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avatar-anna · 2 months

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Pale Green Stripes

The Professor Masterlist

this takes place during The Professor Series!

"Did you know you're the only person who never tries to interrupt me?"

"What do you mean?"

Harry and Y/n lay on the carpeted floor of her townhouse. Their shoulders touched, but that was about it. Even so, Harry could feel that tiny bit of contact throughout his entire body. The professor probably had a word for that, a scientific term to explain why just the slightest graze—not even skin against skin—sent him into a tailspin that made him have to focus extra hard on what she said.

Y/n's hands knotted together on her lap, a thing she did when she held herself back. It was as if she had to physically restrain herself some way to keep her from speaking out of turn. Harry personally never thought she did, from their first meeting at the bookstore, he'd been fascinated by her, by the things she said.

"I don't mean to...impart information on people the way that I do. It just happens sometimes," she said, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

Harry knew he probably should've too, but he couldn't help but look at the professor instead. Her hair fanned out around her shoulders, she wore a string of pearls around her neck and earrings made to look like Salvador Dalí's melting clocks in her ears. Her jewelry was always a mix of something professional and a little quirky, Harry came to realize, as if even at work as a professor at Cambridge University she couldn't help but have a little fun.

Her wardrobe consisted of patterned socks and cherry red Adidas shoes and fun knitted sweaters and vests. Today she merely wore a cozy navy blue sweater and a flowy white skirt, her red shoes were on a rack by the door, but she still wore her ruffled socks with embroidered roses on them.

"I don't mind it at all," he replied honestly.

Y/n blinked a couple times, then said, "I know. I was surprised at first because everyone usually cuts me off. Or walks away."

Harry frowned. He couldn't help but notice how clinically the professor spoke about the hurtful things that had been done to her. By her family, so-called colleagues, the few friends she had at work. He couldn't fathom anyone finding Y/n anything less than wonderful. She was brilliant, yes, but funny, and charismatic, and had a knack for storytelling. Harry never wanted her to stop talking. Ever.

"I like listening to you," he told her, shrugging as best he could given his current prone position.

"That's probably because you never finished school and are trying to make up for lost time."

From anyone else, that would've been a joke, a jab, but Y/n took education seriously, had mentioned it numerous times since they met.

Still, Harry chuckled. "Maybe I just like the sound of your voice. Maybe I just like hearing what you have to say. Maybe I find your lectures highly arousing."

"Edward!"

Even as he laughed with her, Harry couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew he should tell her, he should've told her months ago. His middle name fired out of his mouth before he could think the first time Y/n asked him for his name. A desire for anonymity, that was all it was. He didn't think he'd see her again outside the one time, so he thought it would be harmless. Then they did keep meeting, and he didn't have the guts to tell her, and now he was too deep in the lie to find a way out.

"What?"

Harry had never been shy about his attraction to the professor, even if he'd only seen half of her face due to the mask she wore. There was so much to appreciate about her, so much to admire, and he let his own imagination do the rest. He could've, of course, looked her up online. Y/n had mentioned something about posting educational videos online, but he thought it was only fair that if she didn't know what his entire face looked like that he didn't either.

"Why do you say stuff like that?" she asked, and even without the mask, Harry could tell she was blushing.

"Like what?"

"About me. About—about your attraction to me and how you find me—or think I'm a—"

"Yes?" Harry encouraged. He could tell there was a word or phrase she had in mind but was too embarrassed to use.

"In the 16th Century, the word bellibone was first used. It's derived from French etymology using the words belle and bonne to describe a woman who excels in both beauty and goodness. There's really only one known use in the late 1500s. A poet named Edmund Spenser, though he was from Ireland. It's fascinating how a word can be used once then ceases to exist, don't you think?"

Harry blinked, not totally prepared for the tangent, though perhaps he should've been. Grinning beneath his mask, he said, "I think it describes you perfectly."

"Edward," Y/n said, now her neck was flushed too.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asked. "The compliments? The—" He might as well call it what it was—"flirting?"

"N—No."

"Because I'll stop if it does," he promised. "I just think you should know how devastating you are."

One of the professor's eyebrows quirked up in confusion. "That was an interesting choice in adjective."

But it was the perfect one. Harry knew he couldn't be with Y/n the way he wanted when she didn't know the truth about who he was, and he couldn't risk losing her if he finally told her. Perhaps it was unfair to play at something he knew he couldn't have, but part of him wanted Y/n to know that she was desirable, that she was more than what her intellect offered. Sure, Harry found her intelligence sexy as all get out, but she was also beautiful, and funny, and kind, and he didn't think anyone had ever complimented more than just her brain.

He would spend an entire day complimenting her if he had the time, or if she let him.

But while Y/n was confident in many things, romantic feelings weren't one of them. Despite the obstacles he put in his own way, Harry didn't think the professor was quite ready to hear how much he really liked her.

"Tell me something."

"Like what?" Y/n asked.

"Anything," Harry said, facing her and propping his head in his hand. "A book you read, something that fascinates you, your least favorite student, anything."

She narrowed her eyes at him as she positioned her body to face his. "I don't have a least favorite student."

"I don't believe you," he replied, narrowing his eyes back playfully.

Y/n scanned his face, then up and down his body. It was casual, though Harry noticed that her gaze lingered in places—his arms, his shoulders, his face. He wore a mask, but he tried to suppress his grin anyway. Then, before he could tease her more, her eyes lit up.

"Did you know the stripe pattern originated in the Middle Ages?"

He never knew, but she always prefaced her information the same way. "Did it?"

Nodding to the green striped shirt Harry wore, she said, "Stripes were used to identify social outcasts. Prostitutes, criminals, hangmen, clowns and jugglers; they all had to wear stripes so they were easily recognizable in regular society."

"Clowns?"

"Outcasts and people who were...not society's favorites, like court jesters and such. European governments even legalized the requirement of certain citizens to wear stripes. Though now, of course, stripes are popular due to Coco Chanel wearing a striped shirt similar to French sailor uniforms, which, you know, sailors were also usually the lowest rank of the French navy. Then stripes began appearing in women's activewear in the 1920s, Al Capone began wearing pinstriped suits, and the rest is history. A long, brutal history, obviously, seeing as prisoners were later forced to wear striped uniforms, and prisoners in concentration camps during World War Two, but—there you have it. A brief, slightly detailed history of the stripe."

Harry looked down at his long sleeved shirt, the thin pale green and white striped that lined his arms and torso. "Not sure if I'll be able to wear stripes again, but... that's really fascinating."

"Thought you might like that," Y/n said with a shrug.

Harry tilted his head questioningly. "Why do you say that?"

"You like clothes."

He didn't question how she knew that. With her background, Y/n seemed to know things about him that she just happened to observe. It was a little disconcerting at first, but he came to appreciate that he didn't have to pretend around her. No airs, no personas, none of the things he'd become so accustomed to in recent years. The professor might not have known about Harry's career, but she knew him in ways no one else did.

"Well," he said, playfully sighing at his shirt. "Guess I'm never wearing stripes again."

Y/n's eyes squinted and her mask scrunched a little, the way they always did when she smiled. With an unmistakable glint in her eye, the adorable one she always got when Harry indulged in her. "Wait until you hear about polka dots!"

Harry sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement making him chuckle a little. "Tell me more, love."

#harry styles #harry styles x professor y/n #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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divineidolatry · 3 months

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CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER 1

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 4,352

just before our love got lost you said "i am as constant as a northern star" and i said "constantly in the darkness, where's that at? if you want me i'll be in the bar."

“Coriolanus…” You drop the silver cutlery on the fine porcelain, the sound sharp enough that he winces. Good. This should hurt him as much as it hurts you. “What are we even doing anymore?”

His face holds that cold expression you can’t read, beautiful and impossible, a question you saw the first day you met him and you knew you wanted to crack him open.

You always knew he had ambition, and you possessed plenty to match. Power called to you from an early age, you’d just gotten smarter about you grabbed it. Still, he made you better. He made you sharper. And in turn, you could make him look soft enough to please.

But the parts of you that slotted together like perfect gears before had grown jagged and mismatched now. His ambitions mean more than you. They come before you. A part of you thinks it would be okay if he still made room for you at the end of the night, but it’s all perfunctory and dutiful.

“We need to talk. Actually talk.”

It’s not for a lack of trying to understand him, but there’s walls in Coryo that shift position, closing him off when you’re not careful enough. Talking with him turns into talking to him. He never did share much, even when you made it clear that you supported his ambitions, never troubling him with your own. You’re big girl, after all, independent and capable, you can hold your own value and underscore his. You know how to charm the worst of them and flatter the best of them, you are an asset beyond compare and yet he’s losing interest. Galling.

“I’ve been loyal, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve kept clean in public so you can defile me in private. I play your game so well, and yet…” You flick your finger against the crystal wine glass, lipstick stains rimming the edge. You dressed to the nines tonight, giving him a last chance to look at you, at everything you offered him as a partner in every sense of the word. “You make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

His silence hangs heavy and painful in the air between you two. There’s something so pristine and perfect about the room that itches in your gut, that sometimes makes you want to take the knife and stab him through the back of his hand just to see if he’d even flinch.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

Oh, how icy his gaze is. It cuts right through you, past all your defenses.

These dinners, once bubbling with conversation and excited plans about the next chance you’d have to shift the board, have turned to quiet and perfunctory affairs now. He meets your eyes less and less on the university campus. You spend hours waiting for him in the quiet hallways on the top floor no one goes to, doing your seminar readings in the same hidden alcove where he once liked to make you moan so high a rumor had spread of a ghost haunting.

It doesn’t matter to you that he is busy, it mattered that he stopped including you, that he didn’t even try. And you can’t get through to him. It’s getting sad — worse, stale. On top of that, people are talking. Gossip loud enough that you could hear it from the back rows in lecture halls, of discord between Panem’s golden future and his leading lady. Bad metrics for both of you… and it fucking stings too.

His heart isn’t in your mouth anymore, and you are beginning to starve. And he’d let you.

You fold up the napkin, dropping it on top of the half-finished meal, knowing the waste will irk him. Whatever hook you still have in him you will pull on. You must. You refuse to go down without damages.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s easier this way, me deciding to leave you, that way you won’t have to clean up the mess. That’s why you’ve been so cold, right?”

He doesn’t speak. Pushing the chair out, you get up and walk the length of the table, your heels clicking loud against the marble. You move close to him, press your body against his and feel the heat of his breath on your skin… but his expression does not shift, and you shake your head with a pained noise catching in your throat.

“I don’t think you are this cold,” you whisper, slipping your hand in under his shirt, pressing your fingers against his chest. His heart beats hard and strong. “I hope you realize when I’m gone…” You trail off, struggling with the words.

Silence. Again. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you try to reconcile this… and he is letting you flounder. Has he allowed you to ask for his time with the intention to give you nothing? The cruelty in that hurts even worse.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek, scraping your nails over his skin, hoping it stings as much as his icy silence does. You gather your bag and coat, and leave his penthouse quietly.

In the elevator, you wipe at an errant tear. The air around you feels crushing but you cannot give in under pressure. You won’t.

For a few days, you don’t cry. You had foreseen this outcome to the conversation after all, made your preparations to leave as little behind as possible, and fortified yourself to understand that no matter how perfect a match you seemingly were for each other, you still actively had to choose one another. Whatever had consumed him also kept him from letting you in as he used to, and it meant he was no longer choosing you.

The barb still lodged itself deep in your chest, leaking poison all the same.

You go through the motions, brushing your hair, washing your face, studying. It’s in one of the lectures, the professor slipping through the lackluster material, that it hits like a fist between the ribs, and you clutch at your side remembering how Coryo would have made this make sense to you. It hits all at once how he’s not there, won’t be, he’s not going to make even the dullest media history class shine bright anymore.

When the tears come, it is Clemensia who wipes them away, lets your head rest in her lap, and offers to fetch the rest of your things. She was his friend first; you’d been a year under them in the Academy. When she comes back she doesn’t say if he reacted, though you doubt he was even at home. She strokes your hair, assuring you she won’t pick a side. Through all her care of you in the weeks to come, she proves her words, not letting you flinch away in public.

“Just because he plays a good game,” she reminds you, “doesn’t mean you can’t make a better move.”

You slowly get back on your feet, keeping her words in mind. She helps with applying your makeup on days when your hands are too shaky, keeping your perfectly crafted mask in place. She glues herself to your side as you attend classes, keeping it cordial with Coriolanus while your gaze slips past him. You forgot how good it felt to be someone’s priority.

“Why are you being so nice about this?” you ask one night, exasperated as she’s getting you ready for a party, squirming in your seat. You don’t feel ready for re-emerging into society, but what choice do you have? Crawl into a hole and vanish? You’d never give him the pleasure.

She rolls her eyes and gets up off the floor to fetch a dusty bottle of posca from the shelves.

“It’s not that different,” she says, handing a glass over to you. “I was in his corner too, and it bit me. Hard.” She grimaces, scratching at her wrist before rolling down the sleeve over her hands.

“Did you two…” You have wondered, after all, jealousy flickering at times like a dangerous question mark.

“Not like that! I just needed him to show up for me, to do this one thing, and he was busy chasing his own greatness.”

It's a relief to hear, mostly because you have an easier time believing her than him. “But you got over it.”

“I can’t fault him. If you’re here, it means something, and it’s not always flattering.” She wrinkles her nose at the posca even as she drinks it down. “When you want something so bad because you need to make sense of the world, to bring some sense of order to the chaos of life… I know you get it. He’s always been this way, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Her words are just a whisper as she pins curls in place on your head, her hand lingering to trace your chin as she examines your face.

Clemensia had taken a liking to doing these little things for you, drawing from a deep well of knowledge she’d amassed. It had become an outlet for her, creativity to couple with her own ambition. She liked to practice different looks on you before paring them down to a more fitting style suitable to current trends, but each flourish of her brush warmed your skin.

You knew that duality well — of wanting to create and struggling to find the time and place. Ever since you were small, your parents had clung to the idea that singing lessons and dance classes were of utmost importance, even keeping them going during the war. They wanted you to excel, rise in standing, and it had honed you.

Unbidden, one of his old comments floats up in your mind, making your breath stutter. ‘You have the prettiest voice of all the girls in Panem, do you know that?’ And while you scoffed then, your ego bloomed under his praise. ‘Tell me more about how much you love my voice, Coryo…’

“Hey… come back to me, you better not ruin the hard work I’ve just done, I don’t do hard work for just anyone, you know?” Clemmie teases, but you can see a stern look in her eyes. You don’t have a lot of time, and she isn’t keen to waste it. “We have somewhere to be soon, okay?”

You nod. She’s right. The Capitol’s numerous galas and grand events throughout the year had kept going despite your broken heart, and tonight is the Rose Ball, an extravagant gala held in the grand conservatory with an orchestra playing and the guest list consisting of only the names of the highest esteem in the Capitol. And your name was still on it. Tonight, you intend to make sure it isn’t the last invite sent your way, no matter what.

Clemensia finishes with a lipstick red as wine, smiling as she puts her hands on your shoulders and turns you to the mirror.

“Look at you,” she says, tilting your chin up so the light catches the pearlescent shimmer dusted on your skin. “Everyone will be falling for you. And he will have no choice but to watch what he lost.”

You shiver in excitement.

You share the ride with some people Clemensia knows, and while they gossip away, you sit alone with your thoughts, the mask wavering for a moment. This is the first formal gathering you’re attending since the split… Several months of picking up the pieces to pretend like everything’s fine, to recoup as much of your image as possible, while still doing him the courtesy to not hurt his. You have been so good, and still people look at you as if you made a mistake and not him.

Tonight would be harder to find a bathroom to tuck away into, an empty study room to make your safe haven. No cover to hide behind, so you needed to don the appropriate armor, to appear unaffected. To tell a tale to outdo his. After all, Clemensia’s right, everyone can be made to want you. You will move on, and you will make him regret it while you do. You will remind him that your heart isn’t a delicate plaything, but a fire furious enough to match his.

