#allaboutocs
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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy - Year 126 AC
“What don’t you understand?” he asked and his fingers slowly loosened from her hair and pet her curls back into place before drawing his fingers slowly down her jaw and along her hammering pulse in her throat. “Do you not understand how badly I crave you? Because I thought that I made it abundantly clear.” The wicked smirk she adored cut across his plump mouth and he squeezed her throat gently, pulling a gasp from her. “Abrogail Strong, I desire and crave you to madness and if I let myself go, I fear that I won’t keep myself from devouring you whole.”
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lost and led by stars — the titles of alyssa snow
"I’ve been given many titles throughout my life. Bastard, Lady, Princess. I have no desire to add Queen amongst them."
—Alyssa Martell, 302 AD
(inspo)
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To help connect more OC fanfiction creators REBLOG this post with your other platforms & links!
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#oc fanfiction#oc fanfic#oc fic#ocappreciation#oc creators#original charater#take 2#ochub#allaboutocs#ocapp
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A commission I requested of Osferth and Brynja from As It Was that I got from the incredibly lovely and talented @lonelymagpies THANK YOU ❤️❤️❤️
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⏤ that is our great glory, and our great tragedy.
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ROBB STARK + JOSANA LANNISTER
you're not saying you're in love with me
but you're going to
half awake,
taking your chance
it's a big mistake
i said it might blow up in your pretty face
i'm not saying do it anyway
but you're going to
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A Sermon on Desire
Aemond x Abeni of the Summer Isles (oc)
Summary: Vexed and nearly at his wit's end, Aemond Targaryen, in a rare moment of weakness, seeks refuge in the Sept. Will a chance encounter give him the divine answers he seeks?
Warnings; NSFW 18+, oral (m receiving), smut, alluded praise kink, overstim, teasing, edging, sexual tension, religious guilt, p in v sex
A/N; a collab w/ the lovely @bottlesandbarricades 💕💕💕, the sheer fun I had brainstorming and writing this in DM's with you is indescribable and I adore you 💕💕🥰
Word count: 6.4k
Torn.
That was the best way to describe it, the feeling of being pulled in so many different directions. Of being stretched so thin that it wore at the very threads of him until he had one choice left but to let the weight of the tension, the expectation and ultimately the guilt swallow him whole.
It was an amusing thought really, for a man, a prince to boot, one who prided himself on presenting a front of perfection to the world, to be in such a state of disarray behind closed doors. That his internal identity would be so fractured and contradictory with a crack running through his core that was as deep and jagged like the scar on his face, splitting and dividing his very soul until he strained under the weight of duty and loyalty that would always be his burden to carry.
He would never truly be able to balance the scales or quell and silence the whispers that he was not Targaryen enough; not Hightower enough that dogged his every move no matter how hard he tried. It was like trying to combine oil and water, a seemingly futile effort.
An endless cycle where one would always outbalance the other like an elixir that would forever be just out of his reach. After all, there are no chartered courses for second sons, no preset destinations but to be adrift, left to rot and rust and bob aimlessly in the harbour.
For as long as he could remember, he could always feel it, the restless pull of the tide that clung to him like an iron lock with no key fastened around his ankle, leaving him with no set route as the moorings suffocated and closed in on him, all but dooming him to drown in doubt as uncertainty began to gnaw at him, eating away at his insides like wildfire as he blindly grasped for some form of conviction and purpose.
**
True faith was still a mystery to him, the worship of the gods, both old and new. It had never quite come easily to him, not in the same way it did for others, like it did for his mother for example, who never seemed to doubt her unwavering belief in the Seven for even a moment, wearing her piety like it was her shield, her armour. He remembered, before he’d lost his eye, obediently trailing behind her as a child every time she had visited the Sept, kneeling beside her for hours till his knees ached, never saying a word. Never questioning, always obeying.
Then came the conflict.
As he grew and his studies progressed, his youthful past ignorance gave way to newer thoughts. With the more he learned, the more knowledge he gained and acquired, the more he struggled to reconcile the queer customs of his ancestors, whose Gods seemed far more liberal in regards to the strict doctrine of the Seven and what which was regarded as sin by the several aspects expressed within the pages of his seven-pointed star.
So he did as he'd always done, turning to books and using them as a means to escape. He’d tried to read his way out of his emotions and doubts, searching for the divine within the pages and the walls lined with books, rather than at the foot of an altar.
He studied them all. From the Old Gods of the North and the Drowned God of the Iron Islands to R’hllor of Essos and beyond, translating the writings of the Moonsingers of Braavos and the Ghiscari Graces of Slaver’s Bay and deciphering the stories of the Great Stallion of the Dothraki and the lesser-known beliefs of the Summer Isles.
He found parallels and contrasts within them all, common threads and other little details that bound them together and highlighted the differences so distinct that showed how they were truly worlds apart.
But what was the truth of it? Who had the truth of it?
He persisted nevertheless, soldiering on as he poured over volume after volume after volume of various religious texts, hunched over at of the many tables in the Keep’s library night after night, tracing the scrawled words with both eye and finger, his only source of light being the candles he had burning late into the night, blinking as he felt the exhaustion slowly set in, the words and ideas began to blur together, the lingering thought that there had to be answers, and that one way or another, he would find them.
The lingering knowledge that he knew there was a possibility that he would never truly understand remained, for there seemed to be no closure to be found, and his faith stayed unaffirmed, and instead of the enlightenment he sought, it felt like the exposure had infected his mind as the questions only seemed to multiply.
Aemond sought distraction after distraction as he chanced on books of a more sinful nature and rife with temptation. Something to take his mind off the thoughts of lost faith that swirled and uncertain guilt which lurked in the pit of his stomach. He knew he would marry one day, that he would be tied to a girl of some noble House that in the end, would bolster Aegon’s claim when he was placed on the Iron Throne. After all, that wasn't always the plan?
He knew that no matter what the other Lords loyal to his elder half-sister wanted to believe. What his father refused to see. That as harsh as it was, the truth would never change, and it was both by precedent and by his right as the firstborn son, the Iron Throne would always be his brother’s. Aemond would do his duty, as he always had, shouldering the weight of his duty with a stiff lip and an even stiffer spine, letting his reservations and his bitterness fester on his tongue like spoiled sour wine.
