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jksian · 3 months

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Rivals in flight (m) |JJk

Navigating the challenges of adjusting and studying as a commoner amidst insults from the nobility was tough, but, the struggle only intensified when the fellow dragon rider, Jeon Jungkook, who took so much pride upon his status and abilities, became a formidable enemy and the ultimate pain in your ass. What did you do then? Simple. You started fucking him.

Pairing: dragon rider!Jungkook x dragon rider!oc

Genre: forbidden love, fantasy, e2l, ewb (enemies with benefits? lmao), smut, angst (18+)

W/c: 5k+

Warning: okay so... Jungkook is a jerk in it, noble Jungkook x commoner reader= chaos!, jk called her names (love, phoenix, SLUT), school bullies, arguments and fights, Enter Namjoon!!, oral sex in a semi-public place, hair pulling, grinding, fingering, ass spanking like for twice, he eats her out in a library🫣, edging, orgasm denial, cum eating, they are kinda toxic but it'll be okay later IF I EVER MAKE IT INTO A SERIES🥹

A/n: It's finally here!! This is my first ever fic so I hope y'all will like it! I know that e2l meant to be slow burn and it will be the same if I make into a series but I'm not so sure about that:⁠,⁠-⁠) Like, do you guys want me to turn this into a series?

“Aster, ascend! Use ‘astral radiance’ on them now!” You commanded. The dragon respond with graceful flight, scattering the shadows with pulsating waves of celestial energy with his power.

Jungkook’s dragon again surged a series of shadowy entity, a relentless onslaught aimed towards you. You didn’t even had enough time to recover from the previous attack before you see a cloak of darkness approaching you.

“Screw you, Jeon Jungkook.”

As both of you resumed in a blaze of magic and motion, each command from Jungkook and you echoing through the air.

Eythor and Asterlith soared high above the arena where the game is going on, their wings slicing through the enchanted currents with a thunderous flap.

You guided Asterlith through a series of evasive spins and turns, “Defend! Unleash bursts of celestial energy to dispel the shadows!” That burst of energy created a celestial barrier, disrupting the shadowy figure.

The sky became a canvas for elemental clash. Shadows and celestial radiance intertwined, creating a mesmerizing dance that captivated the onlookers in the grandstand.

You heard Jungkook’s voice, a command filled with determination as the word ‘attack’ reverberates through the arena. Soon, you see a shadowy tempest raising above the ground, big enough to engulf the whole arena in its darkness. The intensity of it makes you a bit wary.

You, however, remained steadfast, “Aster, illuminate the sky and repel the encroaching shadows.”

You can hear the heavy breath from your dragon, as he tries his best remain solid in the fight. He had already used so much of his power that its getting harder for him to continue using constellations energy.

You rubs his neck, tried to calm his nerves and encouraged him, “I know you’re tired, baby, but please just a little more. Could you do that for me?”

You ask softly as he nodded at you. He gathered as much as energy as he can, his celestial radiance intensified, pushing back against the looming darkness.

The crowd below watched with bated breath as the clash of flight and attack unfolded.

The Dragon Duel had reached a crescendo, the clash of shadows and celestial radiance weaving a mesmerizing tapestry in the skies above Syndril. However, as the intensity of the battle grew, an unseen force intervened.

The authorities of the Wings academy, recognizing the escalating magical energies and potential consequences, decided to halt the duel for the safety of all involved.

“Cease the duel, right away!”

A resounding voice echoed through the arena, as you and Jungkook momentarily caught in the ebb and flow of the magical currents, reluctantly reined in your dragons, their energies already subdued but still resonating with the remnants of the fierce battle.

“This clash of powers has reached a level of intensity that poses a threat to the safety of the participants and spectators, so we have to dismiss the game at this very moment.” As the principal of your academy announced.

As the authorities assessed the situation, a magical barrier shimmered into existence, enveloping the arena. It served not only to contain the remnants of the magical energies but also to signal the temporary halt of the sports day.

Jungkook and you, both atop your respective dragons, when you shared a glance with him, you clearly saw a mixture of frustration and anger in it. You shrug it off as you saw a representative of the authorities stepped forward, addressing the dragon riders and the assembled audience.

“The Dragon Duel shall be temporarily suspended. We will assess the situation, ensuring the safety of all involved. Further instructions will be provided once we are confident in resuming the event.”

In the ethereal expanse of Syndril, where dragons painted the skies with hues of mystique, the art of dragon riding was a privilege bestowed upon the chosen few, a regal tapestry woven for the noble and royal alike. The intertwining destinies of rider and dragon transcended mere power, forming a sacred covenant that echoed through the ages.

In the middle of Syndril’s heart, there stood a grand place called the ‘Dragon Keep’, a living testament to the ancient bond shared between the realm’s sovereigns and the winged custodians that adorned the heavens.

Throughout the annals of history, dragons have been formidable companions on the battlefield, their majestic forms serving as both a symbol of power and a devastating force. Since ancient times, these mythical creatures have been harnessed as instruments of war, their scales reflecting the glint of conquest and their breath embodying the fire of conflict.

But, as the time goes, dragons become companion and more of a friends to the humans as the bond between two becomes more strong.

In Syndril, the training of dragons was a vital necessity rooted in the intricate balance of power, protection, and tradition. But, only the nobles were allowed to have a companion such as mystical creature.

To provide such directions and train the dragon in a proper manner, the ancient of this land made a dragon rider academy named ‘wings academy’, where people from royal blood and noble families can train and study with their dragons.

There are few reputed dragon houses in the kingdom, famous for their Excelled skills and magnificent magic, from the ancient, these are the elite houses which has been serving this kingdom from ages.

Each of this houses carries unique abilities and distinct attributes that contributed to the kingdom’s intricate tapestry.

The first one is Eythor from the house Shadowthrone, famous for its mastery over shadows and illusions, possessed a unique and elusive power. Its ability to manipulate darkness and create intricate illusions made it a formidable force in both stealth and strategic deception. Ruled by the Jeons, highest member of the royal council. It is rumored that the only people who build this entire Kingdom and found out about it was, The Vilothorn’s and Jeon’s.

Next one is known as the house of stoneheart, famous for possessing the power of earthquake and stone manipulation, ruled by Kim’s.

The house of inferno is famous for harnessing the power of heat manipulation. There ability has become a relentless force of searing destruction on the battlefield, ruled by Park’s.

In contrast to the previous house, the house of Frostland is famous for its capability to freeze opponents with its breath and control ice in various forms, ruled by Min’s.

The house of Skydancers ruled by Jung’s, has the ability to dominate the skies with its mastery over air manipulation and flight agility.

And, once-extinct dragon, has been reborn again, now found by a commoner girl. Asterlith’s wings were said to carry the very essence of celestial realms, now under the care of you. A creature emerged with scales that radiated with the brilliance of a thousand constellations became a living testament to the resurgence of magic and the rekindling of ancient bonds between dragon kind and those destined to ride upon their majestic backs, and now, you become one of them.

A commoner in the academy where she will study alongside other aristocrats were something not acceptable. ‘only the noble are allowed to ride a dragon’ was like a tradition which now has been broken by you.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, Wings academy has been a fortress of nobility for centuries. This departure from tradition may disrupt the delicate balance that has safeguarded our realm.” Lord Liam voiced his concern in front of the gathered noble in the chambers of Syndril’s royal court.

Lord Jeon, the most trusted component of king Leo and an expert diplomat interjected, “Yet, Your Majesty, the magic that binds ___ and Asterlith is undeniably potent, not to mention that she is the chosen one by Asterlith himself. Are we to dismiss the weaving of destiny itself?”

Conflicting ideologies echoed through the walls of the royal court as each person tried to justify their opinion. Some nobles, entrenched in their adherence to tradition, cast disapproving glances, while others, inspired by the possibility of a new era, nodded in silent approval.

A decision was reached—a groundbreaking one that defied the norms of Syndril. King Leo then announced that everyone must accept this new norm and welcome you into the, once only for the nobles, Wings academy. You, the common girl, would be permitted to study at the Royal Dragon Rider School alongside the nobility was the new rule passed through out the kingdom.

But, you weren’t warmly welcomed by the other students at the school neither.

You found yourself facing the cold glares and condescending whispers of those who clung tightly to the rigid norms of Syndril. The nobility, accustomed to a lineage that stretched across generations, viewed your presence as a disruption to their established order.

Despite that, you continue your training regardless. At least, those insults weren’t as unbearable as Jeon Jungkook.

The second son of Jeon house, Jungkook, a formidable presence in the mystic realm of Syndril’s, is an embodiment of unparalleled power and prowess.

Jungkook’s physical prowess is akin to a tempest, an unstoppable force that commands attention.

His martial skills, honed through rigorous training, transform him into a living weapon.

His strategic acumen, a calculated dance of intellect and intuition, adds a layer of sophistication to his formidable persona.

Not only talented but, Jungkook is a magnetic paradox himself, a living canvas painted with ink and adorned with piercings that echo the rhythm of rebellion.

His onyx locks, a rebellious dance against tradition, frame a countenance that carries the weight of both legacy and defiance.

With a set of piercing eyes, a deep brown that reflects both determination and a hint of arrogance, Jungkook’s gaze is both intense and captivating. His brow piercings increases the intensity of his gaze even more.

Upon his strong arms, a tapestry of tattoos unfolds, each design a narrative etched in ink- The motifs, stark against his fair skin, trace the contours of muscles that hint at a strength not easily contained.

Beneath the hardened exterior, however, lingers the paradox of a “baby-faced” warrior. Jungkook’s soft features, though sculpted by the passage of time and the rigors of dragon rider training, retain a youthful charm that defies the graveness of his responsibilities.

Here, Jungkook writes a story of contrasts, where tradition and rebellion dance together in a spellbinding harmony.

Yet, him being loved by almost the whole population of the kingdom, you found yourself loathing him.

The animosity that grew between you two, emerged from a combination of conflicting backgrounds, divergent ideologies, and a clash of personalities.

Jungkook carried the weight of familial expectations and traditions. His reserved demeanor and arrogant nature often set him apart, earning him both respect and an air of intimidation.

You, on the other hand, hailed from more humble origins, your ascent to the esteemed academy marked by determination and an unyielding spirit.

You both fought for recognition in the academy, often led to arguments marked by sharpe words, competitive duels, palpable tension and mutual hatred for each other.

The hatred grew over the years as well as the thick sexual tension between you two. The irresistible attraction you both feel towards each other is unexplainable but not-so-hidden either.

The aftermath of the halted Dragon Duel left the arena in an eerie silence, the tension was thick in the air.

As, all the students got dismissed by the school authorities, everyone stared entering the school and going back to their respective dorms.

You were walking alone as usual towards your dorm when you heard a very familiar and annoying voice of the male you hate so much, “This intervention was unnecessary. We could have settled it ourselves.”

Jungkook, his usually reserved demeanor now tinged with visible annoyance, broke the silence at last. His voice reverberates through out the hollowed hallway, making everyone pause in their movements.

You, equally agitated, responded sharply, “Your arrogance is truly astounding, Jungkook. The authorities stepped in to prevent a catastrophe, something you seem oblivious to.”

The venom In your voice evident and not much hidden from anyone present there. People gathered around you, saw the argument unfolding in front of them.

Jungkook’s patience worn thin, he retorted, “You act as if you know everything. This clash was an inevitable part of our training. We can’t shield ourselves from every challenge!”

He was being absurd with whatever statement he was stating. His pride was taking a toll on his thinking ability clearly.

You were beyond annoyed with his obliviousness when you shot back, “Training, yes. But, not at the risk of endangering everyone around us. Your recklessness is a danger, and it reflects poorly on House Shadowthrone.”

You heard a few gasps around you, people were surprising with your choice of words. You saw their eyes gone wide upon hearing you pulling house shadowthrone into this argument.

Jungkook was enraged, if he wasn’t a human but a dragon, he should have breathed fire and burned you to the ashes once and for all.

He snapped back, “You act as If your celestial ideals make you infallible. This interruption only proves your inability to handle the challenges and run away from them. I chose the perfect name for you, didn’t I? Phoenix? Rise from the ashes without any ability and prowess–,” he stepped a bit closer to you, burning holes into your face with his Sharpe eyes as he said, “You belong to the slums and should stay there.”

His insulting words pierced through your heart and ignites a intense rage which you were unable to handle, “I’m not afraid of challenges, Jeon Jungkook from the house of Shadowthrone.” You said mockingly, “I just refuse to let arrogance and recklessness guide my actions unlike you. We must be responsible for the consequences of our powers.”

Soon, the onlookers, divided by loyalties, began to interject with verbal insults and jeers. A supporter of Jungkook, emboldened by the mounting tension, shouted, “Jungkook’s strength lies in action, not in empty words and celestial theatrics. Your ideals won’t protect us when the real challenges come.”