You play with the pearls around your neck, the matching gold and pearl earrings bouncing against your cheek as the car passes over cobblestoned streets. They are the very same Coriolanus gifted you on your first anniversary, and weighted with memories. You thought about throwing them away immediately after the break-up, but that would have said something about him winning, and you can’t stand that.

Clemensia, hawk-eyed as ever, notices your nervous fiddling and nudges your foot with hers right as the car pulls up to the entrance. “Shall we then?” Clemensia offers you her arm and you take it gratefully. You revel in the sync of your heels clicking as you ascend the hard steps to your most important battlefield yet.

Past the heavy gilded doors, the gala’s milling crowd slows down as you enter, eyes drawn to you. You hold your head high, gripping Clemensia’s arm tight. No one here will get the pleasure of seeing you flinch. They announce your names, and you smile, brilliant and beautiful. The corset underneath your rose-red dress keeps your back straight, reminiscent of old elegances that has the old garde softening for you.

You think you spot him on the far end of the room, but the shadows are long and the lights dimmed. His gaze feels a certain way though, and there’s a wicked warmth in your chest that only he has ever made you feel.

“I’m going to do reconnaissance,” Clemensia says as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Let me get the lay of the land.”

“Go, go.” You wave her off, confidently stepping into a circle that parts to let you in amongst them, laughing at the right time. If there is one dance you know better than any other, it is this: the social graces and manners expected of you in these cutthroat places, where the marble runs red with lies and blood. Your heels know where to step even when sleepwalking.

While your mask does not waver, you sure feel bare under all the scrutiny, hungry gazes roving over every bared slip of skin on your arms. After what feels like hours of compliments, cruelties and layered comments, you find a brief escape in an alcove on the second floor, rubbing at your sore ankles as you catch your breath, head spinning. Roses weigh in on all sides of you, enchanting and heady. If you had to say something nice, it’s that Coriolanus knows how to work with the best event planners the Capitol has to offer.

You rip off a handful of petals, crushing them until the fragrant oils spill forth, and press them down the front of your dress before you get up to continue mingling.

The night is long: a dance with the Featherpillow boy a year your junior who easily dances circles around most of the men here; a glass of champagne with the Fairweather twins as you chat about the latest fashion trends and they enviously compliment your pearls; Clemensia whisking you away to a polite and stiff conversation with the Ravenstills. The night goes on for some time in this manner, gliding between dances, advances, and gossip. No one can seem to keep you in one place.

And everywhere you go, you feel the constant, unrelenting pierce of eyes on you. Not just the masses… his.

You are showing him up. Everyone knows it. Coming to his event with seemingly no hard feelings, dressed like a classical painting, fielding every conversation with natural ease and charisma. Everyone wants to see you, talk to you, be seen with you. It’s a move that will have lesser men folding their hands.

Coryo isn’t.

There’s no shortage of attention in his corner, the constant requests for a word from important political seats and fellow society greats, and invitations to dance which he only takes when you do. The undertow between you is palpable. He is an inevitability, you can feel it when you draw close during dances, gazes brushing past each other.

He is throwing you off, little by little, his smile blistering bright and dangerous across the room, and he catches you looking. Just once. And once is all he needs.

You swipe a glass of posca from a passing waiter, knocking it back in one go. This wasn’t part of your plan.

It definitely isn’t a part of the plan that Coriolanus appears in front of you, taking the empty glass away from you with a cool smile.

“May I have the next dance?” he asks, voice perfectly warm and polite. Every single eye watches the two of you with rapt attention as he offers his hand out to you.

He knows you can’t turn him down now, and he is relishing in it. His eyes are lit up, a fire in them you have not seen in months. You put your hand in his, beaming up at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” you say, dragging out the last word until it drips like daggers from your lips.

The two of you assume the starting position, you with one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and you can’t help but notice that it is all too comfortable a role to slip back into: the perfect pair, polished and primed for the show. A lone pianist begins to play, and you recognize the tune as one of your very favorites… one you played for Coriolanus more than once on the grand piano in his penthouse.

Maintaining a polite expression, you shoot him a look. “Did you request this piece?”

“It’s your favorite, is it not?” He keeps it civil. More than civil, he keeps it warm, saccharine sweet even as he continues to lead you without a single misstep while giving the audience a perfect dance.

“I thought you’d forget about me,” you say, testing the waters. “Like you do to everyone who no longer interests you.”

“You think I’d be that cruel?”

“I know you would be.”

A hum rumbles in his chest and you feel it against your body, heating your cheeks. The dance goes on, gliding and spinning, the room growing dizzying either from the drinks or the way he won’t drop eye contact with you.

This much attention from him was not the plan, definitely not the goal, and as the tempo slows for the twinkling end of the piece, you think you might fall over if not for the sheer adrenaline coursing through you… and the firmness of his grip, fingers digging into the back of your corset.

As the music falls quiet, there’s a brief moment where you could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air releasing as the audience applauds. You blush, bowing to him, simmering with the dual-edged feeling of having been made a spectacle of — and a part of you enjoyed it because it was him doing it.

He offers his arm to you and you hesitate, wanting to search out Clemensia in the crowd, but with the expectant eyes still on you, it’s hardly the time to turn him down.

Shit.

You take his arm with trepidation, chewing the inside of your cheek as he leads you to the upper level of the conservatory. As you pass by Clemensia you shoot her a pleading glance, but she cannot save you, and you both know it.

He knows the place like the back of his hand and leads you to a tucked-away alcove crowned with rose arches. The plush settee is comfortable but small, and you wind up pressed against his side when you sit down. Worse still, it’s like he delights in tormenting you as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” With a gentle huff, you finally speak your mind, voice hushed. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, of his entire body, and yours never forgot how good he could make you feel, aching for him like a traitor. “Did you want to make a fool of me?”

He does nothing to assuage the pained curiosity of your words, tutting as he reaches up to finger one of your earrings. “No need. You and I can both agree you made plenty spectacle of yourself all on your own tonight, darling.”

You hold back from chewing him out, refusing to align his glance to his. It always frustrated him back then and it still does, as he moves his hand to your chin and tilts your face towards his.

“Hard time letting go?”

He knows just how to stoke the fire in you. “Of you? Never.”

“As you say.” He rubs the fabric of your skirt between his fingers. “You seemed all too comfortable letting everyone reach out to pull you around tonight, truly playing the belle of the ball, hm?”

“That’s how the Capitol landscape is and you know it. I was not trying to upstage you.”

He tuts at that. “You think that is why I’m upset?”

You furrow your brow. “What else would it be?”

“Because for all your flitting about tonight…” He lowers his voice, and you lean in instinctively. “You wouldn’t have deigned to give me the time had I not put you on the spot.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your mental game board in disarray. “You’re jealous?”

You’ve learned to not cry over him anymore. Even when it hurts, when the three years down the drain remind themself like a splinter under your nail, you’ve learned better control than that. But this time, you feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes. When one slides down your cheek, he wipes it with his thumb.

Damn it, damn him, damn it all. You swallow.

“After everything, you are jealous? I didn’t even come here with someone else.”

“You came here with Clemensia.”

“Yes, a friend.”

“She was my friend first.”

“Oh, don’t be a child.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his chest. He holds your hand there, and when the first feeling that runs through your heart is a sliver of hope, you know you’re done for.

“I’ve missed you.”

Check mate.

He wins again.

You try to pull away, but he resists, pressing you closer into him. For all that hurt, all the frustration, when you look into his eyes, when your gaze flits down to his lips, you still want to crush his lips with yours, to slot right into his life like you never left, and that thought gnaws at you. You hate yourself for it. And your mask is not that strong…

“You really could have thought about that earlier, Coriolanus. You had every opportunity.”

He seems content with not elaborating on why he froze you out, left you in the dark, and it frustrates you. His only response, in fact, is to act on the heat of the moment, pulling you into a kiss.

It’s greedy and hungry and he bites at your lower lip, causing you to whine. His lips are soft and taste of sugary pastries and finely aged wines and oh, it would be so easy to fall head first into how good it feels, how much you missed this, to climb on his lap right here…

You lick into his mouth, wanting all you can take before you part from him, unable to forget where you are, that there is no privacy in this place, and that you can’t risk everything for him — however badly you want to. When you pull away, you see the mess you’ve made of him, lipstick on the corners of his mouth, and it thrills to know he’s made one of you too.

“Not here,” you say. But it isn’t a no. It’s hardly a stop. It’s a challenge and you desperately want him to rise to it.

He waves over one of his attendants to assist in making you both presentable, leaving you in the seat once he is taken care of. You hold back a protest, ready to settle back into the shadows of his ambition, but then overhear him whispering about “ready the car” and “make sure they have a good time” before he turns back to you. There’s the fire that could burn the whole of the Capitol down if he wanted it. There’s the hunger that could have you willing to offer him of yourself just to sate him. It leaves you speechless. It leaves you burning.

He whisks you away out the back entrance to the waiting car and once seated in the back, partitions pulled up, you spare no time climbing on top of him, arms wrapping around his neck.

He fingers your earrings again, hand trailing down to your necklace. “Our first anniversary, hmm? Do you remember why I had the rose engraved in the gold?”

You aren’t interested in reminiscing anymore, you want the present moment, you want to burn your mouth on his. You kiss him again, rocking against him as you do, relishing in the way he tightly grabs your hips, helps you keep grinding down as he lifts up the skirt higher, skimming the top of your thigh-high stockings.

“Missed you too.” Your breath is hot and ragged against his skin.

You look over his face, bodies still slowly rocking together, and when your semi-glazed eyes meet his, you see nothing but fire, dangerous and warming, everything you have ever wanted from him. In a craze, you find yourself begging.

“Please… make me yours again.” It’s a romantic notion, and it will haunt you come morning, but now you are nothing but a bundle of nerves and want, all ripe for his picking.

“Patience,” he breathes against your neck, his lips on the pearls. “We’re almost there.”

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #corionlanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games x reader #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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intuitive-divinations · 11 months

Text

Hey lovelies💖! This reading is all about what your FS will be like and some places you could meet them💋. Take a few breaths and use your intuition 👁️ . Let's do this!

P.S ~ the confirmations for this pick a card can apply to you and/or your FS. Also, any channeled phrases I put in quotes “” are also phrases that you may have heard or will hear soon.

• Masterlist • • Paid Readings • • Tip Jar •

✨ Pick ~ A ~ Gif ✨

Pile 1

Channeled song for how they feel:

Awwww pile 1 you’re FS wants you so bad! They’ve been manifesting you for a long a** time. Right now they’re waiting for some cycles to close before the universe can make your paths cross. They’re bubbling with excitement at the thought of your first meeting. I’m seeing that what they “can’t take anymore” of is the waiting and anticipation. Their inner self is telling them that they can persevere. Also, a big lesson they’re learning is to not become desperate for relationships. I think that they might’ve been prone to settling for less than they deserved. Maybe even had some self-esteem / boundary issues. On the positive side I see that they’re making progress through their trial and tribulations. This is a very passionate, intense and devoted FS. I’m seeing that they won’t like to be away from you for long because they’re “losing precious amounts of time they could’ve spent with you”. Their heart aches without you near. As for how you’ll meet them, I feel that you’re going to be brought into their life. So as this person develops more self-awareness/ understanding the universe will make your path cross your FS’s. I’m getting concerts, clubs, hangouts/bars, comedy club, karaoke, downtown, out of town/ travelling as possible places to meet them!

The marvelous mrs Maisel, baking, infinity symbols, artist, sun dial, wand, luggage, suitcase, hiking, thumbs up, gardening, shovels, aprons, headscarves, red jewels, desert, cactus, cheetahs, 777, 3 hands 🖐️🖐️🖐️, sun roof, limousine, feeling wind with your hands, 70’s time period, comedian, late night talk shows

Pile 2

Channeled song for how they feel:

For your FS, pile 2 there’s no other way to say it but your FS is a R O M A N T I C ! How sweet 🍭 ! I’m feeling patience, passion, adoration, and tender affection. Attention is screaming in my head! This group is going to get a lot of attention from your FS. Constant check-ins, consistent healthy communication, words of affirmation, etc. They have all this love available for you because they understand how to refill and keep their own cup abundant! So now they can share their love with others. I’m seeing that you’re going to fall in love with how much they support you / root for you. The encouragement you get from your FS will melt your heart. Your person is the type to write you love letters and give you flowers along with them. Anything just to see you happy. You might not be used to someone supporting you / having your back. You could also have had a lot of responsibility since you were a child. This person will heal your inner child with their generous love. I see you both eventually living in a big house together. Things will start slow with your FS before you get to that point. They value “setting the mood” and perfecting the environment for everything. I’m hearing “there is a time for everything”. “Let’s take our time”. They could love planning parties or hangouts/events. I’m seeing that one of you is very clumsy. But the other will think it’s so cute and charming. A few places you could meet your FS are: museums, public gardens, historical/tourist sites, club, official legal type of building ???, speaking hall, theater, and opera, hobby stores.

Sandcastles, stars, your fs could be French, sunglasses, bell bottoms, someone has a ton of keys on their keychain, sun flowers, pixie cut/short hair, bartender, mixed drinks, grape juice, apple juice, pearl necklace, trident 🔱, arched eyebrows, mole(s) on face, Disney princesses, spilling a drink(s), vineyards, orchards, water pitcher, lanterns, French music

Pile 3

Channeled song for how they feel:

Omg pile 3 your FS is so adorable! Being with your FS is going to feel like a dream. I'm hearing its like "walking on clouds". You both will feel as if you're on "cloud 9". Your FS is going to show you how fun life can be. This is someone you can discover the world with. No matter what your person follows their heart. Their soul is optimistic and hopeful, paired with a "glass half full" mentality. Once they know where their heart stands they make plans to fulfill their desires. You might be suspicious of this relationship because of how "too good to be true" it seems. You might try looking for red flags and ironically get more suspicious when you don't find any. Relax, don't let your worries trouble you! Your relationship is going to be filled with good vibes only. You both will get along very well, seamlessly. Also, you will have a telepathic connection, from finishing each others sentences to dreaming about each other. I wouldn't be surprised if you both dream about each other before you first meet. Potential places I'm getting for your first meeting have active energy. Event centers, adventure parks, recreational parks/centers, amusement park, historical site, in a class learning a skill/sport, while travelling in a new place, outdoor competition, a celebration. I feel that there is going to be some type of element of fun/adventure and learning at the place you will meet. This person will grab your hand and take you on an adventure but you don't mind following them throughout life!