**
He had been in the Sept for hours, having slipped past the great doors after the sun had set the night before, one thought on his mind. His knees had long since grown numb and stiff from the cold as he knelt with his hands joined before him in the silence, suffering the pain with a quiet stoic dignity, alone save for the incense swirling around him in opaque wisps, silently repeating the many prayers that had been ingrained in his core by his mother and the Septons as soon as he was old enough.
For what was pain in a place like this? A place where his Mother’s gods were watching and judging his every move? That’s what he hoped anyway, what he so desperately wished to believe. Then again, if these were the true Gods, then surely they would see through this facade of false piety he performed for the sake of appearances, that they would see him play out this false mummery of deceptive devotion daily. Part of him wondered if this was his punishment, that maybe the Gods remained silent to torment him further. After all, did he, of all the people in this city, deserve absolution?
There was a feeling now as he knelt, seeing his face reflected in the polished marble. A strange, out-of-body feeling washing over him that he, with his silver hair and violet eye, had no place here.
His musings were cut off when a small noise pulled him from his thoughts, a signal that he was no longer alone. His head jerked as the faint sound of bells broke the stagnant quiet, body twisting around to see a woman standing in the centre of the Sept with her head tilted backwards. At first glance, he supposed she must hail from the Summer Isles, judging from the feathers so sought after by the ladies of the court upon her garb.
Her hair was long, swept behind her and braided and adorned with a hundred little gold beads woven throughout that chimed as she moved. Her dark eyes drifted curiously over everything, from the statues of each godhead, from the pale stone and hints of brushed brass to the votive offerings and low burning candles to the vaulted ceilings and high windows, which cast streaks of light onto the polished slabs.
Aemond groaned as he stood, the cold of the Sept’s floor little help to his aching limbs, the sound faint yet loud enough for her to hear over the distance. Her sandalled feet were almost silent, save for the low sound of her heel clicking softly on the cool stone floor as she turned around, catching his eye upon her, flashing a set of pearly teeth as she sauntered closer towards him.
“I’ve never seen a Sept before,” she explained in a hushed voice so as to not disturb the tranquillity. “It is very… dark.” Her accent was unusual to his ears, yet her common tongue was excellently spoken. “And cold,” she added, rubbing her bare upper arms as gooseflesh prickled across the skin. It was then that he noticed the other bits of gold that adorned her, the delicate bangles enclosing her wrists and the intricate bands of gold in her ears and at her throat.
Aemond noted that her dress was more suited to a warmer climate, brightly coloured and richly embroidered, it stood out vibrantly against her skin, making the Sept itself look almost plain, commonplace and colourless around her. Sleeveless and cut away at the waist, it revealed more flesh than anything he'd seen worn by even the most daring Westerosi women of high fashion. It was very much the sort of thing that his Mother would turn her nose up at in silent judgement as a moral failing and default of character, yet Aemond could not find fault in her appearance.
Whoever this stranger was, there was no doubt that she was a woman of means.
“I cannot feel the Gods here I fear.” The stranger sighed, running her ringed fingers along the smooth surface of the altar. “This place is beautiful, yet it feels closer to a crypt than it does a place of worship. So still, so silent and lacking life.”
A crypt. Aemond had never considered how truly alike they were, remembering all the times when he had wondered if he was talking to the dead, rather than the Gods his mother so cherished as he knelt at the altar with his hands joined.
"It is more open where I am from," she said, and he could hear the fondness she had for her home. "We are a freer people, ones not so restricted as you are."
Aemond realised now that he had not yet spoken a word, though that did not seem to bother the young woman, who seemed content to continue her observations without his input. As if he were one amongst the statues of the Seven, himself. A silent observer constructed of carved marble.
The opportunity to take his leave came when she turned away from him to admire the figure of the Stranger, allowing him to slip away like a ghost and leave the Lady to continue her explorations in peace.
**
The blistering sun, already high in the sky, beat down on the city when he stepped out from the gloom of the Sept, hit almost instantly by the dazzling sunlight and the dry air of the city. It took a moment for his eye to adjust, the pupil expanding and contracting as it grew accustomed to the brightness, his relief disturbed only by the twinge of pain behind his eyepatch.
"You are Prince Aemond Targaryen, are you not?" He stopped at the sound of his name, not having noticed her following him. His pause gave her the chance to catch up several steps behind him. "I've heard of you."
I’ve heard of you.
They were words Aemond was not fond of hearing, knowing that his reputation left much to be desired. He remained silent as a muscle ticked in his jaw, only letting out a hum of affirmation in response, squinting through the bright sunlight. Amusement danced across her face as her lips twitched, her gaze sharp as she studied him from where he stood before her. "You are the rider of the largest dragon in the realm. Or so I heard."
“Yes,” he answered stiffly, his throat feeling as dry as the dirt under his boots. He’d never been the best at small talk, for it was an art he had no natural skill in and even attempting to converse when the topic surrounded himself was a task of even greater difficulty, as well as one he fervently disliked.
"Dragons are almost all things of myth, where I come from, beasts of legend and lore," she said lightly, excitement written plainly across her fine features as she talked. “What a blessing it must be to be bonded with such a creature such as yours.”
Aemond turned to face her, grateful for the change in conversation. “I don’t believe I have caught your name?” he asked, breaking the silence.
"Abeni of the Summer Isles, my Prince."
Bold and self-assured, she offered a small bow. It was graceful, yet unsteady enough Aemond could sense it was unpracticed. “I apologize if this is incorrect. I am not quite as familiar with Westerosi greeting practices,” she laughed, causing Aemond’s mouth to twitch upward at the sound.
“You are far from home then, my Lady,” Aemond replied, clasping his hands behind him. Encased in his leathers as he was, the sun on his back was uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming at his temple and under his collar before sliding down his spine.
She let out another laugh at that, richer than the last. “I am, indeed. Though the world seems not so vast when you have a fast ship," she said as she glanced his way, "Or a dragon, I suppose.”
