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#i just wanted a bow.... this cool bow.....
eratosmusings · 24 hours
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Stolen Destiny (II)
Feyd Rautha x fem!reader
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summary: the na-baron takes an interest in you
warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence
word count: 1.8k
previous chapter / dividers
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“...humiliating…disgusting…barbaric…”
You flinch as your father’s anger roars. Nothing you do will ever please him. 
“What do you think will be said of me? Of how I raised you?”
“You didn’t,” you want to say. Instead you apologize. Harkonnens are animals you rationalize. They were testing to see if you were prey and you had to show them you aren’t. 
“And in doing so you’ve tainted yourself.”
It’s like a slap. The cut on your hand still stings from the solution they’d scrubbed on it. It had only been a handshake. It was a show of strength. He’d understand that sentiment if there was a cock swinging between your legs. He doesn’t stay to say more, leaving you to nurse the wounds alone. 
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A feast is held that night. A welcome to your guests. You're squeezed into a new outfit, one you've been told your father deems more appropriate than the one you’d had chosen. It’s the first time he’s ever taken the initiative to dress you. It gives you no pleasure to recognize the dress as one of his courtesan’s.
“Your dress is lovely,” says the Princess Irulan when she sees you again after the food had been taken away and the party mills about in the Hall. She takes your arm and strolls with you between the bodies. The familiarity between you is striking. She speaks of her sisters, the planet she calls home. You tell her of your studies. It seems you share a fondness for the same authors.
It’s odd to feel her warm smile. There were few women in your life. Maids mostly, though they rotated frequently. A few of the castle’s regular entertainers when allowed. You don’t count the courtesans who keep your father company. 
“Princess,” Paul greets her with a bow, intruding on your talks of taking an excursion around the palace grounds. Those green eyes turn on you and sweep across your form. “My lady, you look stunning.” He takes your hand again and bends to kiss it while you try not to flinch. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Irulan says with more kindness than deserved. “We were just making plans to visit the lake the day after tomorrow.”
The way his face lights up has your excitement plummeting. He’s eager to join. You stay as long as you can stand his conversation. It’s not long. You excuse yourself, claiming the need to check on the rest of your guests, and extract your arm from the princess’. You accept a kiss on your cheek from her before disappearing into the crowd.
You have no desire to mingle more. Whatever consequences you’ll face when your father finds out about you slipping out don’t worry you. His anger would have found something to punish you for anyways. Cool air greets you as you step into the gardens. It’s not your favorite place, but the training yard is too far in this getup. 
“It’s rude to leave your own party.”
Hair raises on your arms, but you don’t turn to the voice. “You have my apologies for my rudeness then.”
“And it is unwise to keep your back to an armed man.”
“What fun is life without a little risk, na-Baron?”
He chuckles at that. There’s quiet footsteps as he paces behind you like a panther appraising a potential meal. You keep your eyes forward. “You and the princess seem to have bonded quite quickly.” He’s been watching you.
“She is easy to be fond of.” 
Shadow swallows you as he steps behind you. Breath ruffling your hair he asks, “But Paul Atriedes is not?” He’s been watching you closely. A fingernail scraps down your bare arm. “Do you resent him for what he’s stolen from you?”
You spin.
The black void that is his smile is wide on his face. Humiliation sears your throat. How many people know of your father’s deepest shame? Feyd-Rautha seems to revel in that silent moment. Your pain brings him pleasure. 
“I must return to my guests,” you say and step around him. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you're prepared. You evade, pull your arms taut to your chest, and dart down the hall as his laugh taunts. The respect you built with the Harkonnens was nothing more than delusion. It doesn’t matter what teeth you bare or claws you present, any show of weakness will be exploited. 
You round a corner and nearly crash into a guard. The same one from earlier. He questions if you’re hurt, eyes darting the corridor behind you. He seems to find nothing. You agree with his warnings now. It’s best you don’t wander alone.
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You wake unrested. Images of blackened teeth, slicing blades, and hoarse laughter haunt you into the morning hours. You’ve made the decision to retain a personal guard. The choice in who is easy. 
You spend the day reviewing everything for your coming of age in a couple of days. Your father is supposed to do it, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s tedious but the hours of distraction are welcome. And it gives you reason to decline Paul’s lunch invitation. It’s only when the sun is past its peak that you’re forced to hand over the remaining duties to your grumbling father. The swordmaster demands your time to refine a performance you still can’t rationalize. Who is it for?
Your father? A man who despises any display of femininity from you? The princess? In some attempt at an apology for a marriage that can now no longer be? Or House Atreides? The ones who’d stolen your destiny before you’d been a seed in your mother’s womb? This artistry certainly isn’t for the brutes of House Harkonnen.
The music halts half way through the fourth run. “Your timing is wrong,” the swordmaster says and has you begin again. 
By time he’s satisfied, your legs burn and your patience is worn thin. You can only glower at your guard, Fandral you’ve learned is his name, as he compliments the dance. “I like the story it tells,” he defends. 
“There’s not a story.” You massage the shoulder of your sword arm. The ache isn’t unwelcome, but the cause is frustrating. The time would have been better spent actually training.
“All art tells a story,” he says.
You scoff. “And what’s the story? I go crazy and start fighting air?”
“You can see it that way, but I think there’s more nuance.” He eyes the girls as you hand off the swords as if expecting one of them to run you through. “It’s the story of a girl turning into a woman.”
A laugh erupts from you. It’s a fitting story for your coming of age, at least. He tries to explain his reasoning. The symbolism of the first sword as the first menstruation, the second as the final years of youthful rebellion, and the end is the acceptance of the new role as a woman. You don’t quite believe it.
There’s no dreams of black teeth or the bite of blades that night. This nightmare is of your mother. Her face unmoving. Silent as you scream. She never moves, but she’s forever out of reach. Then she’s gone and you’re left gasping in the dark alone. 
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“This is beautiful,” Paul says in awe as he stares out over the lake.
It’s difficult to not let every word out of his mouth annoy you. You remind yourself he didn’t steal anything from you. His mother did. “You should see it at sunrise.”
He tears his gaze off the water. “I’d like that.” He says it so earnestly you feel you’re missing something. 
“As would I,” Irulan says. You turn your head to look at her on your otherside, but her eyes remain focused on the scenery. 
“And I,” the Harkonnen rasps in your ear.
His addition to the excursion had been as unexpected as it was unwanted. He didn’t seem the type to enjoy a day by the water. Even now, he’s at odds with the world around him. His stark white skin and ghastly black clothes unsettling out amongst the colors. You doubt he truly wants to see the beauty of first light. 
“Another day,” you say. It’s not a promise. 
You only plan to stay for an hour at most, enjoying a light lunch under your favorite tree, but Paul asks about going out on the lake. There’s only a small canoe available on such short notice, but it’s enough. Irulan has no desire to get on the water and says she’d prefer to ask Feyd-Rautha about the Spice harvesting on Arrakis. You aren’t keen on leaving her with him, but she insists and there’s guards to keep her safe.
Paul tries to play the gentleman and offers you his hand once he’s in the canoe, but he’s unsteady and nearly tips it over. You return his apologetic smile as you hear hoarse, barking laughter from the tree.
He’s inquisitive as you row out of sight. About your studies, arts you partake in, foods you enjoy. He even asks about your favorite color. You try to respond in kind, but he doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath between answers let alone ask your own questions. It’s frustrating but you smile and bear it.
“What’s that?” 
Blinking at him confused, you follow his gaze. A few meters from the shoreline was a small marble pavilion. It’s overgrown with vines, graying from the accumulation of dirt and grime. You’ve forgotten it was here. It feels like there’s cotton in your mouth when you speak. “Just an old pavilion.”
You let him take the canoe further for a while longer, before turning it back. You don’t look at the pavilion when you pass it again. It’s a relief to come back into view of the others. The canoe floats to stop beside the small dock. Fandral is there waiting, his arm extended. But Paul stands too quickly and the canoe sways. Your hand brushes Fandral’s outstretched one for a moment, but you tilt the other way and spill into the frigid water. 
It's not deep. Once you have bearings you’re able to stand and your head breaks through the surface. You take in a deep, shuddering breath. There’s a commotion beside you. Paul’s head pops out and sprays more water in your face.
Someone’s speaking, but there's a river flowing in your ears that makes it impossible to understand. It's a difficult walk to the dock. Your dress is heavy and the water slows your steps. An arm reaches out to you and you take it to help pull yourself up. 
Feyd-Rautha stares down at you. Not with a smile. There’s no amusement on his face. There's something new in his eyes you don’t recognize. It takes Fandral’s interference to release you from the intensity of his gaze. The guard shrugs off the jacket of his uniform and drapes it around your shoulders.
Irulan frets despite your multiple assurances you’re fine. It wasn’t deep. There was no danger. You’re wet, that’s all. Paul apologizes over and over and over again. “It was an accident,” you say in hopes of appeasing his guilt. You want Paul Atreides to leave you alone.
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a sneak peek of a daemon targaryen fic coming friday 👀
Your hand is pulled from your lap, enclosed in another twice its size, callous and rough against your skin. For the first time that day you look at your husband. You’d never seen him this close. The lavender gaze cannot have been of this world. It’s too vibrant, too knowing. “Too many of the men here have wandering hands. I’d hate to spill blood on such a blessed day.”
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Note
The cave au ^-^
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CAVE AU.
This AU that I've kept in the back of my mind came purely from wanting to put the blorbos in cool low-lit atmospheres. The general idea behind the plot came from me deciding that because of the fantastical nature of the source material, I can really do whatever the heck i want. So I decided that the ground is growing!
Yeah, the surface is growing upwards, eating up whatever is built on it. For example, Tommy's little hill house doesn't get pushed higher up the hill; the ceiling stays where it is, but the ground below it grows around-- eventually the hill is much higher than the roof, eventually dirt and stone begins to consume, and eventually its gone.
It grows too fast for them to rebuild. Lakes are risen and walls crumble, causing massive floods. Ravines form and cave in on themselves, lava pools turn into volcanoes, all in the span of a few days. (magic™) It's sudden and violent and confusing, and there is no time to ask How or Why.