Seeing flags, photography/photographer, artist, fire placements, entrepreneurs, investor/investing, getting a new job, lottery, Calendars, cute/planners, dark hair, flower jewelry, bird baths/ fountain, ropes/nets, attractive hands, animal lover, furry boots, moss, sage, beaded jewelry, tangled headphones and shoelaces, seed bugs, bug landing on you, hourglass, shield, grim reaper, squirrels, rabbits foot

Pile 4

Channeled song for how they feel:

For this group I’m channeling a cute awkward energy! I get a nerdy vibe from this groups FS. This is totally the hot nerdy person x hot cool person trope. You’re the hot cool person. Don’t fret they’re very attractive as well but they don’t realize it for some reason. Your FS’s music taste is pretty lit, it has a lot of bass. Out of all the things to expect you wouldn’t expect them to have their type of music taste. You will feel how nervous they are around you. It’s not a bad nervousness at all, they are just REALLY interested in you. Omg you literally give them “the butterflies”! How cute! They might even stutter a little because of how nervous they are. When you first meet them, I’m hearing that you won’t consider them as a potential FS. You might actually even not notice them. LMFAO but hear me out 👂!! I get the vibe maybe your type currently isn’t nerdy. You might even be scared to break a pattern of toxic relationships because you’re afraid to be vulnerable with someone. Trust me this person will change that. They will make themselves known to you no matter how much they blush and stutter. Your FS is going to prioritize being present for you. This is a very loyal person! Like literally if you looked through their phone you’d see videos of game walkthroughs/tutorials and twitch gamers etc instead of suspicious texts with exes 😭💀. You could already be a gamer or be someone who isn’t that interested in gaming. Regardless i’m hearing you’re going to be playing some types of games together. And working together in your little game worlds. They’d totally buy you a matching console or build/create a custom gaming area beside theirs. You both will enjoy the time you spend playing together! 🥹

Seeing a mad cat, 333, berry plants/bush, whales, orcas, guardians, peace signs ✌🏼 ☮️ , blue cars, mints, purple shirt, heart, camouflage, social drinking, video edits, gamer, sims 4, wicked whims, anime, twitch streamer, call of duty, mary Jane, mirrors, 111

Pile 5

Channeled song for how they feel:

Group 5 you’re going to be your FS’s muse. You’ll be a source of inspiration for them. There’s something about observing you. They love to watch you even if you’re doing the most mundane things. It’s like they discover a new layer to you every time they observe. You’ve got the whole effortless, natural beauty vibe going on. Your person really likes it! I mean REALLY REALLY likes it. I think your beauty is what attracts their eyes and your behavior/personality keeps them interested. You're hypnotic and alluring. Potentially having a siren-like energy. Your FS is very articulate and expressive. With an ability to keep people listening to them. While you're more introverted and prefer to be in your own world. Do you know Barbie and Kens dynamic? Your FS is going to have Ken energy. They just love to be there for you in any way they can. It doesn’t matter if you’re grumpy or excited etc your person will always try to keep you smiling. I’m seeing that your FS is going to hug you and hold you a lot. Channeled meeting places/areas: museum, art/history/english class, cafe, photo shoot, photobooths, theater, coliseum, networking events for creatives, social media. As an occupation, your FS would most likely be in a creative artistic field. I see them using you as inspiration for their photographs. Or your person might be an artist and ask "can I paint you?". You could even have a book dedicated to you from your FS if they happen to be a writer. Either way, one day after admiring you for awhile you'll be asked to have your essence somehow incorporated into their creative passion. They would love to show you the beautiful person they see through their eyes!

Yellow suitcase, firetrucks, “go be it”, car accident, 777, 7777, graffiti, energy balls, reiki healing, 420, born on 4/20, artist, prominent Jupiterian, Venusian and/or Nodal placements, having to pee a lot, butterfly needles, shots/syringes, “the pot calling the kettle block”, “there’s a first time for everything ”, the name Emily, dentist appointment, dragonflies, flying planes, wearing blue, throat chakra, Matt , Lee, writer, podcasts, Hercules, cramps, soap, models

Pile 6

Channeled song for how they feel:

As I was tapping into your FS energy I felt like I was in fog💀. Your FS feels mysterious. They are the strong silent type. How can I put it ? Let’s just say your FS prefers to let their actions speak for themselves. Your FS's personal style is also very quiet in terms of colors. They'll wear slot of greys, blacks, navy blues, etc. You will probably wear more colors than them. They're very adept at managing finances. This person always wants your second opinion. They really value it. Taking your feelings into account comes naturally to them. I’m also really getting a chef vibe for some reason. One of you or both of you are foodies and love trying new yummy food. From walking around downtown and trying new food to having a romantic late night walk. Yes you’re going to be walking a lot in your relationship! A lot of your future favorite moments with your FS will be while you two are holding hands, and strolling at night. I’m seeing you both eventually get a dog together that will go out for walks with you too. How adorable ! During your walks you’ll notice their opinions. To you their opinions will be so interesting and different. Not just that but their opinions have an edge of humor to them. I’m hearing late night chuckles drifting through the night air. This is giving me Roger and Anita from 101 Dalmatians. I feel like their job will include music and/or food. Possible places you’ll meet your FS: at restaurants, wine tastings, farmers market, farm, somewhere you buy plants, garden parks, orchestra performance

Butter pecan ice cream, lollipop, ear problems, protein drinks, untied shoelaces, 101 Dalmatians movie, margarita, band, map, moonlight, hat with flowers on it, meteor shower, shooting stars, explosion, “surprise”, surprise party, initials: a p d b f t j i m, black leaf, your plant dying, Mushrooms, ukulele, things being in a set of 3, "you'll always be my baby", mel, melissa, Malcolm, Adriana, Taurus placements, passing by someone playing an instrument, mountains, crocodiles, alligators, peacocks, unicorn, werewolf, deja vu, orchestra, Tinkerbell

Thanks so much 😽 !!

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

Note

Aemond Targaryen x niece reader smut...

Lady Strong

Pairing: Aemond x Strong!Reader x Aegon | Side pairing: Aegon x Aemond

Warnings: female!reader, frenemies, arrange marriage, family feuds, threesome sex (M/M/F), bisexual sex, incest, slight dub-con, facesitting, oral sex (m and f giving/receiving), throat fucking, cock worship, dom/sub themes, bdsm themes, spit fetish, cum swapping, facials, dirty talk, name-calling, slight degradation, pussy slapping, spanking, anal sex, anal fingering, rimming, edging, double penetration, multiple positions,

***

Your marriage to Aemond was a complete farce. You knew it; he knew it. A marriage between House Targaryen and House Velayron was a grabbing-at-straws attempt to ease tensions between them. But, you each knew that it’d be pointless to do so. Aemond made it clear what he thought of you and your family, and you’d learned to not like his in return. You’d been there the night he called you and your brothers ‘bastards’. You’d listened to his toast at a family dinner, where he toasted to the health of his niece and nephews:

‘Each of them handsome, wise...strong.’

How could your mother expect you to marry him after that? She could have picked any other man, but chose him in a weak attempt at making peace. You didn’t really like Aemond. He was cold, mean, intimidating, lethal, and impulsive. He hardly spoke to you during your courtship, and even less once you married. You didn’t mind it at all. You didn’t have to spend time with him, if you didn’t want to. For a young married couple, you did not share a bed. Both your chambers were connected by an apartment in between them. This made it easy for one to see the other if they needed to, but that rarely happened. You avoided Aemond’s company, if at all possible.

There’s only one time you truly desire your husband’s company.

“Aemond?”

You stood beside Aemond’s bed in your nightgown. Aemond laid naked underneath his sheets, soundlessly sleeping and unaware of your presence in his room. It was quite unnerving watching him sleep. He didn’t wear the eye patch to bed, so his sapphire eye remained open and glimmering. It was foolish, but you felt as if Aemond slept with one eye open at all times. You turned away from his eye to the rest of his body. Chiseled from years of training and exercise, Aemond went from a scrawny boy into a lean, tall man. Even with your sour feelings towards him, you couldn’t deny he’d become handsome. Women at court did not envy you though, since they found his disfigurement ghastly.

“Aemond,” you said his name a bit louder, which caused him to slowly roll onto his side to face you.

“What?” he replied groggily, not opening his closed eye.

You walked over to the bed, gingerly taking his hand to put under your gown. A soft whimper escaped your lips at the light touch of his fingers on your sex. You guided his hand over your slit a few times before he sensed your wetness. He did not open his eye, yet that familiar crooked smirk crossed his face. You stayed standing, taking in his soft caresses. His thumb dragged over your clitoris in slow circular motions each time he went upwards. A familiar tightness began forming between your thighs as Aemond’s hand rubbed your pussy. You felt his long fingers brush across your entrance while he teased the pearl in your folds.

“I wonder what made you so wet,” you heard his soft voice say to you. “Were you, perchance, thinking of me, dear wife?”

“I may have...”

No, not ‘may have’. You’d never tell him that you’d been in bed remembering the last time you shared a bed. After a day of watching him in the training yard, you’d started picturing the taunt muscles underneath contracting in each movement. You thought about how his defined arm muscles whenever he propped himself above you; how hard his shoulders felt under your fingers when he thrusted into you. His thumb continued gradually circling your pussy while you thought about how his tongue felt so much better. He always kept it light and slow, knowing the feeling sent you into a blissful torture.

“Would you like me to do what I did to you last time?” he asked, eyes focused on your soaked sex. You’re never wet enough for him. You could make yourself positively dripping before seeing him, and he’d still tease until he was satisfied. “I know how much you enjoyed it,” he said, rapidly rubbing your clit just to watch you tremble at his touch, “And I certainly did...especially when you came for me...because of me...because of me and my tongue...”

“Aemond...”

“Come have a seat,” he said, sliding further down on his bed and giving you space. “It’d be wrong of me to leave my wife wanting.”

Right away, you straddled Aemond’s head and sat on his face. A flood of pleasure washed over you as his tongue continued the same motions as his thumb. You’d made yourself already so sensitive, that your body became hyper-aware of his body against yours. Every lick made you weak. He flicked over the small nub of your clit, sliding from side to side and up and down gingerly. Each swipe sent dozens of nerves down to your core where the ball tightened. You tore off the sheets covering his lower half, and your mouth watered.

Another positive side to your marriage: Aemond’s cock. A little above average size, you simply liked looking at it sometimes. You took it in your hand, feeling it pulse in your palm, and slowly stroked. Blood pumped through the veins to make it harder, thicker and longer. Already, you imagined him balls deep inside you and taking you how he pleases. It stabbed your ego a bit to submit to a “Green”, but Aemond’s cock...how could you resist? Aemond groaned into your sex when you ran the flat of your tongue over his hardening shaft. You kissed every inch of it, worshipping the length and thickness in your hand; you reached down to the balls, heavy with cum and fitting perfectly in your hands, rolling them gently around while teasing his reddening tip. You traced the smooth skin of the bulb of his cock, latching your lips around for a gentle suck that made him groan into you again. The act on its own aroused you, and Aemond knew this.

The strong, calloused hands that easily swung and twirled swords squeezed your ass tightly, giving each side a swift smack. His way of telling you to stop teasing him, but you didn’t obey. You loved teasing him. You continued slowly swirling patterns along the shaft, feeling it tighten as he grew more aroused. You yelped once more when he smacked your ass again, growling into your pussy and making you squeal. When you didn’t take him in your mouth, but instead started playing with his balls again, Aemond’s hits became harder and sharper. No doubt your bottom will be feeling sore tomorrow. But, you didn’t care. Small shocks of pain combined with Aemond’s tongue fueled the arousal burning deep inside. You rocked your hips back and forth on his face, his chin and nose more apparent when you fully sat on his face, and started coating his length with precum. Aemond did not object at all. He hooked his arms around your thighs to keep you steady, and rapidly attacked your clit with his tongue.

He moaned lowly when you finally slid him into your mouth. Nothing truly compared to Aemond inside you. Whether he slid into your mouth, cunt or, even sometimes, your ass, the feeling of him was addicting. Your families might not like one another, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t bed him. He was your husband. You’d never tell him how you touched yourself to thoughts of his cock sliding to your throat, droplets of precum spilling onto your tongue and mixing with your saliva so he went in smoother. You’d never say that you love it when he makes figure-eights on your clit and dips into your sex; that nothing brings you to orgasm faster than his long fingers probing your holes. Admitting that you’ve often peeked through his keyhole to watch him bathe after a long day would bring you no peace.

Deciding your slow movements aren’t good enough, a large hand took hold of your hair and forced your head down. Finally. Your pussy throbbed as Aemond forced you to deep throat him. His tip pushed right into your throat over and over, causing you to gag and choke. Streams of saliva and precum came whenever you pulled away for breath; they fell from your open mouth back onto his wet cock. It only made you want more. Your pride sat aside while Aemond fucked your throat and tongued your pussy. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, you wanted to give him control. You wanted someone else to hold the reins. It became tiresome being the formidable daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, having to live up to her image and reputation. Aemond provided that, you supposed. As a soldier, he took orders often.

With you, he can give orders.

“Ride me,” he said, gripping your thighs and biting on the inner side, “Ride my cock however you please.”

You did not protest. Sliding your sex down his body, you gasped once his cock brushed your sensitive cunt. Hands on the bed between his legs, you straddled his hips and rocked yourself over him. You went the entire length, only stopping when your clit touched his tip. His hands grasped your ass and gave it another smack, a demand for you to slide him inside your hot sex.

“Don’t make me put it for you,” he grunted between his teeth, “If I do, I’m going to treat you like the little bastard whore you are.”

The words, at any other time, would send you into a rage. But right then, as you teased his cock between your folds, it only built up your arousal. Grabbing his base, you carefully pressed him to your entrance. The slight touch made your pussy throb around the tip pushing past it; you enjoyed hearing his frustrated groans as you teased him into you. The other of you moaned together when he fully filled you; your body tensed and clenched at the hard cock twitching against your walls. You closed your eyes and let yourself get lost in him. You forgot about the quarrels and reality outside his bedroom door, choosing instead to focus on Aemond Targaryen and how his cock made you see stars. Grasping the bed sheets beneath you, you started rocking yourself with him inside you, feeling his head slide further. Aemond laid still, content to watch him slide in and out of you, while you started moving faster.

Soon, yours and his moans grew louder when you bounced on him. He always hit the exact spot, angling himself to the weak point that made you unravel for him. How could anyone blame you for wanting this every night? You sometimes considered sharing a bed to make things easier; so you could have this as much as you liked. Aemond never said ‘no’. You recalled the times he’d cornered you in staircases and hallways, pushing you to a wall and taking you there where anyone could find you. Every time, he left you with weak legs and cum sliding down your thighs. If you slept in the same bed, you could enjoy the benefits of having him as your husband.

Aemond slipped himself out of you, leaving a gap between your thighs as he rolled you onto your back and brought an ankle to his shoulder. Putting the other over his thigh and around his waist, Aemond went back inside in a new angle that made you roll your eyes back. His thumb continued rubbing your clit as before while he slammed his hips to yours. He kept his focus between your bodies, and awed at how his girth stretched you. You remained still for him to use as he wanted, a hole for him to pump until he came. You clutched the sheets bundled against your chest, needing something to keep you grounded, as Aemond blinded you to all sense.

“Look at you,” he growled bending to suck and bite at your breast. The small twinges of pain only added to your desire. “My Lady Strong, surrendering her body over to me. I cannot fathom how disturbed your brothers would be seeing their big sister being fucked senseless,” he emphasized this with a few hard thrusts, “Her sweet cunt stretched and filled by me...” he smiled when you moaned loudly through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut and fighting off the urge to cum a bit longer. “Or perhaps...they might be jealous...” he stayed fully inside you a moment, “That they’ll never know how your body feels. Only I know...Only I know how your cunt squeezes me and pulls me closer when I’m ravaging you.”

Aemond slid a hand up your body to your throat, giving a gentle squeeze and turning your next moan into a strangle gurgle. His words should upset you, but it almost brought you to the edge. He kept a hold on your throat even when he slipped out and laid behind you, pushing into your pussy and having you that way. Aemond continued spewing filthy words into your ear, playing on the fact you enjoyed his dirty talk, while pounding you. His fingers abused your overstimulated clit and his lips sucked and bit at your shoulder and neck.

“Aemond, Aemond,” you struggled to say his name, “Aemond...”

“Yes, Lady Strong?” he taunted, going deeper to hear you whine each time. “Do you have something to say or simply enjoy moaning my name? I personally prefer the latter.”

“Please,” you gasped when he released your throat, “Let me...Let-Le-Let me...”

“Cum? Is that what my lady wishes, hm?”

“Y-Yes. I cannot hold on...hold on much longer, oh gods, Aemond, fuck, please.”

“You’re going to,” he demanded, withdrawing from you right when you felt it approaching, “Until I decide you can.”

“You absolute arse-Ah, Aemond!”

He sunk down between your legs again and buried his face to your drenched clit. You stayed on your side, knee lifted, and grinded into his mouth. You wriggled each time his tongue swiped over your clit; it sent a whole new sensation that drew your orgasm forward. He snickered knowing what he was doing to you, and how you’d folded immediately for him. You hated it, but couldn’t help enjoying the feeling of his tongue flicking your pussy before spitting on it. Sliding a hand into his silky silver hair, you kept him right where you wanted him as he dipped his tongue into your fluttering hole. You used his tongue, the tip of his nose brushing your clit while his chin cupped the underside. Aemond did not protest to you quite literally fucking his face. He loved it, and showed that while groaning small vibrations with his tongue. Yet, the moment your body began to tense and shake, he pulled away from you and laughed at your disappointed whimper.