“Pray, what brings you to King’s Landing?” He enquired politely, courteous as always.
“A little business, a little pleasure.” Abeni smiled playfully, streams of light catching in her dark hair, as black as a raven’s wing. A breeze wafted in off the bay ruffled against her skirts, sending perfume wafting towards him, a rich scent that carried undertones of something floral that he could not name. “Alas, for now I must return to my ship,” she murmured apologetically, “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, my Prince.”
Aemond bit the inside of his cheek as he struggled to find words, hampered once again by a stilted awkwardness.
“I could show it to you sometime,” she offered, sensing his discomfort. Her ability to read him was rather unsettling, if not intriguing. “If you wish, that is? I would never seek to presume-”
Aemond flushed, color flooding his face when she smiled, eyes alighting with delight. “Of course,” he agreed hastily, the warmth of her natural charm and charisma putting him slightly more at ease. He cleared his throat, “My Lady.”
**
She'd been in the city for several turns of the moon when restlessness began to set in, the itch for adventure and return to the sea growing day by day, and had taken to spending most of her time on the docks, where the stink of the city was lessened slightly by the sea air, and Aemond, more than desperate to escape the stench of death as the King grew weaker and weaker, had grasped the opportunity for what it was with both hands, taking her up on the offer.
The first time he had seen her ship, he had been more than a little in awe of it, listening with one ear as she spoke. The name, she had murmured, was a rough translation from Summer Tongue as The Wanderer in Common Tongue. He knew little of that particular ship, but had read bits of how swan ships could sail faster than galleys, but without wind to steer them, were useless, not that Aemond was well versed in the usefulness of ships and their qualities.
It was truly a marvel to behold the longer he had looked at it, the curving, swooped lines adding an elegance to its design. The red-stained varnish that coated that exterior of the vessel was constructed from set it apart from the other, duller ships, the shade of it not too dissimilar to the stones of the Red Keep itself, and it seemed more of a work of art than a functioning ship, befitted with large white sails and finely carved figureheads of various birds.
“I hear the skull of the Black Dread resides in your Keep, my Prince.”
Her voice came from his blind side, and he startled, half turning towards her when he felt her hand slide to rest in the crook of his elbow. He tilted his head down to meet her gaze, looking down his nose at her. "Abeni."
The strength of her grip on his arm was unexpected, but not surprising from someone who spent most of their time, if not all of it, at sea. “I would like to see it,” she added, looking at him expectantly. “If you would indulge me?”
**
The reds and oranges and yellows candles lit before the massive dragon skull are reflected in her eyes, adding more warmth to the rich hue. Aemond wondered what she was thinking, whether she was envisioning what the Conqueror’s dragon had been like before age claimed him, and Meraxes decades before, leaving Vhagar as the last living remnant of the Conquest.
His eye widened when she muttered something under her breath, the all too familiar tones of High Valyrian falling from her lips. “You speak Valyrian.” Aemond commented, failing to hide his surprise. A new light dawned in his eye as he looked at her, one that was an equal combination of enthrallment and carefully concealed curiosity.
“I speak a few languages,” she shrugged, not tearing her gaze from the skull before her. “During my studies, I found many errors in the translations by the ones you call Maesters.” Abeni explained, running her hand along the side of the skull. “It was then that I realised that if I truly wished to understand a text, it was best to do so in its original tongue.” She said, moving her fingers higher, edging closer to the rows of jagged teeth.
A kindred spirit? Aemond’s blood burned with excitement at this newly revealed common ground. Written word after all was one of his favourite pastimes. Devouring philosophies and histories in the same manner most men consumed meat and ale. “The attitude of a true scholar.” Aemond smiled subconsciously as he moved closer. “I have come across some truly shameful translations in my time. Ones that were pitiful, to say the least.”
"Oh?" This seemed to have caught her attention as she pulled her eyes from the skull to focus on him. The low glow of the candles illuminated her curious brown eyes. "What was this mistranslation?"
"It was one of the more depraved texts," Aemond responded, "Something about Valyrian Dragonlords entering sexual congress with dragons to achieve their bond.”
“Blood of the dragon, indeed,” she laughed. Her face shone with excitement at this new matter of conversation. “I, myself, am inclined to believe the bond was forged as the result of blood magic - spells and such.”
“Tis a ridiculous notion. There is no evidence for copulation with dragons,” he huffed indignantly. “After all, the people of Old Valyria would not have engaged in such…sexual immorality. They were a five thousand year old civilization who were…” he fell silent when something flashed across her face. Whatever it was, Aemond could not tell.
“When it comes to texts that have been translated by someone within a religious sect,” she kisses her teeth, “I am always suspicious of a suppression of truth to serve an agenda, my Prince.”
“I think it is always unwise to pass judgement on sexual behaviour between those willing and able. Who gets to determine what is moral and correct, but the Gods themselves?” Abeni continued, her words sharp.
“The Faith is very clear on sin. On wanton depravity and mindless fornication like we are naught but beasts,” Aemond replied, and for a moment he had surprised himself, it felt as if his mouth had moved of its own accord and his Mother’s words had come tumbling out.
Like a red rag to a bull, it only seemed to infuriate her more. The scalding realisation washed over him then, the implications of his careless words. She stiffened, crossing her arms across her chest as she raised her chin defensively. “In the Summer Isles, The arts of love are a holy skill,” she said hotly, eyes bright. “Tis not something to be ashamed of,” she snapped, too angered by what he had said to remember who she was speaking to.
“I.. I was not suggesting anything-” he babbled, fumbling for words. “I only meant that-”
"Is this not what the gods have fashioned us for? To love and be loved?" she challenged, her accent growing more with each word she spoke. "They've fashioned us in their image," she continued vehemently. "Gave us our hands to build and our voices to sing.”
“I-” struck speechless for once, the words he’d wanted to say would not come, as if they were trapped, locked within his throat by some higher being. “The faith-” he said finally, albeit weakly. “I believe that-”
“I don’t believe you,” she bit out. “I watched you in the Sept," she admitted, her vehemence fading slightly, her shoulders slumping. “You were there out of duty, not to show devotion to your Gods.”