I compare it in my mind to how strangely and quickly mushrooms grow, which have always freaked me out lol
The prison fares much better and Sam holds out the longest, but eventually it too begins to get overwhelmed. Certain walls near the cell begin to bow in and the elder guardian system gets affected and suddenly it's a real security concern. He'll just build a new one underground : )
With how the ground is growing, the caverns below remain in-tact. They get much bigger, and expand much deeper than before. But the people above aren't the only ones having to adapt.
As I said in my last post about it, everyone travels primarily in one big sectioned group, at least until they find a relatively safe area to settle. The plan is to recreate some sort of hub as they had before, and people will be able to venture out from there if they wish. That includes Dream being forced along with the prison guards. But it does Not include Techno, Phil, and Niki. (Ranboo sticks with the big group- power in numbers!)
They go underground as well, but they do so separately, deciding tensions are bound to get high and wanting no part of it. But even as they enter the caverns from wildly different areas, Techno still catches wind of Dream being pulled along with the others, and starts working on a plan to give him a chance to escape.
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phyrestartr · 1 day
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Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader (Teaser!!)
[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort]
A/N: LET'S GOOOOOOO I love this shit and wanted to share a piece for vibes as I continue to write it lol lmk what you think!!
☆☆☆
Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.
He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as the world made it out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.
“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.
“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”
Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”
“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I can help you.”
Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor.
“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–”
“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.”
Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room.
You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane.
“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted.
“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.”
“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat.
Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”
He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.
The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.
The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too.
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shesjustanothergeek · 19 hours
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His Love
|Aegon Targaryen x Fem!Reader|
Part Thirty-Three
Masterlist of Series
Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.
Author's Note: I just wanted to warn y'all that we're going to be getting into some messed up shit here. Even more messed up than assault, getting drugged, nearly raped, and peeing on yourself. As always, thank you so much for your patience with these updates, and I hope you enjoy!
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Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of a miscarriage and related thoughts, vomiting, daddy Daemon.
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The prescribed charcoal remedy had long dried on your stomach, cracking and flaking gray chunks into your sheets. Helaena had left with the sun low in the sky, leaving chaste kisses on yours and Aegon's foreheads. She went to ensure Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were comfortable, and they went down to rest.
Aegon refused to move when the Maester returned for the evening; his arm slung over your chest and nose buried into your neck. Orwyle did his work as if the Prince was not there, wringing a damp, woolen cloth into a bowl of cool water as he removed the hardened remedy from your abdomen.
He observed with wrinkled brows when he saw the Valyrian symbols above your womb, rocking the fabric over your malleable skin as he quelled the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He rinsed the material, the clear water becoming ash as he continued his duties.
Orwyle longed to voice his concerns regarding your health, fiddling with his fingers as he concocted another batch of charcoal and clay. You needed to wake soon so he could ensure your best chance of survival. The first forty-eight hours were the most crucial for those battling Poison Hemlock, and the fact that the Stranger had not taken you was a miracle. Animals who ingested the flowering plant died within a day of doing so, their lungs giving out or seized by convulsions.
The Maester believed you were more robust than he thought. The Mother had unquestionably blessed you with the strength of the Warrior to have you breathing for this long. Or perhaps, he thought, it was the Valyrian Gods of your ancestors, the dragon blood in your veins, that protected you.
The few interactions Orwyle had with you always left him with a joyful feeling, a small ray of light within his darkened quarters filled with dusty and ancient tomes. He tried not to care for your health more than that of a provider and his patient, but he found it challenging.
It was the dichotomy, he thought, of when you were awake, full of life, sparring with words and the swords against men who believed themselves better than you, to now, laying on your soft feather tick mattress with an emotionless, sallow hue to your skin. It caused him anguish. Orwyle was determined to find out who would do such a thing to you, uncharacteristically desiring them to be brought to the Father's justice, and resolved to remind Aegon of the need to do so when your two servants entered the chamber.
Once he finished making another concoction, Aegon waved him off, leaving with a firm yet uneasy bow to the room. The moment he left, Aegon stood, righting his rumpled tunic from his few restless hours of sleep, and addressed Fiora and Jeyne.
"What news have you?" he asked pointedly, gathering the ashy mucilage and brush to apply to your abdomen.
The maids shared a look, Fiora's eyes seeming to have never dried up as she cowered behind her companion. Jeyne inhaled a resolute breath. Her years of working for spoiled, impuissant palace goers was a typical occurrence.
"We have found a servant boy who claims to have seen the Princess's protector enter her chambers hours before your discovery. I believe that there is no coincidence to his absence at her door during that time," she relayed in one steady breath, hands clasped humbly over her lower abdomen.
Aegon grunted, disbelieving the credibility of such a statement. It would be the most obvious answer for Ser Arryk to be the culprit. He was heartbroken that his idyllic image of you shattered and the only one besides Aegon who could get close enough to slip poison in unnoticed. The answer was too simple, too straightforward to be true. A lowly kingsguard was the easiest to blame to save face within the royal family and protect whoever really did this. He still had the feeling within him that his mother had something to do with this. It was no coincidence that days prior, the Queen demanded you to leave, and now suddenly, you were at death's door.
Yes, heartbroken and ego-damaged men were a danger to those around them. Aegon understood that more than any, but Arryk would never go so far as to kill you for it. His oath was still to that of the King.
"Bring me this boy," Aegon said dispassionately, never looking in the maid's direction, simply painting your skin.
Fiora and Jeyne nodded, curtsying as was protocol, and headed for the exit until Aegon stopped them short.
"I'm sure you know that the Hand has barred any ravens from King's Landing to Dragonstone," he inquired, unamused as a sneer curled his lip. "Her family must know what has happened here. The more who know about this assassination attempt on a, perhaps this rat will feel pressured reveal themselves."
They both glanced at each other, Fiora gnawing on her lip as more tears emerged from her viridian eyes. Aegon ignored the servant's weeping and placed the bowl on a writing desk with the rest of the Maester's equipment. He pulled a piece of folded cream parchment from his trousers and hurriedly scribbled, fearing someone getting wind of his plan.
"Here is a letter meant for her father," he stated, flicking the paper between his index and middle finger. "You will not be able to send it through the rookery and must go to a brothel madame within the slums of Flea Bottom. Her name is Babette and she will ensure that my words make it to Dragonstone unhindered," Aegon instructed calmly.
They were stunned. Both maids stood in the doorway to your chambers with slightly parted lips, reminding him of a fish. They had never seen him act like such a... prince. He was raised within the castle walls and had the highest education of anyone in Westeros, yet he never seemed to take advantage of it. The maids heard rumors that Aegon was no longer seen at brothels or gambling houses, though they did not believe such a thing to be valid until now.
Fiora's gaze drifted to your listless form, fiery brows arched in disbelief, slowly drifting back to the white-haired prince. Jeyne was the first of the duo to compose herself and briskly walked forward, taking the wax three-headed dragon seal to her cracked hands. You had changed Aegon in ways that people believed impossible, and if she hadn't realized it until now, then who else knew?
If she, someone who saw you daily, did not know the effort and influence you had over a person, did anyone? The eldest maid felt a pang of sadness in her heart for you as weathered eyes lowered to the stone floor, the memory of her scrubbing away your blood and bile replaying as if she were there again.
Jeyne heard passing gossip that you had brought up concern for the small folk during a council meeting. It was fleeting, nothing more than a whisper of a feather drifting in the wind, and soon she forgot about it. What other accomplishments had you done that no one knew of? It was the plight of women, it seemed, to sacrifice one's soul to receive respect or recognition in the world. Once you awoke, she would tell you how much she saw and that your actions were not in vain.
If you woke up, she grimly realized.
A frown pulled at Jeyne's thin lips as she returned to Fiora's side. Her companion seemed to sense the elder's thoughts, placing a comforting hand at her back. Again, She faced Aegon, his violet eyes never leaving hers as she spoke.
"You are changed, Prince Aegon, and while that does not atone for the wrongs you have done, it shows that you are capable of being better," Jeyne expressed with a firm look on her visage. "It would do her well to know that."
Aegon needn't ask whom she was speaking of. He already knew, a sullen look coming over his face as he focused on the cracks of the stone floor. The memory of your limp body when he found you vividly displayed in his mind's eye.
Jeyne and Fiora exited with brief nods and bent knees, with two different goals in mind. The elder would get the servant boy, and the younger would go to the brothel, madame. They didn't ask why Aegon trusted this woman, but they knew it was useless to try. All that mattered now was ensuring your safety and justice.
A quiet groan caused Aegon to lose his collection of thoughts, swiftly going to your side as he watched your brows arch in pain. Droplets of sweat he had not noticed glistened on your hairline and ran down your temples, grabbing a cloth to blot at the excess perspiration. Your breathing sped, breasts rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. Seeing you more alive as Aegon rang the dampened fabric into the bowl was a relief.
Aegon slid into his place next to you, intertwining his fingers with your limp ones as he brought your knuckles to his lips, stroking the thin skin of your hand. His lips pursed in thought. Aegon knew the Keep was full of snakes ready to strike at any opportunity to raise themselves into higher power, no matter the cost. But in his mind, it was too risky to harm a member of the royal family, but others did not seem to share the same sentiment, and anger filled his hardened soul once more.
Aegon tightened his grip on your hand, harsh enough to bend their sides and crackle the bones.
"When you wake, little one, we shall rain dragon fire on who dared hurt you," he declared, sullen face now calloused.
If you wake...
***
You found yourself within a void, darkness surrounding your body clad in a simple white gown. You couldn't see the beginning or end of where you were, as if your eyes were shut, an unending blackness never touched by light. Your hands found their way to your face, fingertips touching your cheeks, the slope of your nose, and the sockets of your eyes to ensure you were, in fact, real.
Memories flashed within your mind, becoming the only thing you could see in the infinite darkness. You recalled voices, wet mouths talking and drinking, tongues licking lips and tasting something rancid and sweet, hands gesturing and twitching, crawling up your legs. Nausea churned your stomach, and pain rippled in your gut, causing you to fall to your knees. The ground was solid; it was real, and suddenly your eyes opened.