People found amusement in them as they begun to laugh at you. You were standing alone there, with no one by your side but yourself, helpless but still defending yourself.

You countered with determination, "Strength without responsibility is a liability, not an asset. We need more than brute force to navigate the complexities of our calling."

You heard a ‘tsk’ from Jungkook as he kept on glaring at you. The voices in favor of Jungkook gained momentum, echoing sentiments of tradition and House Stonethrone storied legacy.

You saw Ivy Drakaron, one of the nobles who happened to be your fellow classmate, smirking at your direction and quite enjoying you being insulted in front of thousands of people, whispering provocative remarks to those around her and laughing along with it.

“Your supposed ‘responsibility’ is nothing but an excuse for your lack of prowess. Syndril needs dragon riders who can face challenges head-on, not ones who cower behind ideals.” Jungkook spits venom from his mouth at you, and this time, it was enough for him to break your hard exterior which you were maintaining carefully and brought tears to your eyes.

With glossy eyes, you glare at his direction and this time, he looked quite surprised and speechless.

Kim Namjoon, senior of yours, belongs to the house of Stoneheart attempted to mediate, stepped forward, “Calm down, both of you, Jungkook and ____. Our unity is paramount, and personal disputes must not undermine the cohesion of Syndril’s dragon riders.”

He had always been the mediator whenever you two started quarrelling in the middle of nowhere. Being the president of the student community, he had all the abilities to be the perfect leader, still, you both made him afraid with your intense fights, so much so that he became tired. He referred himself to an old man because, according to him, he will soon become bald, if he had to continue taking care of you two anymore.

You thought, he might stop with his hateful remarks after seeing your cracked demeanor, it was clear that you were hurt but he didn’t stopped. Jungkook, unwilling to yield, shot a disdainful look at you, "Unity does not mean blind conformity. Your idealistic notions jeopardize the very essence of our training."

“And your recklessness jeopardizes lives. I won’t compromise the safety of our dragon rider community for the sake of your misguided ideals.”

Before the tears descended from your gaze, you departed, no longer willing to endure the ceaseless barrage of disparagement.

You were alone in the library at night, when you sensed an elusive presence that stirred the tranquil air.

It wasn't that the library was open at night, you often snuck in there from a secret path, finding the atmosphere of the silently library amusing, it became one of your nightly endeavours.

The muted glow of lanterns cast intricate shadows on the ancient bookshelves, creating an ambiance that heightened your awareness.

As you delicately turned the pages of an age-worn tome, the subtle rustle of paper seemed to echo louder in the stillness… An inexplicable awareness tingled at the nape of your neck, compelling you to glance over your shoulder.

Despite the initial surprise after seeing the figure that stepped into the pool of dim light, you decided to mask any reaction, adopting an air of nonchalance.

Because, you knew who it was.

You continued your perusal of the ancient tome, deliberately chose to ignore his presence.

Jungkook, sensing the deliberate indifference, cleared his throat as he leaned on the table in front of him.

You just gave a quick glance at his direction before continue your reading. You saw Jungkook’s eyes aglow with the flickering candlelight, he looked…handsome. You might fall in love if it weren’t for his arrogant nature.

“Seems like you’re quite fond of conversing with seniors. Is that how commoners like to elevate their status?”

There he goes again. Why can’t he keep his mouth shut?

Wait…why he is asking that?

It’s nothing like you both share a loving relationship, far from that. You both hated each other but despite the hatred, the burning desire and the tentative lust for each other was unexplainable.

The magnetic pull that neither of you could deny, at last gave in.

The first time he fucked you was the time, when you came in the second position of your test.

The rule was simple. The winner must take the lead.

It was quite exquisite seeing Jeon Jungkook squirming under your touch when you tied him up and kept him on the edge until he was begging underneath you, because he lost to you in a game of chess.

It was only this ‘physical’ relationship between you two besides the rivalry. So, why he sounded… jealous?

Nonetheless, you were quite enjoying it when you donned a smirk in response to Jungkook’s probing gaze. “Oh, didn’t realize my choice of conversation partners was under such intense scrutiny –,”

You moved towards the bookshelf beside Jungkook to grab an another ancient tome as you continued, “Namjoon? Just discussing the intricacies of life, you know, the stuff that doesn’t make it into noble conversations.” your words, laced with sarcasm, floated through the library.

You did had a conversation with Namjoon earlier, about the incident that happened before. He was worried about you. So, it was a normal decent conversation.

“ –also he was worried about my wellbeing.” You said as your fingers idly tracing the spines of the books. The calmness in your tone unwittingly added fuel to the simmering fire.

Jungkook’s jaw tenses, he retorted, “Seems like you’re building quite the support system among the nobles, ____.”

His constant insults only proves your theory further more, “It’s called having friends, Jeon Jungkook. Maybe you should try it sometime.” You subtly threw a smirk at his way before minding your own business.

This time, when you tried to move away from the spot you were standing, you felt a strong arm pulling you backwards.

“What friendship, ____? Where you fuck them?” His face was closer to yours, his warm breath hitting your face. You looked up at him and saw a intensity in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“Why do you care? Huh?” You stood firm on your toes, “That’s .None. Of. Your. Business!”

“It is. Because, I’m the only one who fucks you.”

He clenched his jaw, a subtle tension lingered in the air. You didn’t knew why he was acting the way he was acting, so you tried to push your body away from him.

It wasn't like it’s any of his business. You can have any kind of relationship with anyone, he was no one who could tell you otherwise. His oddly possessive behavior made you irritated further more.

“J- Jungkook –,” You tried to pull your hand out of his grip and pushed him back. Your hand was on his chest, you felt his muscles tenses under your touch, “–let go of my hand.”

Instead of doing that, he pushed your back onto the table beside you, caging your hands behind your back as your butt hit the edge of the table.

He didn’t said anything, just looked at your eyes with the same intensity and something your couldn’t decipher.

“Let me go!” You whisper-shouted at him.

“Kiss me and I will.”

You eyes widened at his words as you saw a devilish smirk on his face. He was clearly messing up with you. You pushed against him again, but he settled his one leg in between your thighs, further confining you in that position.

“Fuck off!” You retorted, annoyance etching your words.

In response, he countered with a smoldering gaze, “I shall if you ask nicely.”

His face more closer to yours, lips brushing against each other and the leg between your thighs slightly grind against your throbbing cunt, making you whimper in the process.

You didn’t held back yourself anymore as you smacked your lips on his.

As your lips collided, an intricate ballet of conflicting emotions played out. You sucked on his lips harder, so much so that it might leave brushes behind but he didn’t restricted you.

You heard him growl under his breath when you latched on his lower lip and pulled it down with your teeth.

You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was like you were hypnotized.

“I hate you.” You said in-between the kiss and he instantly responded, “The feelings are mutual.”

The intensity of the kiss grew even more when he grabbed your one leg, wrapping it around his waist. You could feel his boner right against you.

You grind on it, eliciting a hiss from him, moaning when you feel him growing harder underneath those clothes.

He deepened the kiss further, pushing further into your body. His hands comes down to your butt as he squeezes it.

Both of your tongue moved in a symphony, making you weak on your knees.

Then you did something. You grabbed his long locks in attempt to push in your tongue inside of his mouth but, in return, you received a harsh slap on your ass, along with a bite on your lower lip.

“Don’t even try, love.”

The moan that escaped from your mouth should be illegal, because the way Jungkook’s cock twitched and jumped in respond to that made him moan into your mouth.

You feel a gush of arousal approaching just from the name he called you. You knew he called you that mockingly but the things it does to you…it would rather be better if no one knows about that.

Pulling your head backwards by your hair, he started kissing your neck , leaving trails of colorful masterpieces on his way.

A reminder for you about your secret, which no one knows but you, the walls of these library and the man sucking your tits.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet.” The sounds you were making, was obscene. He twirls his tongue around your hardened bud, harshly sucking on it. Two of his fingers makes its way towards your throbbing pussy.

“You aren’t wearing any panties?” You didn’t understand why he was in disbelief. It’s night time, so, wasn't it obvious?

“Yes, because I was going to bed, you stupi–,” you gasped when he suddenly pushed his one finger inside, making you clench around it.

“Watch your mouth, love, or I might shut you up with something else.”

That jerk!

Before you could threw some insulting remarks towards him, he turned you around abruptly and made you spread your leg wide. You found support on the table in front of you, as you gripped on the edges of it for some support.

He pulled your nightgown all the way up to your waist. You couldn’t saw him in the dim light, but you felt the heat of his burning desire.

The library's dim light cast shadows that played upon the canvas of your unspoken desires.

You felt his fingers on your thighs as they tentatively draw patterns on your smooth skin, as he kissed your inner thighs, making you shut your eyes from the overwhelming sensations.

When you did looked back, you saw Jungkook on his knees as he fondle your ass feverously, his intense gaze focused on your soaking pussy.

“Wandering around like this? You are a little slut, aren’t you?” You mewl when he placed a kiss on your clit, so soft that you just felt the ghost of his lips but it was enough for you to threw your head back.

Without a warning, he started sucking you clit, twirling his tongue all over your cunt as if he just found his favorite desert.

“My little slut, only mine. Right, love?”

He was settled in between you thighs, both your legs on his shoulder.

When you look down on him, he was smirking at you while devouring your pussy like a starve man.

The subtle eye contact ignited something in you, he made you feel things you shouldn’t felt. The forbidden sense of this makes it more appealing as you couldn’t help but drawn to the this unspoken game of lust and desire.

You screw your eyes shut, gripping the table as you prepare yourself for the upcoming orgasm.

He brought his fingers to your clit and started rubbing it in a crisscross way while his tongue goes inside of you, fucking you on his tongue.

As soon as that hot muscle entered, you moaned out his name, unable to control yourself, your essence dripping all over his mouth as he kept on rubbing and tugging your clit with his fingers while his tongue explores your warm walls as he found that spot which made your brain numb.

And, he knew it.

He smirked when you gripped on his men bun, shoved his face further into pussy as you grind on his face, desperately chased you release.

He kept on hitting that spot until you were a whimpering mess, but as soon as he felt your orgasm approaching, he pulled back altogether.

The whine that escaped your mouth was desperate. Embarrassing. But, you didn’t care.

“What the fuck?”

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

Asshole.

He wanted you to admit, to submit to him. Admitting that you’re his, had always been a struggle for you. Why would you though, when you weren’t his? You never understood his obsession with making you admitting that.

It must be some sick power play for him, you thought.

“I’m not saying it, because I’m not yours.” You firmly stated, glaring down at him.

His eyes further hardened from the previous half lidded one, “Let’s see for how long you can stick to that.”

Again he goes back to his work, this time more rougher than before.

Every time, you came closer to your release, he pulled back and made you squirm in his hold.

At the last thrust of his tongue, you cried out, your cries resonated through out the empty hall of the library. You instantly slapped your hand over your mouth.

“Come on, love. Say it if you want to cum.”

He was determined about leaving you then and there, hot and messy with your dripping cunt if you weren’t tell him the words he wanted to heard. His stubbornness and competitive nature wasn’t anything new to you.

He again brought his hand to your abused pussy, but this time, he put his fingers in it while sucking on your pulsating bud, occasionally tugging and biting the bundle of nerves, making you go insane.

“Fuck. Please, please Jungkook, let me c-cum,”

You voice was whiney, your broken cries made his cock twitch in his pants once again, making him growl into your heat.

“Then say it –,” He smacked your ass, his teeth dragging all over your throbbing clit before tugging and sucking on it harshly, “Say that you’re mine.”

You gripped onto his hair, tugged on it as your thighs stared trembling along with your whole body, you were close.

This time, you gave up.

You pleaded to him, chasing your release once again.

“No no, O-okay, please I’m yours, I’m yours, jus–Just lemme cum.”

“Then, cum for me but look at me when you do. I wanna see your face”

You obliged without any obligations. You looked down at him, staring into his eyes as you saw his brows pinched together as his lips attached to your clit, while thrusting his fingers inside you as you cum around them, made them soaking wet with your essence, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as he watched your blessed out face with a smile on his face.

He didn’t stop though, until he drunk all of that you gave to him, slurping your essence, leaving you dry.

He was back on his toes as he turned you around. Your legs still trembling from the intense orgasm and overstimulation, he held you, encircled his hand around your waist and made you sit on top of the table.

You could see his face glistering with your essence, shining under the dim light, his piercing eyes staring at your soul as you saw he licked his lips with his half-lidded eyes and tousled hair from you gripping and tugging on it.

He was so hot that you didn’t knew if you wanted to kill him or kiss him.

He made it easier as he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking your essence of off it, then pulling you into a kiss.

An electric charge rushes through you as it seemed to dance across every inch of your body. You gasped, when you tasted your own cum on your tongue.

You were out of breath when he detached his lips from yours, both of you tried to breath in some air while you thought what the fuck you just did?

