Ah. Curse him, he was mistaken. Someone loved the Bronze Bitch. But it didn’t count. You were her sister and she had rescued you from a brothel. You were morally obligated to. It didn’t count.

“Shut up, little girl. I didn’t.” Which, yes, he had, but it would be better to give Viserys plausible deniability. Safer that way.

“Yes, you did. I saw.” You grin at him, menacingly. Daemon arches an eyebrow. It seemed your nap had given you the energy to be defiant. Again. Good gods, you were like a child. Having to be put to bed, pacified, taken care of. On and on the list went. Daemon was not sure that he was ready for the responsibility of parenting a recently legitimized Targaryen. Your manners were atrocious, and you were so young and so soft.

Rhea had taught you nothing of use. Perhaps to read books and ride horses, but it was clear she hadn't hardened you as she was. You had no idea of politics or respect for your King. Soft. Sheltered. A blessing in disguise? Or a curse?

“That will be a problem, dreamer or not.” Viserys interrupts. It’s clear what he means. Daemon has to fix it. Because the Seven forbid Viserys is the one to get his hands dirty. He likes to believe he is above Daemon, in that sense. That he has some sort of morals that go beyond caring for Rhaenyra.

He has not. His tastes are the same as Daemon's. Fire and blood and all that came with it, but with the delusion of having some great sense of morality.

“Give her to me. The Bronze Bitch left her everything she had. I can keep the Vale and the little girl in line.” Daemon quickly says, ignoring your indignant yelp and trashing. “I’ll marry her.”

“Allow you to own a dreamer?” Viserys raises his brows, looking doubtful. “Don’t you think it’s too much? If she truly is one, of course…”

“Show him, Lady Cuffs.”

You remain in obstinate silence. Daemon feels the urge to scream. Clearly, the Royce genes ran strong because Seven Hells you were infuriating.

“Didn’t you say you could keep her in line?” Viserys taunts, amused. Oh, if Daemon could, he would spank your pretty arse red from that defiance. Little brat that you are, it would be a fitting punishment.

He can’t do much more, not without endangering you. Neither Viserys nor him are experts on dreamers. They have been oddities during the history of their house. Their lessons on them were far less detailed than on dragons.

The upkeeping and care of one would require research. But some things are clear from the start. Dreamers shouldn't be hurt. Or too traumatized. They might get nightmares, and that would make their powers wane.

Daemon needs to scare you into thinking he will hurt you, but not actually do it. How to scare you into compliance and punish you, but not hurt you? He looks at the Iron Throne, and suddenly, an idea sparks into his mind. You are, in many ways, a child. And a man is allowed to discipline his wife.

Daemon unsheathes his sword, making as much noise as possible. You flinch, clearly recognizing the sound. He bangs it against your vulnerable behind, making you jolt forward and yelp. Not only it must have hurt, but the sound echoed in the throne room. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, surprised and a little teary-eyed. Viserys smiles.

"Answer his question. Properly." Daemon orders. You look between him and Viserys, clearly unsure. He gives you a few moments, but when you are taking too long for his liking, Daemon raises his sword again. The words nearly tumble out in your haste to speak.

"I… Your wife. Aemma, she held on to you and begged you to not let them cut her. You held her down. Monster.” You say to Viserys, now openly crying. Daemon blinks. Now that was something he didn’t know.

Viserys’s anger at the “heir for a day” comment is suddenly framed in a new light. Guilt. The fool. Daemon would never do something like that to you. A dreamer is too valuable of an asset.

“Something more pleasant.” He orders, swinging the sword. You try to dance away from the hit, but you are unable to. You give another cry.

“You have a dagger. With Aegon’s dream. And the Lady Alicent visited you in your chambers, wearing one of her mother’s dresses, after Aemma passed.” This time, Daemon keeps a close eye on Viserys’s face, instead of you. His face is slack, jaw hanging open. Apparently, you are telling the truth. He wonders what other seedy secrets about him you know.

Daemon raises his sword, ready to hit your bottom again.

“That’s enough, Daemon. You proved your point. You can marry her.” Viserys says, voice shaky. He is clearly overcome by what you know and by the methods needed to extract the information from you. Viserys is about to give you to him. He has realized he will not be able to handle you.

Daemon doesn't mind. To be kept safe, every King needs someone willing to get their hands dirty. He has done much worse, and that was not even in the hopes of protecting Viserys and Rhaenyra.

“No, no, no…” You protest, pitifully. Your whole face is streaked with tears.

“Thank you, brother.” Daemon answers, smirking. Never has he felt more victorious. He gives another slap to your behind, this time with his hand. Viserys nearly smiles at your indignant shriek. “Oh, Lady Wife, no one asked for your opinion.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon x y/n #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon smut #daemon x oc #daemon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #divine intuition series #cristi angers her followers #part... who knows

[yzzart]

— Blessed oath.

© do not repost or translate !

characters: Aemond Targaryen x (F)Targaryen!reader.

summary: after so many years apart, isolated, Aemond decides to come to you.

warnings: incest, explicit language, explicit words

word count: 3.694!

english's not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!

The prince, who was recognized for his fearsome posture and his intimidating eye patch and having the blood of blood coursing through his veins, was aware of the danger and possible bloody war that he could face along his way, but, he was aware that could create a war to woo his dear sweet niece.

There were so many unhappy years, which Aemond described as living proof of hell, apart and with the absence of the warmth of bodies together crying out for love. — Even though the reason was completely involving Aemond, it stabbed his sister's decision.

He remembers the vague words he uttered to his sister to leave his daughter beside him and her father, your dear grandfather; Viserys, but, obviously, she denied the defiant request. — And with so much reason, Aemond used this one to complete all his anger and hatred for Rhaenyra.

The good gods, those who all begged for blessing and those who accompanied the Targeryens, knew that Aemond would kill anyone including his own sister to have his sweet niece at his side. — Not to mention his biggest enemy, his uncle; Daemon. That the one-eyed prince was informally bought by some of the outskirts of the red fortress and some mediocre kingdoms.