Aemond said nothing as he dragged you by the ankle to the edge of the bed, the movement requiring no effort for him with all his strength. Propping you onto your knees, Aemond spat on your pussy again, rolling his wet tongue over it before spitting once more. He loved your sex sloppy and wet. It excited him whenever you came to him already soaked and wanting. Satisfied with his work, he sunk back inside and grabbed both your arms. Pulling them behind your back, he bounced your body on his pelvis in a steady rhythm. The restraint would ache your body later, but nothing in you cared about later. The new position made you nearly scream from the pleasure coursing inside you. You tried so hard to chase your climax on your own; you needed it badly, and Aemond knew that.

“Well, well, well,” another voice said, and you immediately felt ashamed. “What do we have here?”

You turned your head to see Aegon walk up to the bedroom area of the apartment, leaning against the divider frame on the top step. Violet eyes gazed over your naked, sweaty form as Aemond continued using you. He wore his traveling cloak, shirt and breeches. No doubt he’d just returned from the city and planned to visit his brother with a bottle of wine he’d brought. Shame crept up on you being exposed to the young prince this way. You hated how his eyes drank in the scene before him, immediately locking on you and your naked body. He walked over to the bed, smirking and crossing his arms, and said, “Looks like Lady Strong is finally being put in her place by my little brother...Is this what you like? Being fucked like a whore just like your mother?”

“Fuck you,” you spat at him, but he only laughed at the reaction.

“They really get riled up whenever we mention it, don’t they?” Aegon asked his brother, who’d stopped thrusting. He knelt on the bed in front of you, Aemond lifting you until your back touched his chest. Both brothers chuckled once they saw the state of you. Aegon pinched your chin, causing you to look at him, “Such lovely lips,” he said, pushing drool from your chin back into your mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy having them wrapped around my cock.”

“You’d be surprised the things this one can do with her mouth,” Aemond groaned, bottoming his hips into you so you opened your mouth in a moan. “She certainly enjoys sucking my cock whenever given the chance.”

Aegon huffed and hurriedly untied his breeches. Aemond let you fall forward onto the bed until Aegon lifted you onto your hands by the hair. Holding himself at level with you, he slipped easily into your mouth. It felt strange having a soft dick in your mouth, the velvety skin rubbing over your tongue and reaching your throat. Aemond continuing to use your cunt, your moans became muffled by Aegon’s cock. You couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. Giving into your mother’s enemies, even if married to one, was not what you’d planned when you came to Aemond. Yet, both Targaryen men did not seem to care. Slowly, Aegon grew harder and moaned louder when he started hitting the back of your throat. Drool started leaking from your lips, the sound of your gagging encouraging both men further. Each thrust left you desperate for air and tightness in your chest. But, you liked this feeling. You enjoyed the slight restriction it gave every time he did it. The combination of sensations burning your body brought you close to your orgasm again.

Deeming himself hard enough, removed his shirt as his brother withdrew from you again.

“Has she finished at all?” Aegon smirked, removing his clothes with his stiff member sticking up to his stomach.

“Not at all,” Aemond flipped you onto your back in the middle of the bed. He lifted your legs so Aegon could see your swollen, throbbing pussy, which made you feel more humiliated. “I never let her until she’s given me what I want. Isn’t that right, Lady Strong?” he slapped your pussy hard, which made you whine and buck your hips around. Your reaction made both brothers laugh out loud. He spread your legs apart, leaning over your hips, and spanked your sex a few more times. “Isn’t it?” he asked again, spitting on your pussy and slapping it again, “Answer me, whore.”

“Yes, yes!” you cried when he gave a particularly hard slap, “Yes...”

“Let me try her out.”

Aegon forced your knees to your stomach until you folded in half. Unlike his brother, he did not tease or go slowly. He forced himself fully into you, moaning and shutting his eyes when you encompassed him. Pinned down by your own body, you could only lay there and let him have his way. He wasn’t as long as Aemond, but you definitely felt him stretch you. His head hit right where you became weakest, causing your thighs and knees to tremble each time he touched it. Aemond’s hand rubbing and spanking your clit only heightened your pleasure. You couldn’t believe it. You felt so ashamed, yet so aroused by it.

“Clean my cock,” Aemond prodded his head to your mouth, “Clean me up before I go back in.”

You weakly opened for him, immediately tasting yourself on his length. Your jaw began aching from having your mouth open so long, but you enjoyed it too much to care. A thick mixture of fluids gave Aemond easy entry, and he slid fully to you throat. It hurt being breached so many times in one night. He kept you still by the hair, thrusting in while also rapidly and lightly running his fingers over your clit. You could feel your eyes tear from the pressure building and being withheld from you every time Aegon pumped into you. He pulled out of your mouth, streaks of fluids leaking from his tip, and tapped it onto your face.

“Filthy whore,” he sneered, wiping his wet cock over your face and mouth, “I suppose it is true what they say about bastards: They truly are products of sin and lust.”

“And this one is a very nice product,” his brother agreed.

Aegon kept himself on his fists as he went faster. His eyes stayed focused on his brother using your mouth. You saw the laughter behind his eyes. The satisfaction he must be feeling seeing his niece be used this way. It disgusted you, yet you wanted him to make you cum so much you gave him a pleading look. When your pussy tightened around him, he instantly pulled out and laughed at your wriggling. He continued smiling as he instantly started licking your pussy, not minding the various fluids leaking from it. Aemond stopped teasing your clit to let Aegon take over, and went to pinching your nipples with his wet hand. He rolled both between his fingers at the same as Aegon flicking you, both of them being merciless in their teasing. You nearly came several times during this, though each stopped once they sensed it. You almost cried from the denial.

“Aw, is our cock sleeve crying?” Aemond teased, slapping himself on your cheeks where he saw tears. “Is this too much for you?”

“Ye-yes,” you nodded, “Please, let me cum. Please.”

“But, we’re not finished,” he said as if it were obvious. “If you’re a good toy for us, we’ll let you cum as much as you want, but for now, this is about our pleasure, not yours. Understand?” he smacked your face with his cock again before putting it back into your mouth, not giving a chance to respond.

“My brother is insanely lucky,” Aegon’s voice remained muffled by the clit in his mouth, “Having the luscious, gorgeous Lady Strong all to himself whenever he pleases...If only the Gods favored me so...”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing,” Aemond said, pushing back into your mouth. “We are brothers, after all, and our mother always said sharing brings people closer.”

“So much closer.” He swirled his tongue over your pussy, fingers dipping and curling inside you suddenly, and continued the torture so you moaned around Aemond’s cock. “But, there is one hole I think my brother hasn’t tried yet,”

He pulled out his fingers, coated in your slick, and went down to your buttocks. You jolted when he slid his fingers between them; he didn’t mind them being squished down, as long as you felt his fingers brush your hole.

“Trust me,” Aemond sighed, forcing himself deep in your mouth, “I have many times. She loves it. She’s never cummed harder than when I’ve fucked her ass.”

“Is that so?” Aegon asked, continuing to rub your ass hole while licking your clit. “I’d love to test that for myself.”

“At least let me fuck her while you do that,” he grunted back, “I fear I might finish if I stay in her perfect mouth any longer.”

“Fine.”

Aegon moved away as you weakly straddled Aemond again. They kept you pressed to Aemond, who brought you into a deep kiss, while Aegon guided Aemond’s dick into your pussy. Your pussy still filled once more, you began bouncing on him out of habit. The brothers laughed at your desperation.

“Look at her,” Aegon laughed, giving your ass a spank, “So desperate for our cum, isn’t she? Do not fret, Lady Strong, you will get it soon.”

“Very soon,” Aemond held you down against him, continuing to kiss you while slowly pushing up inside you.

The thing that drove you wild was feeling Aegon spread your ass cheeks apart. His tongue started sliding around the rim, occasionally sliding up to your crack and back down to where you and Aemond met. Aemond huffed whenever he did this. You could’ve sworn the elder brother licked over his balls once or twice, before returning to your ass. Keeping you spread open, Aemond whimpered at the slight teasing your heat brought. His tongue brushed around yours in each deep kiss, more fluids leaving your mouths.

“He’s going to fuck you in your ass,” Aemond said in your ear, biting at your throat, “And you’re going to love every second of it.”

“Wait...”

“Don’t worry, love,” he said, “It only hurts for a moment. Aegon will be gentle with you...Oh, fuck, fuck, Aegon...”

You heard a soft humming come from below, and knew what Aegon did to Aemond. It excited you somehow. The thought of the two brothers locked in a passionate embrace some drunken night long ago made you start riding Aemond again. They let you enjoy this pleasure for a short time, however, before a finger slipped into your ass. The feeling alien and surreal, your eyes closed to savor the new pleasure burning you alive. Your body began feeling weak and pliable; they could do whatever they wished, as long as you were allowed to finally cum. Aegon kept his fingers at a gentle pace while he focused his tongue elsewhere. You knew where based on how Aemond’s head tilted into the pillow and his nails dug into your flesh. Aegon even pulled him out of you at one point, and you heard soft humming come from below, a bit of spitting before putting him back inside you.

Soon, you felt something hard push to your hole. Thicker and harder than fingers, you braced yourself for the plunge. Aegon went inch by inch, giving you a second to adjust before going further. Aemond held you close, kissing you softly and muttering encouragements while his brother went hilt-deep into your ass. Having both brothers fully inside you completely undid you. They each slowly thrusted together, both of them hitting each side of the same spot.

Neither of them stopped you once you came. You came hard and loud when they finally started going faster. Aegon teased your nipples while Aemond rubbed your clit to add more fuel to it all. Your screams filled the space of the bed, your orgasm hitting you hard and making your body contract. Your muscles shook as you feverishly pushed back into both cocks. You never imagined having two before. It felt better than anything else Aemond has ever done to you on his own. When you started coming down, trembling and quaking between them, they each withdrew from you and let you flop onto the bed below. Rather than stroke themselves...

Aegon and Aemond stroked each other. It seemed to heighten the pleasure for them both, making them both gasp and whine as they orgasmed. You laid there, touching your sore sex, as you watched them jerk each other off. Aemond’s large hand moved swiftly and easily over Aegon’s leaking cock, while Aegon squeezed the tip of Aemond’s each time he went to it. You wondered, as you begged them to cum on you, how many times they’ve done this. You wanted to see them do it again. Soon, the droplets of semen started spraying from their tips onto your body, leaving streaks of hot cum on your breasts and face. You kept your mouth open for whatever drops reached your mouth, which excited both of them further.

When they finally finished, Aegon and Aemond fell onto the bed with you. You felt sticky, sweaty, and sore, yet also satisfied and elated from the sex. You thought it’d ended before Aegon started licking cum from you to put into your mouth with kisses. Aemond laid content to watch his brother kiss his wife, enjoying the sight of their tongues swapping what he’d just sprayed over you. This was usually the part where you wiped yourself clean, pulled on your gown, and left Aemond alone. However, your body became heavy with exhaustion and you doubted you’d be going anywhere.

“How do you feel?” Aemond asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he rolled onto his side.

“Tired.”

“She’s not the only one,” Aegon said in a stretch, “It’s been too long, Brother. Far too long.”

“I agree.” He pecked your lips softly, and whispered, “Stay here with me. I like keeping you close when I’ve finished breaking you apart...”

The way he phrased it made you deepen his next kiss. By no means did you heart warm or melt at the kiss. These men will no doubt make it known what you’d done here today, whether in snide remarks near your mother or insults to your brothers. They’ll bring it up to silence you during arguments or simply to watch you turn away shamefully. Perhaps you’ll do the same by bringing up how Aemond nearly came when Aegon licked his balls. You kissed Aemond deeper, feeling a hand slide between your thighs.

You’d learn that Targaryen lust is absolutely insatiable.

****

A/N: Wow, that really took a turn lol I know it was meant to be only Aemond x Niece, but I couldn’t help it with the TGC brain rot I’ve been experiencing. Hope you guys liked this one! <3

#aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x yn #aemond x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x aemond #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney #hotd smut #hotd drabbles #hotd fanfiction

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lunaekalenda · 5 months

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Kento Nanami is well-known for being the head of the most important business of Tokyo. A cold, strict, workaholic man who seems angry to the world. The newspapers talk about him and the media roast his attitude. Although he's handsome, well-ported and polite in extreme, all the social media influencers that like to rant about him as a way to earn money ask the same question:

Who would be able to date the Cold King?

"Who would be able to date? Goddess, I'm not a robot." Kento sighs, taking both cups of steamy tea from the kitchen counter and walking towards the couch. You put the phone down, receiving the tea and a forehead kiss from your husband as he surrounds the sofa to sit by your side, arm opening for you as you snuggle up against his body.

"It's true that you barely smile on pics or meetings" You agree with the post, making your man sigh and drink a long sip.

"Most of the times I don't even wanna be there." He says. He puts his cup on the coffee table, that shines with the reflections of flames, consuming wood on the built-in fireplace. You copy his movements, only to be able to hug your husband with both arms, leaving a kiss on the spot his unbuttoned shirt leaves naked near his chest. He sighs, his hand caressing up and down your back, fingertips dancing on your hips and back to your waist.

"Hm? You don't? Do you have better places to be at?" you tease him. His hands grip your waist stronger, taking your body to his lap, making you laugh.

"So funny, my love." he murmurs. Your legs rest on both sides of his, and his eyes and hand travel to the anklet he bought for you less than a month ago. Embodied with tiny pearls and a "K" in a large fan of colored gems. His lips curve on a smile. "This might be the cheapest jewelry piece I have ever bought you, and still, you don't take it off." You smile at him too, your hands on his cheeks, your thumb caressing his bottom lip sweetly.

"Maybe because it has your letter." you whisper. Kento smiles widely. You know that anklet wasn't cheap. As any other thing he ever bought for you. "And, really, I don't need all those gifts." His lips press a chaste kiss on your thumb, his hands going back to their original position on your waist.

"If I work non-stop and I can't gift my most loved one everything they deserve, does it even worth all the work?" You hit his shoulder slowly, making him laugh. "You deserve a lot more, my love. I'm sad I'm unable to give you everything." His right hand travels up to yours, taking the one you placed near his lips, tangling his fingers with yours before kissing the back of your hand. Your wedding ring shines when he places your hands on the couch.

You don't like public attention, and Kento doesn't want to expose you to the shitty world of gossip magazines. That's why he has paid so many paparazzis so they don't follow him, how his trips and dates are always invisible to everyone, how his enterprise has bought the silence of almost all the newspapers and magazines, but still, some of them are hungry for an exclusive.

His lips touch yours softly, just a caress, before he leaves a peck on them. None of you move for a second when he parts, before you find him smiling back at you. "I love you." He whispers. You peck his lips this time. "I love you too."

Time passes by while you spend the evening by his side on the couch, in front of the fireplace, head resting on his thighs while his hands caress your body. Your expensive pajama, another of his gifts, shows under the velvety blanket he put on top of your body half an hour ago. He keeps reading his book, humming for himself and taking notes on the margins while he reads, but taking his hand back to your body once he's done.

"Love, what do you wanna dinner?" he asks, closing the book and directing all his attention towards you. "Should we cook? Do you want to have delivery?"

"We have all the time of the world. And your food is better than any delivery so... Could my perfect, handsome, talented husband move the action towards the kitchen?" You whisper. Kento rolls his eyes before slapping your ass jokingly. Then, he stands up, taking the blanket away from your body before standing up, taking your body sweetly against his. Your arms get tangled on his neck as he lifts you easily, your lips finding his as he walks towards the kitchen, blindly walking around your exclusive apartment, reflecting yourselves in the clean marble floors and the huge windows that show a panoramic of Tokyo. Kento easily finds the kitchen, leaving you on the counter, stealing another kiss from you when he parts with a smirk.