When he tried to caress your cheeks, you pushed him back, made him bewildered in the process.

“I-I have to leave.” You stumbled a bit on your steps but caught yourself before he could reach out.

“____...” It was surprisingly…tender, almost affectionate. It made you wonder if he genuinely felt remorse, maybe guilt?

“What went down earlier shouldn’t have, and I get that I said some hurtful things. But…honestly, if you weren’t mentioned my house, I wouldn’t have gone there and– I hope you know that…”

Oh, the irony! Expecting an apology from him?

His pride soared too high to grasp your emotions. He didn’t even considered the things he said to you, the things you had to heard because of him, how much you had to suffer.

Yes, you truly despise him and he is the reason behind that.

As you kept on walking out of the library, not sparing a glance back at him, unwilling to linger in the aftermath of his intensity.

“You are a fucking jerk, Jeon Jungkook and I hope you know that.”

The damage was done, and the scars of his callousness lingered.

Note: Let me know your thoughts on this and also, help me out with making the decision about if I should make this into a series or not. Like, is it worth it? Please let me know!!

#jungkook imagine #bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts #jungkook e2l au #fic: rivals in flight #jksian🤍

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noose-lion · 5 months

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Maybe it was just my childhood special interest in martial arts and combat, but the bsd fandom drives me absolutely crazy on how they talk about the characters.

Specifically in combat abilities, fighting 'stats', body builds, ect. ect.

I mostly blame the anime, because it made everyone into twigs, but still. Some of my fellow fans out there are sometimes outright drawing lines over a character in a manga panel and going 'Look at this snatched waist' all the while ignoring basic perspective and forshortening rules. Chuuya is victim to this a fuckton.

For a starting example I'll talk about Kunikida. (Because if I start with Dazai or Chuuya I'll get the "He's petite it's not a crime to call him that" hecklers again).

Because remember folks, no need to get heated about fictional characters that were made up to tell a story.

Kunikida is a martial artist. He has a strong center of gravity, and a great deal of muscle mass. He's shown, (even in the anime mind you), to be competent against opponents who have both the height and mass advantage (that one time he swapped with Dazai mid fight, doing the cool grappling hook switch thing). He's a tall guy and he's drawn in the main manga as very broad shouldered and thick limbed. He's your average combat driven male. Built like a boxer.

He's not really the main talking point I see though. He's usually never called petite or delicate or any of the, quite frankly, ridiculous descriptors for a man of his size and build. It's usually Chuuya and in extension Dazai.

First off, ripping the bandaid off quick and easy. Chuuya isn't petite. (Sure technically petite only means short, but ancient also technically only means old. It's about the connotation.)

Chuuya is also a martial artist. Unlike Kunikida, who relies heavily on grappling technique and using his opponents own momentum and mass against them (a defensive fighter) Chuuya is almost purely offensive (most defense being left to his ability). His center of gravity is less stagnate, more fluid. He's acts quickly, crushing his opponent with efficient and well calculated brute force. Chuuya's body build reflects this. He's got a strong torso and thick limbs, strong shoulders that are lined with cords of muscle that absorb the impact of his attacks. He uses his legs a lot, kicks and jumps, and there is muscle concentration in his thighs and calves as a result. In the main manga, he's drawn with a lean torso, broader shoulders and thicker thighs. He's got a baseball player or a mixed martial artist build. (Broad shoulders and large thighs paired with his choice of suit cut is what creates his 'hourglass figure' so many of yall are obsessed with.)

Second bandaid I'm ripping off. Dazai isn't weak or delicate or whatever, but he is not buff or a tank either. And against men built for combat like Kunikida and Chuuya he's at a fairly large disadvantage.

Most of the athletic ability we've seen Dazai exhibit is evasion based. In the main manga he's drawn broad shouldered and thin, usually cloaked by his coat. Dazai has lean, muscle concentration in his shoulders, upper back and core. He doesn't have the thicker limbs of a boxer or martial artist. He better resembles a swimmer, gymnast, or even rock climber. He's not a stick, as flat as he may be. He's also probably a good deal softer then his martial artist counterparts, not living the stricter healthy life style most martial artist adhere to. Dazai doesn't do well against large heavily muscled opponents, he just doesn't have the needed mass for it. If he doesn't get the upperhand quickly he will loose. Evident in how he struggled so much against that one guy he did the cool grappling hook swap thing with Kunikida.

All this to say, almost every individual in bsd is built for their combat filled life, specialized to fit their fighting styles. It's not a big deal, but I find such thinking and analysis fun.

#inkedmyheart's recent post had me once more thinking on this #bsd #my stuff #screaming into the void #and the void screams back #bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #soukoku #jester thinks #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd headcanon #bsd headcanons

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 3 months

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Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @humanpurposes. I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him.

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

Playing with Fire (part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

summary: Your wedding approaches along with the bedding ceremony and wedding night. Your husband has a delicious surprise prepared.

warnings: 18+ nsfw, explicit spicy scenes (p in v, all the bases being covered, oral, fingering), do not interact if you don't want spice

word count: 3.7k

note: thanks for being patient, I hope this gives you all the spicy feels!

read more of my work here! 💚

“I cannot believe this day has come,” your mother says, with tears in her eyes as she smoothes the gown you wear.

It is beautiful, a creamy ivory color made of silks that cling to every curve of your body, the skirts cascading towards the floor.

“Now, my darling,” your mother says, clasping her hands in yours, “there are responsibilities you need to attend to tonight.”

The bedding ceremony. When the lords and ladies who attend the feast tear at the bride and groom, ripping the silks from their bodies like paper from a package. Gooseflesh appears as you think about it.

“The marriage bed is nothing to be afraid of,” your mother assures you, eyes kind and warm.

You feel conflicted with the different stories you have heard from other ladies losing their maidenheads.

“Prince Aegon shall be kind to you,” your mother says, stroking your cheek.

Will he? Aegon is many things, but kind you are not sure is one of them. In fact, Aemond had told you as much.

The wedding ceremony itself is a blur, a whirlwind of silks and smiles as you are carted to the castle sept and presented before Aegon. You feel as though you are in a dream as he places the cloak of House Targaryen on your back.

Now you suppose you are a dragon as well.

Aegon smiles at you and kisses you sweetly as a prince should when your vows are spoken. His eyes are lustful, his smile predatory. Now he has you in his jaws, your neck stuck between his teeth. The feeling both terrifies and excites you.

“Congratulations, my lady,” Aemond says, giving you a soft smile later at the feast.

Your heart flutters hearing his voice. Aemond was rather stoic during the ceremony, keeping off to the side alongside his sister Helaena. You had tried speaking to him after your engagement was announced, but there never seemed to be time. Aemond was an evasive creature, hard to catch like one of Helaena’s butterflies.

“Aemond,” you breathe him in, “many thanks, my prince.”

You stand beside him in silence for a moment as the feast continues around you. Aemond places his hands behind his back as you take a sip from your cup.

“I must admit, I did not expect to be chosen,” you tell him, warm from the wine.

“You are an excellent choice,” Aemond insists, causing you to blush.

“You are too kind, my prince,” you tell him, “your flattery shall go to my head.”

“I should hope so,” Aemond says, causing you to look at him.

He notices your empty cup, before wrapping his fingers around it, expelling it from your grip. His fingers leave a tingling sensation behind on your own.

“You are a delightful woman, you should be understanding of that,” he continues, giving the cup to a servant who passes by.

You bashfully glance toward the floor. Aemond was a kind man, something you felt ashamed to admit you never thought of before meeting him. The tales of the cold prince fluttered throughout the ladies of court just as much as Aegon’s lecherous reputation.

“Are you nervous about your wedding night?” Aemond asks, and you feel yourself blush.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” you ask and he chuckles.

“You needn’t be afraid, my lady,” Aemond assures you.

There is a look in his violet eye, as though he is sure of the words he speaks. Without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that he speaks the truth. You wet your lips, looking toward the head table. Aegon is seated, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. He has just finished speaking with his mother when his gaze falls on you and Aemond.

Aegon’s eyes are half-lidded, and a lazy smile appears on his face revealing his teeth. A dragon lapping its jaws. His eyes flicker from you to Aemond, before he raises his goblet, as though toasting you both. You can feel your face drain of color.

You do hope you have not upset him.

“I suppose I should attend to my husband,” you tell Aemond, who nods in agreement. His gaze flickers about your face, as though attempting to read your thoughts.

Aegon stands when you reach him, arm lacing around your waist.

“What says, my brother?” Aegon murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear causing you to shiver.

“He wished to share his congratulations,” you inform him, as his hand reaches to stroke your cheek, maneuvering himself so he can continue to kiss your neck.

Something you’ve begun to learn about Aegon is that it is never just one kiss, a trail of them follows.

“Mhmm,” Aegon seems pleased by your answer, continuing his adoration of your neck, down to your collarbone.

You feel the color returning to your face, and spot Aemond watching from across the room. So very strange, you think to yourself, to always be passed between the stares of the dragon princes.

Later that night, the door closes behind Aegon, clicking shut.

Aegon circles you; he is a predator finally cornering his prey. His eyes hungrily indulge in your form that shows through your sheer shift. Your gown had been removed long ago, as lords prepared you for the bedding.

A chaotic moment it was, to feel tens of hands on you, pulling and tearing at the fabrics of your gowns, pulling the ornaments from your hair. Aegon was stripped as well, Cassandra Baratheon had pushed herself to the front helping herself to tear at the laces of his breeches.

Your skin feels hot under Aegon’s gaze now as you stand so bare before him, as though his eyes produce dragonfire searing your flesh.

You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling this burning for him.

Aegon walks over to you, only wearing a loose white shirt. He reaches for a cup that lies on the table, taking a quick sip, before holding it out to you.

You take it from him, mirroring his actions.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, voice rough with desire. He is clearly holding himself back from ravishing you on the stone floor.

You feel your cheeks grow warm. This is it, this is truly happening. You find yourself nodding, eyes cast toward the floor. You wish you were not so shy, so embarrassed under his gaze. You know his experience, and you wonder what he expects of you.

Aegon clicks his tongue, placing a finger underneath your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“There is no need to be,” he assures you, giving you a comforting grin.

You cannot help but smile back, there is something about Aegon that does that. He melts the fear from your body like freshly fallen snow. He cups your cheek with his hand, bringing your mouth to his.

The kiss is passionate, he slices your lips open with his tongue before plunging it into your mouth. The feeling of his tongue in your mouth sends a sharp feeling of desire trickling down your navel to the place beneath your small clothes. Aegon’s hands are very busy, the one that guides your face trails down to hold your waist, pressing you against him while the other cups your bottom.

All the while he is walking you backward, toward the bed. He is very skilled; you cannot help but notice how easy it is for him to guide you, to touch and squeeze you in places that have you gasping against his mouth.

“Do not be afraid,” Aegon murmurs, “I prepared this evening with only your utmost pleasure in mind.”

As he says this, his fingers find their way underneath your shift, touching you through your small clothes. He lets out a moan at the wetness he finds there, before pushing his fingers past the barrier, stroking them through your silky folds.

You let out a dramatic whine, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the lewd sound. Aegon merely takes this as encouragement, teasing at your entrance with his finger.

“I have to get you ready,” he tells you, through his kisses, before pushing a finger into your constricting, wet heat.

He curls the digit within you, pressing his thumb against the sensitive bud that lies at the top of your folds, causing you to writhe against him at the newfound bliss.

“That’s it,” he says, drinking in your mewls and moans, before slipping a second finger inside of you.

“Aegon, oh,” you moan against his mouth as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, slowly working you open. He sinks his teeth into your lower lip and something peaks inside of you, causing pleasure to roll across your skin, down your spine, all the way to your toes.

Your legs wobble, as Aegon leads you toward the bed, tearing your shift over your head, leaving you naked before him. His eyes trail down your figure, truly devouring you as though a man famished. A smile breaks out across his face.

“Lay back, my love,” he instructs, removing the remainder of his clothes as you obey him.

He climbs on top of you, kissing you again, lips trailing down your neck, over the swell of your breasts. He lavishes the peaks of your breasts with attention, tongue swirling around your nipples. You can feel his cock nudging at your entrance and take a breath.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, kissing the tip of your nose, “I’m right here with you, bite on me if you need.”

You nod as he begins to push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. It is much more than his fingers, and you find yourself taking him up on his offer, sinking your teeth into his shoulder.

Aegon whines at this, hips slapping against you. The pain ebbs at that moment, a wave of pleasure rolling through you.

You make love like that for quite some time, Aegon finding his release, emptying his seed deep within your womb. But he is not a man easily satisfied. Nearly moments after his release, his cock hardens, and he turns you around on your hands and knees to take you as though he is more beast than man.

You do not mind, the new position sends moans pouring from your mouth as he plows you into the feathered pillows.