Your father, the rebel prince, would have Aemond's head if he only knew he'd come near you. — And you know better than anyone that he could do it. — And living with a situation as disturbed and suffocating as this was living proof of hell. — But, nothing was more suffocating than not feeling the heat of your lover's body next to yours.

The two of you were like two dragons living in conflict with the burning and pure feeling of passion, causing your souls to unite into one. — Two dragons, one souls. That was the motto.

And for all those years, damned years, Aemond's desire for you grew every single day. And he learned to connect with that feeling so hungry. — During his privileged training as a prince, he showed more vigor and agility. — A brute form was being ignited in that one-eyed youth's chest.

No one dared question where that anger or anonymous feeling of the king's youngest son came from, they just admired with surprised eyes and a few whispers. — It didn't matter to Aemond. In fact, it never even bothered him.

The only thing he really cared about, and for a few moments, was when your name was uttered from the mouths of servants and a few informants who kept their jobs while whispering. — It was like a wake-up call for Aemond. Like a dog's ears when an unhappy noise sounded all around.

But, during those sweltering years, the young prince recognized and devised a sneaky and dangerous way to see his beloved niece. — A way that, even he himself was aware of and knowledge he could miss more than his other eye.

Aemond had no visual knowledge of Dragonstone, he never even had an opportunity to witness the dragons' location. However, he had a literary knowledge of the place. — Using the old library, which was abandoned by most of his family, Aemond began to read all the books that contained information about the isolated island.

Each page, each writing made with embers and black pigment ink, the one-eyed man read and admired the facts that his ancestors and distant relatives brought him. — Aemond didn't care to miss a word that time.

The idea of invading, discreetly and boldly, the region that was dominated by his sister and, perhaps with little chance of success, Aemond planned to consider the action. Being the rider of the biggest dragon that this miserable world had ever seen was a great and superior advantage, but at the same time it could be a disadvantage. — The gods agreed with the thought.

The focus of that bold prince's mind was only for you. There was nothing else in the moment, in the second and world, that could remove your image from Aemond's closed mind. — Even if that certain invasion went wrong, he would be satisfied to know that he would die when he was ready to see you again.

Well, he would die for you and you for him.

That night, which by some mixed and intrusive ears from the vicinity of the red keep; they said the moon was brighter than usual and the wind was fighting with itself. — It seemed like a kind of warning that was ignored by most.

The cover made of pure leather, unlike the dark color palette Aemond usually uses, was a brownish color; like the rebellious earth that was trampled by the black boots of the one-eyed youth. — Aemond's steps were wild, he was desperate to meet his dragon and, like a good mother's son, he prayed to the gods that everything that had been planned would work out.

Unlike the other dragons, aka those of his brothers, who were sheltered and protected in the dragon pit, Vhagar was accommodated at the back of the fortress. Not just the fact that her size bothered half that space, but Aemond cared and cared for his dragon enough to want to keep her close enough. — And no one would dare to scold or tell him to move it.

The huge, intimidating dragon rested, its scaly, age-wrinkled wings spread out close together on the ground. — Taking up most of it. — Aemond, her young rider, didn't need to warn her that he was coming or even call Vhagar's attention; for with just his typical scent, the dragon sensed his presence.

Lifting his head, which carries with it a smoke of sand, Vhagar follows the short and fast walk that her rider takes to her.

"īlon emagon nykeā dīnagon naejot jikagon, hāedar." (We have a place to go, girl.) — He uttered with a whisper, even though there was no one, not a soul, near that region.

The old dragon didn't restrain himself from making any expressions or even a questioning noise at her rider's strange action, just assented by moving enough for Aemond to get onto her rough, scaly back. — During the movement of Vhagar's heavy body, some fine and coarse grains of white sand were scattered on the Targaryen's cloak.

With his hands trapped around the thick and strong ropes of the dragon's cell, Aemond had everything to fly to the isolated region where his beloved niece was sheltered. — The feeling of butterflies in his stomach agonized the boy again but this time it was because he had in mind that he would hear your voice and see you.

Aemond could finally find his peace again. After so many years, years with the taste of hell, the anguish and bitter pain of missing each other would end.

"Sōvegon, Vhagar." (Fly, Vhagar.) — An order with a heightened tone of certainty and confidence was declared to the dragon. Aemond took a deep breath, inhaling the salty smell of the sea and reassured himself that he would soon be inhaling the natural scent of your body.

Vhagar roared, that frightening noise could have woken up anyone who was close to the region where the dragon was accommodated before, as a way of agreeing with the one-eyed request. — She would never disagree with her rider's request.

The night was colder than usual for you. The waves were crashing so rough and hard against each other, it looked like they were in some kind of fight; wanting to distance but it was impossible. — Like your family at times, you thought

"Family". Funny how those rebellious waves reminded him of the rebellious rifts that had run between your family and your grandfather's family, or as he was mediocrely known, King Viserys. — And there was a certain person among those waves who always captivated your attention and ever since your passion.

Your uncle. Your goddamn uncle and your goddamn love.

Even with so many intrigues, differences and bitterness among your families; you and Aemond never let each other be shaken or even extinguished the flaming flame of dragon passion that existed in you two. — You were living proof of a dragon's true flame.

Perhaps, thinking about a person you hadn't seen for so long was a foolish and painful action. It was painful indeed, but when Aemond dominated your thoughts, your mind, it made your body so warm and reassuring. — That damned man was your anchor, your passion.

Your skin tingled, calling your attention and making you distance yourself from the thoughts that, little by little, were dominated by the image of Aemond. — But, that shiver was not caused by the freezing and strong breeze of the winds coming from the sea; there was only one culprit and you knew who it was.

Closing the window and heading for your beautifully crafted and sewn blankets sounded like a good idea and highly recommended. — The thought of getting a possible disease due to coldness was not so pleasant and would scare your mother. - But, an image, somewhat peculiar and dark, caught the attention of your eyes far back and among the clouds.

Flying among the dark sky, which belonged to the night, along with some accumulated and loose clouds; it could only be a destined dragon, aimless and didn't know which region it was heading towards. — Or, some intruder, perhaps?