"Time to cook, my love."

You pout towards him. After all, he's the one that took private classes with that five-star chef to impress you on your very first date, so his cooking always taste like a piece of heaven.

"Can't I just sit and look how you do? You look really really hot while cooking, hm?" Kento smiles again, rolling his sleeves up as he gets close, a brow raised in a silent joke. "And I'll make sure to reward you for your amazing work." His lips curve in a side smile when he pecks yours again, unable to let you go, in need to press his lips against you until he needs air.

"I'll be waiting for that reward."

"We'll see if the cooking deserves it." You tease. He points at you with a wood spoon before talking.

"It will, my love. Of course it will."

a little drabble for @dreamcastgirl99 <3 i hope you like it!

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff

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helpinghanikan · 2 years

Text

Don't take the warmth with you

Sum: A one shot where Tangerine has to leave for a job and you aren't too happy about that.

Tipsy on wine and drunk on lust you had fallen asleep late last night. Tangerine had done the same. The cool night had your man pressed to your chest, still smelling of sex and smiling from love.

It would take a truly cruel man to ruin this moment. So it shouldn’t be surprising that Lemon would be that man. His ring tone really was the only thing that would get Tangerine off the bed and sitting up at this hour anyway.

“What? Yeah, I know it’s you, what do you want, Mate?” Tangerine asks, sitting off the side of the bed. His back towards you.

In the low light of the bedroom Tangerine’s back was never ending. Without thinking you reach out and gently touch just above the small of his back. He barely acknowledged it; other than the tiny jolt his body gives at your hand’s initial touch.

“Of course we’re going today. Fuck, you really call me at-.” There’s a slight movement as Tangerine squints at his phone screen. “Four in the morning to ask me this?”

It’s hard, almost impossible, to roll your body over in bed. Pressing your face against his back and giving him a kiss. Your arms wrapping around his center in an embrace that he leans slightly back into. His free hand resting on your arms clasp tightly around his waist.

“We have hours before we need to be there, Lemon. The hell are you even awake for?”

More kisses are given to his back. Along with little nips that demand his attention.

“Are you shitting me?” Tangerine whisper yells, ripping himself out of your arms to start walking around the bedroom. “Fucking AM, fucking PM, give me a minuet.”

The aggressive slamming hanging up of Tangerine’s call is amplified in the quiet bedroom. Along with the rapid slamming of drawers and the gun safe Tangerine is currently digging through.

Half-awake and even less alive you manage to mumble out a “What?” before your face falls into the mattress.

“I’m so sorry, Darling,” He says, jumping up to pull his pants into position. “I got my departure time wrong and, yep, fucking late.”

He’s leaving. That wakes you up.

“Late? You’re already leaving?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Even in the dark you could see the pause this gave Tangerine. He doesn’t stop moving but he does slow down. Finishing with his tie but taking a moment to come closer and kneel in front of you.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry, Love.” He whispers. “It will be less then a week. Then I will take a break for just as long. For two weeks, a fucking month.”

Just like with his back you reach out and gently touch his dangling tie. Running the fabric through your fingers while he talks. Something to focus on other than your own disappointment or Tangerine’s sad eyes.

“Do you even need to go this time? Can’t Lemon do it himself? I mean, we really don’t even need the money.” You say, now holding his tie in almost a grip.

“First of all; Lemon isn’t going or doing shit without mean. And I personally like living in a penthouse with my bird dressed in pearls and rubies.” Tangerine retorts. Covering your tie holding hand with his own. “It’s gonna be two months, baby. And it’s gonna be the best two months of your fucking life.”

It doesn’t matter what you say or do now. Tangerine is leaving.

“And I get more pearls?” You ask, as if that were the only reason you were with Tangerine.

“I’ll find you a pearl the size of your head?” he promises, giving your hand a kiss on the knuckles.

“Okay, watch out for Lemon.” You say, immediately followed by a kiss from Tangerine.

It’s a hard and deep kiss the presses you back into the bed. The hold on his tie and an arm around his neck kept him close. When he releases your lips you simply hold him in a hug. Letting go of his tie and simply holding him tightly.

“I’m sorry…” Tangerine says, moving your arms from where they hold him.

“I know,” You give one smaller kiss before he leaves your embrace completely. “Be safe, watch out for Lemon.”

Tangerine smiles, grabbing his coat from the counter. “Always do. I love you, but I got a train to catch.”

#requested #reader insert #bullet train reader insert #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #tangerine x reader #fluff #little bit of angst #one shot #very short #not edited

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stirringwinds · 3 months

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are there certain visual themes or imagery you yourself particularly associate with yao as an artist or writer? i'm trying to visualize the nations better...

hmmm, interesting question. i like incorporating nature imagery into the hetalias, especially old nations like yao. there's something mythical and compelling about the sense of age and vastness that evokes. these are some (non-exhaustive) thoughts i've had:

a. i always associate yao with rivers and water; the Yellow River in particular, which is often seen as the "cradle" of Chinese civilisation (but of course, there's also the Yangtze, and the Pearl River too). rivers are life-giving but also untameable, powerful and dangerous—the Yellow River's fertile silt birthed agriculture and civilisation, but its destructive floods have claimed uncounted lives over the millennia of Chinese history. and...that's kind of how yao is, as a nation and an empire, towards others of their kind. the source of cultural and artistic innovations, but also death. water can be fluid, life-giving and nurturing, but also as treacherous as a torrential flood sweeping everything away, no?

like the Yellow River's relationship with humanity, yao's impact on world history feels to me like this duality of life and death; peace and warfare; mentor, empire, conqueror... it's like, yao's been a teacher to many others but...i don't think their predominant image of him is as a warm and nurturing figure. maybe more so with his own people, but less so with other nations. being the old warlord he is, he'd say certain things very matter-of-factly (especially to yong-soo and kiku), about how power is the only language their kind universally understands, or about history being written by the victors (when we consider how the only surviving written sources about certain periods of asian history are only chinese ones...), inasmuch he'd talk about the importance of confucian virtue, integrity and humility on other occasions.

b. for obvious reasons; dragons—they and rivers both have that overlapping association of being serpentine, powerful and untameable. in contrast to how european dragons often took on villainous roles and were harbingers of disaster, it's important to note chinese dragons usually have far more positive cultural connotations. they symbolise prosperity, fortune and are guardians; often associated with power over water (so again; Yao and rivers and water.) many dragons are associated with a particular river or sea. they're also believed to have powers over the weather and were often prayed to. after all, the capriciousness of the rains ruled people's lives so much through natural disasters or made a difference between a bountiful harvest and a famine. so, i think at various points in history his people might also have understood him as a literal dragon (spirit/deity) walking around in a human guise. dragons are also a visual staple of chinese culture, from statues to jewellery. at the same time: while they're auspicious symbols—dragons can of course have aggressive and far less benign connotations if we consider how they became symbols of the emperor—and thus chinese imperial power and dominion over others. he evokes majesty, but also dread from that perspective.

c. plum blossoms: much like the sakura in japanese culture, plum blossoms are one beloved motif you'll see showing up in chinese art and literature throughout history. they're elegant and ethereal, also a symbol of both transience and renewal in a way, i'd say—their blossoms wither and die, but they come back each year. there's also that saying about how without a bitter cold, you won't have the sweet fragrance of plum blossoms, because they start blooming in winter. that's...very yao to me. china, as an idea, makes me think of a lot of elegant and refined traditional culture (like poetry or paintings) which plum blossoms recall—but i also think of humbler themes—the simpler idea of someone and something who is enduring, adaptable and resilient. who endures the harshest weather time and time again until spring arrives, the way my (peasant) ancestors probably did, carving their way through all the hardships of chinese history. yao might appear refined in an indulgent, wealthy way when he's dressed in his finest silk hanfu or a smart western suit in the modern day—but if you shake his hand, his palms are always callused and you can just see the weight (and hard-won experience) of centuries in his gaze.

#hetalia #hws china #hetalia headcanons #wang yao

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stealth-liberal · 8 months

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So, it's that time again, the anniversary of 9/11. Two years ago, on the 20th anniversary, I wrote an essay about the Twin Tower jumpers and how we as a society have refused to look their fear and pain in the face and hold it.

Now, it's been 22 years since that day and my thoughts go elsewhere. Now I am thinking about legacy and remembrance. Honoring the dead. How do we fully honor the 3,000 people who were killed that day? Because I have some serious issues with how that has played out over the last 22 years.

I was in my 20's when 9/11 happened, and I was in the Marine Corps, so, as you can imagine, it changed my life, and not a single one of those changes was positive. Right now though, it's not what I want to talk about.

We say never forget, always remember, but how are we doing that. By dooming ourselves to what was 20 years of unending war? That doesn't sound like a good memorial.

I never had an issue with the war in Afghanistan. We were attacked Pearl Harbor style, and that was always going to end the way it did. But the war in Iraq? It made me an angry liberal. I had never been conservative, and I joined the Marine Corps to pay for college, we had been at peace for So Many Years that I guess I didn't really think that could change. The war in Iraq was criminal, though. Dubya and his cronies whipped our pain and our grief into a storm and used it to help him LIE to Congress (both sections) so he could get his war. Afghanistan had no natural resources besides poppies for opium that would benefit the war profiteers. They were strategically placed, but that was it. Iraq? Iraq had oil and Haliburton, Chaney, Dubya, Condoleezza Rice, and the rest made So Much money. Billions were made, and billions were "misplaced." Congress was given false intell reports so they would vote for the Iraq War. The fact that no one went to jail for that scarred me. They lined their pockets, and my friends came home in body bags because they SOMEHOW didn't have the money for proper body armor. I will never forgive them for that.

So... It's not a very good way to remember the 3,000 who died on 9/11. Perhaps the worst memorial of all time. Dubya shackled us to pain and grief, and no one was allowed to recover. Least of all the families who lost people. They were paraded for the cameras to be used, and looking back on it, it was sickening. How could they do that to families and the survivors? Why?

I mean, intellectually, I know why. Emotionally, I will never understand it. The survivors and the families deserved to recover. We, as a nation who witnessed the horror, deserved to recover. But recovery meant no profit. Recovery meant no Iraq War. Recovery meant Halliburton might not make quite as much money. So we all stayed traumatized, unable to move forward.

And here it is, 22 years later. How should we honor the 9/11 dead and the survivors? Well, I have a few ideas.

1. 3,000 people died that day, but it could have been less. Why? Both the Twin Towers and the Pentagon had structural and safety issues that made something catastrophic even worse. The Twin Towers did not have enough emergency staircases for it's size. All skyscrapers were supposed to have 4 staircases in case they ever needed to be evacuated. Both Towers only had 2, and the why of that is rage inducing.

You see, 4 staircases meant less floor space, which meant less desk space, which meant less ability to charge businesses higher rents. So money changed hands when the towers were built, and the number went down to 2 emergency staircases. This was a decision that was heavily criticized at the time, and many in the trades predicted disaster.

When the 1993 bombing of the Twin Towers happened, the towers stayed standing, and the 2 missing staircases weren't a problem. Everyone thought all was good. To be fair, NO ONE ever thought a terrorist group would fly a jumbo passenger jet into each tower. No skyscraper was built with that eventuality in mind. They are now, though.

When the planes hit the towers, each tower lost access to elevators and 1 staircase each. Now, both towers had to be fully evacuated with just that one staircase. It wasn't enough, and survivors have all spoken about how everyone was jammed into the stairwells going down those stairs one at a time at a snail's pace. It's a miracle as many people actually survived as they did.

The South Tower was hit more on the side, so some people above the impact zone were able to get out. The North Tower was not so lucky. It was hit head on, everyone above the impact zone was doomed, and they knew it. It's why so many of them chose to jump once faced with what was no real choice to begin with, burn, or jump to their deaths.

Had there been enough staircases, had there been 4 instead of 2, many more people would have survived. So I think a suitable way to never forget the people who died in The Twin Towers is to enact legislation so that never again can a skyscraper be built without proper emergency egress/staircases in case of an evacuation. Any skyscrapers without enough staircases are brought up to code so that if the worst happens, as many people can be saved as possible. That seems a fitting memorial.

The Pentagon was built like a fish trap, the idea was if an enemy somehow got in, they would never get out. No one ever factored in the notion of a jet being flown into the building, most of the inner ring collapsing and massive explosion damage and fire racing through everywhere. There are many stories of people pounding on the glass and not being able to get out.

Thankfully for the people at the Pentagon, they were not in a skyscraper, and first responders were able to find ways to get to them. But they couldn't and didn't get to everyone. So I think a fitting memorial to the Pentagon dead that day would be to make sure no building is so secure that you can't get out, can't truly evacuate, if the catastrophic happens. When a building is on fire, everyone deserves the best possible chance to get out and get home alive.

2. The first responders of 9/11 were the heroes of that day. I think we can all agree that the very definition of heroic is running back into a collapsing and/or burning building determined to save just one more life. So many first responders died that day doing the best they could to save lives. The ones who survived were harrowed to their bones.

The people who worked the wreckage of both sites, who collected what was left of human remains. Who bit by bit picked up the wreckage and tried to heal two cities with the labor of their hands. These people were also heroes, and anyone who says differently is just wrong.

They were told it was safe, and they were told we would take care of them. However, it wasn't safe. Both of these groups of people have had massive health complications ever since from the toxins they were immersed in for days, weeks, months, and even years. The dust alone caused so much lung damage.

Then, to add insult to injury, a Republican congress tried to take away their health benefits, to leave them twisting in the wind. These ghouls left the ACTUAL heroes of that terrible time in chronic illness, terrible pain, and in many cases tried to let them die. Why? Because they were too cheap to spend a dime on these people. John Stewart basically had to retire from The Daily Show to shame Congress into taking care of these people.

On the 17th anniversary he gave a blistering speech to them and I paraphrase here: "17 years ago, they acted heroically and did their jobs. They did their jobs! NOW DO YOURS!"

You want to know the very best way to remember the first responders who died in 9/11? Take care of their brothers and sisters who survived, their brothers and sisters who spent years working The Piles. None of these people should EVER pay so much as a dime for their health care ever again. For the rest of their lives. Period.

This is how we should memorialize them, this is how we never forget. Not chaining us to a never ending cycle of pain, despair, and anger. Not lying to us to get a second war that no one needed. Not war profiteering and then calling it patriotism. Not terrorizing our Muslim citizens. Not taking away our rights, not trading our civil rights for the illusion of safety.

This is how we make peace with the horror of what happened. This is how we move forward and let the memory of the dead be a blessing.

#sl speaks #9/11 #the twin towers #the pentagon #september 11th

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arvensimp · 1 year

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Hi uhh your story with the breeding kink really got to me lol. Would you be willing to write a fic where Arven finds out his s/o is pregnant? It can be fluffy or whatever you think would work best. Thank you!! 😊

Hello!!! I'm a MAJOR sucker for baby fics and pregnancy fics. Im a sap and I live a life of sin I'm very sorry. I hope you enjoy this!

Positive

Arven x pregnant!reader, no gendered pronouns are used to describe reader

You've spent the last several days with a cloying ache coming and going from your lower abdomen. It's nothing terribly unusual, as you're expecting your period and some early cramps aren't an out-of-the-ordinary symptom for you.

So you let it go and keep living life.

It isn't until a few weeks later that you realize you never actually started bleeding.

Well...maybe you spotted a little bit? But that hardly counts as a period.

But you cramped up?

Ugh... It wouldn't be the most convenient timing in the world if you were pregnant, but...well, you've always been told that there's never a perfect time anyway.

So with nervous hands you take one of the pregnancy tests you keep in the guest bathroom at yours and Arven's place. Scares have happened before, after all, and it doesn't hurt to have them around.

Two minutes later and a little pink plus is staring back at you.

Your heart sinks.

You take every other test you have in the cupboard.

They all pop positive.

Oof, okay. Well. Maybe you and Arven shouldn't have tempted fate quite so much with all of that dirty talk about him knocking you up...