There is a sharp knock on the door, causing your head to snap up. You turn slightly to look behind you at Aegon, panic flashing across your face. His smile is wide as he continues to drill into you so hard your arms shake trying to hold yourself up.

“Enter!” Aegon calls.

“Aegon!” you desperately call, earning a sharp slap on your backside.

What the seven hells is he doing?

The door is heard opening, and footsteps in the antechamber. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you can’t stop whimpering as Aegon’s cock splits you in two.

“Come in, come in,” Aegon says, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts harder, faster.

Your eyes are wide as you hold up your lolling head, prepared to meet the eyes of some knight who shall surely be utterly horrified at the sight of Prince Aegon ruining his new bride in this animalistic position.

You instead see Aemond Targaryen.

Shame courses through you, and you feel as though your entire body has ignited in flames. You meet his eye but quickly look away, letting your elbows fall into the feather mattress. Aegon’s strokes slow, but do not stop.

“Brother,” he says, rather formally, “was there something you needed?”

Aemond is staring at you, watching as you try to hide your face, your body from him.

“My lady,” Aemond addresses you directly. Always a polite man. Seven hells.

You do not answer, fingers clutching the sheets of the bed. Perhaps Aegon can fuck you so hard into the mattress you shall disappear altogether. Aegon has different plans. He tangles a hand in your hair, lifting your head, and forcing you to look at Aemond.

“My brother addressed you, dearest,” Aegon says, “do not be rude.”

A whimper leaves your lips.

“My prince,” you someone managed to say, as Aegon has begun to increase the rhythm of his strokes.

Aemond nods, slowly walking closer to the bed. You do not know where to look, you wish he would not approach you. Surely whatever he needed could be attained at a different time.

“Tell me, my lady,” Aegon asks, “do you think me unobservant?”

His fingers dig into your waist, as he snaps forward. Your head is spinning from the pleasure, the embarrassment, the excitement, and the confusion. Surely you are dreaming.

“What?” you ask, voice a strangled moan.

“I see the way you look at him,” Aegon says, a matter of factly, “much like how you look at me.”

Aemond is right in front of you now, watching as Aegon plunges himself into you. Your breath comes in pants, sure that Aegon is displeased, that he means to punish you in some way.

“Do you like how my brother fucks you?” Aemond asks, bringing a hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

The question stuns you. Tears spring from the corner of your eyes.

“Yes!” you cry out and Aemond hums at your response.

“I told you Aegon was not usually kind,” Aemond said, letting his thumb stroke over your bottom lip; a shiver rolls through you.

“She likes it, brother,” Aegon says, snapping his hips against you.

“I do,” you moan in agreement, as Aegon’s cock massages a spot within you that makes your vision blur and your thighs tremble.

“That’s it,” Aegon says, bringing his hand towards the apex of your thighs, using your slick arousal to fondle the precious pearl that lies hidden there.

You release a moan, a tangled mess of both their names.

“Hear that brother?” Aemond teases, “even with you inside of her she calls for me.”

Aegon yanks you up by your hair, a deliciously painful sensation on your scalp as he drags you flush against him. He remains nestled inside of you, as his lips find your ear.

“Do you like him better?” Aegon taunts, placing a wet kiss on your neck. You can feel his smile; he is teasing you, taunting you.

“No..” you moan, “I want…I-”

How can you possibly tell them what you want? What you desire?

“What dear wife?” Aegon says, lazily thrusting up into you, “tell me what you desire and I shall make it so.”

You whimper against him, as he holds your hips guiding them up and down on his thick shaft.

“I want you both,” you murmur, an embarrassed whisper.

The brothers are silent for a moment, the sound of soft, wet slapping the only noise in the room despite the small whimpers that leave your mouth.

“You heard her,” Aegon says, causing your eyes to snap open.

“Say it again,” Aemond demands, still standing at the foot of the bed, watching you intently.

“I want you both,” you repeat, more confidently this time.

“Greedy, greedy wife,” Aegon purrs, as his hand curls around your breast.

He lifts you from his cock, twisting you onto your back before re-entering you, placing one of your legs on his shoulder so he can thrust into you deeper. Your head hangs from the side of the bed, as he pounds into you.

“What am I to do with such a greedy, lustful wife?” he taunts, placing a kiss on your breast, and stretching your hamstring until the burn is almost unbearable.

You wonder if this is what it shall be like to be married to a Targaryen, always a constant state of burning.

“Brother?” he calls, never relenting his strokes, “help me with my wife, will you?”

Aemond moves to the side of the bed, and within an instance, his breeches fall revealing his cock. It is not as thick as Aegon’s though it still has a girth that makes your eyes widen.

“Get him ready,” Aegon tells you when you do nothing but gawk at Aemond’s cock that stands erect in front of you.

“How?” you ask, unsure of the next steps.

“With your mouth,” Aegon directs, “get him nice and ready and I’ll let him fuck you kindly.”

A thrill runs through you at the thought and Aemond steps forward. You unhook your jaw and let him slide his hot length through your parted lips.

Aemond’s pace is different than Aegon’s, as though he is holding back from fucking your throat relentlessly. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat causing you to gag.

Aegon moans at that.

“Do that again,” he says, lifting your leg off his shoulder to hold it in the air.

Aemond rolls his hips forward gently, causing you to gag again. Aegon groans at the noise.

“Fuck that’s a pretty sound,” Aegon moans, rolling his hips in such a way that makes your toes curl with pleasure.

“Seven hells,” Aemond hisses when you hollow your cheeks, and experiment with moving your tongue.

Aemond brings his hands to your breasts, tweaking and pinching your pebbled nipples.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Aegon says, “I knew the moment I saw her I had to have her.”

“As did I,” Aemond says, causing you to whimper around his cock.

You feel so unbelievably full from both ends, unaware that it was possible to feel this amount of pleasure. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, as you feel Aegon’s thumb begin to circle the sensitive pearl at the apex of your thighs.

You feel your thighs begin to tremble, as Aegon continues his attention. Your moans and gags grow louder around Aemond’s cock, the room filling with wet sounds. The pleasure builds and you find your release, cunt clenching around Aegon’s cock. He makes a breathless noise as he feels you tighten around him.

“Seven hells,” Aegon moans, before unsheathing himself from you, “what a good girl you are.”

You cannot answer, due to Aemond’s cock in your mouth and your hazy brain coming down from your orgasm. Aegon chuckles.

“Go on then,” he says to Aemond, “be sweet to her.”

Aegon climbs off the bed, positioning himself in a chair, and fisting his still-hard cock. Aemond removes his cock from your mouth, a trail of spit connecting you to the tip. Aegon bites his lip at the sight.

Aemond maneuvers you on the bed, gently cradling your head until it rests on a pillow. His touch is different from Aegon’s, not as rough, not as hasty. You look at your husband, his eyes are dark with lust.

“What about you?” you ask, voice shaky. He grins at your words, head tilting backward.

“I know,” he purrs, “I’m being awfully generous, and on my wedding night as well.”

He pumps his cock again using the slick from your cunt, his flushed tip weeping precum.

“You are my wife,” Aegon says, as though reminding you.

You turn your head toward Aemond, who now hovers above you.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, eye flickering to your lips.

What an odd question to ask when his cock has already been in your mouth.

“Yes,” you breathe, and Aemond leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss.

You can feel his thighs brush against yours, his heavy cock nudging your legs apart. He reaches a hand down, barely having to try with how wet you are, sliding inside your tight warm heat with ease.

You moan against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. Aemond is different, he feels different inside of you. He slowly rolls his hips against you, a gentle, even pace that has you clutching the hair at the nape of his neck.

Aemond moves his mouth to your neck, kissing the hot flesh. Your head turns to the side, watching Aegon tug himself at the sight of Aemond fucking you. His mouth hangs open, lips curling into a smirk. Aemond’s head is buried in the other side of your neck, his pants music to your ears.

You drop a hand from Aemond’s shoulders, reaching toward Aegon. He rises from the chair almost instantly and you wrap your hand around his neck. He covers your mouth in a hot kiss, laying beside you. Aemond lifts himself up, before unsheathing himself from you, laying on the other side.

You turn to face Aegon, as Aemond lifts your leg, to continue to fuck you as you lay on your side. Your mouth falls open at a new angle, the tightness allows your cunt to swallow Aemond’s cock.

Aegon kisses you, his hand reaching between your legs. A desperate moan is swallowed by your husband, and you reach your hand to stroke him as well.

“That's it,” he says against your mouth. Aemond bites into your shoulder.

“Gods,” you breathe a pathetic whine that causes both men to chuckle.

“Close,” Aegon murmurs, “this is how a queen should be treated. Do you agree?”

You nod desperately.

“You are a dream,” Aegon purrs, “a delectable dream.”

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, you feel Aemond find his release as well, spilling his hot seed inside of you.

Aegon continues rubbing you until you’re pushing against him, pleading with him to release you. He does not, only rolls you off Aemond’s softening cock and onto his, having you straddle him. Aegon pulls you down, not allowing you to ride him (that shall be for another occasion). Instead, he holds you flat against his chest, beginning to jackhammer up into you, chasing his release.

You become a babbling mess, clenched so tightly when Aegon finds his release, your cunt milking him for all he is worth. You droop off of Aegon, falling in the space between the brothers, shaking from the pleasure you received, their mingled releases spilling from your entrance.

You feel Aemond place a gentle kiss on your shoulder, as Aegon moves a strand of hair from your brow.

“I am afraid some of my reputation, holds water,” Aegon admits, fingers trailing down your chest.

You hum, unable to form words.

“But I am not a selfish lover,” Aegon continues, “you are my wife, and I shan’t deny what brings you pleasure.”

You can feel Aemond growing hard again, as his cock presses against your backside. Aegon’s hand cups your breast, squeezing it softly.

“Is that alright?” Aegon asks, though his amused expression seems to already know the answer.

You flutter your lashes at him, leaning into Aemond, before answering with a tired smile and a nod.

It was to be a long night, shared between the dragon princes.

note: I couldn't pick and I wanted both SUE ME 😤😩🥵

taglist: @afro-hispwriter, @aemondsb1tch, @twobluejeans, @s0urmarvel, @fan-goddess, @the-phantom-of-arda, @cicaspair418, @loxbbg, @arraxthatsonjah, @missbeeentertainment, @maximizedrhythms, @xdeath-soulx , @wrendermeuseless, @hiatuswhore, @sho1407, @minttea07, @arkainea, @elissanatok, @alitaar, @bellaisasleep, @itsleniiilosers, @cassiopeia-black-brenda, @bogwaterswamp, @applepie02, @youngestxhearts, @aurabluestar, @watersquirtpewpewboomm, @w3ird11, @minttea07, @hopebaker, @banana-man0, @m1ndbrand @itsleniiilosers, @for-fuck-sake-im-alive, @duckworthbean, @lunamadhatter99, @mss-nthng, @heavenly1927,@jamespotterismydaddy, @f4ll-for-you, @yentroucnagol, @crazylokonugget, @ugh-my-back, @sweetniasblog @herfantasyworldd, @here-for--the-fun, @zoleea-exultant, @howdoichangemynameto, @wasntpriscilla, @avadakadabra93, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @i-killed-ramsey

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dgrailwar · 6 days

Text

Round 3, Day 2 - ALL TEAMS (Extra Summon - Tempest)

The lone Faker stood in the midst of the storm, awaiting whoever was to challenge her.

A figure, spiraling down from the heavens and striking at the Faker. The Alter-Ego, beautiful and proud, engaged in swift close combat as her bladed legs danced against the sparking metal of the Faker's sword. They seemed to be evenly matched, as the Alter-Ego laughed.

"I don't get what all the fuss is about--! I could handle you by myself, you know?"

"Alter-Ego… I like that warrior's confidence, but it won't be enough!"

The Faker's eyes flashed, the Alter-Ego's movements slowing in a critical moment as she was struck off the chariot, only recovering fast enough to safely land on the ground to regroup. The chariot wheeled downwards, charging at the Alter-Ego before a gust of wind threw it off course, the Faker's attention turning to another Servant. The MoonCancer, hovering in the air with massive flapping elephant ears, venting to nobody in particular.

"Gh… why couldn't I have 'support-type' build? Then I could just hang back and throw out buffs while everyone else got in close with the fighting. Ahh-- whatever! If I'm a tank, then I'm a tank! Let's draw some aggro!"

With the Faker's attention drawn elsewhere, two more Servants rushed into the fray.

"The sound of lightning…!"

"Come, o' Blade of Flames!"

Two attacks, simultaneously struck at the Faker. One, a glittering roseate fencing blade thrust forward. Second, a dark saber of cursed flames slashed downward. Both attacks forced the rider of the skeletal chariot to reel, as she retaliated with her own sword, knocking them both away with a thunderous strike as they both spiraled in the air, struggling to catch themselves.

"Uwaah--! That sword… is fast…!" "Hahaha! She's a bit tougher than a standard Heroic Spirit! Good! Very good!"