A thousand questions and concerns ran through your head, and they all scared you somehow.

The dragon's image was slowly approaching and soon, you recognized that creature, destined for the Targaryens and sharing the same blood and life force. — The greenish and heavy scales, together with the wrinkled wings and of a surreal size that this unfortunate world could admire and judge, flew to a point of Dragonstone.

Vhagar wasn't just a creature that carried on her back the title and recognition of being the greatest dragon in the world at that time; she was aware of the entire cycle of conquest of your ancestors and distant relatives. — She was one of the prides of the dragon's house.

However, it wasn't just that dragon that acclaimed, called your attention; wisps of the purest color of white were appearing in accordance with the movement of the wind and the swiftness of Vhagar's flight. — It was him.

"Aemond…" — You whispered incredulously and not wanting to believe what was possibly happening. A part of you feared, did not accept that your uncle, hated and received with so much bitterness by your parents and brothers, was risking himself for you.

He was risking himself to see you. All the pain, lack of body heat and suffering, which were accumulated during all the years of isolation that your family agreed to do, made him reach that point.

May the good gods be on your side, you mentally wished.

Leaning against the huge window, the icy feel of the rocks that complimented that opening overwhelmed her bare feet. — You didn't even think about putting something on, an incompetent but desperate action. — When finally crossing the ends of your long white nightgown they got wet but that didn't make you lose your focus.

Your chambers were one of the few that had a space, like a small worthless balcony, but that gave a small path to some mountains that were around the castle. It was a bit risky, and you never dared use it for anything useful or escape anything, but everything had its first time and that was it.

The path was going to be long, and you knew you needed to be quick and agile; then, you saw a stone block, big enough for you to use as a support and climb to the small wall that opened to the gigantic field with mountains of different sizes. — It felt like the good gods were on your side and doing everything for you to finally meet your lover.

Your long-awaited lover.

The pure, fresh and rough feel of the greenish grass, but with the darkness of the night leaving it with a stronger, darker look and pigment, it invaded the soles of her feet. It was kind of agonizing, you never had the opportunity to let loose in the middle of the grass, so it was kind of a new thing at the time. — It tasted like freedom but that must have been influenced by Aemond's appearance.

Returning to your focus, trying not to get distracted, you were nervous, anxious and a little afraid of what was to come; for the first time, you were feeling mixed feelings. — Your eyes traveled through the dark skies trying to spot the dragon and its rider, and praying that they had already landed on the ground and not drawing attention or any alert around the castle.

And there it was in its complex size along with the details of green and black tones, Vhagar could take over the entire tip of the isolated island and she would take comfort in the region. — The young rider, who was wearing a garment made entirely of the purest leather and very well sewn, wanted to get out of the saddle as quickly as possible.

You ran, holding a small part of your dress, which was probably dirty from the grass. Your heart was racing, it felt like at any moment it would leap out of your mouth and your teeth were dragging, uncontrollably biting your soft lips. — A metallic aftertaste was already starting to invade your palate.

Vhagar let out a snarl, which sounded like just a thick, rough timber from her throat, she had it in her mind where she was. — The gods reminded her of some situations that she, along with her previous riders, got involved and were part of several pages of the conquests and battles of the Targaryens.

The wind was getting stronger and your heart was beating faster than normal and abnormal; in the eyes of other people it was a worrying thing, it could cause a brief death, but you didn't care about that. — You didn't care at all.

He was there. After so many years, so many lonely and bitter moons; a perverse and cruel isolation for your heart. You were forced to agree and be taken to that isolated island, which included a castle, and go through these times alone and without the comfort, warmth and love of your dear uncle. — Who with obvious reasons was hated with every thread of blood by your parents.

Aemond was back for you.

With only a small distance from the dragon, enough for it to notice your presence, you couldn't move; not even to interrupt the drastic movements that the dress proposed because of the wind. — Your body did not mentally recognize your orders to move. — But, your eyes roamed over the huge old dragon that stood before you. Vhagar looked more tired but she had no desire or desire to end her battle, her life. Her tired and intimidating eyes admired you.

"kiip kesīr se ubeī ñuha udrāzma, vhagar." (Keep here and obey my command, Vhagar.) — That voice echoed in your ears, causing the sound of crashing waves to be muted around him. Aemond's voice was so different, of course because of his growth and, mainly, maturity. — Everything about Aemond had changed except the love he felt for you.

The dragon obeyed the order and to signal she understood, Vhagar let out a low growl; if you could consider that as low.

You watched, but the gods agree you were admiring, every move Aemond made to remove himself from his dragon's leather saddle. It didn't take that long after all; he was used to it by now, but for you it took forever. — You were desperate, hungry and yearning for that man's touch. The touch you've waited so long for.

The pure leather boots touched the ground, the sound of grass being trampled reached your ears. With small steps, the one-eyed prince, covered with his cape but it was possible to identify the black dress, also made of leather, through a small breach. — Aemond was in front of you.

His eye patch caught your attention but not in a bad or perverse way but charmingly. — That piece that protected the absence of his eye was mesmerizing.

"issa jorrāelagon." (My dear.) — Those were the first words that were uttered from the eldest's slender and sharp lips; the very words you've been waiting all this hellish time to hear again. — Every time, every morning and night, Aemond made a point of calling you that.

A raw and, at the same time, delicate mixture of feelings was dominating your control, dominating you. Your vision was starting to get blurry, on account of the tears that threatened to fall down your brave face. — The gods weren't deceiving you, he really was there.

After tasting for so many years the taste of isolation, the true taste of hell after being separated from your lover; finally, you have achieved peace. — Your divine peace that you expected so much. — You lost count how many times you cried mercilessly begging for the young man's touch, attention and affection.

"Aemond." — Somehow you couldn't form a simple sentence, or put mediocre words together; it was impossible for you. The only thing on your mind was Aemond and nothing else.

However, your body responded with strength and short and anxious steps were forwarded towards the one-eyed prince. Your feet once again felt the living, damp grass and the feeling of cold dominated that region of your body once again that night. — Watching your approach carefully, Aemond lowered the hood of his cloak. It was no longer useful to use that piece of clothing, it was already considered useless by the prince.