Before you worry Arven with any of this, you go ahead and set up an appointment with your GP just to get blood work done to confirm it. No need to overcomplicate things too soon, after all.

Still...as the day of your appointment approaches you find yourself getting more and more nervous. What if it really is real? How will Arven really react? Sure you'd talked about kids before...but now? Hell, you were both so busy with your careers. Would you want to pause that now?

Worst of all was keeping it from him for the few days it took.

It wasn't really lying, you don't think. Just...sparing him from needless worry for a few days.

You're a bit lucky that he at least seems none the wiser to any changes in your behavior or in the pokemons' behavior around you. Certainly 'Raidon is less...excitable and less willing to curl up entirely on your lap the moment you sit down on the sofa.

You wonder if maybe pokemon just...have a sense about them?

Mabosstiff certainly seems more protective of you, making sure to perch himself at your feet or by your side the moment you sit down, only to dutifully follow you wherever you go when you get up.

That's actually probably the closest Arven gets to noticing anything strange. He'd been going back and forth to the kitchen a few times that night, while Mabosstiff stayed glued to you, and then as soon as you got up to use the restroom, the dog trailed you all the way down the hall, waiting patiently outside the door for you.

Arven scratches him behind the ears when you both get back to the living room.

"Are you picking a new favorite, buddy?" He asks, light heartedly.

Mabosstiff makes that silly grimacy kinda face at him before boofing loudly.

Arven laughs. "Really, I dunno what's gotten into him lately. He isn't even following me around for scraps."

You shrug. "Maybe it's just a phase..." You offer, scritching Mabosstiff where his tail meets his spine, making him go all limp on you.

Arven lets it go from there, and that's that.

Your trip to the doctor the next day confirms what the tests had told you earlier.

You're pregnant with Arven's baby.

Now you need to figure out what to do. How to tell him.

Luckily, an idea comes to you easily enough.

That week you're picnicking along Socarrat Trail. Some of your pokemon had recently taken to sneaking goodies into your picnic basket. Sometimes it was stones or pretty feathers. You even got a lovely string of pearls at one point from your tinkaton, though you don't want to think too hard about where she may have found them.

Your pokemon will also put their eggs in the basket after breeding, on the rare chance that it happens.

So...that seems like a good place to hide the results.

After the two of you set up the site for lunch and Arven gets started on cooking, you quietly slip the surprise into the basket and quickly set yourself to the task of giving all of your pokemon a bath, as is typically your duty while Arven prepares your meal.

You're sudsing up Slither Wing when you call out to him. "Hey, Arven?"

"Yeah?" He's putting picks in sandwiches as you speak.

"When you're done with that, could you check the basket?" You hope you sound casual as you ask it.

"Uh...yeah. Why?" He looks around the group of pokemon, likely trying to remember if there are any of compatible egg groups. "Are we expecting something?"

"Uh... I just like to check, is all. Never hurts to be sure?"

Arven shrugs. "No problem then. I'm telling you though, we probably shouldn't keep trying for that shiny maschiff pup. I don't think it's good for the environment. Ya know?"

You snort. "I've always found the puppies good homes. Haven't I? Besides, Mabosstiff makes a really good dad!" Inwardly your stomach is tying itself in knots. You finish rinsing Slither Wing and start towel drying it and yourself as Arven goes to the basket. You try to keep an inconspicuous eye on him as he goes.

Arven quickly lifts the lid, glances inside, then closes it.

"Nah, nothing there."

You panic. What? You're sure you put the results there. Was he just not paying attention?

"Uh...you sure?" You say, trying to quell the mounting nerves in your voice.

"Yeah, sweetness. I know what eggs look like."

You sigh as you continue rubbing the towel through Slither Wing's fuzzy body.

"I didn't ask about eggs. Sometimes the pokemon slip other things into the baskets. Like pearls or stones."

"Oh. Uh..." He looks sheepish for a moment. "I'll check again then." Arven goes back and opens the lid.

"Huh. Looks like they brought us a piece of paper..." He takes it out an unfolds it, eyes scanning the page.

"Uh...sweetness?" You watch as the color drains from his face.

"Yes?" You answer, approaching him slowly, not entirely sure how he'll react.

"How, uh..." He looks up at you from the page. "How are you feeling?"

"How are you feeling?" You ask, not entirely cheekily as you slip your hands around his waist.

Fuck, you hope this is okay.

"Uh...Yeah. Good. You, uh. You put this in the basket?" He sounds numb.

You lean into him and nod against his chest, starting to get a little choked up.

He doesn't return your hug immediately, and that has your heart sinking like a stone.

"It's real?" He asks.

You nod again, squeezing him a bit tighter.

"You're...?"

You nod.

"So," He swallows audibly, "We're...?"

You nod again, trying to force back tears that threaten to fall.

"Please don't be mad." It comes out much smaller and weaker than you'd imagined. Your brain knows he shouldn't be mad. At the very least this isn't just your fault even if he were to be mad, but he shouldn't be mad anyway. But you're still suddenly scared now as you cling to him.

You feel Arven rest a warm and gentle hand on your lower back.

"Hey. I'm not mad." He pulls you away just a bit with his other to get you to look in his eye.

"Promise?"

Arven kisses your forehead. "Promise. I love you."

And the dam bursts. All your fear and anxiety from the past week and however long come flooding to the forefront and out of your face in an absolute mess.

You apologize for keeping it from him for the past few days, for not telling him sooner, and he shushes you with kisses at your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

"What're we gonna do?" You finally allow yourself to ask.

"Well..." Arven starts, guiding the two of you to the picnic table to sit. "We've talked about..." He clears his throat. "About babies before. We can do this... Parenting. If you want! I don't want to force you. I'm here no matter what you choose, but... I'm ready to try my hand at being a...a dad, if you'll let me?" He squeezes your hands reassuringly.

You sniffle miserably.

"I... I want that." You admit.

"Then that's settled!" He says, pulling you into a massive (though not too tight) hug. He speaks into your hair as he lovingly strokes at your lower back. "We don't have to have all the answers right now. I think. We can figure more out later. Yeah?"

You nod against him.

"Thank you."

"Me?" He snorts. "What're you thanking me for? I should be thanking you!" One of his hands slips over, warmly covering your lower abdomen in a way that has your tummy doing somersaults.

"You're doing one of the most incredible things in the world...and you're letting me be a part of it."

Arven kisses you softly. "C'mon. Let's eat and then go home. I, uh..." He laughs a bit. "I suddenly don't feel great about dragging you out to the corner of the region where some of the strongest wild pokemon are?"

You laugh back. "Please. I can at least handle myself for a bit longer. Besides, we have two champion level teams with us. I think we're safe."

Arven looks back at your combined pokemon and between the massive dragon, your fire crocodile, a tiny fairy with a massive hammer, and a living bug dinosaur he suddenly feels like he's the one who needs to keep from panicking for a minute.

#arven fanfic #arven x reader #arven x female reader #trainer arven #arven #arven pokemon #arven x nb reader #rival arven #baby fic #pregnancy fic

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imaginepirates · 9 months

Text

Beck and Call

The reader is an employee of Beckett's, working as an entertainer to gather information at social events. While getting a little too close to clientele for Beckett's taste, you're pulled off to an unoccupied room so he can remind you exactly who's in charge. Of course, things get frisky from there.

Please note that the reader is fem. Also know that the fic features a heated makeout session and strip-tease, but no full nsfw content.

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official @hellspawn-brownies @groovy-lady @ghoulishbehaviour