On the ground, two Servants watched. One of them, a Pretender in a white cloak, held out his hands as magic sparkled outward, providing energy to the direct combatants as they fought against the Faker. The second, a Ruler wearing a heavy blue cloak against the storm, was waving her banner proudly, light shining from her body.

"You must be the Ruler, looking at how proudly you're waving that flag. I didn't take a Ruler for one to want a reward."

"I don't care for the reward, just for solving this Grail War. This battle... we'll have to work together, but by some metric one of us will be determined as 'the best'."

"An 'MVP', perhaps?" The Pretender chuckled. "So, nobody can afford to sandbag either. Everybody wants to be a winner, right? Even someone like you can't afford to lose."

She slammed down her banner, the harsh rainfall temporarily broken by golden light that pierced through like an arrow, covering all the participating Servants against the Faker-Class.

"You're right, I don't want to lose either...so, let's give it our all! Come, Faker! Let the battle begin!"

"Hahaha! Now this is what I love to see! In this bout, I shall serve as your seventh! So come, show me that warrior spirit! The greatest of you will face glory, and the cowardly will face punishment! Warriors of the Extra-Class, Mages of the modern era, distant as you may ever be-- show me your resolve, and Faker will return it in kind!"

Due to the presence of all participating Servants everyone is put on fair ground! No boosts or demerits apply, the results are what they are!

The Servant who does the most against Faker (as in, gets 1st Place) wins!

SCORING:

1st Place will receive a boost of their choosing from an assortment for their next round!

2nd Place will not receive any rewards, but evade punishment!

3rd through 5th Place will gain a -2% demerit during their next round! These demerits bypass any resistances!

Last place will gain a wound that bypasses any damage evasion passives!

#extra summon event #combat phase poll #team avenger #team mooncancer #team foreigner #team pretender #team alter ego #team ruler

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fatehbaz · 1 year

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"Abolition forgery":

So, observers and historians have, for a long time, since the first abolition campaigns, talked and written a lot about how Britain and the United States sought to improve their image and optics in the early nineteenth century by endorsing the formal legal abolition of chattel slavery, while the British and US states and their businesses/corporations meanwhile used this legal abolition as a cloak to receive credit for being nice, benevolent liberal democracies while they actually replaced the lost “productivity” of slave laborers by expanding the use of indentured laborers and prison laborers, achieved by passing laws to criminalize poverty, vagabondage, loitering, etc., to capture and imprison laborers. Like, this was explicit; we can read about these plans in the journals and letters of statesmen and politicians from that time. Many "abolitionist" politicians were extremely anxious about how to replace the lost labor. This use of indentured labor and prison labor has been extensively explored in study/discussion fields (discourse on Revolutionary Atlantic, the Black Atlantic, the Caribbean, the American South, prisons, etc.), Basic stuff at this point. Both slavery-based plantation operations and contemporary prisons are concerned with mobility and immobility, how to control and restrict the movement of people, especially Black people. After the “official” abolition of slavery, Europe and the United States then disguised their continued use of forced labor with the language of freedom, liberation, etc. And this isn't merely historical revisionism; critics and observers from that time (during the Haitian Revolution around 1800 or in the 1830s in London, for example) were conscious of how governments were actively trying to replicate this system of servitude..

And recently I came across this term that I liked, from scholar Ndubueze Mbah.

He calls this “abolition forgery.”

Mbah uses this term to describe how Europe and the US disguised ongoing forced labor, how these states “fake” liberation, making a “forgery” of justice.

But Mbah then also uses “abolition forgery” in a dramatically different, ironic counterpoint: to describe how the dispossessed, the poor, found ways to confront the ongoing state violence by forging documents, faking paperwork, piracy, evasion, etc. They find ways to remain mobile, to avoid surveillance.

And this reminds me quite a bit of Sylvia Wynter’s now-famous kinda double-meaning and definition of “plot” when discussing the plantation environment. If you’re unfamiliar:

Wynter uses “plot” to describe the literal plantation plots, where slaves were forced to work in these enclosed industrialized spaces of hyper-efficient agriculture, as in plots of crops, soil, and enclosed private land. However, then Wynter expands the use of the term “plot” to show the agency of the enslaved and imprisoned, by highlighting how the victims of forced labor “plot” against the prison, the plantation overseer, the state. They make subversive “plots” and plan escapes and subterfuge, and in doing so, they build lives for themselves despite the violence. And in this way, they also extend the “plot” of their own stories, their own narratives. So by promoting the plot of their own narratives, in opposition to the “official” narratives and “official” discourses of imperial states which try to determine what counts as “legitimate” and try to define the course of history, people instead create counter-histories, liberated narratives. This allows an “escape”. Not just a literal escape from the physical confines of the plantation or the carceral state, an escape from the walls and the fences, but also an escape from the official narratives endorsed by empires, creating different futures.

(National borders also function in this way, to prevent mobility and therefore compel people to subject themselves to local work environments.)

Katherine McKittrick also expands on Wynter's ideas about plots and plantations, describing how contemporary cities restrict mobility of laborers.

So Mbah seems to be playing in this space with two different definitions of “abolition forgery.”

Mbah authored a paper titled ‘“Where There is Freedom, There Is No State”: Abolition as a Forgery’. He discussed the paper at American Historical Association’s “Mobility and Labor in the Post-Abolition Atlantic World” symposium held on 6 January 2023. Here’s an abstract published online at AHA’s site: This paper outlines the geography and networks of indentured labor recruitment, conditions of plantation and lumbering labor, and property repatriation practices of Nigerian British-subjects inveigled into “unfree” migrant “wage-labor” in Spanish Fernando Po and French Gabon in the first half of the twentieth century. [...] Their agencies and experiences clarify how abolitionism expanded forced labor and unfreedom, and broaden our understanding of global Black unfreedom after the end of trans-Atlantic slavery. Because monopolies and forced labor [...] underpinned European imperialism in post-abolition West Africa, Africans interfaced with colonial states through forgery and illicit mobilities [...] to survive and thrive.

---

Also. Here’s a look at another talk he gave in April 2023.

[Excerpt:]

Ndubueze L. Mbah, an associate professor of history and global gender studies at the University at Buffalo, discussed the theory and implications of “abolition forgery” in a seminar [...]. In the lecture, Mbah — a West African Atlantic historian — defined his core concept of “abolition forgery” as a combination of two interwoven processes. He first discussed the usage of abolition forgery as “the use of free labor discourse to disguise forced labor” in European imperialism in Africa throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. Later in the lecture, Mbah provided a counterpoint to this definition of abolition forgery, using the term to describe the ways Africans trapped in a system of forced labor faked documents to promote their mobility across the continent. [...]

Mbah began the webinar by discussing the story of Jampawo, an African British subject who petitioned the British colonial governor in 1900. In his appeal, Jampawo cited the physical punishment he and nine African men endured when they refused to sign a Spanish labor contract that differed significantly from the English language contract they signed at recruitment and constituted terms they deemed to be akin to slavery. Because of the men’s consent in the initial English language contract, however, the governor determined that “they were not victims of forced labor, but willful beneficiaries of free labor,” Mbah said.

Mbah transitioned from this anecdote describing an instance of coerced contract labor to a discussion of different modes of resistance employed by Africans who experienced similar conditions under British imperialism. “Africans like Jampawo resisted by voting with their feet, walking away or running away, or by calling out abolition as a hoax,” Mbah said.

Mbah introduced the concept of African hypermobility, through which “coerced migrants challenged the capacity of colonial borders and contracts to keep them within sites of exploitation,” he said.] [...] Mbah also discussed how the stipulations of forced labor contracts imposed constricting gender hierarchies [...]. To conclude, Mbah gestured toward how the system of forced labor persists in Africa today, yet it “continues to be masked by neoliberal discourses of democracy and of development.” [...] “The so-called greening of Africa [...] continues to rely on forced labor that remains invisible.” [End of excerpt.]

---

This text excerpt from: Emily R. Willrich and Nicole Y. Lu. “Harvard Radcliffe Fellow Discusses Theory of ‘Abolition Forgery’ in Webinar.” The Harvard Crimson. 13 April 2023. [Published online. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

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blue--ingenue · 9 months

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"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 5

Read the next part

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: i apologize for the long wait, but this is also the longest chapter yet, so i hope that makes up for it :) oh, boy. seb is Messy and smitten and definitely isn't picking up on Ominis' sarcasm. this fic would be so much shorter if our boy knew how to talk about his feelings, but fortunately unfortunatly this is not the case, so here we are. anyway, eat up, and let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Sebastian had become distant. One day he was walking her to her dormitory after dinner, like he always insisted upon doing, and the next morning he was avoiding her like the plague. His absence was so complete that she couldn’t even approach him to ask what was bothering him. He would slip through the door the second each of their shared classes was over and she’d be lucky just to catch a glimpse of him in the halls, if at all. After three days of frustratingly trying to track him down, she resorted to sending him an owl. She felt absolutely ridiculous as she scrawled a hasty ‘Meet me in the Undercroft after dinner. I need to know that you aren’t truly avoiding me.’

They had been practically inseparable for the past few years, and now here she was, sending him post as though they didn’t live beneath the same roof. She held her quill just above the scrap of parchment before adding ‘Please.’ There. He’d never denied her anything before, but she wasn’t about to take her chances. Not when she missed him so. The subtle begging tone in her message was the last weapon she had left in her arsenal. After impatiently blowing on the drying ink, she folded the note and held it out for Astra to clutch. As her owl flew off with the desperate message she silently hoped today would be the last day she endured his absence.

Wind snapped the tails of Sebastian’s robe as he pushed his broom to fly faster. He’d pushed his goggles to the top of his head to keep his curls from blocking his vision, which meant that every gust of air sent his eyes watering over and over again. He didn’t care. The sting was a welcome sensation that kept him grounded as torrents of confounding emotions roiled through his mind. Ever since his earth-shattering revelation in Potions, Sebastian had steered clear of her. He was hanging onto a ledge, torn between telling her and swallowing down his affections lest she see him as nothing more than a friend. He could feel the gravity of the former option dragging at his resolve, but the fear of rejection was a far more vicious motivator to keep hanging on.

He curled his fist tighter around his bat, leather gloves creaking under the strain. This was the last bit of practice he’d get before the anticipated Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match this afternoon and he didn’t intend to squander it. The two bludgers he’d charmed to fly about and aim at him were circling just beneath. He pulled his arm in and back, preparing to deflect as the wind whistled and parted around the first bludger shooting toward him. He waited until it was just barely within arms’ reach - and felt a satisfying crack as his bat made contact. He had half a mind to fling every bludger right into Weasley’s stupid charming face. He knew he harbored feelings for his Gryffindor. Nobody looks at mere friends the way he had gazed at her in Potions. He would know.

And the way she had frantically ripped his cloak from his body? He knew she had only done it to spare the rest of him from getting burned, but that didn’t stop Sebastian’s jealous mind from twisting the image into an entirely different possibility. Every night since The Incident his dreams had been plagued by thoughts of her ripping into the rest of Weasley’s clothes. Not in the Potions classroom, but somewhere far more intimate. Flashes of him kissing her senseless, of her gasping Weasley’s name, taunted nearly every waking moment. It was torture of the highest degree. Between the terror of losing her, the fledgling hope of letting himself love her, and every anguishing emotion in-between, Sebastian was an utter wreck.

It was like someone had struck him senseless and set him in the center of the Forbidden Forest telling him to find his way out without a wand. And so rather than choose a direction, he chose to stay right where he was. Avoiding the problem also, unfortunately, meant avoiding her. The logical, and by far the most terrifying, course of action would be to just tell her. Maybe she could let him down easy, and after a few weeks of awkwardness things could go back to the way they were before he - what? Before he bared his heart to her? Confessed that he’s loved her the entire time but he was too much of a bloody coward to say anything? No chance. Sebastian Sallow was known for many things, but not one of them was taking the easiest way out. He pulled off his goggles and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Despite the ache in both arms he felt more than prepared for the afternoon. He shifted his weight forward, angling the broom into an easy descent and hovering an inch above the ground.

“Sallow!” a voice called to him from the entrance to the pitch. Imelda was waving him over, broom in hand and fully dressed in her captain’s uniform. Behind her the rest of the team were filing onto the pitch, setting their brooms down and stretching in the grass. He willed his broom forward and closed the distance between them in a single fluid motion.

“I admire your dedication, but you should’ve been saving your strength for the match,” she chided him. He pulled his quidditch gloves from his hands as he dismounted and the broom fell the last few inches onto the grass with a soft thump.

“I was just about to head in for breakfast,” he explains. She cocks a brow at him, which is typically the sign that he’s missing something crucial.

“Sallow, it’s just past lunch. The match starts in less than an hour.”