When you got close to Aemond, with only a miserable little distance making you feel the elder's quick and restless breathing, you didn't lose a second to admire him. — His serious face, there were small and weak scars and some cuts in the region and you were sure you would question him about; then, you directed your hand towards the left side of his face.

A caress, an affection so simple in the eyes of certain people but for Aemond it was as if an angel could be touching him and making everything around him disappear. — And you were his angel. — Aemond rested his gloved hand on top of your and stroked it as a way of reciprocating.

"I missed you so much." — The first formed and conscious words you managed to direct to your uncle. Your eyes, which had previously been roaming over the prince's cold face, were now admiring his only existing eye and Aemond was focused on any sound that came out of your mouth, he was aware of any movement you made. — "I missed you so much, Aemond."

In a quick moment, in the blink of an eye, Aemond brought his lips together with yours. — The softness and a typical sweet taste invaded a part of the one-eyed man's palate and the only culprit of that was you, and he felt he was in a place created by the good gods; it felt like the taste of paradise. — Aemond's thin, sharp lips were battling your but in the end they managed to come together like a dance step.

The kiss was pure desire and passion. — The desire that was guarded with seven keys and covered with dragon flames. — Aemond's tongue was determined to fight for space, fearing dominance, but your tongue was also with the same plans.

It was like a dance. — A dance of dragons. — Two dragons hungry for desire, to feel each other and are finally getting what they craved and needed most in that miserable life.

The taste of Aemond's lips was a passionate, mesmerizing acid to taste. You could spend hours and hours enjoying your lover's kiss and never, under any circumstances, get sick or tired. — You were obsessed, and wanting to demand more and more; such a needy thought.

Aemond's hand, which had previously been supporting hers, went to the back of your neck; intensifying the kiss even more. You couldn't stop the shiver and he modestly felt it along with the tremor in your body. A smile, a little thin and malicious, crossed Aemond's mouth during the kiss. — He knew right away how needy you were.

Suddenly you forgot about everything around you. — Your parents, your brothers possibly falling asleep, maybe there were guards roaming the region, everything; nothing else interested you but Aemond's warmth, touch and presence.

When you felt the beginning of shortness of breath, your lips distanced from Aemond's, and it left a feeling of emptiness in you at that moment. — A feeling of abandonment. — Looking down at the young man's thin mouth, you realize how red and irresistible it was but, in fact, you needed to control yourself.

"I missed you too, my sweet niece." — Aemond whispered, still feeling the feel of your lips against his. He was drunk on you and wanted to go deeper into that sea with you. — "And i came back for you and i don't intend to let them separate you from me again." — He wasn't lying or trying to play with you; so you wouldn't feel worry or fear of him slipping out of your sight again. Aemond would never commit such a painful act to you.

They managed to separate you from Aemond, they committed one of the worst acts even the gods could witness. — When trying to separate or burn a dragon's flame, they would have the conscience that they would have return and revenge.

But, the good gods already had a hellish vision of what could happen; they were dragons fighting among themselves. — The same blood, the same will to win and conquer, and the same fire and no one could interfere with it, only themselves.

"I will officially make you mine in front of them and by their hands, my love." — The one-eyed man pressed your forehead against his. — "bisa iksos daor sepār nykeā kivio, yn nykeā bêesîd uati." (This is not just a promise, but a blessed oath.)

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #game of thrones

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part Four

So these two slightly disturbed and (one of them at least) psychotic doves had to get married eventually ..

All feedback is welcome <3

English is not my first language 

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Warnings: Its finally smutty and its about Feyd, so....

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

FxM

3.212 words

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Your descent is quiet, as you are still unable to think or speak clearly, while Feyd Rautha seems tense and concentrated. With the ease he demonstrated on the ascent, you are sure that this has nothing to do with him facing physical challenges with the task at hand. You want to ask him about it but decide to stay silent instead, afraid to reveal more of yourself than you already have. He was promised a Bene Gesserit bride, and so far, you have behaved more uncontrolled and wanton than you ever could imagine.

The sun's rays bask your ancestors' home in a golden blanket as you enter through the gates again, where servants are already waiting for you. The exertion of today takes its toll on you, and your limbs feel heavy. Na Baron, graceful and still full of vigor as if he had done nothing but rest all day, turns to you, taking your hand in his firm grip. The touch of his lips on your knuckles sends an electric current through your core, filling the air between you with something akin to longing. "My Lady," his voice a low murmur, a force veiled in restraint, before he enters the corridors of the castle, shadowed by the servants.

Left to navigate the tumult of your own mind, you all but flee to the room where the chaos began for you, the guest library, as if the essence of the last evening's events might still be found among the scrolls and candles in it. The door gives way under your touch, revealing the Reverend Mother and Lady Jessica in the velvet-draped armchairs, their gazes piercing the flickering light. "Ah... I just wished to—" Your words faltered, and you felt like yet again you are on the precipice of stumbling into something you cannot undo.

A welcoming smile graces your mother's lips. "I knew you'd come to us," she says, the question of how lay unasked as you stepped into their world, closing the door on the shadows that trailed you. You are not even surprised and just let the question of how go unasked.

The Reverend Mother's voice, calm and unfazed by your confusion, carries the explanation, so clean and cutting that you are shocked by the directness of it. "The Reverend Mother Margot at the Emperor's court has failed. She has convinced the emperor that she will bear him the Kwisatz Haderach," her words with an icy undertone, mixed with disgust. "The Emperor fears the loss of power, the alliances of our houses a threat he cannot ignore. The presence of the Harkonnens here is no accident; it's a guarantee of our safety."

Dryness claims your throat as the implications of this take form in your mind. "Does Father know? Am I the last to be told?"

"Your father is aware. Na Baron remains in the dark, but neither he nor the Baron Vladimir is blind to the currents of politics. Paul suspects as much." It takes all your resolve not to fall at your mother's feet as if her embrace might save you from any harm coming her way and your unborn sisters' way.

"Yet, it was he who wished that Arrakis be governed by us. My marriage, arranged from birth—" you state, confusion still swirling around you like dust in the air.