He blinked as she raised a brow, studying him before she crooked her finger in his direction, beckoning him closer. “I want you,” she murmured quietly when he was within reach, one hand gripping his shoulder as she stretched up on her toes to brazenly brush a kiss along the ridge of his cheek. “Tonight, before I depart,” she clarified. “Let me show you what your Gods of cold marble deny you. What you deny yourself in worshipping them.”
His hands curled and flexed at his sides, brow furrowing as apprehension settled over him. “Not here." he said, feeling his skin begin to prickle uncomfortably, for though the dragon was nothing more than a time-darkened skull, Aemond still felt the weight of it behind him, heavy and oppressive as he wrapped his fingers around hers, tugging her from the room.
**
Within the privacy of his chambers, they were a tangle of limbs as her hands moved over him, her fingers nimbly undoing the clasps of his tunic one by one before moving onto his breeches, and lastly, his boots.
Her gaze trailed over him from head to toe when he finally stood bare before her. The expression on her face was carefully set, yet he could see the slow stirrings of something in her dark eyes. Before he could even utter a word, she had stepped even closer, her breath puffs of air against his cheeks. She trailed the tips of her fingers up his face, stopping on the raised skin just below the not so innocuous square of leather of his eyepatch. His last shield; his last defense to hide the cavity where the sapphire stone sat in the ruin of his eye.
Her eyes flicked up to his when he curled his hand around her wrist, stilling her movement. “Don’t.” He murmured, swallowing his relief when she didn’t push. He let his hand fall back to his side as he watched her, his eye following the path of her fingers as they moved over the line of his shoulders and the planes of his abdomen, each touch of her hands on some part of him cool on his scorching skin.
She stepped away suddenly, her hands reaching for the strings that held her dress together, twirling them around her finger slowly until the garment pooled at her feet. His eye stayed on her as she turned around, glancing once over her shoulder at him, one hand on the edge of his bed.
“I quite like you like this,” she murmured after he had scrambled behind her. He flushed, large patches of red dusting across the fair skin of his cheekbones and across the base of his throat, an almost unnoticeable tremor in his hands as his long fingers flexed at his sides.
“Like what?” he swallowed, feeling the shame that welled inside him at her words, potent and as rich as summer wine.
“Debauched,” she briefly settled back on her haunches to survey him, trailing her fingers over his stomach teasingly, watching with rapture as the muscles shifted under his skin. “Beautiful,” she added after a pause. She shifted suddenly, the bed dipping under her weight as she leaned forward, brushing a loose strand of his hair back.
Aemond shuddered, the sensation of her fingertips ghosting across his skin sending sparks shooting through him at her praise. “What are you doing?” he stammered the words, panting and wide-eyed. His heart began to beat a rhythm against his ribs, skin glistening in the low light of the candles from the fine sheen of sweat that coated his skin and pooled at the base of his throat.
"You are too tense," she demurred, hovering over him as she pressed him backwards, threading her fingers with his. His breath hitched as the ends of her hair brushed across his stomach, the sensation raising a wave of gooseflesh across his skin. “Relax,” she clucked her tongue, pressing a kiss to his hip.
His mind spun, any and all thoughts that had been in his head disappeared as she retreated, going lower with a singular focus. Her movements were lazy and unhurried, each slow and tormenting swipe of her tongue along the underside of his cock driving him mad.
He tried to think of something, anything, to distract himself from the sight of her between his thighs, but failed, squeezing his eye closed so tightly tears leaked from the corners, the feeling of her mouth on his cock ripping a strangled, ragged moan from his chest as his muscles spasmed, going rigid as he stiffened.
Too much. Too much.
And yet he wanted more.
For how could depravity be so beautiful? This was not like the base and corrupt like that in which Aegon indulged. Not immoral or degrading. It was exquisite pleasure as natural as breathing. A sublime thrill. Pleasure for pleasure's sake. Not born of duty, but of something else.
Something else that could not be found in any holy text.
The exchange of heat. The exchange of energy. Finding balance at last. Giving and taking. Back and forth. Achieving an elevated state of being for but a brief moment, to make you thank the Gods you were alive. A blessing in more ways than one. For what was worship if it was not warm and soft and loud and joyful? It was not meant to be cold and hard like marble beneath his knees, nor made of silence and sorrowfully murmured scripture.
Aemond jolted, squirming as she nipped at the skin over his ribs, and again when she licked a stripe down his stomach before blowing air over it. "Please," his voice cracked as a fist tightened at the base of his spine, the veins in his hands growing more pronounced as his hand slapped against the bedding, bunching the sheets in his fist. His head fell back, a silent plea building on the tip of his tongue as the warmth of the room seemed to close in on him, suffocating and unbearable.
She retreated, stretching like a cat as her fingers trailed a path over his shoulders as she leaned down to brush her mouth against his, the friction of her body sliding against his too much, yet not enough. “You are temptation in the flesh, come to torment me,” he exhaled raggedly against her skin as his hair spilled behind him, sliding over his shoulders in silver waves, so locked within a haze of lust and pleasure, he didn't know where his body ended and hers began.
“There is no shame in it," her legs tightened around his waist as she grasped at his jaw, pulling his face away from the side of her throat. "Let them hear you.” Her words slipped into a tongue foreign to him then, and though their meaning was lost to him, their sentiment transcended spoken word. It felt like flying. Like he was weightless. Like he was floating on water and untethered from all mortal bonds without a care in the world.
He mumbled her name, once, twice, three times, a desperate cry clawing at his throat at the high that swept over him with a force so violent it knocked the breath from his chest before he fell boneless and limp on his back beside her, panting as he fought to regain control of his breathing, reduced to nothing but a patchwork of trembling limbs and frayed, ragged edges.
**
“It’s futile asking you to stay, isn’t it?” Aemond murmured quietly. He felt her as she moved in the dark, from where the length of his arm pressed flush against hers. He could hear the small ornaments in her hair chime as she moved, the delicately worked gold warm against his skin. The bed shifted as she turned onto her side to face him, propping one arm underneath her.