What? That couldn’t be right. He thrust his hand into his pocket to check his watch and - Shit. He’d left it in the changing rooms. Imelda rolled her eyes without malice and pulled out two paper-wrapped packages. The smell of roast beef had him accepting both packages without thinking.

“Lucky for you, someone was keeping tabs on whether you’d eaten or not,” she scoffs as he unwraps the sandwich.

“Thanks, Imelda,” he says, truly meaning it, as he takes a greedy bite out of the roast beef sandwich. It’s his favorite, with a generous slather of mustard holding the thick-cut beef between slices of tomato, lettuce, and still-warm bread.

He scarfs down the first bite, intending to ask how she knew what his go-to meal was when she says, “I’m merely the messenger. She’s been looking for you all day. And with how tense things seem between the two of you, I figure you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

He freezes mid-chew and gulps the rest of the mouthful down. His stomach turns as his hunger dissipates and guilt settles in its place. Imelda clocks his change in demeanor and holds up a hand, silencing him before he can speak.

“Whatever the two of you have going on, it has to wait until after the match. I can’t afford to have you distracted today. Can I count on you?”

He pushes an affirmative around the lump forming in his throat and she relaxes, satisfied with his answer. As her form retreats toward the changing tents he rewraps the sandwich and carefully unwraps the second package. A vanilla scone sits nestled in the wax paper. The icing and butter slathered across the top have barely melted, which meant she must’ve waited until the house elves apparated a fresh batch just to grab him one. He shuts his eyes and groans.

“I’m such an ass,” he tells the heavens.

“Indeed. Though I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to reach that conclusion,” a posh voice admonishes from behind him. He turns to face Ominis, the scone still clutched in his hand. The familiar red light pulses from the tip of his wand and he frowns.

“I’m guessing from the scent of vanilla that Imelda has passed on our mutual friend’s peace offering. Though from what I’ve heard, she isn’t the one who should be extending an olive branch,” he continues.

“I swear I meant to talk to her this morning. I just lost track of time,” he explains. Ominis sighs, a recurring sound that’s beginning to grate on Sebastian’s nerves despite the fact that he deserves every one of them. Ominis is her second-favorite Slytherin (after Sebastian, of course), and he finds it odd that they didn’t arrive at the stadium together.

“Hold on, she is coming today, isn’t she?” he asks. Surely his recent antics weren’t enough to drive her away from the match? Ominis cocks a brow before confirming.

“She is. She told me that ‘nothing could keep her from cheering on her favorite beater’. Apparently she’s been making her own jersey to wear to the match with his last name on the back and everything.”

His whole body tenses and suddenly he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Someone has lit a match in his chest, and every heartbeat spreads the thick, choking envy through every inch of him until it’s all he can think about. So he hadn’t imagined their affections yesterday. The gratification of being right is immolated by the raw jealousy drowning him breath by breath. He hears a high, incredulous laugh leave his lips and a hollow ringing in his head. Of course she would be cheering for Weasley. He could see her right now, clear as day, scrawling his name across a crimson jersey before pulling it on and skipping to the pitch. She wanted to cheer for Weasley? Fine. Victory would feel all the sweeter when Slytherin beat Gryffindor into the ground today.

He clenches his fists and balls up the untouched scone with the rest of the wax paper. “Whatever. I don’t know what she sees in that arrogant sod,” he spits.

“Me neither,” Ominis sighs. Sebastian allows himself to relish the miniscule victory. At least one person was on his side today.

Imelda had the team warm up by taking a few laps about the pitch for the next half hour. They were now huddled in the locker tent with Imelda standing before a blackboard laden with the maneuvers that were already drilled into their muscle memory. Although the flap was closed for privacy, the buzz of incoming students adding to an already-packed crowd told him they’d have quite the audience. Sebastian rolled his shoulders back and ran a hand through his hair. Good. He thrived under an audience. Imelda finished explaining a last offensive tactic to the other Chasers before turning to address the whole team.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how important this match is. Not only for our House, but for yourselves as well. If you want to represent Slytherin at the inter-school Championships, you need to play flawlessly. Not that I expect any less on any given day, of course,” she declared. Various noises of assent filled the room. She held every gaze with undivided attention. Although he and Imelda frequently bickered, he greatly admired her ability to galvanize a crowd. Seemingly satisfied with their response, she tightened her gloves and walked to grab her broom from where it was propped against a bench.

“Good. Now let’s get out there and show those amateurs how a real team wins a quidditch match.”

A round of cheers filled the tent as the rest of the players grabbed their brooms and made final adjustments to their uniforms and gear. Sebastian heard a deafening roar before Everett Clopton’s amplified voice announced the members of the Gryffindor team. Upon hearing Weasley’s name he adjusted the strap on his left glove, deciding then and there to channel every bit of his anger and frustration into playing the best game of his life. Beside him the other Slytherin Beater, Amelia Nichols, nudged his arm.

“Rough night, Sallow?” she asked. The scowl that seemed permanently seared onto his face at any mention of Weasley must have tipped her off.

“Just more than ready to blow off a bit of steam,” he grumbled. She snorted and went back to adjusting her gloves. “You and me both.”

The team lined up in their usual pre-flight formation, awaiting Everett’s announcement. He mounted his broom next to Amelia and gripped the handle, hovering a few inches above the ground. He heard Clopton announce Imelda as the Slytherin captain, and they pushed off. As soon as the tent flaps dropped back into place behind them, he couldn’t help the grin that took over his face. The crowd was huge. It looked like the entire school had turned up for the match. Sebastian let the adrenaline sing through his blood as they made their lap around the stadium. Students cheered as they flew past and he let the wind whip his curls into a frenzy. Sebastian hadn’t had the chance to fly before coming to Hogwarts. Though his parents owned a few brooms, he was too young to ride when they were still alive. And buying a broom had been out of the question when he and Anne moved into Solomon’s humble one-room cottage.

Whipping through the air hundreds of feet above the ground made him feel invincible. In control. He felt far away from any problems that sank their claws into him the second his feet touched the ground. The raw power and adrenaline from exerting control over something so dangerous was addictive. He knew he looked damn good while doing it, and it certainly helped to have an audience, especially one as large as this.

“And bringing up the defense are Beaters Amelia Nichols and Sebastian Sallow!” Everett boomed. At that Sebastian blew an exaggerated kiss toward the Slytherin stands. Imelda turned just enough to roll her eyes at him from the front of their formation before stopping in the center of the pitch. The team drifted down as one toward Madam Kogawa and the case he knew held the bludgers and snitch. The quaffle was already in her hand, and as soon as all players were within earshot she began repeating her usual pre-game reminders. But Sebastian wasn’t listening. His eyes were scanning the section of the Gryffindor stands she always sat in. She’d chosen it during his first practice. As soon as Imelda had released them he’d flown up to meet her. She wanted to make sure he could always look to the same spot, something about making it easy for him to find her so that he could focus more on the game. But as his eyes settled on her spot he saw that it had been taken up by a few Gryffindors whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn.

The sting of disappointment flared into white-hot fury as his gaze landed on Weasley. He looked like he’d slept like a baby the night before. He was laughing at something one of the other Chasers had said, laughing without a care in the world. Prat, he thought. He decided then and there to aim every bludger at Weasley’s stupid grinning face. His stomach lurched as he remembered Ominis’ words. ‘Making her own jersey…with his last name on it.’

Of course. She must’ve chosen a new spot, one where her precious Garreth could spot her. He’d probably go wild the second he saw his name written across her. Sebastian didn’t realize he’d been pinning Weasley with a death glare until Amelia prodded him with her bat.

“You alright?” as asked. He nodded tersely and gripped his bat until his knuckles cracked.

Two could play at this game. A shrill whistle pierced the crowd’s roar and he shot into the air.

By the last quarter of the game both teams remained locked in a deadly tie. They’d been neck and neck at 120 points for the last half hour, and if the Gryffindor Keeper didn’t slip up at some point, their only hope of victory lay with Will catching the snitch. Sebastian cruised alongside Imelda and another Chaser, shielding them for any bludgers that may try to knock them off their warpath to the Gryffindor goalposts. He hears the telltale whistle and raises his arm instinctively, smacking the bludger away from his teammates. It hurtles back toward the Gryffindor Beater who’d sent it their way. His eyes narrowed. Weasley.

The menace had the audacity to shrug his shoulders. “No harm no foul, Sallow!” he called as he zipped away.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and scanned the skies for the second bludger. As soon as it was once again struck their way he pulled his arm back, waited until it was a hair’s breadth from striking him, and smacked it toward the Gryffindor goalpost. The opposing Keeper ducked out of the way and the bludger struck the post, where his head had been a mere moment ago. That moment was all Imelda needed to toss the quaffle through the center hoop. It flew through and the resultant ding told him they were now ahead by ten points. If they could maintain their lead for the next five minutes, victory was theirs.

Once Imelda and the two Chasers flying behind her were clear of the goal posts he gripped his broom handle and pulled up, flying well above the other players to scope out where he was needed. His eye caught on Henry, a fifth-year Chaser, who was doing his damndest to avoid being beheaded by one of the bludgers. Amos, the second Gryffindor Beater, seemed to be targeting the boy despite the fact that the quaffle was on the other side of the pitch. Sebastian shifted all his weight forward and dove for Henry, bat gripped firmly in hand. As he descended he looked to see if Weasley was complicit in the unnecessary attack, but the ginger was across the pitch defending his teammates. He flicked his gaze back to Henry and time seemed to slow. From this angle he’d have no time to duck and the damn ball would hit him square in the chest. Sebastian didn’t have to do the math to know that he wouldn’t walk away without a few broken ribs, at the very least. Without thinking, he threw himself in front of his teammate and prepared to swing. He never got the chance to strike.

The air was punched violently from his lungs as the bludger hit him square in the diaphragm. In the second after impact he felt like retching as his vision whited out. He couldn’t breathe. Dully, he felt himself slam back into Henry, who gave way easily as he was knocked clean off his broom. He heard the crowd gasp as the Chaser plummeted toward the ground in freefall. Forcing air into his lungs he pushed himself forward until he was shooting downward at a near vertical angle. Mere meters before Henry hit the ground Sebastian caught him with two arms around his midsection and pulled out of the dive. He landed roughly in the grass with Henry safe in his arms, and froze on the pitch, dazed. Between the pulsating pain and his spotty vision he barely noticed the game had ended until Madam Blainey was pulling his teammate from his arms. She hastily thrust a vial of wiggenweld into his arms before attending to the unconscious Chaser. He uncorked the potion and downed it, nearly vomiting at the fresh waves of pain paralyzing him with each swallow.

His teammates landed behind him and he registered shouts as his hearing came back in full force. Above the roar of the crowd Imelda was thumping him on the back.

“You’re a bloody madman, Sallow!” she crowed. Around him the rest of the team were congratulating him for his heroics. Although the pain was ebbing, he still felt a bit dazed from the adrenaline rush.

Amelia ran up to Sebastian, pulling him into a hug and shouting, “We won!” He returned the hug gingerly, and erupted into a coughing fit when she squeezed him fiercely. At his gasps she pulled away, apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry! I nearly forgot with all the excitement! Are you alright? Do you want me to fetch another wiggenweld?” She sounded genuinely panicked enough that Sebastian grasped her gently by the shoulders. He shook his head as his coughs subsided, trying to reassure her that he was on the mend.

“I’ll be alright. Honest,” he managed between gasps. She shook her head and pushed back his sweat-slicked hair. The warmth of the gesture was not lost on him, and he froze, watching her face shift from worried to…fond? And was she blushing before? Maybe he was just imagining things, shock and all. He realized his arms were still on her shoulders as she stepped closer to him, nearly flush with his chest. He gulped.

“That rescue was incredible. Incredible, and stupid, and brave. Are you sure you’re not a Gryffindor?” she asked, smiling coyly up at him. For the first time Sebastian realized he towered over her by at least a head. She was so close he could smell her perfume, floral and heady, with a hint of vanilla. He parted his lips to answer, but fell short as he caught sight of Weasley. He was scanning the crowd of students that had stormed the field as soon as Clopton announced Slytherin’s victory. He was searching for something, or rather, someone. His Gryffindor. The one who irrevocably held his heart and was currently wearing his name across her body. The prat didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed at his own team’s loss. Something wicked licked up his spine. He let his gaze drift back down to Amelia, who was gazing at his lips with hungry eyes.

He felt himself crossing an invisible threshold into somewhere wicked and vengeful. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, the action hollow as some part of him registered that the color was all wrong.

“Fancy a victory kiss?” he asked, his voice low and rasping. Her lips curled into a hungry smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

At that he threaded a hand through her hair, shut his eyes despite the voice screaming wrong wrong wrong in his head, and kissed her. Deeply. He could hear the rest of the team egging them on as the celebration raged around him, but he didn’t care. For the first time in days the jealousy burning in his chest felt stamped out. He pulled away, gasping, and Amelia giggled. Her pupils were blown wide as she swayed and caught her balance by gripping at his uniform. He was just registering the dumbstruck grin on his face when Amelia’s gaze focussed on something behind him and she giggled again.