"Indeed, child. But Margot Fenring's betrayal has set a new course, one that places you at the heart of the Emperor's plans. The future is yours and Paul's to create now. If his marriage to the Fremen Princess is successful and you ensure you can manage some of Feyd Rautha's more volatile tendencies," the Reverend Mother pauses, "then your bloodlines will take control of Landstrad without even trying, and CHOAM holds loyalty to the Duke of Arrakis, no matter what they proclaim otherwise."

In the following days, you keep coming back to the library, training with your mother and Reverend Mother as much as you can. Lady Jessica couldn't help but feel a sting of pride at your eagerness and concentration, pushing yourself to your limits. This left you exhausted and almost silent during dinners, keeping your interactions with the Baron to fleeting gazes. It felt like each sight of him frayed your strained mind a little bit more, with darkness creeping into the edges.

You are aware that Na Baron continues his daily training undeterred. You hear Gurney and Duncan whisper about it amongst each other. They seem impressed with his combat skills, something that you don’t see them being often. You tell yourself that after making yourself rare for the last few days, it's only polite to see your betrothed the day before your wedding. Arriving at his guest quarters, you knock, but no one answers. Guided by an urge you are too afraid to name, you press on the indentation on the door, and within a step, you are in his chambers. His attire is folded with immaculate precision along the shelves, his blades, gleaming, lay in a seated shelf. It feels so intimate to get a peek into his tiny world here, an exhilarating feeling rushes through your body.

„What are you doing here?“ 

A hissing, high pitched voice behind you startles you. You swirl around and look into black eyes of a woman, boys as Na Baron, dressed in leather overall, if those tiny scraps couldn’t be called clothing at all. Her eyes have to whites or pupils, but are just filled with back, making her seem like a wild animal. 

„Who are you“ You spit back at her.

„She is in Lots quartersssss… she will take him from ussssss“ Two other creatures appear from his bedroom, three of them looking together identically, The hair in your neck rises

„I am not the once to answer you. Now make space“ You take a step back, but the woman only come closer, his limbs moving slowly and in unnatural angels. 

„Dont thinksss soo. Why let you leave if we can kill you and have him to ourselfesssss“ and with it one of them lunges at you, her nails at your neck, her meta smelling breath on your face. You smack her away, but its three agains one and you feel a stream of blood running down your gown and arms, the pain searing. 

„Stop now“ within seconds you are free, crawling backwards and scrambling on get your feet 

„Who are you?“

The creatures only make cracking sounds in return. „Well then,“ you finally regain composure and try to ignore the drops of blood on your hands. „You can keep that to yourselves as a last thing you do.“ And just as you are about to use your voice on them again, Na Baron appears with sweat running along his cheek, this tunic clinging to his body, revealing the chilled muscles of his chest and abdomen. His gaze wanders between you and the women, between your blood on the floor and the blood on their claw-like nails.

„ I see you could not behave as I told you“ 

For a second you are enraged only to realize that he is not talking to you. „What did I say?“ His voice is pure fury. „We are so sorry, my Lord. She was here uninvited, she shouldn't“" So you decided to lay your hands on my future wife? On my betrothed?“ The women treble with each word „“Forgive us my lord“ the pleas, black tears running down their cheeks. „I forgive you“ he says, looking into their faces and with a low, wishing sound he releases the blade from its holster on his hip, slinking through their throats in one motion.

You stare at the scene before you, the pool of blood crawling to your feet. He steps right through it and gazes into your eyes. „No one will hurt you again, my Lady. No one will ever lay hands on what’s mine“ You only nod and let his kiss seal the promise. Whatever softness he has shown before is gone and is replaced by hunger and ferocity that leaves you breathless. He seems to devour you with his tongue and as you come for air there is wickedness in his features. „I think you should run now, my princess, for I am not sure how long I can hold back myself“ Your feet run on their own, leaving him laughing in the wake. So this is a glimpse of what his true nature is rumoured to be, You would be lying if you would say you are enamoured with him even more now. 

____

On the day of the wedding ceremony, you stay in your chambers. Duke Leto tries to protest as Paul comes to you, but his words fall on deaf ears. Only now do you begin to think of how many secrets had been whispered within those walls for centuries? Your handmaidens dress you, the gown is long and heavy with beads, mixing the vibrant green tones of Caladan, covered with floral patterns. As you move the beads sound almost like raindrops on cobblestones, a Melodie that carries you through the day. 

When it is time, your father leads you to the grand hall, where guests are gathered in the sea of candles. The light of the flickering flames is mirrored by your dress and you hope it can distract from the crimson creeping up into your face. Na Baron stands at the end of your walk and suddenly you feel the weight of the legacy you are carrying, how the cloth that is going to bind your hands together will bind the destiny of your families into one. His figure is dressed in a flowing black coat, that od closed at his shoulders with chrome insignia of his house. His waist is lacking the ear so he presents knifes. He is a presence of solemn elegance. When your eyes meet, a hunger flickers through his composure, but otherwise he aims almost motionless. His white skin almost glows in the light, his posture reminiscent of the pillars at the entrance of the hall. The words of the vows are spoken and with the knot at your wrist, all the whispers of the future materialize in front of you. You can feel the heat radiating from your husband's body, but he doesn’t take your hand and his expression is more guarded than you could ever give him credit for. A small disappointment rears its head, but you focus on your breathing. Your prance, the paragon of elegance and dignity, stand at your side, while Baron Vladimir and his nephew, both imposing in their own way, seem to scan you and your family still with a touch of confusion, as if they are still unsure if this is the inevitable turnout of e union, their leaves whispering in the gentle breeze, a melody of timelessness and change.

_____

The feast seem total stretch itself into an eternity, with each new dish brought forward, each cheer to the couple more grating to your ears than the other. Feyd Rautha seems to sense your absentmindedness as he touches your lower back, startling you. A laughter roars through the halls as he presses his lips hungrily on yours his tongue in your mouth and his grip on your back. You feel the eyes of the guests in you and cannot believe that this is actually something that is happening to you. Such a display of attraction is not something you are used to seeing and even less experiencing. When he finally lets you go, your face is red and flustered and with him leaving into your ear, your hands try to hold him at a distance.