~3300 words

~~~~~~~

What first caught your eye was the rather loud waistcoat. Even from across the room, the amount of embroidery looked egregious. It was somewhat made up for by the tasteful choices in color, which managed not to clash with each other on the bright fabric. If the Lowell family were known for anything, it was their flamboyance. And annoyingly good hair, you thought to yourself, touching your own lightly to ensure the pins were staying in place.

The wearer of said offending waistcoat was the youngest of the Lowell boys, quite eager to prove himself to high society. He was a handsome sort, with a sharp jaw and a ready smile, all blonde curls and shining eyes. Open to speaking about anything, too, which was exactly why you were there.

The boy’s father had just come into a position in the House of Lords, and would be yet another influencing factor on trade. Your job was to make him talk, to see how open his father might be to working with your own employer, a certain Cutler Beckett. Beckett was always looking for political sway, so you were always dragged to social events to eavesdrop. Spying was too harsh a word, he told you, though you knew he’d let you call it whatever you liked as long as the job got done.

Thankfully, all socials needed entertainers, and entertaining made you just interesting enough to speak to. You could, of course, pose as some highborn lady, but for the Lowell boy, nothing less than the most dazzling performer would do.

You struck a captivating figure, even you had to admit. Beckett had near outdone himself—he wasn’t one to be afraid of dressing you immodestly, but your dangerously low neckline was nothing short of scandalous. Your dress, a dark turquoise mantua the color of stormy seas, was accented by embellishments of white and gold. Tiny satin roses sat along a creme stomacher, and lace spilled out from the elbows of your sleeves and along your collar. False ringlets hung at the sides of your face, giving the illusion you had more hair than a head could hold. Your jewelry, too, had its own extravagance. A pearl necklace lay at your throat in three lengths, and your earrings featured one dangling pearl apiece.

Truth be told, you felt a little like a trussed up doll, but you supposed that was all you were for the evening anyway.

You took your place amongst the musicians, keeping an eye on the boy as you went. You made sure to pass by close enough that he had no choice but to notice you, and you blushed prettily as his gaze trailed after you. Eye contact. If you’d learned anything, meeting a man’s eye for a brief moment was more daring, more alluring, than any dress you could ever wear.

Working for Beckett required a wide range of abilities from you—singing, dancing, pianoforte, social skills—and you were always expected to put them to use. There were the other necessities, sometimes, like good aim, which you preferred to leave to Mercer, but you learned all the same. Tonight, thankfully, all that was required of you was your voice

So you sang. Backed by a small ensemble, you provided the music for partygoers to dance to, raking your eyes over the crowd all the while, taking in the social scene. You stood at the perfect spot for observing who talked to who, and which groups avoided each other, and if anyone’s dress was out of season, and whether or not the Lowell boy accepted drinks from waiters.

Oh, and Beckett’s piercing gaze.

Nobody else noticed—nobody else could—as Beckett watched you from the corner of his eye. His stare raked across you, making gooseflesh rise on your arms and a shiver run down the back of your neck. He watched, of course, to make sure you were doing your job, and that his eyes weren’t the only pair drawn to you. But you had been under his employment a long time, and you knew his many looks, and the darkness in this particular look was one he reserved for precious few people. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him direct this look to anyone but yourself, which gave you a little too much satisfaction.

This look was one of desire, and you’d be damned if you didn’t capitalize on it. Beckett wasn’t the only one who could toy with people.

The performance over, you mingled with the crowd, graciously accepting compliments and putting on a dazzling smile. It didn’t take long for the boy to be drawn over; his eyes carding over you with clear interest, and you knew it wasn’t just your voice drawing his attention.

“That was positively breathtaking.” He had a pretty smile, you conceded to yourself, but was full of foppish energy you’d have to brace yourself against.

“Thank you.” You pretended to be flattered.

“You’re breathtaking, as well. Wherever did you get that dress?”

The problem, you found, was that he was really and truly interested. All his excitement was genuine, and as much as you hated to use it against him, it was your job. “The silk is from China,” you lied. China sounded much more interesting than Bristol, and he wouldn’t know the difference.

Soon, he was talking about his father, and you listened to every word. When the topic of spices and textiles arose, you slipped Beckett’s name into the mix, mentioning him as the gifter of your dress. To the Lowell boy, it was nothing more than an offhand comment, but you knew Beckett’s name was in his brain now, and as sure as he was to mention you to his father, he would be mentioning Beckett as well.

It was when you let him inspect the pearls at your throat that you noticed Beckett’s glare from across the room, hot and fixated on the spot where the boy’s fingers made contact with your skin. You had the sudden feeling you’d done something wrong. Oh, the show you were making of yourself wasn’t truly vital, no, but surely Beckett couldn’t be upset about it.

Surely he couldn’t be jealous.

Mercer appeared by your shoulder in short order, seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m afraid the songbird is needed elsewhere,” he drawled. “I’m sure she’ll be back in not too long.”

“Oh, of course.” The boy smiled, bidding you farewell. “For you, I can wait.”

You rather hoped he didn’t.

You let Mercer drag you away from the crowd, though his iron grip on your arm wasn’t wholly necessary. You had no doubt who the order had come from—you were at the man’s beck and call. A thrill ran through you; you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. After all, you’d succeeded in making the famously well-restrained Cutler Beckett snap under the weight of jealousy. But you were apprehensive, too. There was no telling just how he would react, and though you weren’t afraid, necessarily, you were aware he could cause you discomfort without doing harm.

Mercer pulled you into a library, oak shelves making a maze of the room. At the back, Beckett sat in a comfortable looking chair, rising unhurriedly to greet you. He gave you a casual once-over before turning away to inspect a row of exotic artifacts, affecting disinterest.

“You’ve taken quite the shining to the Lowell boy.”

“Well,” you started, taking on the same air, “shining is the word to describe me tonight. You’ve made sure of that.”

He turned back to you then, regarding you darkly. He wouldn’t fall for any of your charm; at least, he’d be aware of your acting. You couldn’t fool him.

But you didn’t need to. Despite trying to make it look otherwise, he’d already given away his attraction to you, and it only felt right to give him what he made you give others. You couldn’t get shy on him now—that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted your acting, even if he knew that’s what it was. You were a performer, and he liked a show.

“Your…enthusiasm…in tonight’s assignment was unparalleled. I’ve never seen you take such an interest in any of our potential clients before.” Beckett looked up at you through dark lashes. “Though,” he paused, brows knitting together ever so slightly, “I do wonder why that boy in particular caught your attention.”

You fingered one of the small roses adorning your dress, trying very hard to seem like you weren’t thinking critically about your answer. “Oh,” you sighed, letting your chest rise and fall a little more than natural, “you know how it is. He’s young and pretty and has so many stories and so much energy. One can’t help but get pulled into his halo of excitement.”

Beckett snorted. “Please. You’re too smart to find any substance in that sort of personality.”

“It’s not his personality I need to find substance in.”

Beckett’s eyes flashed with an intensity you’d never seen, dangerous. You were in deep waters now, you realized, and there was no backing out.

“Of course,” you continued, “we would need an empty room and locking doors. I’m sure you could procure something of the sort, given our current atmosphere.” You waved a hand, vaguely gesturing at the library. Then, you stilled, looking back at Beckett with your brows raised as if a thought had only just now occurred to you. “You weren’t hoping for something similar, dragging me in here, were you?”

Lighting quick, Beckett had one of your wrists in his hand, pulling you closer, his breath ghosting across the shell of your ear. “I know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t test me, if I were you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and the nerves in your wrist crackled with some electric impulse triggered by Beckett’s touch. It took everything in you not to gasp. You hadn’t expected his hold to be so tight, but he kept you in a vice grip, and you knew then and there you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

You steeled your nerves. This was a game, and you had to make your next move, risky as it felt.

“Or what?” You whispered low in his ear. Your free hand made its way to the joint between his shoulder and chest as if to steady yourself on him, a teasing touch. He breathed deeply against it, and the light press of your fingertips became the flat of your palm.

“Or I’ll show you just what can be done in an empty library.”

He pulled away abruptly, a tidal wave of relief cascading over you. The onslaught wasn’t over, of course, but he was giving you a respite, and though you weren’t admitting defeat quite yet, you’d take it.

Beckett sat back in the chair, relaxing, a smirk resting on his face. “Go on then. Show me how you would seduce this boy.”

You nearly balked at the suggestion. Whatever you’d been expecting, it wasn’t this—this forwardness, so casually put, not a trace of hesitancy to be seen. You only wondered for a brief moment whether he was serious; the confidence in his deepening smirk told you all you needed to know.

You straightened. Beckett wasn’t going to back down, and his words weren’t a suggestion. They were an order. That thought alone made you weak at the knees.

Always start slow. This was a seduction, and a seduction called for a certain amount of teasing. Anticipation was the true key; keep your voyeur waiting until they simply couldn’t wait any longer, until they became too enthralled to turn away. You began with the pins at the back of your dress, letting the pleats and folds in the back fall with each steel fastening removed. Heavy fabric settled on the floor, the back of the dress now more of a train.

Beckett was still perfectly composed, but the effect of your efforts was clear. His eyes followed your every movement keenly. You took advantage of it, having nowhere to set the pins but the small desk beside him. You bent down, allowing him a good look at your décolletage, and you were gratified to see him draw in a breath.

Next to go was the stomacher, also pinned in place. Here, the true divestment began. Once the stomacher was off, the front of your stays would be on full display. You’d known Beckett a long time, and he’d seen you in plenty of compromising positions, but never like this.

Eye contact, you reminded yourself. More alluring than any dress. More alluring than any undress.

Beckett settled back in his chair as the stomacher came undone, staring openly at the space it previously occupied. You wondered how often he’d had the chance to see women’s undergarments so personally, but waved that though away, bringing your hands up to the ruffled sides of your bodice and slowly, ever so slowly, peeled it off your shoulders and let it drop to the ground.

Beckett readjusted in his seat. You could hear his breathing, now, and his lips sat slightly parted, as if he could taste you on the air. Your arms, now bare, felt the chill of the library acutely. If you shivered, it wasn’t from the cool alone—Beckett’s eyes raked over you with undisguised lust, making it hard for you to keep from blushing. You were all petticoats, well beyond the definition of improper.

You untied your silk skirt, a matching turquoise to the bodice, never taking your eyes off Beckett’s own, even as his wandered. You had to slip it off over your head, but you managed it smoothly. That too you dropped on the floor, letting it slide right out of your fingers.

Beckett’s eyes met yours again, though you could tell he was getting impatient. You loosed the panniers from your sides where they hung to give your skirt its volume, dangling them from your fingers. You walked towards him, setting the small hoops down atop the pins you’d put next to him. Precious little covered you; your modesty was saved by your chemise, though you didn’t expect it to last.

For a long moment, you and Beckett stared at each other. You were close enough to touch, but he refrained from reaching out, clearly interested in what you would do next.

“May I use the chair?” You didn’t wait for a response, raising one foot to the seat just next to Beckett’s thigh. Your stockings had to go, and you began untying the garter fastened just above your knee, your chemise now hiked up to reveal a sliver of skin. One of Beckett’s hands moved, seemingly involuntary, and you smiled, shaking your head.

“Look, don’t touch.”

Beckett’s eyes snapped up to yours. It was your turn to give orders, and you weren’t about to play fair. You unlaced your garter, dropping it in Beckett’s lap. Then, inch by inch, you rolled down your stocking, only divesting yourself of it when you were sure Beckett felt tortured by it. He exhaled, resting his head against the back of the seat. But he smiled—a genuine smile—and you knew you were doing the right thing.

“Dear god,” he breathed, still watching as you undid your other stocking. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man. Otherwise I’d already have you bent over a desk somewhere.”

The way he’d grabbed you earlier, you didn’t doubt it. “And have everything over with so quickly?” you teased. “That’s no fun.”

“You have a point. Though, if you keep me waiting much longer, I might not be able to help myself.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you blushed a little in spite of yourself.

The moment your other stocking hit the floor, Beckett was out of his seat, spinning you around to press you against the wall. You gasped but didn’t resist, relishing a little in the way his hands explored you, running down your sides and pulling you closer by the hips. His lips brushed your neck, and you tilted your head to give him better access.

The first kiss seared your skin. You found purchase in the back of his waistcoat, digging your fingers into the fabric to steady yourself. He continued his administrations down to your shoulder, where his teeth drew your attention to the soft bite he left above your collarbone. You couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped you. If he wasn’t careful, you’d have marks littering your skin come morning, and they’d be on display for everyone to see. You considered that this very thing might be his intent, but his lips at the tops of your breasts distracted you entirely.

You felt his smirk more than saw it, and you knew he was taking great satisfaction in all the little noises you kept making. His touch became hampered by your stays, but he hardly seemed bothered.

“Be good for me and turn around, yes?” He murmured.

You complied immediately, shocked by how quickly he made work of the lacings. You couldn’t help but wonder whether he ever meant to kiss you properly. A hint of disappointment wormed its way into your brain; you liked what Beckett was doing to you, that couldn’t be denied, but you didn’t want it to be all he did. You didn’t want to be a fling. If you were being honest with yourself, you longed for him to care about you, and you longed for him to show it.

You turned back to him appraising you, eyes raking over your form. The only thing covering you was your chemise, though you felt naked under his gaze.

“Kiss me.” You disguised your plea with as much confidence as you could muster. For a moment, you feared he wouldn’t understand, or that he would reject you outright, but all worry was wiped away as his lips crushed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs with its intensity.

You were both panting when you parted, though Beckett looked like he could kiss you until he suffocated. The idea both thrilled and concerned you. You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, watching the surprise on his face turn to mild desperation as he leaned into your touch. You pulled him in again for a gentler, more tender kiss, and he sighed against your lips.

You’d never seen such softness in him before, and you were almost afraid of breaking him. His pupils, blown wide, remained fixed on you in a sort of daze, and to your great astonishment, a blush had crept up his cheeks.

He hadn’t anticipated this, either, you thought. This tenderness is more intimate to him than any power-play could ever be. You could explore him like this forever, you realized. Gentleness was something foreign to him, but he lost himself in it, needed it terribly.

Before you could get any further, a knock at the door had you pulling away from each other, gasping for breath and trying to shake off the little world you’d gotten so lost in.

Mercer slipped in, paying you and your state of undress no mind. He didn’t seem surprised in the slightest to see you both unkempt. “Lord Lowell has an interest in speaking with you, Sir. It seems the youngest Lowell boy has been talking with his father about you.”

“Ah.” Beckett recovered his composure with impressive speed. “I’m glad to hear our little bird sung so sweetly as to sway him.” He looked at you teasingly. Mercer stepped out, affording you some privacy and Beckett a moment to get himself back together. “An unfortunate interruption. Though I do hope you won’t mind resuming later?” You were pleased to see a glint of hope in his eye—he wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to pretend.

“Oh,” you leaned in, whispering in his ear, “I’m counting on it. I’m still not sure you’ve shown me quite everything one can do in an empty library.”

I've never put dividers in my fics before, so please tell me if you liked them!

#potc #pirates of the carribean #cutler beckett #cutler beckett x reader #lord beckett #potc fanfiction #fem!reader #x reader #beckett x reader

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denimbex1986 · 9 months

Text

'When the companies behind Ira Sachs’ new drama about the shifting currents of intimacy in a troubled love triangle submitted Passages to the Motion Picture Association ratings board, they probably anticipated an R.

But the MPA came back with an NC-17 rating, forcing the distributor to release the film (which premiered at Sundance earlier this year) unrated rather than risk commercial marginalization or impose cuts that would diminish its intensity...

Let’s be clear: Passages — which Mubi opened Aug. 4 in Los Angeles and New York before expanding to other cities in the weeks to come — is a movie with a generous amount of sex, both gay and straight. But it’s neither particularly explicit nor remotely gratuitous, even if it’s frequently quite hot.

The sex is, above all, integral to the movie’s emotional texture, to the way the characters navigate their volatile relationships, the way they express their feelings and explore their connections through their bodies as they come together and pull apart. In other words, the film’s candor in depicting sex and nudity nudges it closer to European cinema than American.

The ratings controversy around Sachs’ movie comes just as Oppenheimer has been generating talk on social media and in the press about being the first Christopher Nolan movie to feature sex scenes. The trysts between Cillian Murphy as scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer and Florence Pugh as his lover both before and during the former’s marriage earned the release an R rating, which is standard given the glimpses of sweaty flesh on view.

But the fact that people are talking about it at all — and no one has been talking about it louder than Nolan himself — just underlines how squeamish American movies are about sex and sensuality.

The sex scenes in both those movies serve a clear narrative purpose. In Nolan’s film, they convey the magnetism of Oppenheimer and its ultimately devastating effect on a woman who, while not really on screen long enough to acquire much complexity, is defined by her intellectual curiosity, political radicalism and carnal desire.

The actual intercourse — once during the affair and once years later, as a haunting specter conjured in a security hearing — is brief and somewhat mechanical, while a long post-coital discussion has Murphy and Pugh sitting naked in armchairs on opposite sides of a room, carefully positioned and framed to keep crotches out of sight. The scene looks like an interview for an admin job at a nudist colony. It’s anything but erotic.

The scene in the Paris-set Passages that evidently had the MPA clutching their pearls, by contrast, is erotically and emotionally charged, raunchy and tender. It takes place after narcissistic German filmmaker Tomas (Franz Rogowski) has strayed outside his marriage to English print-maker Martin (Ben Whishaw) with Agathe (Adèle Exarchapoulos), a French schoolteacher he met at the wrap party for his latest feature.

Back in bed with Martin again, Tomas more or less offers himself up, resulting in sex that could be a bid for forgiveness, a reconciliation, a sad acknowledgment of enduring feelings or a manipulative attempt by Tomas to keep a hold on his husband while continuing to explore a new relationship. Or it could be all of those things.

Like the movie’s other sex scenes, it’s dramatically loaded, and although it’s shot in a single take with no artful draping of the sheets, it’s hardly graphic...

The prim attitude toward sex in American movies goes beyond MPA rulings to Hollywood itself. Sex and unapologetic sensuality have been all but banished from the mainstream since the heyday of erotic thrillers in the 1980s and early ‘90s — films like Dressed to Kill, American Gigolo, Body Heat, Basic Instinct, 9½ Weeks, The Last Seduction, Color of Night and Sliver. People onscreen were getting laid and loving it back then.

What happened to make American movies so desexualized? As the holdover artistic spirit of the emancipated ‘70s faded further into the distance, studios became increasingly corporate and less creative in their thinking. In order to be profitable, movies had to play not only across the U.S. — including conservative Red states and Bible Belt regions — but internationally, where many countries have rigidly imposed codes concerning sex and nudity.

The ascendance of the superhero movie has been another nail in the coffin of sensuality. In the Superman films of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, there was most definitely something cooking between Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder. But in the more recent wave of comic book-inspired action fare, the protagonists are so sexless they might as well be genital-free Kens and Barbies...

Where, in film, is the supposed sex-positive movement that has become part of the cultural conversation? Cable and streaming platforms have stepped into the breach with shows that don’t hold back on steamy content — think Girls, Insecure, P-Valley, Bridgerton, Game of Thrones, Euphoria and The White Lotus.

So is the dearth of grownup attitudes toward sex and sensuality on big screens a stagnant situation or a step backwards? Many would argue convincingly that it’s been that way since the late ‘90s. But it’s also conceivable that we’re in a unique perfect-storm moment, where far-right conservatism has converged with post-MeToo liberal timidity. On social media, some Gen-Z filmgoers have even questioned whether sex scenes have a place in movies. Seriously, kids, you need to get out more.

The presence of intimacy coordinators on set has no doubt helped to ensure an environment of increased safety and trust for actors, establishing essential boundaries of body autonomy. But unlike so many uninhibited European screen stars, the majority of major-name American performers remain shy about stripping down and going at it.

Witness Penn Badgley declaring his dislike of filming intimate scenes and his insistence on less sex and skin for his character in season 4 of Netflix’s You out of respect for his marriage. “That aspect of Hollywood has always been very disturbing to me,” said the actor in a Variety interview. But many of us who bemoan the shortage of full-blooded sensuality at the multiplex might wonder which Hollywood he’s talking about.'

#Penn Badgley #You #Oppenheimer #Cillian Murphy #Florence Pugh #Passages #Ira Sachs #Christopher Nolan #Ben Whishaw #Franz Rogowski #Netflix #American Gigolo #Nine and a half Weeks #Adèle Exarchapoulos #Basic Instinct

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xoxo-ren-xoxo · 1 month

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Thinking about your Grumbo apocalypse AU again. Thank you for the Convex crumbs, I appreciate them :]. /silly