“Whoops,” she whispered, releasing the front of his robe. He felt someone’s gaze on his back and his spine prickled as he spun around.

She was standing a few feet away. His Gryffindor. She was frozen in shock for a moment, just a moment, before her face twisted into a mix of hurt and disbelief that tore his heart in two. She was clad in green, and he had just enough time to notice the green and silver adorning her cheeks before a tear trailed down and smudged the paint. Her name had barely left his lips before she turned and ran. His stomach dropped and the pain of being hit by the bludger paled in comparison to the guilt currently eating him alive. He caught a single glimpse of her back before she was swallowed by the crowd. On her back, in hastily sewn-on letters, was his last name.

Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun, @crazyllamasurfer, @pixie-dustss, @margottheviking, @lollife1617, @milk-barrs-blog, @somethingiswrongwithme, @bleh-stupid, @stay-gray, @mrsbrookesallow, @lostgirl-28, @kateisnotheree, @doigettokeepyou, @dreamqueenkala

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow #angst #fluff #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x y/n

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sixteenseveredhands · 8 months

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Grote's Bertholdia Moth: when bats are detected nearby, these moths emit a rapid series of ultrasonic clicks that act as a "jammer," interfering with the bat's sonar signals so that the moth can avoid detection

The Grote's bertholdia moth (B. trigona) is capable of emitting about 4,500 ultrasonic "clicks" per second. While there are other types of moths that use ultrasonic signals (in various ways) to avoid being preyed upon by bats, none of them have a more rapid-fire pace than this species.

The barrage of signals provides the moth with a way to remain hidden, because it interferes with the echolocation that bats use to navigate and locate prey.

As this article from Smithsonian explains:

... when approached by the bats, the moths produced their own ultrasonic clicking sounds at a rate of 4,500 times per second, blanketing the surrounding environment and cloaking themselves from sonar detection.

This article also expands upon the use of ultrasonic signals among moths:

Like other nocturnal insects, moths need to contend with bats. Unlike grasshoppers or beetles, they have soft bodies without spines or hard cuticles to protect them. Yet bats’ reliance on echolocation has given moths a way to avoid ending up as food: by tapping into their predators’ acoustic signals. Many have evolved ears that can hear the calls of bats. Some moths make ultrasonic squeaks, chirps, or clicks to warn their predators (honestly or not) that they are poisonous. Others generate near-constant, ultrasonic buzzes capable of jamming bat sonar.

Sources & More Info:

Smithsonian Magazine: How One Moth Species Can Jam Bats' Sonar Systems

The Scientist: Many Moths Speak Up to Ward Off Bats

Science.org: Moths Block Bats' Sonar

PubMed: High Duty Cycle Moth Sounds Jam Bat Echolocation

Journal of Theoretical Biology: Neural Representation of Bat Predation Risk and Evasive Flight in Moths

#moth #lepidoptera #biology #grote's bertholdia #Bertholdia trigona #adaptation #evolutionary arms race #bats #nature #echolocation #cool bugs #tw insects #ultrasonic animals #arthropods #bugs #weird animals

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vexwerewolf · 28 days

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Hello, it is I once again, here with a weird meme build. How would you go about building a hacker Swallowtail at LL6? Standard or Ranger, it doesn't matter which

As it happens, Hacktail isn't a meme build at all - due to the Swallowtail's expansive 20 Sensors and innate +1 tech attack, it's an extremely viable Support pick.

-- SSC Swallowtail @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] SSC Swallowtail 2, SSC Dusk Wing 1, HORUS Goblin 1, HORUS Minotaur 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] The Lesson of the Held Image, Full Subjectivity Sync [ TALENTS ] Hacker 3, Spotter 2, Skirmisher 2, Field Analyst 1, Nuclear Cavalier 1 [ STATS ] HULL:2 AGI:2 SYS:2 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:15 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:6 REPAIR:6 TECH ATK:+3 LIMITED:+1 SPD:7 EVA:14 EDEF:12 SENSE:20 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle AUX/AUX MOUNT: Nexus (Light) / Nexus (Light) [ SYSTEMS ] H0R_OS System Upgrade I, Neurospike, Metafold Carver, Personalizations, Lotus Projector, Manipulators

I call this one Hacking The Omninet.

Firstly, let's discuss the basics. This build is fragile, as all systems-first Swallowtail builds are going to be. This mech needs heavy co-ordination with your team to focus down threats. Employ cover rigorously, stay behind the lines and make liberal use of the Invisibility from Integrated Cloak. Low survivability is the price you pay for being able to turn an enemy comp inside out.

Your armament is not going to be used very much, and so is very simple - an Assault Rifle for Reliable damage, and dual Light Nexi for enemies with high Evasion. Oracle LMG-Is consume 1 SP a pop and we're not going to sacrifice system space for guns we might never fire.

We have Personalizations on there for a tiny bit of extra HP, and Manipulators for one simple reason: sacrificial system. We don't want to lose our hacking systems, and so if we take Structure damage and lose a system, we dump the robo-hands.

With all that out of the way, let's get to the meat and potatoes of this build: the hacking tools.

We start with H0R_OS System Upgrade I, possibly the best control tool in the game, definitely the best hacking tool in the game. Puppet System lets you reposition enemies in a straight line equal to their Speed any number of times, and unlike every other form of involuntary movement in the game, it triggers reactions, meaning you can open enemies up to Overwatch attacks from your allies. Meanwhile, Eject Power Cores inflicts Jammed, shutting down an enemy's weapons and tech attacks. It isn't repeatable on the same enemy, but this often doesn't matter - shutting down a heavy hitter's weapons for a single turn often buys enough time for your team to kill them outright.

Moving on to Neurospike, a much slept-on Invade system from the Dusk Wing. We're mostly in this for Shrike Code, which is a very powerful control tool in Lancer's mid-to-late game. At Tiers 2 and 3, a lot of enemy NPC classes get multiattacks, allowing them to use their weapon twice or even thrice every time they attack with it (including during Overwatch). But Shrike Code applies 2 heat per attack, not per action, meaning that a multiattacker who attacks twice will accrue 4 heat in addition to the (at least) 2 heat you put on them with Invade, which can put them close to or at their heat cap. Neurospike also provides the more situational but still useful Mirage, which allows you to make a member of your team (including you) Invisible to a member of the enemy team.

The third and final Invade suite, Metafold Carver, is the weirdest and most difficult to use correctly, but once you master it, it becomes one of the most effective support tools in the game. The biggest trick here is that the primary targets for both of its options are not your enemies - they're your allies. Your allies can choose to accept an Invade from you without taking heat and without it counting as an attack. Once you understand this, your third eye will open and the absurd power of Metafold Carver will be unlocked.

Ophidian Trek allows you to teleport your target a minimum of 2 and a maximum of seven spaces directly towards you. This is impossibly useful for yanking your allies out of melee combat or dangerous terrain, or summoning help if you're getting flanked. You generally don't want to use this on enemies who are already close to you, but pulling hostile backliners towards your team's melee specialist is exceptionally cool and funny.

Fold Space completely removes its target from the battlefield until they start their next turn. The problem with using this on enemies is that they can decide when their turn starts, and if they have an activation remaining, it will often be "immediately after your turn ends," wasting this power - although if they've already taken their turn, you can use it to ruin enemies that rely on reactions to be useful, such as the Sentinel or Archer.

The primary utility of Fold Space, however, is that it's without a doubt the most powerful ally-focused Invade in the game. This ability can quite literally be a lifesaver. Ally went too hard on their reactor and became Exposed? Fold Space. Ally took a bad structure roll and became Stunned? Fold Space. Ally being swarmed by melee NPCs? Fold Space. Ally messing up the shot of your team's artillery? Fold Space. Ally talking too much? Fold Space. You make them completely invulnerable at the "cost" of removing them from the battlefield, which they only even care about if they're a reaction-focused build, and they decide how long they want to stay on vacation, because they can return to the battlefield at any time by starting their turn.

In terms of other support abilities, we have a beautiful SSC/HORUS combo: at the start of an ally's turn, you can Lock On to an enemy as a reaction with Lesson of the Held Image and use your Prophetic Scanners frame trait to inflict Shredded as well. This lets you strip all damage reduction off an enemy just before your ally winds up to hit them, with no chance to react or clear it.

You also have Lotus Projector to help your allies deal with Invisible enemies - standard Swallowtail stuff.

As for talents, we have Hacker to give you even more Invade options (mostly Hack./Slash for shutting down enemy tech attackers) and help with heatgunning (Nuclear Cavalier 1 is in there too, just for kicks), Spotter to provide aim assist and hand out free Lock Ons and Field Analyst to help avoid "missed it by that much" situations.

As previously stated, this is a heavily team-focused build. You are a Support/Controller to the maximum here. Expect to go entire fights without doing a single point of damage. Coordinate heavily with your team to focus targets down and ensure that you stay safe while lighting targets up for them.

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #swallowtail

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years

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Phantom was patrolling the city at night when his ghost sense went off. Spottinf an unfamiliar ghost in a white cloak with an eye disign he prepared for battle.

This opponent proved to be difficult, not because they were strong but because they were quick and evasive. They ran circles around him and Phantom was growing frustrated. The unknown ghost grabbed him by the arm after dodging his punch and they managed to wrap something metal around his throat and the burn of a particularly powerful ectoblast melting what he could only assume was a clasp shut.

Looking down, Danny was horrified to see the serpentine eye of a very familiar amulet staring back up at him. One thing people didn't know about the Amulet of Aragon was that it didn't only turn you into a dragon when you got angry, it also heightened aggression so that you were more likely to get angry and even freed bottled up emotions. Between Vlad, Dash, Mr Lancer, his parents and even the GIW Danny had a lot of pent up anger.

Needless to say, Danny immediately transformed and only saw green as he went on a rampage. The Fentons went full offensive with the GAV when they saw thier "newest ghost" was a dragon and fired weapon after weapon at it. It was all for naught as Dragon Phantom smashed the vehicle with his fist and crushed it like a bug. Danny continued to rampage and destroy everything in his path until team Phantom noticed the Amulet and immediately knew what it was. They didn't understand why Phantom wasn't coming to stop the dragon and managed to corral it back into the zone and the dragon flew off, even angrier than before, but at least It wasn't destroying the city anymore.

A few days later, the city of Gotham was awoken to a mind shattering roar.

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dragon! Danny #hrrrn i forgot to tag again gotta edit #i like to imagine dragon! danny can change forms too #phantoms dragon form is pure white dragon with opalescent scales and pure green eyes #its even prettier with the glow #fentons dragon form is a pure matt black with glowing blue eyes. the flames they spew are different depending on the form #jason falls asleep and wakes up two hours later to fight a FRIGGIN DRAGON #and it has superpowers cause of course it does

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moondancer71 · 1 month

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Lure Me To Hell | Ch 7 | Fuck the Fates

A collaboration fic with @arielchelby

Summary: As tensions escalate in Castle Black and King’s Landing both Jon and Dany seek out the Fates for answers.

Concern was already plain on his face as he removed his cloak. “You were quiet at dinner.” Looking down at her hands, she nodded. “I noticed the same of you.” It would take her time to find the right words. “Where were you earlier today?” Were she not so preoccupied with her family, she’d have been more focused on his mysterious absence. Jon paused and gave her a small smile - his tell whenever he was being evasive - and began to undress. “Davos needed my help at the Hell Gate.” Some of her troubles were forgotten as she pushed away from the windowsill to interrogate her husband. “Davos said you weren’t in the castle.” He sighed in defeat, but his mood didn’t have time to sour when she began helping him undo his shirt. “After the Hell Gate, I met with the Fates.”

Read it on AO3! Thanks to @mysnowdragons for beta reading!

Ice and Fire Jonerys Discord

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danwhobrowses · 2 months

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So I Finally Finished a Playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3

It's been months of playing over my holidays and the weekends, but I've finally completed my first playthrough of what was deemed Game of the Year for 2023.

As someone whose only D&D experiences come from the two movies (the bad one that traumatized me as a kid by killing Snails and the good one that deserves more love) and Critical Role, I didn't know much of what I was getting into, only my coworkers saying 'buy it, it's a masterpiece' unanimously when I inquired about it. Having no idea how to play or the lore, I was very much entering blind.

Continued down the Keep Reading

So, I'm sure we gotta get through the first set of questions so let's get to them.