She inhaled deeply, running the end of her tongue over her teeth as she mulled over her words. “Tis futile as asking you to come with me, I imagine. You have a duty here, my Prince. One that binds you to your family." She smiled sadly at him, brushing the pads of her fingers over the sharp angles of his face, tracing them down from the top of his head all the way to his jaw and back again in a soothing motion that brought forth a deep sigh as his eye fluttered closed. Aemond could hear the sorrow that she could not quite hide, an undercurrent woven just under the surface.
He did not push, instead returning his gaze back to the hangings over his bed as a fresh wave of conflict began to form inside his chest, twisting and writhing inside him. He’d always been so careful, so precise in everything that he did. He was the blood of the dragon, and yet Abeni, with her foreign gods and her foreign ways, had single handedly unwound and unravelled everything he thought he knew.
She was a maelstrom, tearing through him as she obliterated and shattered his beliefs into nothing more than jagged, broken shards. And yet in a small way she had given him a miniscule taste of the freedom that she lived and breathed with nothing to hold her back.
She was right, though. The chains of duty and familial loyalty would always be constricting, too tight and too heavy for him to shake completely, and though she had loosened their pinch, he would never truly be able to escape them. It seemed their paths were only destined to cross for the briefest moment. She must go, and he must stay. Able to coexist, but unmixable. A case of oil and water once again. Time was luck and Aemond desperately wished theirs overlapped more.
Or for longer.
Afterall, what could he truly offer Abeni? His love? Possibly, one day, maybe. But nothing more than that. He was not free to marry whomever he wished. Not free to live however he wished. He knew that if he asked her to stay, her life would be constricted to a gilded cage, a prison of red brick walls filled with secrecy, the conditions in which she would wither and fade into naught but a shell of herself.
Aemond could never, would never, do that to her, not even if she was willing. He could never watch her clip her wings in such a fashion just for the sake of his desire to possess her. Like the birds engraved upon her ship, wild and untamed like a dragon, she wasn’t something to be chained as he was, free in more ways than one, free to go wherever she wished and to do whatever she pleased, unburdened by both duty and the expectations of others.
"Let me return the favour," he rasped, pulling his hand away from her hip.
She stared up at him, desire sparking again in her dark eyes. “Oh?”
"Yes." She squirmed as his hot breath fanned over her already sensitive skin as his hands drifted higher, the backs of his knuckles brushing across the swell of her breasts. He grinned at her reaction, running his nose along her throat.
"You learn fast," she observed, her arms looping around his neck as he moved, lightly running his fingers along her ribs, squeezing at her waist. As his lips grazed over her navel, he shifted off the edge of the bed, bare knees meeting the plush softness of the rug.
“Feels oddly familiar," he smirked, nipping at the inside of her thigh just above her knee. "Though I must confess the view from the foot of the altar is rarely as remarkable as this is.”
Even in the dim candlelight, he could see the wetness glistening between her legs. He teasingly dragged his fingers through the slick that had gathered, the evidence of their earlier tryst mixed with fresh arousal. Grasping the meat of her thighs to pull her closer and grant him better access, he gently spread them, admiring the way she clenched around nothing. The sight was enough to make his cock ache with renewed want where it rested against his thigh.
His eye trained upon her face with burning intensity as his arm curled around the curve of her waist, lifting her slightly to angle her hips, responding to her gasps, guided by her low moans as he slid his finger deep within her, experimentally searching until he found the spot he sought, the one that made her back arch so nicely. He revelled in her scent and in the rise and fall of her chest as she gripped the edge of the bed.
A sight worthy of worship, of reverence.
Filled with deep satisfaction at her response, he pressed forward with new confidence, running his nose between her folds, allowing his tongue to explore with tentative licks. Aemond fought the urge to smirk as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.
Trial and error. Toying with pressure and the movements of his tongue. Technique evolving with the intoxicating sighs and moans he coaxed from her mouth, watching her grind her hips, craving more pressure, more friction, bowing upwards as her moans grew louder.
Urged on by the shake of her thighs, Aemond doubled his efforts. He hissed when she tugged at his hair, encouraging him further to bolder action. Delighting in the feeling of her groans and rewarded with the juices which coated his lips and chin. “Look at me,” he panted, gently grasping Abeni’s chin between his thumb and finger. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze, the dark of her pupils blown wide and hazy, unfocused with pleasure.
Gods, she was a vision. A breathless beauty in a twist of sheets.
Unable to resist, Aemond softly swiped his thumb across her bottom lip before capturing her mouth with his own again, little more than a messy meeting of teeth and tongue, his lack of skill made up tenfold by a feral, ardent hunger. He was in his element as he committed every second of this to memory, swearing he would never forget this as he gripped the swell of her hips, pleased by the way she met his thrusts.
Chasing the feeling building in his gut, Aemond pressed his forehead to hers as he leaned heavily against her as his pace began to falter, only faintly feeling the pain where her nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders. His eyepatch caught in her hair as he did, slipping free from his head before falling to the side, and his breath froze in his chest. He pulled away, the lust and desire that had been there but a moment before fading. He turned his face away, tensing further at the feel of her fingers tracing over his scar.
“Why do you hide?” The feeling of her fingers drawing circles on his arm pulled him from his thoughts as she observed his face with an expression of interest, as if she was trying to read his mind. He didn't answer, keeping the marred side in shadow. Abeni slid her hand under his chin, tightening her grasp slightly as a means to make him look at her. "Why?"
Aemond searched her face, seeing no disgust or revulsion at the sight of his wound. He swallowed and fisted the sheet, throat bobbing with the movement, his sapphire glinting as it caught the candle flame, sending spots of blue tinted light over the sheets. "I-"
He licked his lip, hand flexing atop the bedding. It was as if a stone lodged in his throat, the words he wanted to say echoing around in his head, but refusing to come out.
“I need you to make me a promise, my prince.” Aemond's eye fixed on her again, watching as she bit her lip, fighting the urge to shiver when she set her hand over his. “Promise me that you will remember to live while you’re diligently toiling away for them,” Abeni smiled, a trace of sadness lingering in it. “Life is hard enough without restricting yourself from simple pleasures. Don’t forget to indulge. Please.”