„None of that now, dear Na Baroness“ his voice sweet and low, as sweet as the snakes gaze at the rabbit it is about to devour. „You are mine now, remember“. You tremble at him addressing you with your new title, another piece of the puzzle setting into the new reality you are facing. Two handmaidens appear at your side and you are gestured to leave the halls. The cheering gets even louder and from the corner of your eye, you say Jessica raising an eyebrow at the Duke, who try to remain graceful and stoic through the ordeal. 

Instead of your rooms, you are brought to the east wing. The chamber's candles mirror the grand hall, a subtle echo of their grandeur. The handmaidens leave out a nightgown for you, a whisper of black silk and lace and run a bath, fragrant with myrrh and pine. Hot water mist rises up from the basin, with tiny droplets lingering on your hair and gown. Just as one of the girls begins to untie the intricate laces of your corset on your back, Feyd Ruth’s voice fills the room.

„What do you think you are doing?“ 

„We are..“ The girl, clearly afraid bows down and tries to explain herself.

„You are leaving“ he declares and they follow the command at once. 

You stay frozen on the spot, the small sounds of the dress beads on the floor retrying your shiver. 

He is right behind you, the fabric of his cloak mixing on the floor with yours. His breath is on your neck, intensifying the shivers, which are now infused with anticipation. 

His hands resume the handmaiden's works, unrevealing the masterfully woven ties until your back is exposed to him, your dress holding on to the sure edges of your shoulders. He lets his nails glide along your spine, leaving tiny red lines on your sensitive skin. When his fingers leave your skin you feel a twinge of disappointment, but within a glimpse of a second, they return to push down the dress, as it now gathers on your hips, being held in place by the last pieces of the laces. You feel exposed and try your best to to ver up, as he circles you, with the precision of a vulture hunting down its prey. Whatever restrain he had it seems to fade by a second. His Tonge flicks his lips, as he places one hand on your neck and disposes of the rest of the dress with the other. You are standing now bare infant of him, unable to log away, as his left palm holds your face in a position facing him. His right hand disappears uncerismonuoisly between your thighs, and brushing over your sensitive sport, circling your entrance. „ I am pleased to find you so welcoming“ he smirks, feeling the wetness of your folds. You try to say something in return, but your mind is wiped clean, when his lips are at your neck, sucking at the skin around your collarbones and leaving bruises in their wake while his other hand is still at your core. 

He thought about this moment since your first kiss, letting all kinds of scenarios wander before his eyes. The Imagery of you bound to his bed, on your knees in-front of him, your hands behind your back and his hand in your hair. But for now, none of them seem enough to brand you as his. Your readiness however thinly veiled spurs him on and when he is satisfied with the chain of marks on your neck, he continues with your breasts, sucking and biting, which each whine you can hold back making him even more ferocious, The moonlight mixes with the candles, letting you appear like an ethereal creature, with soft curves and redness to the bitten spots, something divine and foreign to him. When your hands find his shoulders, still fully clothed, his voice is full of mischievous glee, like a spider that sensed something juicy got caught in the net. 

„ I don’t remember allowing that, my Lady. But it's your first transgression, so see it as a chance to learn.“ 

A glimmer of fear finds its way into your mind, the memory of his hand cutting a human throat quite fresh on your mind.

„Now be a good girl and turn to the wall. You obey, feeling the relief of the tapestry pressing into your skin, a friction so irritating and delicious you almost cannot stay still. 

„You are only getting 5 blows, but you are going to count them loud for my, my Na Baroness“ You sense how eager he is and brace yourself. Yet the pain is so searing on your bottom, ah his hands land flat on it, leaving a screaming red mark immediately that your legs tremble.

“It seems you didn’t count this one, so we have to start again“ Another blow on your butt cheeks lands with an intensity you didn’t expect.

„One..“ You manage to press between your teeth.

„Now that's better“ He almost purrs, a cat satisfied with its cats.

By the time the last blow lands, your are a mess of pain and desire.

You lay on the bed, your mind and body in a haze of desire and angst, as his clothes are disappearing on the floor. Your eyes wander dawn from his abdomen to his groin, where an unmistakable proof of his desire is covered in precum. He notices your reaction. 

„It seems like you are ready for me, but you have to prove it to me yet“. He gestures you to get on all fours, your face to him. His thumb runs along your already swollen lips, and he nudges then apart. He fills your mouth, while clawing at your har, and when you look up to him, the blue in his eye is almost gone. His thrust are hard and fast, a gagging sounds that seem to please him and just as he settles into a ferocious rhythm. But just as you think his peak is nearly there, he stops and you see how a human in him disappeared and a relentless beast has emerged. He scoops you up and oxeye you are place with your back on the silken sheets, he aligns himself with your entrance.

„All mine“ he growls and enters you in one motion. As much as you anticipated this moment, you feel utterly unprepared by being filled out like this. He doesn’t pause and takes up the pace from before. You close your eyes and another orgasm makes you scream his name like a drowning person screaming for help. His Whole body is towering over you, a marble statue that came alive. The veins on his forearms becoming more prominent, his breathing ragged and shallow. To see him unravel spurs you on even further and your nails find his shoulders and back again, gliding down to his butt, revealing red stripes on the marble in their wake.You feel your whole being clinging onto him and his own peak follows closely. You feel his warmth filling you, his last pumps weakening, as hi almost collapses onto you. None of you is able to speak. There is a tiny trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades and along cheek bon, With an inexplicable urgency you flick out your tongue and lick it up from his face. With some of the icy flu of his eyes returning, he regards you with a satisfied smirk. „Please rest assured, that I am not done with you yet, my lady“. 