The world was still midnight, though you could see a man before you.
But it wasn't a man...
You weren't sure if it was a person, their face covered with an obsidian mantle and the seven-pointed star's insignia woven into their robes. Fear cinched your heart, and your chest rose and fell with quick breaths as you attempted to run, only to be flung back into your spot by an invisible force.
"Who-" you stammered, breaths coming in quick pants, "who are you? Where am I? I-I cannot see."
The being reached an arm in your direction, the fabric slowly drawing back to reveal its skin or lack thereof. Their finger slowly traced down your cheek, cold and warm, comforting and alarming, yet like nothing simultaneously.
"I am what I am," they stated, tone unlike anything you had ever heard. It sounded like the voices of many speaking simultaneously, men, women, children, and everything in between melting into one eerie noise.
"You're here to hurt me, aren't you?" The words did not sound like they came from a grown woman; instead, a young girl high-pitched and hoydenish with fright as tears lined your lashes. Your breath hitched as their fingers left your skin, fear scratching at your throat and squeezing your eyes shut. "Where am I?"
The being stepped backward, seeming to float on the ground as sparkles of white flashed in the air. Stars, you realized, twinkling in the infinite void. For a moment, you were put into a state of wonder, gazing at the bursts of light in awe as the being only stared. It made no movements nor breaths, allowing you to take in the amazement of your surroundings.
"Am I dead?" you asked, finally gaining the courage to voice the most prevalent question in your mind.
"You are in the world between worlds, child. Not dead yet not alive within the realm of your creation," they answered with not a hint of emotion.
You couldn't hide the aghast sob that left your lips at his revelation, your mind reeling. You knew what happened for you to wake here. You drank from a cup tainted with poison that caused your limbs to freeze and your brain to wave, but who did it was unknown. The only picture within your mind was a silhouette of a figure with short, mousy hair and a slouched posture, supporting their weight on something.
You knew who they were. You felt it in your bones, but your mind refused to let you see. Was that your psyche subconsciously trying to protect you, or did the poison affect your memory?
"I don't want to die! What did I do to deserve this?" you wept with blurred vision, looking at the unmoving being before you.
You felt them sigh, though they did not move, their chest not indicating if they had lungs. "New born babes should not be taken from the world before they can sin, yet they are."
An involuntary grimace pulled your face as you licked the briny water from your lips. The world was cruel and uncaring. It took children from mothers before they were ready and kind people into places of darkness. Life was bleak and hopeless and full of negativity. At times, you wondered if there was a point to living when life would always end the same—breathing, eating, fighting, and suffering until you died and were forgotten a hundred years from now.
"I know who you are," you spat, tongue thick as you swallowed tears. "You are a callus and heartless being who takes those undeserving while displaying yourself in a cloak of self-righteousness."
They did not seem angry about what you said and tilted their head in response, examining you like one of Helaena's pinned insects. Its unseen stare unnerved you, appearing like a statue you never prayed to within the Sept. Anger began to well in the place of your unease at their indifference, taking purposeful strides to them before your body was abruptly taken aback, nearly tripping over your feet.
"I am neither good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine."
It raised the same arm that stroked your cheek and pointed at you, causing panic to grip your chest as the shrouded hands shoved you to the ground, air knocking from your lungs. You struggled against them, the whites of your eyes visible as your arms and legs flailed in their vice-like grip. The being came closer, towering over your writhing form until you could see what hid underneath the obsidian hood.
A face not of this world looked down at you, half human and inhuman, alive yet dead. It was too much for your mind to comprehend as you released a scream, kicking your limbs as you desperately tried to escape from whatever fate awaited you.
The hands pulled at your hair, keeping your head down and unable to see the face of the Stranger any longer.
"No! No, please! I don't want to die!" you beseeched, throat raw from tears and screams as your wide-eyed stare found the Stranger at your feet once more.
"I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood and I have come to take what is mine—one soul. No less," they repeated in an amalgamation of different tones. Your heart broke for the loss not only of life but of what might be.
The Stranger's accusing finger continued to point not at you but at your stomach, your misty stare flickering from yourself to them.
You knew what was to come next. They would rip your heart out before your very eyes, crushing your life source within the secular realm and the divine. You would never wake again, never feel the sun flush your skin or the wind whipping your cheeks on dragon back. Aegon would revert to his old ways of whoring, gambling, and drinking himself into unconsciousness, a crown forced on his head as the realm plunged into war and your kin were slaughtered. Every sacrifice would be for not all due to one simple drink.
Refusing to resign to your fate, you thrashed and screamed in failed attempts at breaking free. There was no escape to this realm—no beginning or end in the vast darkness. There was only you, these unseen hands pulling you into submission, and the Stranger, his digit still raised and pointed.
"What have I done to deserve this?" you wailed, feeling your limbs locked at the joints. "I-I know I was not a devoted follower of the Faith and have sinned, but I repent. I'll pay penance to the Seven each day forth from now on. I'll attend services in the Grand Sept. I'll-I'll refrain from any vices you so wish. Just let me live!"
Your bargaining with the faceless being went unheard, his arm slowly falling to its side as you felt the hidden fingers slither across your abdomen, tearing your nightgown down the middle. Your eyes grew wide with horror, attempting to pry them away with panicked movements only to be thwarted by the others pushing your limbs into the ground.
"Stop!" you screamed, voice cracking as your neck was whipped back, head cracking onto the ground as your vision flashed.
Though you couldn't see them, you could feel them. Their digits indented into your malleable flesh as it broke under pressure, blood seeping from the gashes as a searing pain tore like a thousand cuts of a hot blade through your skin. Blood poured from your stomach and down your sides, soaking your tattered porcelain nightgown into a stained crimson. Wailing in agony, your throat grew sore, limbs twisting and contorted into inhuman positions as you gave under their ravenous scratching.
"Blessed be you, the daughter of the Mother bound to suffer eternal through the sins of your father committed long before your conception," the Stranger prayed, words carrying over your cries. "Blessed be your whore mother, tired and angry, waiting with bated breath on a ferry that will never move again. Blessed be the children. Each and every one who have come to know their god through some senseless act of violence."
The exposed image of your essence caused your heart to become faint, the torment fading into the back of your mind as your vision fluttered and your head became light. It was a small mercy in the ruthless death that you could no longer feel the torture of your organs torn into, limbs twitching in subconscious reflexes.
"Blessed be you, girl, promised to me by a man who can only feel hatred and contempt towards you."
The squelching of your insides was sickening as silent tears leaked down your temples, confused as to how you were still alive. No human could survive being disemboweled; the blood loss alone would kill the most robust of men, yet the invisible beings continued to burrow into your insides, seeming as if in search of something.
The Stranger did not move from its place at your feet, observing as your intestines glistened in the twinkling lights of the void.
You felt betrayed by them and those who preached that the Stranger was not a being of good or evil. They were supposed to guide you into the afterlife, not watch as beings threw your organs to the side. They lied. No being would stand there and allow a daughter of the Mother to have her insides turned out. You never feared the Stranger yourself. Death was inevitable, but now you understand why followers of the Seven feared the Stranger.
Cries that were higher pitched than yours yanked you into reality, a single thread pulling your gaze back to your stomach as a babe covered in crimson, glistening with your essence, was ripped from your womb. Confusion, fear, surprise, and desperation surged through you, attempting to pry yourself from your confines again. The cord connecting the child to you still pulsed with blood through the purple and blue veins as it was taken and placed into the hands of the Stranger.
"What are you doing?" you questioned with a thick tone, panic seizing your limbs as you broke from their unseen grip. 
That was yours—something you made solely of your labor, and they were taking it from you. It belonged to you!
You desperately yanked at the fleshy cord still connecting you to your child, the babe's shriek piercing your ears and into your heart. "Please, give it back!" you sobbed, reaching out again only to be shoved. "No! No, please! Please give me back my child! They are mine! They don't deserve this."
You were unsure of what came over you. You had never met this creature before, though it was born of your flesh and blood; you did not want them taken. An instinct to protect the life of something so fragile and innocent lay dormant within your body, coming to fruition. The thought of sacrificing yourself in the babe's place nearly slipped off your tongue, but a sudden light blinded you, pushing the cries of your kin to fade as your eyes burned.
When you came to, you were no longer in an infinite void. Instead, within your chambers, thick, fragrant smoke choked your lungs as the same searing agony from before tore through you. Aegon stood over your writhing form, and his brows arched with concern as he saw your sheets become scarlet.
You stared at him, his eyes glassy and filled with an exhausted longing, as he rushed to your side, grasping your slick palm. "You're alive!" he exclaimed, unable to think clearly through his shock. "You're alive."
Unable to speak, you nodded, sweat and tears dampening your face as another wave of pain knotted within your lower back, forcing a scream. Aegon's violet eyes danced over you, seeing your blood now spread onto your top blanket as his cheeks became devoid of color.
An array of thoughts swirled within his mind like a maelstrom at sea, swiftly lifting the sheet away as he saw the crimson between your legs. His first instinct was to believe that, somehow, the assassin had returned underneath his watchful gaze, paranoia seizing his chest. But Aegon, still confused as to what was happening, gripped your hand impossibly tighter, causing a groan that rumbled in your lungs.
"The Maester," you managed to breathe through gritted teeth. "Get the Maester, Aegon."
He paused for a moment too long, and another cramp went through you, wailing with a clenched jaw and shut eyes as your body arched in pain. The prince did not need to be told twice as he watched the woman he loved beg the Gods for mercy, swiftly exiting your room as he ran to Orwyle's chambers, your cries becoming distant within the pale red stone walls.
The man in question opened the door with tired eyes to the Prince's incessant pounding. He did not need him to explain. He knew it had something to do with you as he hastily gathered supplies and the seven-pointed star necklace on his person. What Orwyle did not expect to see when he entered your humid chambers were you on all fours, grunting and straining with blood-soaked hands and bedclothes, sweat discoloring your once pristine nightdress.