He stayed quiet, pulling her to him with one hand on her back. His breath mingled with hers as he kissed her again, softer this time, as if to pour everything he could not say into it.
#my fics#house of the dragon#aemond fic#aemond x original character#fyeahhotdocs#fyeahgotocs#a song of ice and fire#hotd fics#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond the kinslayer#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#aemond targaryen fan fiction#allaboutocs#ocappreciation#oc character#aemond oneshot#aemond#prince aemond
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introducing ⋆ Cassandra 'Cassie' Lewis
Cassie Lewis had always believed that being a demigod would fix her problems – not create more. Developing a chronic insomnia problem at the age of six, Cassie only lasted a few years before she became too much to deal with for her mother, sending her to Camp Half-Blood for the first time. However, even amongst kids just like her she became an outlier, and instead of returning home after the summer, Cassie ran away.
She was eleven when she first met Luke Castellan. Two years older, weary, and even more defensive than Cassie was, Luke became something she never imagined she would have; a friend. Together, the two young children tried to survive the world around them, along the way picking up two other demigod children, Thalia and Annabeth. Though, eventually, Cassie grew to care for Thalia and Annabeth in their own right, she never quite loved anyone quite as much as she loved Luke.
Perhaps that’s what made it all the more difficult when she began to dream of Luke betraying her.
Camp Half-Blood should have been the thing that saved him. A place where Luke could learn about himself, and the Gods, and grow into someone different. Someone who wouldn’t destroy everyone in his path for revenge.
She was foolish to think that anyone could avoid their destiny, no matter how terrible.
taglist: @kendelias @chlobenet @bravelittleflower @eddiemunscns @purpleyearning @eddysocs @heavenlysurf @arrthurpendragon @villanele @nolanhollogay @stanshollaand @lovehermioneforever @raith-way @kiara-carrera @decennia @luucypevensie @waterloou @ginger-grimm @hiddenqveendom @foxesandmagic @jvstjewels @dragonsbone @endless-oc-creations @ginevrastilinski @sunlitscribe @dyhlanobrien @partiallypearl @witchofinterest @fleetwoodmcs @daughter-of-melpomene
#ocappreciation#ocapp#allaboutocs#ochub#pjo oc#luke castellan x oc#ch: cassie#ch: cassie lewis#my edits#getting out this quickie before valentines edits#i hope u all like her shes my girl!!
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Lee Quinn and her relationship with her adoptive mother
Aeschylus, The Oresteia // Hop Along, Bruno is Orange // Lauren Lindsey Donzis // Joan Tierney // MARINA, The Family Jewels // @k. on Pinterest // Mitski, Class Of 2013
#web weaving#lee quinn#the sandman oc#sandman oc#ocappreciation#allaboutocs#the sandman netflix#the sandman#the oresteia#hop along#lauren lindsey donzis#joan tierney#marina#mitski#aesthetic
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WELCOME TO THE INTERNATIONAL WOMENS DAY CHALLENGE!
By my fault, this challenge is super late and only three days long, from the sixth to the eighth. However, I am already planning for next year so it should be much better and everyone should have a lot more time. Thanks to @come-along-pond, a new admin on this blog, for doing everything but the gif and the post itself lol.
Rules
DO NOT copy others edits
If you are doing crossovers, PLEASE make sure that the creator of the other oc is okay with crossovers.
If you want your post to be reblogged onto this blog, it must contain the hashtag #owc2024.
Feel free to ask questions!
Everything is up to the creators interpretation, although I have tried to include some examples for help!
Have fun!
if you only do some or post them on the wrong days, shake it off!
Note: although we’ve used feminine pronouns for the descriptions, non-binary and gender neutral ocs are welcome to participate!
Challenges Below
Day One: "I'm a damsel, I'm in distress, I can handle this." (March 6th)
Everyone had someone they looked up to growing up, for lots of us, that was someone in the media, and for lots of girls across the country, they came in the shapes of Disney characters. For this day, we want you to show which female media icon your OC looked up to as a little girl. Whether that be Megara, Princess Leia or even Katniss Everdeen.
Day Two: Girls Love Each Other Like Animals (March 7th)
“We don’t guard ourselves like we do with boys”. Today is all about female relationships! Which women held your OC together in times of need? Who loved her when she needed it most? Was it, her mother, friends, partners? Or even a girl she met in the bathroom who fixed her makeup and told her not to get back with their ex.
Day Three: "In March I'll be rested, caught up and human." (March 8th)
Happy International Women’s day! Women have influenced society from its beginning, and a large part of that has been through literature. We want to know what quote/s by women represent your OC! Or even, what quotes or lyrics does your OC use to ground herself. Feel free to use any female made quote, it doesn’t have to be from poetry or a book!
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"He was her warmth. She was his peace."
Asha doesn't remember anything about her past, all she remembers was that she was always so cold. But when she's with Gale, he brings her such warmth with his touch, his kiss, and even his words. Moments with Gale make Asha forget the darkness inside her trying to claw its way to the surface...
After losing Mystra's love after his accidental betrayal, Gale was constantly worried about the orb, now stuck in his chest, killing himself and many others by exploding. But after meeting Asha and traveling together, Gale fell in love again...and finally felt at peace.
💕 Everything Taglist: @bravelittleflower @sunlitscribe @eddysocs @raith-way @waterloou @decennia @hiddenqveendom @aaronhotchstuff @foxesandmagic @nejires-hado @asirensrage @lucys-chen @arrthurpendragon @daughter-of-melpomene @thatmagickjuju @ginevrastilinski @ginger-grimm @oneirataxia-girll💕
#asha rhyl#oc: asha rhyl#ship: ashe#otp: cosmic love#mimi edits#my edits#type: gifset#video game ocs#allaboutocs#ocappreciation#bg3 ocs#queerocs#gale dekarios#gale x tav#baldur's gate 3#bg3edit#gamingedit#videogamedit#bg3 tav#tav bg3#baldurs gate 3#oc appreciation#bg3
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oops another oc :: alysanne targaryen
"While there was no love lost between Green and Black Queens, the Princess Rhaenyra always held a certain sort of...fondness for her younger half-sister. Princess Alysanne was even said to have received a clutch of dragon eggs from Syrax as a gift on the day her wedding.