___

@moonsoulk @aoi-targaryen

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine #dune part ii #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd smut #dune movie #arranged marriage #shameless smut #paul atreides

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monster Hunt: An Evil Without An End

Lady Talmere was a monster long before she rose from her grave, having taken to the recreational murder of commoners the way that others of her social class took to falconry or painting. Killing was a hobby for her, a privilege of her aristocratic birth that she could indulge while others were forced to work for a living. She chose her victims purely for the fact that it was easy to make them disappear: her country estates were far from prying eyes, her demanding nature excused the high turnover rate in her staff. She employed those with nowhere else to go, to hardworn by life to ask questions, and when complications did occur it was so easy to wriggle out of them by charming or greasing the palms of the local magistrates .

It was a true injustice that Lady Talmere died happy and of old age, moreso that her wretched spirit was not claimed by some devil and dragged to hell, instead rising some decades later as a mohrg. While most of her old self has rotten away, Talmere still possesses her love of killing and scene of digression, prefering targets that will go unnoticed. To make matters worse Talmere is now prone to reanimating her victims with the parasitic worm that makes up part of her undead corpus, simultaneously creating a new minion while getting rid of the evidence.

Adventure Hooks:

In recent weeks rumours are beginning to spread about the "Tattergaunt", a thing that wanders the night preying on lone travellers and isolated homesteads. The authorities are skeptical and have yet to post a bounty, suspecting beasts or even slavers given the lack of remains left behind. It's only when the party stumble into some of those remains on the side of the road, reanimated, worm bloated, and dragging another corpse that the picture becomes clear.

Talmere is having her zombie minions clean up after her, stashing away the undead that are about to slip out of her control in the hopes that no one will find them. Her choice of using isolated locations for these zombie stockpiles makes for a great random dungeon encounter.

The party may find themselves tasked with investigating a haunting at Talmere manor, inadvertently begun when the spirits of the lady's victims sensed that she'd risen. Unable to communicate through any means other than terrifying vision or violent poltergeist activity, the spirits long to be put to rest, and don't care how much they have to terrify or imperil the manor's mortal occupants in order to get that message across.

Challenges & Complications:

The old groundskeepeper served Lady Talmere in the final years of her life. Though he was only a boy he assisted the previous groundskeeper in all his tasks, which meant he also helped dispose of quite a number of bodies in the first few years of his employment. Riven by guilt and fear of punishment, he'll point the party in the right direction while keeping mostly to himself. However, Interrogating the old man or secretly leafing through his journals might provide the party a vital clue.

Though they want the haunting dealt with, Lady Talmere's descendants are just as prideful as any noble family and won't stand for their ancestor's honour to be besmirched no matter how true the accusations are. The party could make powerful enemies should they go blabbing about the old woman's crimes to the commons, or worse yet the local temple.

Likewise resistant to the investigation is the demon that's been lurking in the Talmere family estate for generations. It didn't corrupt the lady or drive her to violence, merely fed off the injustice of her kills and used it's power to ensure she was a little less likely to be caught. Every body burned to ash in the estate's furnace was a sacrifice on it's altar, and it seemed only reasonable to return the favour by seeding her body with the spark of unlife as she lay on her deathbed. If the party investigate well enough to disturb the demon they will soon find Lady Talmere's corpse knocking on the door of her own home with a small army of undead at her back, ready to massacre anyone inside, including her decendants, just for the thrill of it.

As her life (and subsequent unlife) suggests, Lady Talmere has a knack for escaping punishment. Any time she is slain, her mind transfers to another of her worm-animated undead, beginning a process of transforming it into a mohrg. As such she always keeps a few of her undead in reserve, scattered about the countryside or mixed in with those stockpiled zombies that've slipped her control. Once she's "settled in" to a new body she can start making more zombies provided she finds someone to kill, meaning unless the party stikes her hard and fast (ideally getting rid of her stockpiles before fighting her) she'll always be one murderspree away from cheating death again.

As she exists as an emboyment of moral and cosmic injustice, it seems only right that a weapon of true justice would be Lady Talmere's end. If they haven't already gone searching for divine aid, Midway through their troubles the party is approached by a temple scholar dedicated to the goddess Erathis, who has received a vision compelling him to help the party and lead them to a weapon wielded by a saint of the lawbearer herself. This might be as easy as swearing an oath on the saint's tomb, or as dangerous as tracking down where the stolen relic was hidden by the goddess's enemies.

(thanks @thirdtofifth for the monster stats)

Artsource

#undead #monster hunt #mid level #haunting #manor #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #horror

[teecupangel]

Thinking about a Desmond time travel au where because of the Bleeds whenever Desmond is alone with one of his ancestors his hindbrain defaults to oh this is a hallucination and he just loses all filter between his thoughts and what he's saying just compete steam of consciousness because it's funny to think of someone going up to the ancestor in question (I'm imaging Altair because he's my fave) and being like why do you trust Desmond he's the most secretive and quiet person ever and Altair responds with something like "Desmond has never once been quiet or secretive in my presence"

“He’s hiding something.”

Oh, he was.

Absolutely.

But he had said all of it to Altaïr in complete confidence and Altaïr was not inclined to share the knowledge and secrets Desmond had imparted to him.

“He cannot be trusted.”

Trust had always been a leap of faith and any trustful person could easily betray them without a second’s warning.

Al Mualim showed that. 

“He’s dangerous.”

All of them were. They were Assassins. That was the point. 

This is getting ridiculous.

“He’s planning something.”

Oh, he was. But he was also not that good with planning or thinking ahead but, it was alright, Altaïr was helping him in that regard.

The idea of ‘one-upping’ one of the beings that had played with the fates of mankind to push for the future they desire sounded like petty revenge and Altaïr was all for it because he could be quite petty if he wanted to.

“Are you even listening to me, Altaïr?”

“Yes.” Altaïr replied calmly, “You have made your point clearly, Malik.” 

Malik glared at him as he retorted, “But you will not heed my warning nonetheless.”

“I will heed it.” Altaïr said, “It won’t matter if I do or do not though.”

“Altaïr…” Malik’s tone was both a warning and an annoyed resignation that Altaïr was quite used to.

“It’s fine, Malik.” Altaïr looked down at the reports he was meant to be reading, “I will keep a close eye on him and will act accordingly.”

“I am worried by what you think ‘accordingly’ means in this situation.” Malik dryly stated before sighing, “But I know you long enough to know my words will fall into deaf ears now that you have made your choice.”