He went quickly into action, ordering Aegon to summon your maids as he stood there listlessly, unable to comprehend the urgent words over the sounds of your shrieks. Aegon was unsure when he finally summoned Jeyne and Fiora, the pair looking perplexed before spotting their Lady. Both quickly went into action, following Maester Orwyle's instructions, scattering in and out of your chambers with different items.
Aegon could not think as he observed the events unfold before him. It was all too much. He couldn't process the abrupt chain of events. One moment, you were laying there, breaths barely audible, now suddenly panting and sobbing for an end he was not sure he wanted to see. Aegon did not know if this was an effect of the poison as his distant eyes met yours, lips mouthing something he strained to hear. He could not bear to lose you. He finally had love within his grasp after years of yearning only for it to be promptly taken away before properly basking in its warmth.
Aegon, who was so focused on the end of something, could not see the future before him, staring with violet-rimmed pupils within thick lashes, begging him to bring comfort. Finally, he could hear you, a rush of sounds and voices barraging his senses as you strained a grunt for him to come near.
You took his fist in yours, the other clutching the footboard as sweat ran down your neck. It felt as if your head was about to burst from your skull with each contraction, panting like an exerted animal.
"It's almost over now, Princess. You just need to pass the biggest part," encouraged Jeyne, a soothing maternal presence in a place that lacked it. "Come now. In through your nose and push out your mouth."
Nodding fervently, you did as told, inhaling deeply and growling with downward force, bringing your arm to wrap around Aegon for support. You needed the closeness and comfort a loved one brought as you went through this traumatic event.
Tears from above sprinkled on your damp hair. Streaks of wetness lined Aegon's cheeks as much as they did yours as another cramp rolled through you.
"What's happening?" he whispered against your cheek, breath uncomfortably hot.
Surprise dawned on your features as the pain ebbed for a merciful moment, resting on your knees. Your free hand grasped his silver roots in support as your other led Aegon down to your stomach, unable to speak. He stared with wrinkled brows and glassy purple eyes as you allowed him to apply pressure there. You need not tell him the reason in words as he glanced down. It could only be one thing.
"You are with child?" he questioned softly, tenderly stroking the area with his thumb.
You nodded, the cramps rising and commanding your body to gush more gelatinous blood. "I saw her. She was right there and they took her from me. Straight from my womb as she wailed."
"Who? Who took her from you?" he asked, free head tangling within your matted hair as you rested your forehead against his.
"The Stranger."
Aegon believed this to be the ramblings of someone in labor, the blood loss not helping to have a clear mind.
The death of a child, whether in this realm or within the womb, hurts immeasurably. The loss of something you could see and touch, something you formed a connection with, brought immense suffering to you and many of those around you, but it wasn't grief to bear alone. Having a life stolen from inside you created feelings of failure and doubts about your body's natural capabilities in isolation, morphing into self-blame and loathing of what could have been if only you were different.
But it was not your fault, not in this or any other sense. Your body did its natural process of protecting you, and even though you did not meet the child in its complete form, there was still a connection to mourn.
So deep within your thoughts, you did not hear the opening of oak doors, two pairs of footfalls storming into the room as your support was suddenly ripped away. Your fists balled into the crumpled sheets in compensation. Aegon struggled in Ser Criston's ironclad grip on his collar as you felt the sudden urge to push, push, push.
"Yes, Princess, yes! Keep going, more is coming out! You're almost finished," Fiora cheered, kneeling in Aegon's place as she clasped her fists around yours.
"Bring him back! I want Aegon!" you shouted. "I need him, please!"
At your cries, the Prince felt panic begin to take root, a terror and desperation to get to you that was so visceral that he did the only thing he could. Aegon growled and bit down on the fleshy part of Ser Criston's palm that met his thumb and forefinger, breaking the skin as blood stained his lips scarlet. The knight howled in pain, releasing the Prince on instinct as he attempted to return, only to have his mother stand in the way.
"Aegon, you needn't worry about her now. She is in capable hands," Alicent attempted to placate, her voice as gentle and maternal as when he was a child.
He paid no mind to her false coos and shoved the Queen out of his way, uncaring as she landed into a corner of furniture that stabbed her side. Ser Criston swiftly regained his composure at his Lady's shriek, once again grabbing Aegon by the fabric of his tunic and towards the exit.
"She is your Queen and mother! How dare you lay hands on her!" Criston admonished and struck the Prince with an armored grip upside his head as if he were no more than an insolent mutt.
You protested the action, begging the Queen, Ser Criston, the Maester, or anyone who would hear your pleas to bring Aegon back to you, but no one listened. The Queen was the highest authority in the room. Her word was law, and you were nothing but a lowly bastard dressed in fancy clothes and titles left without regard.
"Mother! Please, don't do this. She's with child!" the Prince beseeched, unruly locks of unkempt silver strewn across his pale face.
"Not anymore," Ser Criston jeered as his vision met the blood-stained sheets, dragging a raging Aegon away.
Alicent stood, righting herself and smoothing the fabric of her peridot gown with jeweled fingers. "You do not have the right to make such demands, Aegon. Leave at once. We shall discuss this later."
She couldn't stand to look at him, the shame of everything weighing heavier than all man's sins, as Alicent turned her brown orbs away from her son. He had sired bastards before, as had many Targaryen men, but one within his own house, with another bastard no less, was too much for the Queen's mind to comprehend.
The doors to your chambers slammed shut, rattling your bones as sobs of defeat tore through your throat. Your body did not allow you to mourn Aegon's absence, focusing your efforts as your muscles forcefully contracted, expelling the last of the thick matter out of your womb and onto the bedclothes. Fiora stroked your sweat-knotted hair as the pain subsided into dull cramps, reminding you of a particularly rough moon's blood, lungs slowly inhaling as your body relaxed.
Maester Orwyle began dabbing at your temples and neck as you sat, breathing heavily through your nose. "You did well, my lady," he praised quietly, glancing over his shoulder to Alicent, who stood staring into the hearth with her thumb in her mouth.
You sighed in acknowledgment, eyes briefly shutting as your fury gave you the energy to speak. "You are a cruel woman, Alicent." Your words were a dagger straight to her heart as you wiped your stained hands on your nightgown.
She turned to you and quickly placed her arms at her side, trying to put on an air of pomp that the situation did not need. "Tis hardly proper for a man to witness the pains of a miscarriage," she answered as if rehearsed.
"Proper?" you asked rhetorically. "I was dying and all you cared about was fucking propriety?" you snarled, rising to your knees with a wince, nerves alight.
The Queen did not dare say more, her conscience gnawing at the back of her mind like her teeth to her lip. "I know this was your doing," you spat, allowing Jeyne to help you onto your plush settee as the Maester began to clean your stained thighs.
The two women who had been with you since the moment you were forced to call the Red Keep a home gathered your soiled linens, stripping your bed without needing to be told. The sight brought warmth to your heart you had thought died moments ago. Through the brief time of Ser Dalton Greyjoy's presence to dutifully covering marks left behind from stolen moments with Aegon, Jeyne and Fiora's loyalty did not waver. Most maids would be eager to pass on gossip and rumors among the nobility for a chance at some coin. Or perhaps to provide themselves some entertainment in their less fortunate lives, but your two maidservants did not.
You were overwhelmed by a sudden gratefulness for them, longing to bring them into your embrace to sing praises and shout thank yous, but the Queen's looming presence forbade it. There was uncertainty about why she was here. Undoubtedly, the same woman who all but told you to leave King's Landing was not concerned for your well-being. You were hardly but an insect pestering her with your annoying, buzzing wings.
"Is it not enough that you've murdered the last remaining blood of my mother? Now you must take the life of my unborn child," you grunted, adjusting your position on the plush, emerald cushions as nausea struck through your core.
The Queen gasped, and everyone in the room looked weary, certain they were not supposed to hear this. "I would do no such thing, Princess," Alicent rebutted with a horror-stricken expression. "You are being unreasonable. 'Twas whoever snuck into your chambers and poisoned you that did this! Do not blame me for your misfortune."
A hollow laugh escaped your chest at her words, swallowing the bile that rose with the lingering cramps. "Oh, but how fortunate for you," you replied bitterly, the jab tasting acrid on your tongue. You wanted her to leave, to let you grieve the loss of a future you would never know, but she refused, implanting herself into the lives of others to ensure her gains were met. "Have I not earned my place here? Have I not sacrificed enough?"
"You know nothing of sacrifice," Alicent rejected quickly, snapping her avoidant gaze to yours.
"Don't I?" you chortled. The laughter sent your stomach into knots, but you pressed on, nudging Maester Orwyle away to stand upright, much to his concern. "Have I not done what you commanded of me? Kept your son from whoring and drinking himself to death on the streets of Flea Bottom? Do you remember the day you wrote to me? How you implored me to come to King's Landing and herd your son back to the Keep?" you sneered, tears of frustration and sadness welling in your puffy, bloodshot eyes.
No matter how desperately you wished to do so, you would not break in front of the Queen, heart empty as you spoke, blood trickling down your leg. "I have done what you asked and more. I've made Aegon understand the responsibility of his birth. He does not gamble or whore, gluttony is no longer a vice. He's become a better husband, brother, and father. He is everything you want him to be because of me!" Your voice wavered, barely containing a gag that pulled your lip muscles, threatening to become something more.
Realization struck you as you observed the Queen stand underneath your rage. All your life, you have served others to attain recognition in their eyes, whether to prove yourself competent or receive the love and acceptance every child craved. With your father, desperately eager to please him, to show him and all others that you were not the baseborn bastard daughter of a whore---that you could hold your own and make a name for yourself. Your desperation to prove yourself would be your downfall, but no longer would you allow yourself to be the subject of your insecurities. Worth was not dictated by what you did for others but by what you thought of yourself.
"Now that I no longer serve to further your schemes of putting Aegon on the throne, you see it fit to discard me as if I am nothing but a piece thrown about the board, sacrificed to achieve victory." Your anger was palpable, striking the Queen into her soul without physical action.