But things turned sour between the two when the younger Princess visited Rhaenyra to offer her condolences on the passing of her son Lucerys Velaryon.
It was this moment which turned the North against their cause, as Rhaenyra told her consort Prince Daemon Targaryen to lock the Princess in Dragonstone, far beyond the reach of her mother the Queen, her brother the King, and her husband...Lord Cregan Stark."
tag list: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @jvstjewels@camiemendess@a-song-of-quill-and-feather @arrthurpendragon @villain-connoisseur @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @noratilney @stanshollaand @kingsmakers @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse @misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns
#ocappreciation#allaboutocs#ochub#fyeahotdocs#gameofthronesocs#house of the dragon ocs#hotd ocs#oc: alysanne targaryen#cregan stark x oc#my edits#my intros#my ocs
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Dearest Gentle Reader,
The fallout of Edmund Bridgerton and Thomas Lovelace, occurred years before their respective marriages, before the birth of their children, and long before the first of this author’s society papers was published. Many have, of course, suggested theories as to why the 8th Viscount Bridgerton, and the 13th Duke of Manchester never saw eye to eye, but as neither ever made public comments regarding the issue, we still remain in doubt.
The sins of the father will be visited upon the son, and such is the case for Hector Lovelace and Anthony Bridgerton. From Eton to Oxford, both carried on the grudges of their fathers, and thus became known as deathly rivals.
It causes one to wonder why? And over what? Sadly, dear reader, much like yourself, this author remains in the dark.
It was only after the tragic death of Edmund Bridgerton, that tensions tremendously subsided. Occasionally, during gatherings, one might even notice the exchange of a polite nod between the new Viscount and the Heir of the Manchester Dukedom.
It is a common jape amongst chattering mamas that a Lovelace-Bridgerton marriage would finally put the two families senseless feud to bed. While there had been hope for a match between Daphne Bridgerton and the third Lovelace son, Mister Lewis Lovelace, it was soon eliminated after the announcement of Mister Lovelace’s betrothal to Lady Cassandra Gray. There remains Francesca and Hyacinth Bridgerton, who should by all accounts be considered rather odd matches for either remaining unmarried Lovelace Brother, given their vast age differences, and with Eloise Bridgerton's disinterest in matters of love and marriage, there is little possibility for a union between a Bridgerton Sister and a Lovelace Brother.
This author proposes an alternative; perhaps instead of a Lovelace Brother, we must turn our eyes to the sole Lovelace sister, the newly debuted, Lady Juliette Lovelace, and the second Bridgerton Brother, Mister Benedict Bridgerton, who seemed to by all accounts have become rather smitten with Miss Lovelace, much to the displeasure of his brother, the Viscount.
I am certain those of you who have not had the pleasure of making Miss Lovelace’s acquaintance before, during, or after her debut must have at the very least heard from a matchmaking mama, of her genteel mannerism, and very, very large dowry. Thus far, the only thing standing in the way of gentlemen vying for her hand in marriage has been her rakish twin brother, Mister John Lovelace, and his rather foul habit of publicly mocking her suitors.
Perhaps it must also be mentioned that this season the Duke and Duchess of Manchester have sent their youngest son away on a diplomatic trip, so as to not hinder their dear daughter’s pursuits of finding a husband.
Time is of the essence, bachelor's of Mayfair. I urge you all to try and succeed in winning the heart of Miss Juliette Lovelace before her meddlesome brother’s return from France.
In the meantime, this author continues to ponder if Miss Juliette Lovelace will find her Romeo in Mister Benedict Bridgerton or not. The answer will be one I shall certainly enjoy uncovering ...
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 10 JANUARY, 1814
#oc : juliette lovelace#fc: jenna coleman#ocappreciation#fyeahbridgertonocs#allaboutocs#littleocnation#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#Benedict Bridgerton x oc#anthony bridgerton#benedict bridgerton oc#oc community#oc appreciation#ochub#toalltheocsivelovedbefore
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𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐊
❝ In what she considered to be the ultimate, terrible tribute to her name, Lark had been living most of her life like a bird in a cage. First, her cage had been the mansion in Albatross Town in which she had lived as a child, alongside her parents, the town’s governors, who upon realizing their daughter’s natural talent for singing had trotted her out to perform in front of their fellow government officials from the time she was as young as seven. Then, after her parents had passed away from illness when she was still young, her cage had transformed into the embrace of World Government officials, who, remembering her from those parties in her childhood home, had thrust a guitar into her hands and forced her to travel around all four Blues, singing hollow songs about how good and just the World Government and the Marines were for crowds of the Marines themselves.
And even more than she hated being trotted around the world like a show pony at the Government’s whim, Lark hated the music she was forced to perform - and how she was kept from even learning about the music that truly interested her. From the time she was very young, just starting out in her role as the World Government’s little songstress, Lark had been fascinated with the songs pirates sang, the odes to the horizon and life on the high Blues that they would sing on their ships and in taverns when the moon was high in the sky. She ached to hear all of the pirate songs that had ever existed, to fill the songwriting notebooks she kept in secret with their notes and lyrics and perhaps even write one of her own. But since her Government handlers had always kept such a close watch on her, steering her away from any music that was not her approved setlist for performances, she was forced to constantly escape for a few hours whenever she could and fill her notebooks with whatever scraps of songs she could overhear spilling from pubs or could persuade a sailor to sing for her and kept those scribbled words close to her heart, longing for the day when she could burst out of her cage and finally submerge herself in the music she truly wanted to sing.
Finally, after so many years of waiting and wanting and playing the part of the World Government’s little songbird no matter how much she hated it, Lark was given her opportunity for freedom in the form of Monkey D. Luffy and his newfound, ragtag little crew of pirate hopefuls. After seeing one of Lark’s shows and somehow seeing through her public persona to the desperate trapped bird she was underneath, Luffy had approached her with an offer to run away and join his little crew, an offer which Lark could not do anything but accept. Snatching her chance to escape and holding on tight, Lark had sailed away with the Straw Hat crew carrying nothing but her guitar, a few of her favorite dresses, and her beloved notebooks, more than ready to sail the open water and be exposed to the songs she had been longing to hear for so long.