“I truly hope it’s the right choice, Altaïr.” Malik said before walking away, “I will check in with the recruits and tell Rauf the changes we’re making in their training.”

“Thank you, Malik.”

Malik paused by the door and turned to look at Altaïr, looking both concerned and disturbed as he said, “Now I know you are planning something. You just thanked me.”

“And now I know you’re more paranoid than usual.” Altaïr retorted lightly before waving him off, “Have tea after talking to Rauf, Malik. It seems you desperately need a break.”

“I do not-” Malik stopped and let out an infuriated sigh before finally leaving the mentor’s open office on the second floor of the main room of Masyaf Castle.

Altaïr waited until he was sure Malik had left the castle before he looked up and asked, “And how are you today, Desmond?”

Desmond immediately admitted, “I started a rumor that Abbas cries during sex.”

Altaïr blinked at the honest answer before laughing.

#never a dull moment with desmond #malik is trying to keep everyone safe #altaïr is enjoying the chaos desmond is creating #desmond is just trying to change the past and save the world #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot

[ticklystuff]

Nari's Bakery

a/n: inspo

wc: 901

summary:

nari's bakery

open: 12am - 2am (hours vary)

★★★★★ 5.0 (1 review)

It was one of those nights.

"Nari's Bakery", as Cyno liked to call it. Operating hours usually ran from midnight to two in the morning, depending on when Tighnari the baker, or Tart-nari, as Cyno enjoyed calling him, decided to "awaken". Freshly baked bread often made from, well, whichever of Cyno's body parts Tighnari could get his little hands on.

Today, Cyno's left arm, specifically his bicep, was the main ingredient. Cyno watched as Tighnari sleepily kneaded away at his arm, continuously applying pressure with a rolling motion. Behavior such as this was often mostly associated with felines, though it seemed like Tighnari's half-foxian ancestors managed to adopt similar mannerisms. 

A fond smile crossed his face as Cyno recalled the first night he had met Tart-nari. It was their third night sharing Cyno's tiny dorm room bed back at the Akademiya and one moment, Cyno had fallen asleep cuddling Tighnari in his arms, but the next, he had awoken to Tighnari using Cyno's face to make biscuits, moving his hands across his cheeks and nose, except from Cyno's point of view, without prior knowledge, the whole thing felt very much like his new boyfriend was trying to smother him to death. After panicking did he realize that Tighnari was still unconscious during the whole ordeal, reinforced by the fact Tighnari never seemed to recall his actions the next morning. Even to this day, Tighnari refused to acknowledge Tart-nari's existence, brushing off Cyno's experiences with the baker as fabricated, but that didn't matter to Cyno; he loved both Naris equally.

"Psst, hey, Tighnari," Cyno called out with a whisper; Tighnari never responded to his nickname after all, "hey, watcha making?"

It was often a long shot as to whether Cyno received an answer, but tonight, it seemed like he was in luck. "Lunch.... for Collei....." Tighnari mumbled in his sleep as he continued kneading, a drop of drool falling from the corner of his mouth and landing on Cyno's arm.

Cyno nodded contently as he brushed away the bits of drool from Tighnari's mouth with the side of his finger. Collei was Tart-nari's usual customer, no surprise there. "Anything for Cyno?"

"Cyno...... no...."

Well, guess he was going hungry for the night. Although he wouldn't be able to enjoy the baked goods, there was another perk to Tart-nari that would never happen when Tighnari was around. Rolling over on his side to face the baker, Cyno slowly reached over with his other arm, making sure not to disturb the process, and gently pat the palm of his hand against the tip of Tighnari's ear, before rolling back flat against the mattress. Normally, Cyno would've received an earful from Tighnari for the forbidden deed, but Tart-nari was much more lenient. Cyno watched as Tighnari gave his hands a break to brush at his ear, twitching his nose in half-slumber, before bringing his hands back down to continue kneading.

Except this time, Tighnari's hands found themselves at his stomach.

Cyno's eyes immediately widened at the new source of dough and he shifted under Tighnari's fingers, sucking in his belly in hopes that Tighnari's hands would move someplace else, but they remained where they were.

"No, no, no, Nari, plehease," Cyno gritted through his teeth, feeling Tighnari's fingers start up again, digging and kneading into his stomach like before. He attempted to push his arm underneath Tighnari's hands, hoping to divert the attention back to his bicep, but Tart-nari was insistent, pressing his fingers further into Cyno's stomach to make the best bread possible, of course.

Cyno was.. very ticklish, to best put it, something that Tighnari felt the need to remind him nearly everyday ever since their time together in Akademiya. Surprise attacks to his sides, using his tail to brush along Cyno's back when they stood together, using his ears to get at Cyno's neck during cuddles — nothing was off limits for Tighnari. And now, even while asleep, Tighnari still somehow managed to sneak in tickles; Cyno couldn't catch a break.

"Nari, st- mmphpFFtt," he quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, dampening the squeal that threatened to ring out through the small room. As much as it tickled, the last thing Cyno wanted was to accidentally awaken the other, not because Tighnari would be angry with him or anything, nothing like that at all, but baker Tighnari was just so cute, and if Cyno had to suffer for it, then suffer he shall. 

His body buckled under the other's hold, squirming in place as Tighnari's fingers kneaded and spread the dough each way. Occasionally, a finger would press into Cyno's navel, eliciting a squeak that Cyno didn't know he was capable of. One leg kicked out from under the covers and Cyno's arms gripped into the mattress, remaining resilient for Tighnari's sake, holding out till the biscuits were done and ready.

And finished they finally were once Tighnari slumped forward on both knees, his head hitting the top of Cyno's stomach, butt and tail pointing to the air. Tighnari was still asleep, or at least Cyno presumed, based on the snores that permeated through his shirt, seemingly in-sync with Cyno's own panted breath. With a tired sigh, Cyno took one hand and sleepily ran it through the other's hair, massaging Tighnari's scalp, feeling his ears twitch every now and then.

At the very least, Nari's Bakery was now closed for the night.

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