Alicent inhaled sharply, glancing at your maids and the Maester, who had all seemed to have halted their tasks. Your words were a mirror to her as anxiety began to flutter within her gut underneath so many stares. Hands once primly placed at her side were now picking at the skin of one another, a nervous tick she never broke. She did not know these people. She did not trust them not to run to the nearest lord, who was desperate for Rhaenyra's favor with word of treachery.
"What you claim is treason and not from a sound mind," she protested, her voice velvet. The Queen knew that if she spent a moment longer discussing secrets that had been unsaid, they would finally surface to harm the steps made to plant Aegon on the throne.
You opened your mouth to speak once more, but Alicent's smooth voice was quick to interject.
"Maester, I believe the Princess has gone into hysteria due to the poison. She is not thinking clearly."
You began to argue, but the feeling of nausea overcame you, and you quickly stumbled to your chamber pot as the little contents of your stomach exited. Fiora and Jeyne rushed to your side, holding your tangled strands from your face as the other rubbed soothing circles across your lower back.
"Her hysteria is dangerous to herself and those around her, Maester. I believe milk of the poppy will numb her mind enough until she is well again," Alicent said with pursed lips, staring down at your hunched back from under her nose.
Orwyle blanched, understanding that this was not a suggestion but a request. Who was he to deny the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms? "Your thoughtfulness for the Princess moves me deeply, your grace. However, any attempt to sedate her now would put her at more unneeded risk. She has lost far too much blood, and I must monitor her health."
The Queen's jaw clenched, teeth grinding at the man's tenacity. What did you have that gave people such a steadfast honor to protect you? Unlike her, you could not give them titles, land, or money in compensation. She was the Queen. They were supposed to serve her and bend to her will. Yet, they tended to your well-being with unyielding devotion, even in the face of one of Westeros's most influential people. Why did they not stand with her? Did a Queen not offer more than a bastard? Why not her? 
Why not me? Why not me? Why not me?
Envy ran hot through her veins at the thought. 
The three servants knew what this was—an attempt to control the situation and narrative, to prove that Queen Alicent would remain the all-encompassing figure of power and dominance, not some young, pretty bastard girl who bewitched all those around her.
"I shall not allow another danger to lurk about my home, especially one that deceives. We already have her assassin to worry about." She ignored your scoff, her words velvet but holding an icy undertone.
When Maester Orwyle did not move, Alicent shifted, palms conjoined just below her heart as she raised a manicured brow. "Do it Maester or I will have my guards do it for you."
He hesitated again, gaze flickering to your slouched one leaning onto your ladies for support. You gave him a solemn nod, conveying with a single look that you would not resist. If this would get Alicent to leave the four of you alone and allow you to mourn peacefully... so be it. It would be better for you and them. You would not have to think about what happened for at least a little longer, and perhaps the pain would be gone when you woke, and your beloved Prince would be at your side once more. But hope was a double-edged sword. Each side was as sharp and brutal as the other and cut equally profoundly.
***
The air was cold on Dragonstone, with a salty bite stinging Prince Daemon's flushed cheeks as he stood on a brimstone balcony overlooking where Blackwater Bay met the Narrow Sea. The moons spent without his daughter chipped at his war-hardened soul, revealing the center he kept tucked away, though many did not see it.
People believed Daemon to be a cruel, calculating man deserving of the title "Rogue Prince." And while they were not wrong, it did not mean that the same sentiment traveled to the treatment of his family. He was devoted to his wife, stepsons, and true-born children, tending to them as a shepherd would his flock. He no longer cared for the war in the Stepstones or any battle, focusing his efforts on the future, a future for his family that seemed to grow more uncertain as his brother's health declined.
While he did feel guilt knock at his hollow chest when he thought about his eldest daughter, the life she was born into, the life she was kept from and forced to live, he did not have regrets. Daemon would, a thousand times over, accept you into his heart.
You were a part of him he did not know was missing, fitting so perfectly into his cracked soul that not even Rhaenyra's love could mend. You are as much of his blood as the young Aegon, Viserys, and the babe that grew stronger every passing day within his wife's womb. There was a special connection between the two of you that only a father of a girl could comprehend. He now understood why his brother passed him in favor of Rhaenyra becoming heir, for if he had the choice, you would serve to inherit all he had.
Daemon longed to have you at his side again, listening intently to whatever thoughts, happenings, and plans you had. The council meetings around the Painted Table grew increasingly irksome as he patiently awaited your next raven. Rhaenyra brought Jace along to more than one gathering with the pompous lords. Daemon admired the boy's fire and tenacity, yet he always seemed to lack the mature awareness you seemed to possess—no doubt a byproduct of your vastly different upbringings.
It had been a sennight since your last word, the longest Daemon had ever waited, and he grew antsy with each passing hour. He found himself pacing the sandy beaches across the island, climbing the same mountains and hills he forced you to in training. Memories were what he felt he had left of you now and that of the written word.
"My love."
He heard his wife's tender voice calling him inside. "You will hear from her soon. I know it."
Rhaenyra's soft hand found Daemon's, bringing it to the growing bump underneath her Myrish lace dress. The notion grounded him as much as her as they pressed their foreheads together, sharing a kiss full of all the longing and melancholy he kept hidden within himself.
It was not until late evening, as he and his wife retired to their chambers for rest, that a footman knocked, revealing a single piece of parchment atop a bronze platter. Daemon's heart leaped for joy, knowing it could only be one thing, and he hastily tore at the three-headed dragon seal.
Rhaenyra allowed her husband to read in silence, brushing out her long, snowy hair as she hummed a tune her late mother used to sing, absentmindedly stroking the life tucked below her breast. When her task was done, and she had secured herself within her thick nightdress, she turned to Daemon, his hunched spine facing her over their shared writing desk.
"What news does she have, my darling?" Rhaenyra sang, combing a fragrant oil through her strands. She prodded him further at his silence, eager to know what her chosen daughter said. "Has another lord insulted her again? You mustn't worry about it like last time. She is more than capable of defending herself."
Daemon did not answer, a strained, choked sound that his wife had never heard before emitting from his throat. Rhaenyra turned, swiftly walking to him as she smoothed a palm down the crown of his head to his nape. "Love?"
"She's dying."
"What?" Rhaenyra stammered, taking a step back.
"She was poisoned. The Greens have obstructed all communications with Dragonstone, and the sender is unsure if she will be alive by the time I read this," he answered, paper trembling.
The shock paralyzed all rationality. Rhaenyra didn't know what to think or feel. "Who sent this to you?" she ardently asked. The world around her became fuzzy, and her head went light as she braced herself against the wooden desk.
Daemon flipped the parchment over, searching for any indication of who the sender could be, but found none. "It has the royal seal, yet there is no signage."
His wife had no answer, dread beginning to take hold of her chest as tears collected in her amethyst eyes. A sob escaped Rhaenyra. The pain, the suffering you must have been through, was enough to make her faint, knees buckling as she struggled to stay upright—her poor child. Poor perzītsos dampened until they snuffed out her flame.
Daemon was lost within the confines of his mind. Fear, betrayal, sadness, and anger coursed through him, roaring the dragon blood to life in his veins. 
He felt powerless living on an island away from the daughter he loved, unable to fulfill his role as father and protector. It was a failure on his part not to see what the Hightowers could do. Their schemes and treachery reached from King's Landing to Oldtown, an ancient family with roots among the elites of Westeros. There was a reason they held onto power for so long, and it was not by allowing one unexpected person to throw them awry.
Swiftly, Daemon stood, throwing the sturdy wooden chair behind him with the force of his legs. He gripped the letter with an iron fist, wrinkling the parchment under pressure as he went for the door.
"Daemon," Rhaenyra called, struggling to steady her breath. "Where are you heading?"
The Rogue Prince paused just before the exit, turning on his heel to face his wife, crumpled paper raised high in his hand.
"To burn that green bitch and her cunt father," he proclaimed, a fire within his voice that assured he would keep his word. "They will pay for what they have done to our daughter." 
Rhaenyra understood that convincing him otherwise was futile, and deep down, she didn't want to. Despite not being her biological child, she held you in her heart as her own. She wouldn't stand in the way of Daemon's quest for retribution, knowing that he would spare no effort if their roles reversed. With a brief nod, she left him and settled into a cushioned chair.
Daemon stormed through the brimstone halls of Dragonstone, leather riding boots echoing his every step. He had only one goal, one in which he had no care for the consequences of as he reached the cave where his ride was housed. The Rogue Prince climbed the ropes of Caraxes as the Keepers struggled to untether the beast, mounting atop his dragon and fastening the chains in the saddle.
The Blood Wyrm chirped with a puff of smoke through its nostrils as Daemon snapped the reins, sending the dragon forward and out of the cave. He did not care as the frigid wind cracked like whips against his exposed skin, flying higher—faster to his destination, death and destruction trailing behind beating crimson wings. His daughter would be avenged even if it meant the whole Keep would be nothing but ash and bone by sunset.
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Daddy's on his way, babies! Are we excited? I know I am! I hope this chapter wasn't too sad for y'all. I've never had a miscarriage before or have been pregnant. I wanted to make the most accurate portrayal by talking with people I know who have had one or been pregnant. I apologize if I've offended or triggered anyone with what I wrote. Thank you again for your understanding and patience while waiting for these updates. Life has been chaotic!
Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk, @xitsemm, @justbelljust, @qardasngan
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urne-buriall · 2 days
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so you've told me now you like sotw alternate realities. well here's the river scene were Dean opens up to Cas about John's abuse way ahead of schedule, mere days after the 4th of july:
“There are things I want to tell you,” said Cas, “and questions I want to ask. But I’m never sure if I can.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“Sometimes I want to tell you about my family because I think you understand,” said Cas. “Other times… I’m just not sure.”
“You could tell me if you wanted,” said Dean. He wished Cas would say. He wanted so badly for Cas to trust him. “It wouldn’t change anything. You’d still be my friend, no matter what you said.”