But, of course, the World Government is not willing to let their prized bird fly free for too long, and in addition to evading angry fishmen, keeping their swordsman from dying after he picks a fight he has no chance of winning, and trying to keep a terrifying clown from sending them to their deaths, the Straw Hats must also deal with the threat of a determined Marine Admiral who wants to arrest their captain and has received orders to bring Lark back to his employers. But what everyone who has ever kept Lark captive has failed to realize is that she is much stronger and more determined than she seems - and if she, her newfound friends, and the charming chef who lost his heart to her the first time he heard her sing have anything to say about it, this songbird will be dead before she will be forced into a cage again. ❞
One Piece Taglist: @auxiliarydetective, @starcrossedjedis, @xoteajays, @oneirataxia-girl, @supermarine-silvally.
General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.
#my ocs#introducing my ocs#ch: hayashi lark#oc: hayashi lark#fic: bird set free#queerocs#fyeahocsofcolor#ocapp#ocappreciation#ochub#allaboutocs#fyeahonepieceocs#fyeahoplaocs#one piece oc#opla oc
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THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES IS SWINGING ⸺ A PJO FANFICTION
🏛.ೃ࿐ READ ON ▌ Wattpad 🏛 AO3 🏛 Quotev 🏛 FFN
THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES IS SWINGING ⸺ this is the first book in a pjo au that i am working on, it is based on the books AND is not really based on the tv show series as i started it months before the show came out. it starts in the titan's curse and thus contains spoilers (for those who have only watched the show) for the lightning thief and sea of monsters. it is a slow burn luke castellan fic, with a little bit of grover underwood sprinkled in although as i'm writing it, i am currently considering that luke/oc/grover be the end pairing in the series. only time will tell what the endgame pairing will be. currently the book is focusing on found family and the roll the oc plays in the pjo verse.
🏛.ೃ࿐ SYNOPSIS．▌ ❝Through out the three centuries that Sarah's been apart of the Hunters, she's come to realize that being a Demigod thoroughly sucked. Growing up as a child of Hades in the Puritan village of Salem, Sarah never once had it easy. But she had been happy, happy to be alive, happy to be apart of the Hunters. The threat of an impending war is imminent, and while Sarah is far from being at the center of it, the sword of Damocles still swings precariously over her head, for Sarah was a hero that had been happy for far too long. perhaps after three hundreds years of living a relatively joyful life for a Demigod, it was time for Sarah Willoughby to sacrifice something.❞
🏛.ೃ࿐ CHAPTERS．▌ Currently Published: 001 Prologue, 006 Chapters, 002 Misc. Chapters
🏛.ೃ࿐ CONTENT WARNINGS ▌Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Prophecy, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Families of Choice, Past Relationship(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Period Typical Attitudes, Internalized Homophobia, Historical Inaccuracy, Medical Inaccuracies, Childhood Trauma, Percy Jackson has a Twin, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Original Character Death(s), Canonical Character Death, Strangers to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Enemies To Lovers, Luke Castellan Redemption, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Injury, BAMF Percy Jackson, BAMF Bianca di Angelo, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Monsters, Luke Castellan-centric, Original Character-centric, Complicated Relationships, Serious Injuries, Good Parent Hades (Percy Jackson), Necromancy, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
🏛.ೃ࿐ RELATIONSHIPS ▌Luke Castellan/Original Female Character(s), Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Hades/Original Female Character(s), The Hunters of Artemis & Original Female Character(s), Maria di Angelo/Hades/Persephone, Nico di Angelo & Will Solace, Bianca di Angelo & Nico di Angelo & Original Female Character(s), Clarisse La Rue & Original Character(s), Grover Underwood & Original Character(s), Paul Blofis/Sally Jackson
🏛.ೃ࿐ CHARACTERS ▌Original Child(ren) of Hades (Percy Jackson), Original Child(ren) of Apollo (Percy Jackson), Grover Underwood, The Hunters of Artemis, Bianca di Angelo, Nico di Angelo, Luke Castellan, Thalia Grace, Zoë Nightshade, Original Jackson Character(s), Original Child(ren) of Aphrodite, The Olympians, Annabeth Chase, Kronos, Artemis, Hades, Persephone, Castor, Pollux, Chiron, Ethan Nakamura, Dionysus, Rachel Elizabeth Dare
🏛.ೃ࿐ AVAILABLE ON ▌ Wattpad 🏛 AO3 🏛 Quotev 🏛 FFN
#fic: the sword of damocles is swinging#oc: sarah willoughby#fic series: the witch trials#percy jackson oc#percy jackson fanfic#percy jackson#shameless self promo#percy jackson and the olympians#heroes of olympus#luke castellan#grover underwood#toalltheocsivelovedbefore#occentral#allaboutocs#ocappreciation#fanfiction#my fics#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x oc#pjo fic#grover underwood x reader#grover underwood x oc#pjo ocs#archive of our own#wattpad#ao3#riordanverse#fyeahpjoocs#ao3 fanfiction#ao3 link
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GLITCH ━━ a nanami kento au.
In the aftermath of Kento Nanami’s catastrophic fight with cursed spirit, Miharu, time stops. The fabric of reality weakens, and anything can happen. As it stands, Tabitha and Kento have already gone down Route A, leading to the slow, devastating events of their breakup. But where there is Route A, there is always a Route B. This is Route B.
READ CHAPTER 3 HERE
ao3 | wattpad
TAGLIST ━━ want to be added? send me an ask or dm!
#my fics#fic: glitch#chapter update#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu nanami#jjk smut#jjk nanami#jjk fanfic#nanami kento#nanami smut#kento nanami#nanami kento x oc#jjkedit#ao3#ao3 fanfic#wattpad#wattpad fanfic#nanami kento smut#ocappreciation#allaboutocs#ochub
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