Anyway! Grumbo is so ill in this, and that makes me insane. Both are like. "I care for this person so much that I'd change fundamental parts of myself." While also freaking out about being with the other in any way.

Like. Here's Mumbo so scared by this monster! This thing that kills his kind! But, Grian is so nice to him. He cares. Mumbo isn't used to the idea of friends and people loving him and caring and. How can something made to kill him love him? How can he sleep in the arms of the enemy, knowing that others would have died for every nearing one of these creatures? Is he giving up his humanity by living with the Outsiders? Would society ever except him again?

Or Grian freaking out about not being human enough! He wants Mumbo to care for and love him, and see him as a friend, as he sees him, but Grian is so hurt that Mumbo is scared. He forces himself to be so human, despite it hurting, and that's terrifying. He's becoming something that is painful to be, because he wants his friend happy. He's no longer a monster, an Outsider, but he can never be human.

They're so just. I want you to be happy because I love you, and so I'll became what you want, at the act of destroying myself in the worst way possible.

Sorry for the long ramble. Your goofy AU is just ever haunting.

ohhh my god this is so trUE

they are incapable of being normal about each other...

for mumbo, the story is about learning to be comfortable going outside his own rules. becoming more spontaneous and less fearful of the unknown. yes, some of his fears are totally valid - but he shouldn't let those fears dictate how he treats grian. he's sort of in this 'it'll be okay if grian just pretends to be human. then we can have a normal life' mindset that will NEVER work out. they try it! multiple times! it does not work!! mumbo needs to change in a positive way so that he can access a happier, better life (with grian!). before this change, he wants everything to be a certain way, so much so that he misses opportunities (like making friends for example).

for grian, it's all about accepting himself. he loves mumbo and is so willing to change for him (where mumbo is more resistant to true positive change) but that change is forceful and it hurts him. it is also *not needed*. grian *doesn't* need to change for his life to be better, mumbo needs to accept him how he is - and, more than that, grian has to accept himself for what he is. he can't mimic humanity like pearl and martyn can. he *also* struggles to be content without mumbo. he has to accept that he is between worlds, human and monster, and that it is okay to be different like that.

grian meeting scar helps his journey, mumbo talking to cub helps him realise he's being a bad (boy)friend. (also, I think seeing how different cub and scar are and how they work together regardless definitely helps mumbo understand...).

they both have to consult an outside source to fuel their growth as people. something something narrative parallels.

anyway, they probably work it all out in the end.

i mean, grian does kill people sometimes but like that's not really something that can be helped--

#ben chats shit on the internet #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitshipping #grumbo #grian #mumbo jumbo #grumbo apocalypse monster au #ask #anon

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blistering-typhoons · 8 days

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Okay, so I watched one or two Rathbone Holmes stories back in high school and decided I didn't like Nigel Bruce, but I've also seen you talking positively about the Rathbone Holmes movies/ episodes. If you're willing, can you say why you like them and/ or which you would recommend starting on? Is it a series to watch in broadcast order, or are they more stand-alone? Which ones are your favorite? I want to give it a second chance.

hiya, thanks for the ask :D adding a cut here cuz this post got realllyyy outta hand- so so sorry xD

I wanna preface by saying that I totally get the frustration of Nigel Bruce Watson- as much as I've come to care for this portrayal, there are still moments of disappointment? I feel? Mostly once you see all the potential in him before it gets unceremoniously dumbed down for the sake of comedy, and it can be trying sometimes, but I've learned to breeze past those moments and! There are definitely movies where he shines brighter than others! In the end, you may warm up to him or you may not, but I fully commend you on taking another chance :D

I did not really start off in broadcast order (my ass still hasn't seen rathbone and bruce's HOUN- bloody disgraceful lmao) and mostly watched in order of vibes, which seems to have worked out alright xD

I started off with Scarlet Claw, and after rewatching it this morning, I feel like it's an alright place to start! It's a good sort of mystery and there was enough element of equal partnership to get me invested in Holmes and Watson. But, I'd say it's still pretty lukewarm, enjoy it as I do, so to compound this long ass post lemme throw a list at you real quick of rathbone movies i strongly recommend-

The Pearl of Death:

Starting off with Pearl of Death not only for the 'Watson gathers the braincells' quality but because it's one of the genuine classics in the series- a brilliantly crafted movie from start to finish, and in my opinion, one of the better shot ones. This one is a good start, it's a bit slow in some places, but it's a good, neutral film that showcases I think some of the more concrete themes and brilliancy of the movies.

House of Fear:

I honestly dunno if I'm biased about this one, but it is genuinely one of my favourite movies of all time. It's the very second one I watched, and it's still in my nighttime viewing collection- I fall asleep watching this movie, which is a compliment I swear. Watson has a more active role, is genuinely trying his best for most of the runtime and falls more in line with 'genuine failure to succeed' more than just 'bungled it up for a gag'. It's a really, really excellent mystery and I adore Holmes and Watson's dynamic throughout- 10/10, freaking banger movie.

Pursuit to Algiers:

Then, of course, the Big Daddy herself- Pursuit to Algiers. This one falls less in line with a mystery (our baddies become pretty clear at one point) and more suspense, but man is that a good thing. The dang thing takes place on a boat for most of it, Holmes and Watson are attached to eachother like pairbonded shelter dogs and have the most balanced, affectionate of interactions, Watson gets to sing! And not to give away any spoilers (yeah shush, i know the movie's old) but a particular plot point happens in this movie and as a result, Nigel Bruce gets to do a genuinely heartbreaking piece of acting- seriously, there is a shot where he goes out onto the deck, completely silent of music and just looks out into the ocean that still has me unwell even after all this time. Goofy moments still happen in the movie, but they feel more organic, and overall there is a wonderfully grounded approach to Watson here- he's still silly, but it's a fun silly, and a silly that Holmes indulges in with him. The depth of affection between these two is ASTOUNDING in this movie, bloody unhinged behaviour. Great movie, do watch it :D

I'd say those three are, at least in my opinion, the best of the best! I do enjoy the others, but I think it best to venture into those once an affection has been developed, they do strain the patience a bit at times I'm afraid. (And it goes without saying, some of the movies have a definite propaganda vibe to them, which is charming sometimes and sometimes just grating, really depends on the day i think- none of the three movies listed above fall under this category though- and the of course, general warning for all the really poorly aged 1940s stuff, but you know that :>)

Except The Spider Woman. In really the bluntest of terms, fuck that movie, all my homies hate The Spider Woman, do NOT watch it (i'm only half joking, oh god its so bad)

Anyways, uh, sorry lmao-

I really must thank you for letting me put this incredibly useless knowledge to use, I'm so goddamn sorry it came out in this absolute massive scrawl- I wish you all the luck in your rathbone holmes adventure, and I hope you have an illuminating time either way it goes for you :D

#jesus christ the size of this lad #anyways those are my two(hundred) cents i really hope it helps!#if anybody has any other perspective feel free to share #and i know i was kinda hard on my boy watson here #but it is only because i love him so much i must bully him (jokE A JOKE)#number one girlfailure in my heart <3 #sherlock holmes #john watson #rathbone holmes

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sleepingdeath-light · 4 months

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relationship hcs ; yellow diamond

requested by ; anonymous (24/04/23)

fandom(s) ; steven universe

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; yellow diamond

outline ; “hey since you did relationship hcs for white diamond could you do some for yellow and blue too :D? (separately) love your works!^^”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

as far as being in an equal relationship goes, yellow diamond is extremely out of her element — she’s used to being in a position of distinct hierarchical authority, and only having one person who she truly sees is on an equal level to herself, and that mentality does cause a lot of conflict early on in your relationship

she takes care of you, of course, and always makes sure that you’re well tended to and have everything you could possibly want or need — making use of her countless colonies and underlings to ensure that this is the case, making sure that you’re worshipped and respected as an authority figure in the same way that she is

but yellow diamond is also quite emotionally distant and dismissive at times because of how busy she is, and unless you express a need for intimacy and affection to her then she’s not going to realise that you feel neglected — but even then it’s incredibly forced and stiff as she’s just not used to being physically or verbally affectionate with you, or anyone, quite yet (just give her some time, she’ll grow to love it)

if anyone dares to disrespect you or offend you in anyway then yellow will be swift to punish them for it — either poofing or outright cracking their gem, or sending them to trial to find a ‘better’ punishment if you’re less fond of execution

she doesn’t use any pet names with you and generally just calls you by your first name (or, maybe, a slightly shortened version of it), but if you insist on calling her a term of endearment then she’d probably prefer something that sounds more formal — think ‘my diamond’ but more affectionate, like ‘my dear’ or ‘my beloved’

she’s terrified of losing you as she did pink, which makes her extremely protective over you — refusing to let you leave her sight (whether that’s in her room on home world, in her palanquin when she’s on a colony, in her ship, etc) and having you accompanied by a large collection of amethyst and jasper guards wherever you go if she’s too busy to physically accompany you herself (she cannot lose another person she cares about; losing you would destroy her)

whenever you’re making a public appearance she makes sure that your outfit is spotless — having her servants dress you in her colours and in clothes that are as practical as they are formal — and that you’re mentally prepared for everything that is expected of you well in advance (memorising dances, practising posture and poses, mastering the perfect acknowledging smile and polite nod, etc.) so that there’s no chance of either of you being looked down upon

you’re the only person aside from pink diamond who has ever been able to make her laugh — and you’re also the only one who gets to see the ‘imperfections’ that she hides from the other diamonds and their subjects, such as her sense of humour and her insecurities about her place in the gem empire

no matter how busy she is, she refuses to move whenever you fall asleep on her — taking her calls wherever she is and working around you, instructing whoever she’s talking with to stay quiet as she doesn’t want to wake you (she thinks you’re so very adorable like that and she doesn’t have the heart to disturb your sleep)

she’d get you your own pearl, or an entire gem entourage, if you asked — making sure that you got only the best cut of each because you deserve only the best — but in the meantime yellow pearl is more than happy to entertain you when her diamond is working, and in fact you’ll likely end up getting along quite well as your relationship with yellow diamond progresses

#sleepingdeath #fluff #fluff hcs #su fluff #su x reader #yellow diamond fluff #yellow diamond x reader #gender neutral reader

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atopvisenyashill · 1 month

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dany and rhaenyra really couldn't be more different considering dany grew up in abject poverty and rhaenyra was constantly shielded by her status and name. for dany, her name was a death sentence, so they exist in totally different frameworks of what being a “targaryen” even means. it’s this vast difference in upbringing that informs how they rule as well with daenerys giving a lot of attention to how her actions/rule affect the oppressed while rhaenyra doesn’t particularly care about the common people at all!

I'm gonna do what we do at work which is start this out with a lil ground rules corporate talk thing: We assume positive intent as a starting place. I'm taking this in good faith and I hope if anon sees this, they take it the same.

So the first point - that because dany grows up in poverty due to being a targaryen and rhaenyra grows up in privilege due to being a targaryen, that means they are too different and thus can't be compared. Firstly, I think it's just a bit silly when people say stuff like this. Sansa's sexual abuse and isolation at KL isn't somehow less traumatizing simply because she had access to food (food she frequently doesn't eat, because she's traumatized over all the sexual abuse!) nor is Arya's physical abuse in the Riverlands somehow less purely because she had a handful of friends. Catelyn having a husband that loves and respects her doesn't mean that there are not similarities in her raging against the system that has turned on her with Cersei's own rage against the system. There need not be a one to one similarity in order for us to find commonalities in themes and I think this constant "you can't compare those two" just stinks of ~oppression olympics~ but oppression just doesn't work like a checklist and if you experience the required threshold of terror, you "get" to call yourself oppressed in some way.

Moving on, the thing is, both of them experience the emotional and sexual incestuous grooming from an older relative that goes with being a Targaryen:

He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple. “You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His fingers twisted her, the pinch cruelly hard through the rough fabric of her tunic. “Do you?” he repeated.

Daemon spent long hours in her company, enthralling her with tales of his journeys and battles. He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the Empress of Leng, read poems to her, dined with her, hawked with her, sailed with her, entertained her by making mock of the greens at court, the “lickspittles” fawning over Queen Alicent and her children. He praised her beauty, declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms. Uncle and niece began to fly together almost daily, racing Syrax against Caraxes to Dragonstone and back...Eustace, the less salacious of the two, writes that Prince Daemon seduced his niece the princess and claimed her maidenhood...The whole tale soon came out, in no small part thanks to Mushroom himself. King Viserys at first refused to believe a word of it, until Prince Daemon confirmed the tale was true. “Give the girl to me to wife,” he purportedly told his brother. “Who else would take her now?”

both of them also experience a much older sworn sword preying on their youth and fondness for him-

"What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?" Ser Jorah smiled sadly. "Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys." He bowed low. "Sleep well, my queen." Dany shivered, and pulled the lionskin tight about her. She looked like me. It explained much that she had not truly understood. He wants me, she realized. He loves me as he loved her, not as a knight loves his queen but as a man loves a woman. She tried to imagine herself in Ser Jorah's arms, kissing him, pleasuring him, letting him enter her. It was no good. When she closed her eyes, his face kept changing into Drogo's.

Though many lords and knights sought her favor, the princess had eyes only for Ser Criston Cole, the young champion of the Kingsguard and her constant companion. “Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?” Queen Alicent asked one day at court... However it happened, whether the princess scorned the knight or he her, from that day forward the love that Ser Criston Cole had formerly borne for Rhaenyra Targaryen turned to loathing and disdain, and the man who had hitherto been the princess’s constant companion and champion became the most bitter of her foes.

they are both forced into marriages they don’t want to be in-

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

"No." On her terrace, in her bathing pool, the little fish would nibble at her legs as she soaked. Even they kissed with more fervor than Hizdahr zo Loraq. "I do not love you."

And though His Grace reasoned with her, pleaded with her, shouted at her, and called her an ungrateful daughter, no words of his could budge her…until the king brought up the question of succession. What a king had done, a king could undo, Viserys pointed out. She would wed as he commanded, or he would make her half-brother Aegon his heir in place of her. At this the princess’s will gave way. Septon Eustace says she fell at her father’s knees and begged for his forgiveness, Mushroom that she spat in her father’s face, but both agree that in the end she consented to be married.

and start conflating violence, power, and safety in their minds-

The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

“He would make a monster of me,” she whispered, “a butcher queen.” But then she thought of Drogon far away, and the dragons in the pit. There is blood on my hands too, and on my heart. We are not so different, Daario and I. We are both monsters.

you say for dany her name is a death sentence, but for rhaenyra, being a targaryen is also a death sentence! not to "they very much killed jesus" you here, but they very much kill rhaenyra! if rhaenyra remains a “good targaryen” she is acutely aware she will lose everything, and this is something dany is aware of as well, it's why she reacts so badly to daario's "queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him" comment about her marriage to Hizdahr. rhaenyra's mother and both grandmothers die before they’re 25 of childbirth. rhaenyra grew up in the same court gael did, that saera did, that viserra did, likely knew the truth of what happened to each girl, and as a woman who is concealing her bastards, all of that has to terrify her. so she stays the “bad woman” the tyrant, the whore, the visenya, in an attempt to protect her children and that gets her killed. being a targaryen has devastating effects on both of them.

as for the differences in how they rule - i’m gonna be honest and say does it matter how they feel if the result is the same?

when they first come into true power, both women are more concerned with getting revenge than they are for settling the unrest-

“How many?” one old woman had asked, sobbing. “How many must you have to spare us?” “One hundred and sixty-three,” she answered. She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon.

...whilst at the Red Keep Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen set about rewarding her friends and inflicting savage punishments on those who had served her half-brother...Henceforth, Celtigar decreed, traitors, rebels, and murderers would be beheaded within the Dragonpit, and their corpses fed to the queen’s dragons. All were welcome to bear witness to the fate that awaited evil men, but each must pay three pennies at the gates to be admitted.

both of them compromise on a stance that is integral to their whole platform-

Dany was shocked. “They want to be slaves?” “The ones who come are well spoken and gently born, sweet queen. Such slaves are prized. In the Free Cities they will be tutors, scribes, bed slaves, even healers and priests. They will sleep in soft beds, eat rich foods, and dwell in manses. Here they have lost all, and live in fear and squalor.” “I see.” Perhaps it was not so shocking, if these tales of Astapor were true. Dany thought a moment. “Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.” “In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands,” Missandei told her. “We’ll do the same,” Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. “A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides.”

But the Queen’s Hand argued against this, for both girls had younger brothers. Rhaenyra’s own claim to the Iron Throne was a special case, the Sea Snake insisted; her father had named her as his heir. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth had done no such thing. Disinheriting their sons in favor of their daughters would overturn centuries of law and precedent, and call into question the rights of scores of other lords throughout Westeros whose own claims might be seen as inferior to those of elder sisters. It was fear of losing the support of such lords, Munkun asserts in True Telling, that led the queen to decide in favor of Lord Corlys rather than Prince Daemon.

both of them act vindictively and violently towards a low born woman in conjunction with stupid behavior from the violent men they’ve been groomed into loving-

Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought. Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, too high… “I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.” “You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing. “I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.”

In a voice as cold as ice, she commanded Ser Luthor Largent to take twenty gold cloaks to the Dragonpit and arrest Ser Addam Velaryon. “Question him sharply, and we will learn if he is true or false, beyond a doubt.” As to the girl Nettles, “She is a common thing, with the stink of sorcery upon her,” the queen declared. “My prince would ne’er lay with such a low creature. You need only look at her to know she has no drop of dragon’s blood in her. It was with spells that she bound a dragon to her, and she has done the same with my lord husband.”

and I do think there is some similarity in the way that Dany sacks Astapor and it turns into a nightmareish ruin, and Rhaenyra lets KL fall into ruin as well.

you say rhaenyra doesn’t care about the common people but we don’t get her thoughts nor do we get the thoughts of a single person who is willing to tell the truth about her. both of our reliable sources hate her and mushroom is actively concealing things. we know dany cares about the smallfolk because we get her horror over drogon killing a child - only for her to forget that child’s name and decide the cost of her war doesn’t matter so much as taking her throne. this is the exact same moral justification rhaenyra is making - the safety of the people of KL are an acceptable compromise for her own throne.

what both of them want is less about the crown and more about what it represents to them. for dany, it’s home, belonging, love, safety, the simplicity of her life when it was just her, a viserys who had yet to lose his mind, and an aging ser willem darry. for rhaenyra, it’s the exact same - the simplicity of her life before aegon was born & her mother died, the love in her father choosing her over the men around him, the safety of her children. Both of them reach for violence to achieve those ends because they’ve been taught through a life of violence - albeit different sorts of violence - that force is the only way to protect yourself. And since Rhaenyra ultimately fails in her goal, I believe Daenerys will fail as well. Whether she’s smart enough to pull a Nettles and disappear (disappear not spread more violence ~liberating~ places that are not asking for her help or cultural arrogance) or if she, like Rhaenyra, will find that when she’s reached her limit, when she’s finally and truly lost, the door she thought she left open to escape through has been slammed shut behind her-

But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King's Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind's eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind's eye, all the doors were red.

#also i am being serious thanks for not being an asshole or talking down to me anon i appreciate it. we can disagree without being jerks!#anti daenerys targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen #asks #anons #rani attempts meta #also i’m tagging this with anti tags but if anyone starts shitting on either of them in the notes i’m deleting your comment #once again i’m not talking about bs fandom wars i’m talking about The Themes & the way violence shapes & breaks these two women.#so if people are tacky i will be upset. like if people started joking about cersei or alicent's rape. i'm talking about a sad thing here #trust i am not being facetious or saying i think they're evil. they're set up to fail but they both prove that in failing #they are in fact the dragon's heir. capable of everything the men around them are. whether those men like it or not.

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