Cas slowly nodded his head. “Right,” he said. He turned again. Started walking. “I don’t want to burden you. And like I said, talking isn’t my strength.”
There had been a test and Dean failed it. He was sure of it. He just didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Had he come on too strong? Had he seemed insincere?
Maybe he was supposed to offer something first. Maybe he needed to be the one to break open that levee, the one that would never close again. To find out if they shared anything, perhaps it was on Dean to say, my dad beats the shit out of me and has since I can remember.
“Cas, wait,” said Dean. He caught up with Cas, then continued walking. He didn’t quite look over his shoulder as he said, “I’ll tell you.”
At the river. He needed to be still, not in this in-between space on the path.
And as he walked, feeling Cas trail slowly after him, studying Dean, he wondered what he was about to do. How would he say it? Could he really confess this? Could he trust Cas with it?
He went to a rise above the river, where grass and clover turned into a straight-edged bank a few feet above the water. He took off his boots and set them aside, bare feet coming to rest in the cool green clover.
Cas came beside him and cautiously did the same. Dean wrapped his arms around his knees, unable to look at Cas next to him. Nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.
They’d sat like this the day of the rainstorm, talking idly before the downpour. That night, Cas stayed over and wore Dean’s clothes. Had stripped to nearly nothing on the covered porch, skin gold in the light and shining with rain.
Dean buried his face in the crook of his arm and tried to forget that.
“Dean?” said Cas, patience giving way to desperate curiosity.
Cas would say he seemed upset again. And if Dean took an outside look at himself, it was laughable to try and deny. He lifted his head.
He’d promised to tell Cas. It was the only way to find out more about Cas in return, and it was something Dean wanted badly enough that it brought him here. He was going to risk everything. For Cas.
“It’s my dad,” he said, surprised by the weakness of his own voice. Shaky, hoarse.
Cas looked Dean over carefully as he waited for more. He gave a faint nod.
“He’s… Tough.” That could be taken so many ways and Dean knew it. “On me,” he added, like it clarified anything. “Sometimes.”
Cas didn’t shift his posture, but the lines of his face became more deliberately contained. He took a moment to say, clear and even, “Does he hurt you?”
Dean looked sharply to the water. Only because his eyes began to burn, because he was losing his grip on the control he thought he had. He wasn’t supposed to cry over this. He was supposed to bear it. He was just going to state a fact, a fact he had lived with for so long and was strong enough to deal with. And it would have been different if Cas asked ‘does he hit you?’ but instead he’d said hurt, and that was a different question, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be easy to say hit, yes and move on without the impact of that action. But hurt made it so much more lasting.
He winced, trying to find another way around the answer, but then he nodded, a concession timed with the tears that came bitter and fast. He quickly bowed his head into his arms, not enough to hide the catching sound his breath made as he tried not to choke on this feeling.
He wasn’t supposed to be so upset. He wasn’t supposed to be this reactive. He wasn’t dead, it was nothing worth crying over.
Cas’ arm wrapped around his shoulder, a solid warmth that gave shape to Dean, keeping him from coming apart.
“I’m sorry,” Cas said, voice deep and low.
Dean tried to push down his feelings, raising his face even if it was tear-streaked and flushed. “About what?” he asked. Cas had nothing to be sorry for.
“That you’ve had to go through it,” said Cas.
Dean had never imagined anyone saying that to him. He thought he deserved to be called weak for putting up with it, or for crying about it now. He thought nobody would care if it happened to him or not. That anywhere he might’ve grown up he’d have been treated just the same because of the way he was. Never enough. All the things John implied and made him believe.
“You should leave,” said Cas.
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t,” said Dean. “Sam—”
“Does he hurt Sam, too?”
Dean shook his head. He felt oddly defensive. Of course John didn’t hurt Sam. Dean would never allow it. “I keep Sam out of it,” he said.
“You still shouldn’t stay.”
“It’s not that bad,” said Dean, like he hadn’t been trembling with the force of his tears just moments ago. His voice came thin. “Not enough to leave.”
“Any amount is enough to be worth leaving,” Cas said, so certain of himself.
Dean retreated back into denial. “It’s more complicated than that,” he said. “I’m— I’m not a kid anymore so…”
Cas’ arm fell away from Dean so that he could look at him better. Which was more dangerous and less comforting than his touch had been. “When was the last time it happened?”
Dean rubbed the edge of his hand against his wet cheek, not wanting to answer but unable to resist a direct question from Cas. He looked down at the river and cleared his throat. “Day before yesterday,” he said. If Cas were to roll his eyes, it wouldn’t be undeserved, but Cas stayed perfectly still. Dean’s fingertips brushed against his throat, wanting to say what happened, but unable to describe that part. “He was mad I brought Sam home. Against orders.”
He dropped his hand again, but Cas’ eyes stayed on his throat. Where a fading bruise could be taken for a smear of motor oil. Cas sharply inhaled, putting pieces together. His eyes scanned the rest of Dean’s body, pausing on his shoulder.
“Your broken arm,” said Cas.
“Yeah, uh,” said Dean. Thinking he’d find something better. “Yeah.” There wasn’t really a way to allay it. “He caught me— We were arguing. About eventing, and Zepp, and I thought if I could just get away from him. And he caught me on the steps and I— I fell down.”
“He’ll kill you,” Cas said.
Dean’s head jerked upward, facing Cas directly. “No,” he said. “He doesn’t want to do that.”
“So he’s in control when he hurts you,” said Cas.
“No!” said Dean quickly. Because that couldn’t be true. His father loved him or could. “When he’s mad he just— It flares up and then it’s over. And he’s sorry about it.”
“So he’s out of control,” said Cas. “Which means you’re in danger. Every time.”
Dean parted his lips to answer but Cas had him in a bind. Either John’s anger was out of control and a constant threat or it was in control and was used with full intention. Neither was good for Dean.
“I don’t want to leave,” said Dean, and that was more true than any of the apologies he’d tried to make on John’s behalf. He looked down between them. “I just want it to stop.”
Cas took a breath, almost started to say something, then didn’t. There was a kind of understanding in that holding back.
“What was it like for you?” Dean asked. It was the only reason he’d said anything. So that Cas would open up to him in turn. Cas thought there were things they had in common that Dean would understand.
“Different, probably,” said Cas. He went quiet, struggling with what to say, his eyes gazing nowhere as he grouped his thoughts. It was far easier to talk about Dean’s troubles than his own. “My mother was… unstable. Religious. Which made her hard to live with at the best of times. Never knowing which mother you were going to get.”
Dean could understand that. John was volatile too. It was a lot of work just planning for what version of John he’d meet in any given scenario.
“Would she hurt you?” he asked. He used the same word on purpose.
Cas didn’t cry, but he looked distant. “Yes,” he said. “She’d… She had punishments. She’d drag me by the ear to lock me in a cupboard for— for hours, when I’d done wrong.” Dean knew without Cas having to say that ‘doing wrong’ could be anything from causing trouble to colouring too loudly. He couldn’t imagine Cas being a trouble-making kid, not on purpose. But he mentioned being different when he grew up. Too emotional, finding it difficult to connect. That would be ‘wrong’ too.
“If we didn’t listen or were found impertinent, she would slap us,” said Cas.
“We?” said Dean.
“My siblings and I,” said Cas.
“I never knew you had siblings,” said Dean.
“Four of them,” said Cas. “They never left. I think. If they had, I hope they’d find me.” He shifted, picking at clover. “Then again, they had less trouble listening or understanding the right answer. I could never seem to figure it out. I was… different. And because I was a… a target, I think they didn’t always know that they had more in common with me than her.”
“And that’s why you left?”
Cas looked away and it told Dean how much more complicated it was than that.
“You said once…” Dean wet his lips before he spoke. “You said you didn’t feel like you had a choice.”
“I didn’t,” said Cas. “It was either live the way they wanted me to live, or leave. And I chose to leave.”
That made Cas probably the strongest person Dean knew. And just as Cas found it simpler to talk about Dean’s troubles, Dean found it easier to think of all Cas deserved.
“Remember what else you said?” Dean asked, the idea lighting up his mind as a fix for Cas’ incredible loneliness. “That you’d want a place with fresh air and animals where everything’s right. What if that was us? You know, like, around here so I didn’t really have to leave, but not with my dad, and—”
Cas was looking at him strangely. Dean’s excitement must have been somehow out of place, or the idea unappealing when Dean included himself. Cas hadn’t been making an offer of somewhere to stay, for Dean, when he warned him that John was a danger. This must not be what he was thinking of it all.
“Sorry,” said Dean quickly. His face flushed again, not helped by the heavy heat of the day. “I thought— When you said that, it sounded— It sounded so nice. But you want that on your own.”
“No, not on my own,” said Cas. “That defeats the point.”
“Right,” said Dean, and he placed his hands on the ground beside him, about to launch himself away from his foolish entry into the conversation. He needed to get away from Cas. He was hot. He should swim. If he could bear to get undressed.
Cas curled a hand around the inside of Dean’s arm just above the crease of his elbow. It wasn’t an iron grip, but it was solid, keeping him in place when he otherwise would’ve gone.
“I like spending my time with you,” Cas said in a rush. It was like he was answering something else, something neither of them had said. He didn’t look at Dean. “If I could give you somewhere to stay, away from your father— If you wanted that, I would do it.”
“We’re just—” Dean hesitated. “We’re just talking dreams, Cas,” he said.
“Why should it only be a dream?” said Cas.
This was more than Dean had ever reckoned on. So heavy it felt like lifting a weight from the bottom of a river.
“I mean that if you want to leave,” said Cas, “then you should. You could do it.” He let go of Dean’s arm, fingertips dragging away from his skin.
“It’s not as simple as that,” said Dean, finding himself confused. In one breath he suggested buying a farm with Cas, and in the next that he could never leave his father. It was just that what they talked about sounded too perfect to ever truly exist. How could Dean put any faith in something that exceeded his wildest dreams like that?
“If I bought a house with space for horses,” said Cas.
“Jeez, Cas,” said Dean.
“Would you come stay?”
“Are you for real?”
“If I could do it this minute, I would,” said Cas. “I don’t want to say goodbye and know you’ll go back to that house with John.”
“Could you do it?” said Dean. “Is that even possible?”
“I could figure it out,” said Cas. “One word. From you, and…”
“You think we can do this?” said Dean. “Then… Okay.”
And that was all it took. Cas leaned forward and kissed him.
Dean didn’t have time to think of it or react. The press of their lips was warm, sudden. A dangerous spark in a dry forest. As he pulled back, so did Cas, looking anxious.
“What was that?” said Dean.
Cas hadn’t looked away from Dean’s face, although there was something to the way he held his body, like he expected to run. “I just—” he said. His voice was every bit as gravelly and flat as usual, but he sounded uncertain, a rare note. “I…”
Cas had kissed him. Dean’s brain and body couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t work together in any sensible way any longer. His heart started pounding. The heat of the day made sweat rise on the back of his neck and above the lip of his mouth. He was frozen but he was supposed to be doing something. Running from this, striking out, kissing Cas, jumping into the river.
“I shouldn’t’ve—” Cas looked stricken now. “I want to help you and it’s not— I made a mistake.”
Wasn’t this Dean’s fault? Just days ago he had wrapped himself around Cas in the shade of a garden and silently begged for his affection in any shape. He’d had that untoward dream the same night. The colour rose high in Dean’s cheeks and he looked swiftly at the river. Cas hadn’t kissed him in the dream, only touched him, but already Dean’s mind was conflating the real and the imagined, completely out of his control. Dean had stared too long the night of the rain storm. He’d been wrong to and he’d made this happen and it was all because he was broken up into pieces and he got things confused and now there was this, which was too much to handle.
Next to him, Cas rested his forehead against his fist, eyes scrunching closed. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said.
Dean’s mouth remembered the touch of their lips and wouldn’t let go. He felt they were reddened by Cas’ kiss, the same as that day in the attic, that day when enchantment poisoned itself into sharp fear and which was exactly like right now. There was something wrong with him for all of this. For the fact that he wanted to kiss Cas again and really know what it felt like. If he was damned he wanted to know what he was damned for.
“I’m sorry,” Cas said again. “I thought you were like me.”
It struck Dean for the first time what that would mean. What it would be to be like Cas. What it meant Cas was. And how if he were to say Cas was correct right now, that Dean was not like him, it didn’t feel at all true. How if he were to be able to act on what was true, that would mean giving over to what was in him. He felt so miserable and scared and all he wanted was for Cas to cover over Dean’s body with his own. To hide in Cas’ collar, in the very hollow of his clavicle, the place he’d wanted to kiss just three days ago when he stole comfort from Cas in the garden.
He dragged his gaze back to Cas, who looked equally mired in his own despair.
“Cas,” he said, not certain of what he meant to follow. And when Cas looked at him he leaned in and kissed him.
Cas lost a sound against Dean’s mouth, a melting hum. His hand found the small of Dean’s back. This kiss came with another renewed one, chasing it, then Dean bowed his head, breaking it off but not breaking away. His body shifted deeper into Cas, his hand clutching Cas’ shirt, his forehead resting against the base of Cas’ neck. Cas held onto him this time, cheek brushing against the top of Dean’s head. A hand came up to stroke through Dean’s hair.
“Cas,” he said wretchedly.
“It’s okay,” said Cas. As much as anything could be okay. For a bare second, Dean wanted to believe it would be.
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141shousewife · 2 days
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NSFW Price x Fat Wife Drabble >:)
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Minors DNI I will EAT u like a nerds gummy cluster
Length: 1.2 Words
CW: NSFW, ANTI DADDY KINK PRICE!! Price x Fat reader, Implied Black reader, Price is married to reader, Female Reader condescension, mocking, fingering, PiV, dirty talk,
THIS IS ONLY MY OPINION! DON'T EAT ME PLEASE
Also if u have a problem with the reader being fat n black.... IDK what to tell u gworl.
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I have one main qualm with Price x reader NSFW content. I see one reoccurring theme/headcannon:
price = daddy dirty talk
And I hate to say it but everyone else is wrong about it and I am the one who to is correct.
Price, when called daddy, looks around for a child. Being a middle aged white man with a grown in beard- accidents do happen with chubby cheeked tots who grab onto his unsuspecting leg in grocery stores and assume that he is their father.
John has been called "Daddy" many times in his life, and since he is a man who aims to please, it's been more than once that he has let it slide during one night stands.
But with you?
His girl??
His WIFE????
Price does not like to be called daddy. His spine shivers and his body rejects the implication that your attraction to him is rooted in a negative experience with your own father.
He prefers to be called other things
"Baby" especially when you call him for dinner, "Honey" is nice when you're calling for him in front of others to show your love from him, "Sweetheart" specifically when you're angry with him- because he loves the way that you maintain warmth, and lastly "John"
That one is Johns favorite because he hears it the most between breathy moans. His name is barely audible when it slides out of your mouth as his hands work you over and make you needy and pliable.
But daddy is not one that he would choose.
But does this mean that John is sterile and boring in the bedroom ?
Not even close.
John puts his ALL into pleasing you.
He loves to catch you right as you're getting into bed for the night. He always starts with watching from the bed as you stand in the bathroom finishing your bedtime routine. Where John's head lays he can see your back as you rub the last of your sweet smelling lotion onto your wide shoulders and soft arms and tie the bow at the front of your bonnet. When finished- you turn around and wow.
Wow.
Wow.
John is raking his eyes over your round and soft body, covered in a flowy pink night dress and he could just cry over how beautiful you are. Your body sits beautifully beneath the dress, your nipples poking through and visible from the coolness in the room, your arms shifting into being crossed over your chest-
"-Baby, did you hear me?" Your sweet voice beckons him back to reality as your brown eyes graze over him for any recognition of being lucid.
"I'm so sorry honey, I was thinking. What did you say?" John immediately feels guilty for missing what you said and instead oggling you like a dog would do a slab of meat.
"I said what are you looking at me like that for?"
John looks at you. Caught. Red handed. (more like red tip right now but that neither here nor there"
The smile that spreads over your face immediately says: 'i know what you want- and im prepared to give it to you.'
He looks at you and lowers his tone into a rasp. It hits you in a way that makes you feel like you can't deny him his requests.
"Come -ere."
Your body seems to walk toward the large plush bed without your permission.
You look at him doe eyed "what?" You can't tell why you're also whispering but it feels right.
He, in one move, tosses the comforter off of his lower half and sits up to grab your wide hips.
"You're acting like you caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, but you're just as wound up as me. Aren't ya?"
You stare at him breathlessly not realizing that the previous question was not rhetorical
John reaches him hand up and under your night gown and rubs your slit through your panties.
"I said: Aren't ya?"
You feel dizzy and unbalanced from the sensation and grip onto his shoulder to steady yourself.
"I am- I want you to- hah -touch me. Please"
You normally aren't this sensitive but the way that he is talking to you is making you weak.
"Look at me. Where do you want me to touch you. Cmon use your words?"
You try to just moan in response as he slows his pace.
"God- you're difficult. Is this it?"
John quickly inserts his fingers and begins pumping them as you hold onto his shoulders and writhe from the contact.
He only continues to rub the spongy spot inside of you and speak to you in a cooing, mocking tone- "What? That feel good? Are you gonna keep fucking yourself on my fingers until that cum drips down my wrist?"
You start to feel the heat and coiling in your stomach about to snap.
"Yes, John, please!"
Right as your vision is about to white out in pleasure, you tell John pulling his fingers out.
Whining in frustration you push out "John I was so close why would yo-"
The rest of you sentence is cut off as John stands up and moves behind you and roughly bends you over, making the excess fat on your body jiggle with the impact of you hitting the bed and pulling off your panties.
Your complaints are quickly silenced as John grabs for a pillow to put beneath your soft tummy. You moan clench around nothing as he lewdly leans down and spits on your entrance to make himself fit well.
"Your pussy is such a hungry little thing- you just needed some proper dick to shut you up huh?"
Your eyes begin to roll back into your head as you feel the rough stretch of John repeatedly pushing his dick inside to the hilt, exiting, and pushing inside again.
You can barely breathe- let alone form thoughts when he fucks you like this.
His raspy moans and quiet curses only push you closer to you orgasm.
He quickens his pace and you know you are done for- you aren't going to be able to hold it.
"John, pleasepleaseplease. I'm gonna- I'm- "
Completely invested in making you crazy- John slides his hand around your wide hip and plays with your clit and begins to talk into your ear in a condescending tone.
"You're gonna what huh? What are you gonna do? Are you gonna cum all over this dick baby?"
You can't even respond because that statement makes your vision completely go away as you babble incoherently and make a mess down John's thick, hairy thighs.
You don't notice during your orgasm but as you squeeze down into Price you begin to fuck back into him, roughly slamming your round ass onto him, making John completely incapable of holding out.
John fills you with a keening low moan as you finally begin to slow down
"Babyyy- fuck. -hah -just like thatttt."
John grabs onto the fat of your hip and buries himself inside and gives you the last of his orgasm.
He pulls out, cleans you off, lets you use the bathroom, and gets into bed and wraps his arms around your soft waist.
As you both quietly breathe slower and slower John finally speaks with an eyeroll-
"You definitely knew what you were pulling with that outfit. You know I'm a mumu man.
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mochinomnoms · 6 hours
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Does all of Coral Sea know of Floyd and Jades future mates? Cause I was wondering if they made a public “announcement ” of them to where maybe others know now not to get too close or else potentially suffer under their wrath. Or is it a more only family friends/family know like in Tony, Azul and Aspens case?
-🧀anon
Hmm, I'm assuming this is referencing PTM right? No, they don't announce it. Really, they don't mean for the people closest to them to be aware of their feelings. But it's quite noticible when one of the twins gets a crush.
Floyd will talk a lot about something once it's caught his interest. My people with the tism will understand, it's like when you get a hyperfixation and can't stop thinking or talking about it? Floyd's like that. When the others hear him gush about Riddle, about how funny he is, how small and cute he is, how Riddle kicked his ass their first meeting, everyone just assumed he would lose interest within a few weeks. Maybe months even. But Floyd's interest in Riddle has persisted…much longer than anything else he's ever been interested in. And his comments become less teasing and more soft, talking about how cool Riddle looked riding his horse, how he changed his tie into a bow, how he's been eating more sweets like tarts as of late. Then it turns into, "didja know that Goldfishie really likes strawberries? He just eats them up!" or "Goldfishie's real smart, I bet I could get away with asking him to tutor me to hang out. Nah I don't need it, I just want to mess with him." or even "I saw Goldfishie in the infirmary the other day, he was sleeping. He looks really pretty, peaceful like that." But the real thing that made everyone realize that there was something more is when he started referring to Riddle by name in his comments. Actual names are reserved for people he actually cares about, people that he would want to make an effort for to know them and their names. Just like how Azul is Azul, not Lil Octy, Riddle is Riddle, not just Goldfishie in his eyes.
Jade is surprisingly less subtle. It might be because be doesn't normally rant to people about his fixations, only going off in tangents once in a while. So when he starts talking about Yuu, it's immediately noticeable. More so when he doesn't shut up about them. The difference between Floyd and Jade is that Jade is aware that the others know, Floyd thinks he's being slick with it. It's why Jade can take teasing from the others relatively well, he knows they know and is mostly fine with it. At least until one of them attempts to get involved for his sake. Floyd and Azul have offered to fabricate scenarios, make comments, and help push Yuu to him. Usually in exchange for him doing something, or to stop growing his mushrooms in certain areas of the dorm. Aspen and Tony are the opposite, Aspen especially willing to get Yuu into scenarios that would make them unattractive or unavailable in Jade's eyes. Most recently, this we see this in the last chapter when Aspen is pushing Wynfred to go out with Yuu. Jade's not happy about it, Yuu is embarrassed, and Aspen is just trying his best to get Jade for himself. Tony eventually gets dragged into any trouble that Aspen gets himself into, willingly or not. Though, he is prone to gossip with Floyd and listen to his rambles about Riddle. He's surprisingly insightful, though that would require Floyd to listen to his advice.
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snailfen · 8 months
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finally catching up on inanimate insanity invitational! i left things off on episode 4 like forEVER ago. and i forgot how much this show kills me
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same energy as "youre a nasty little sewage boy, arent you doctor freeman?"
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ALSO <:) THEYRE FRIENDDSSSSSSSSSSS FINALLYYYYYY
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hyp3rfixation-h3ll · 3 months
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yknow what . i like you . shows you my exe ocs and also gives you little summaries of them underneath the read more cut and in the tags :3 ( desc in alt text 4 the 1st img ! ) - Nicky 🌊
in order: Rawr.EX3/EXD (any) imagine sonic.exe + 2010s sparkledog raver culture . that's Rawr. she likes waffles and is a virus exe who lives in a bootleg rom pack of the first 3 sonic games & a sonic crackers prototype Itazura, Guardian of Mischief (she/they/it/plush) first ever pc port oc!!! what it says on the tin. secret 8th guardian who loves nothing more than causing problems and playing life-threatening pranks on people. you can tell they're after you if you hear what sounds like jingling bells and giggling around your house in the dead of night. oh and plush's kyofu's kid 👍
Sew (any, no she/her) amorphous dimension travelling critter that uses sewing / crafting to make it's "skin" , typically based off of pre-existing people in the dimension. saw sonic and his super form and thought he was the COOLEST thing alive, so it chooses to resemble him :] Sink/Waterhog/Nicky (we use he/it but it doesn't rlly care /ref) literally just me lol , but from a 3rd person perspective he's a personal take on Mr. DJ's "Sink Sonic" concept . he's like 12-13ish and has way too much lore for me to summarise but fun fact : worldbuilding wise, he's a mish-mosh of the games, the Shogakukan sonic manga and a little bit of sonic x sprinkled in. :3
#scary / weird sonic tag 🩸🌭#sonic.exe#creepypasta#exe community#exe oc#sonic pc port#sink fnf#below the depths#chaos nightmare#scene kid#scenecore#scene oc#fun fact . that sweater i drew sink wearing is NOT the only one he has and every time i draw him he's wearing a different one. always#he never really has the same one on twice in my drawings unless im feeling a vibe and if you ever want to draw him you can also#make up a sweater for him to wear!!! just know he always has on long sleeves so youre free to give him a tshirt layered over a long sleeved#shirt too . you dont gotta limit yourselves like i do i just default to sweaters lmao#you can also do this with rawr but with like. ALL of her parts except the teeth (theyre consistently neon yellow or neon green)#so feel free to go nuts if you draw rawr. like actually. give them cool hoodies or clothes or new bang patterns idc go OFF that's the point#ita and sew are meant to be consistent as possible but tbh you could draw sew with different patch patterns and ita with a different bow#tl;dr I Love Customising My Little Guys and therefore everyone who wants to draw them should also give themselves that joy#also also. please tell me if the alt text is good. im not very good at IDs and i am chronically low on spoons so i never write them#this is to say that if you have the spoons and better descriptive vocab PLEASE write img ids for my art if you feel the need to#i want my art to be as accessible as possible and that includes allowing those with low visibility to be able to visualize my work
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fayeandknight · 9 months
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This was taken an hour after getting back to the hotel post seminar on play.
I thoroughly enjoyed learning more about play and it's role in relationship building, confidence boosting, and training. Specifically how using play allows one to link the emotions of the dog during training to how it feels about performing that behavior later.
Forte thoroughly enjoyed playing with me and the big improvements the small tweaks the instructor had me make made for him.
Before I brought Forte out I was asked what I wanted to work on. I said his outs because Forte still has a tendency to chew on toys as he's releasing them. But I confessed that I was afraid he'd see a room full of people, start making eyes at everyone and I'd have a hard time convincing him to play with me.
I ended up getting really good in the moment help with his out. But more importantly the entire time I had Forte out he only once sort of drifted away from me once while the instructor and I were talking. Other than that I had Forte's full and enthusiastic attention.
I also got compliments on how into me Forte is and how it's clear I've put a lot of time and effort into our play.
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yashley · 1 year
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imogen & fearne in 3x48
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doodle-girl · 1 year
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*gasp* What? Me, drawing for the first time in months? Shocking, I know
Star collector Doodle reporting for duty! This is my sona art for @springbon-t-art ‘s Star Collectors event! This was a really fun refresher, hope I’m not too late! Click for better quality, of course
Also, for the heck of it, a little speedpaint under the cut (flashing TW)
I’m honestly pretty proud of how this turned out!
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hauntingblue · 10 days
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Why only kiku against kanjuro??? They should gang up against him I don't believe in fair fights
#NAMI NOOOOOOO BIG MOM IS AFTER HER NOW NOOOOOO#jinbe telling robin she frightens him with a smile on his face... incredible... she wants you btw#the blood from zoro's slashes on people being white does not help with the censorship ajdjaksn#red hawk..... of course.... ace wantes to kill kaido too?? i mean of course after seeing tama... but why did he leave....#talking tag#watching one piece#episode 991#so yamato wants to be oden!!! i thought that bow looked familiar ajdhaka#momo standing up against orichi.... you tell him#kiki calling law torao and he doesn't even fight it 😭😭#kiku and izo... that was beautiful.....#also they gave marco his cunty ankle bracelet back.... hell yes#kaido is on the move.... what big announcement...... him saying momos execution is boring ahdhaksjsk#yamato that was such a reveal. i think luffy's brain is too simple for all that. he said HUH two times now. not a good sign#episode 992#luffy got a lip tremble when she said ace spoke about him omg nooooo#kiku in some scenes is just... 👁👄👁#kiku dont cry!!!! put on that sick ass mask and cut his ass in half!!!!#WASNT EXPEXTING KAIDO TO GO FETCH THE ANCESTRAL WEAPONS#episode 993#they want the ancestral weapons AND the one piece???#also i was right... i didnt know uranus was the third one but i assumed it had to do with the sky to complete the trifecta hehe#uhuhuhu kaido realised one puppet from wano gave him trouble and turned to momo to make him the next one.... and he is holding his gaze#GOODBYE ORICHI.... WELL DESERVED!!! ONE LESS THING TO WORRY ABOUT LETSGO#KIKU HE IS LYING!! DONT FAULTER!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! ASHURA FINISH HIM THEN!!!#NO FUCKING WAY!!!!! FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!! THAT WAS SUCH A COOL SCENE!!!! OH THE SNOW!!! JUST LIKE HER!!!!#AMAZING!!!!!!! KANJURO IS SO THEMATICALLY COEHERENT!!! AN ACTOR WHO DRAWS COPIES OF HIMSELF!!! PERFROMER!!!#and kiku who literally grew up with him had to finish him.... oof#and the mask!!! another performance!!! oof..... they left a hat on his head and everything.....#episode 994
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jungwookjins · 9 months
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230629 bucheon international fantastic film festival opening ceremony red carpet
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sieglinde-freud · 8 months
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got alcryst and immediately stole his bow for my babygirl <3
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featherfur · 3 months
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Ethically I know it’s wrong and therefore I won’t do it
But sometimes I come across posts about ships and I just want to go “You’re not original, you’re not special, you’re obnoxious and frankly childish. Keep your shit out of the tags if you’re going to just be hateful. Until you have the balls to say that George R.R. Martin is a freak who deserves to die for problematic content like you say about randos on the internet, you need to sit down and shut up so the rest of us can exist without your bull in the tags of the things we like.”
Like yes I block them, and the ppl who encourage them in the tags, but it never kills the urge to snap at them.
Like on one hand, curate my own experience by blocking, on the other hand if no one counters and tells them that they’re wrong in so many ways and have turned disgust into morality that they would never hold against mainstream art and they’re regurgitating purity culture bullshit they may never actually realize why so many older members of fandom hate them and gets so aggressive and will continue to think that they’re in the right to be hateful and attack real people
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