What was your Tav? It took a long time to realise that 'Tav' meant your player character among fanpages, I can't tell you why it's Tav still, but I only pieced it together from Durge naming too. My Tav is Dec, short for December because that's when I started playing and I couldn't waste too much time on stream thinking up a clever name. He was a High Elf Guild Artisan, for Class I started as a Beast Master Ranger, ironic that Ranger is deemed one of the lesser classes among the community, I was adamant to not use archery at the start but by the end of it I was a Crossbow Expert. I went 9/3 with Rogue to get Assassin, but then respec'd my Ranger into a Gloomstalker, since I never really summoned the bear (probably should've learned from Sam's constant dissing of Trinket eh?) plus when I remembered Dread Ambusher it gave me 3 attacks on the first turn. He has combustible blood thanks to Araj and some tadpole powers after consuming them after the creche incident made him more open to trusting the Dream Visitor; Charm - which failed 90% of the time - Psionic Backlash, Favourable Beginnings and Luck of the Far Realms used mainly, I had Stage Fright and Force Tunnel but didn't use it, same for Cull the Weak. Likes to talk things through, especially with Persuasion/Charisma buffing invisible hats. Has the Duellist's Perogative Sword and the Swire's Sledboard Shield for Melee, and the AC bonus, plus the Armor of Agility giving him an evasive 24 AC with Advantage thanks to 20 DEX and the Cloak of Displacement.

You can't see his scar and tattoo too well from here but I had to show off his Black Furnace and Red dye on his armour it looks too good. Here's a better look of his face:

For his tattoo and scarring I like to think he got the tattoo after the burn, in some ways distracting it from the scarring.

Did you Save Scum? Don't Lie to Me! Yes and I'm not sorry about it. If you wanna invite me to a D&D table I'll follow the rules and how the dice lands but there's a lot more wiggle room there than in a game where there's finite dialogue options. I was also not going to sit there and let my companions turn against me just because the game fancied throwing continual Nat 1s or low rolls at me, nor would I let Omeluum die in the Iron Throne, or end up leaving the Mirror of Loss empty handed. I bought the game so if I wanna carve this experience this way I shall carve it this way, I get some people see the Morally Good path as boring for this kind of gaming but I like to be good, it feels good, and I want good things to happen for my allies, even if it means having to undo most of their religious indoctrination. But, it did take a while for me to start save scumming, really it was freeing Halsin that started it but it didn't become regular until Auntie Ethel. I only really did it for dialogue/lore expansion (or when there were two dialogue options I was between which I hoped would be interpreted how I expect it to) and for necessary buff rolls like the Mirror of Loss, but sometimes I did it to keep some key NPCs alive like Jaheira, who died at Moonrise the first time.

Who did you usually team up with? Kinda a harem squad since I had Lae'zel, Shadowheart and Karlach. I was very combat-oriented; Lae'zel adding support to Karlach's melee or Dec's ranged combat while Shadowheart made up for most of the magic with heals, summons and like 100 scrolls in her bag (Dec horded about 100 different arrows and poisons too, sometimes pays off). I respec'd her to Light Domain after the Nightsong stuff to fit her character and hair change - though I must admit I preferred the black hair - and gave her my Adamantine Splint Armour for defences plus the ring and Balduran's Helm for +5 healing each turn. Lae'zel was a Battle Master, clad in the Helldusk set, though I didn't use much of her Superiority dice moves; the enemies often made saves against it even with 18 strength (20 after the mirror of loss, and higher at endgame thanks to an Elixir of Cloud Giant Strength), I relied more on her brute force, plus reaction skills like Executioner and Sentinel, plus the Silver Sword of the Astral Plane. Karlach was a 9/3 Bear Heart Barbarian and Champion Fighter, I did respec her for the Feats but the Bone armour, Balduran's Greatsword and Brutal Jump also helped at times, plus the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength and the Amulet of Greater Health made her a high damage, near-200 Health-on-Rage machine (over 200 thanks to the +30 extra health at the final battle). I tended not to swap around a lot, I couldn't abandon my healer, loved Karlach's personality and I had sentiment for Lae'zel being the first person I encountered, she has the sad eyes too, but I did do some rare switching for personal quests. Initially I started with Astarion, but that's because of a misunderstanding of who Karlach was - more on that later - and it turned out that I wasn't doing much for stealth, I brought him for Cazador though, much like I brought Wyll for Ansur and Gale for the Book of Karsus. Later in Act 3 I played around with dyes and equipped everyone, out of fear that I may be sprung unprepared like with Orin - Halsin only had a torch - by all campmates joining the fight, it didn't happen but everyone at least looks stylish.

I go between whether I like Wyll's colours though, on one hand he looks like a Templar and the white would stand out in Avernus, other times he looks like a cosplayer XD Minsc and Jaheira needed no dyes the colours already suited well, but I do love the colours I chose for Astarion, Halsin and Karlach.

Who did you fuck? (romance) Probably would've been asked sooner but sadly Dec became an unintended bachelor, at least outside of the headcanon. He did share a night of passion with Lae'zel after freeing the Emerald Grove but it wasn't something he wanted to pursue further, our dynamic was more befitting of two soldiers, or at least a dynamic where we think we're the General and the other the Advisor. Had Shadowheart took 'later' for her drink offer as 'I want to see all the dialogues other characters have first' rather than a refusal there might have been a romance there, instead I feel we fell into a more sibling bond, she can be a bit too sassy at times in passing dialogue - I had hoped to see more development with her and Lae'zel eventually being friends. Wyll did his best to throw sad puppy eyes at me when I refused to dance with him but it just made things more awkward, Gale meanwhile probably was gonna make moves when teaching me the Weave but he was very hung up on Mystra for me to entertain it, I sat with him when he felt the mortal coil though. Astarion I think made a passing suggestion but nothing of substance, Halsin left it late after he got kidnapped by Orin - I didn't realise he had to physically join the party to be a part of the group until Act 3 - coming onto me right before I confronted the Brain which was quickly turned down. I believe Minsc and Jaheira are unable to be romanced atm, and I did not fuck the Emperor; it weirded me out that he just was there shirtless chilling next to my unconscious dream state. We killed Minthara, didn't know you could recruit or romance her in a Morally Good path. Which left Karlach, fuck did I want to romance Karlach, not for lack of trying either; but because when I met Wyll he was talking about killing her I immediately assumed 'oh Karlach must be that woman on the cover with him' (aka 'the bitch who could've been cool if she wasn't such a bitch' Mizora, who I also wouldn't have romanced given the option) and stuck a pin in it, I was also unaware that most Act 1 romance stuff would come to a head at the end of the Emerald Grove quest which I prioritized so I only encountered Karlach after I saved Halsin and the Grove, meaning I couldn't reach Dammon until Act 2. By then Karlach seemed to be locked out of romance, perhaps for another misunderstanding on my part too since I did upgrade her engine twice at Lost Light very swiftly, but it still was a knife to the heart after all that and the date at the circus that she called us 'just mates' to Fytz. All this and then they give us a better kissing patch ¬_¬

Yes so sad, anyway what about ~Astarion~? Astarion is popular, and I know why he's popular, and the scene of him killing Cazador was very well done...but Astarion for me though was just fine; I mean you guys see Karlach right? Part of the reason she stays my group was that I can't bear to part from her. A lot of the times my Morally Good options didn't align with Astarion's brand of pessimistic chaos, so he spent a lot of time in camp as I mispronounced his name until I heard it be properly said, which probably hampered his story a bit more, but we had a close enough friendship that he heeded my advice with the Ascension and the spawn, wish he reacted to me getting a painting of him since he can't see his reflection though, felt like something could've been done there. Jaheira was a fun personality too, angry old lady who says it like it is, kinda wish we had more to her quest, seeing her home and her interacting with her wards/children was interesting, Minsc was charming too in his simple way, would've been cool if he had more of a presence as well, like we could hear about Minsc and the Stone Lord in separate lights earlier in the game to build up to him. On that topic, I was surprised to find that there wasn't a companion for each role, I suppose there were constraints but Aylin and Zevlor both worked as Paladins, Alfira a Bard (though I don't think anyone would dare put her in the line of fire), I suppose there's little need for a Sorcerer when you had a Wizard or a Monk when you had a Fighter and Barbarian but it was strange, you get 2 Druids and your Ranger is built more like a Fighter or Barbarian (the latter I added to Minsc). I'd later learn that there was cut content for a halfling companion who was a werewolf, but I can see why that one was cut, with Chetney and all, but yeah not any halflings, Barcus could've been a companion even without the Artificer class, or a Dragonborn.

So how did your story go? Being the Morally Good Guy I was I went through most of the best options I could, but I also tried to avoid combat earlier on when I was struggling to work with it. I was friendly with the Goblin Camp for starters, since they thought I was with the Absolute and Dec is willing to put shit on his face to avoid conflict, it all went tits up after freeing Halsin and having to kill everyone but it may've had some benefit to how I could walk freely through Moonrise. Ironically it was the same with the Githyanki, friendly up until they wanted me to hand over the prism, though the Creche was a lost cause anyway, they're lucky I didn't ransack the place, could've gotten a lot of xp and loot there. I let Viconia live, so she can dwell on that burn Shadowheart gave her but oftentimes I was not so merciful, do wish I didn't kill that one Sharran with the letter of hating being there though, why'd you fight me girl? Same with the Bhaalist with the parents at Elfsong, and the goblin children, I was using nonlethal but arrows don't count as I'd soon learn. Allies were mostly good-to-neutral creatures like the Tieflings (though I wish I saved more, nobody told me about the harpies and I thought convincing Rolan to stay would mean the Grove not the Shadow Cursed Lands - also why send refugees who struggle with goblins through the SHADOW CURSED LANDS?) and 90% of the Ironhand Gnomes because fuck Wulbren - I didn't like Barcus too much at first, thought him rude, but when Wulbren didn't even show gratitude for his attempts I softened to him. Kindness made me quite the enemy to others however; the infernal naturally did not appreciate my deeds of pact breaking but saving the Duke anyway and pilfering the House of Hope, but to be fair Raphael (and his clear portrait of himself I clocked onto immediately when he was in his human guise to know he was untrustworthy) never repaid me in-game for 'killing' Yurgir, and Mizora would've squirmed a lot more in her Ilithid pod had it been a table interaction - though, the latter two were more than willing to help me with the Absolute, 'cept Raphael because he's dead - but in my defence I loved outwitting and being a sassy little shit to demons. Slaying the Chosen was a given, as a very Pro-Karlach guy I was never letting Gortash live, got the Father/Grandfather-Daughter set with Bhaal too. Killing the former Balduran was disappointing; as much as he was on my side he always felt like he had his own ulterior motives, he also had a superiority complex to him with his constant urging of being half-Ilithid; thinks it's not important that he's Balduran either, dismissing Ansur's legend until confronted by Ansur's spirit. Stealing the Orphic Hammer was an insurance policy at first, I could understand Voss' disdain for us using Githyanki Jesus in a box like a forcefield, but it's a shame that the guy who was all about trust decided not to trust me in releasing Orpheus; we could've stopped the brain together! Omeluum would've heard me out. I mean Orpheus was a bit salty but he at least was willing to negotiate and not immediately side back with the brain like a petty bitch. I'd say the gods have mixed feelings with me; friendly with Selune and Lathander at least, and whatever Withers is - though the guy roasted me about my love life. The rest either neutral or anti; Shar and Vlaakith (if you can call her a god) definitely hate me, because they're sore losers, think Myrkul and Bhaal likely hate me, Bane however seemed to respect game not sure how I feel about that. I don't quite like Mystra, think she's a bit extreme with her treatment of Gale, but I understand her role, valid god but shitty person. On the other hand I probably have Cyric's favour for helping the Strange Ox, which might be bad...but Milil was happy to be recognized.

In the end, most of the allies got to live somewhat happily; Gale got the orb out of him and became a professor, Lae'zel - having dealt the final blow to the brain - leads the charge against Vlaakith after Orpheus became a Mind Flayer and was mercy killed, Shadowheart has her family (Shar would've always been with her regardless of her choice), a bunch of pets and can maybe reminisce with Nocturne again one day, Jaheira and Minsc - once he survives Zhentharim execution, didn't realise I needed to have him talk to Nine Fingers - also can rest with her wards and probably share drinks with Nine Fingers until the next fight, Astarion sadly has no cure for vampirism but he is owning it and killing the right people (I like to think he'll get to see the sun again, maybe Omeluum and the Mycolids help), plus Halsin has a bunch of kids in Moonrise to look after, plus Thaniel, Oliver and a new Owlbear who I'd rather had left with Dammon given the option. Isobel and Aylin can settle down, Rolan runs the Sundries, Hope is free, Alfira and Lakrissa got their bard's school, Florrick and Ravengard resume leadership to rebuild, Dammon has his forge, Scratch found a new home in this Mindy (but I remain best master), Mol I'm sure will be running the Guildhall in a few years, Thrumbo has a shelter for his brothers, Mayrina will raise her son without the threat of a hag, Vanra won't become a hag (but does need therapy), and Arabella will probably be the next Withers after reading some more rocks. Yenna didn't seem to have an ending so I'll assume that she found a loving home too, maybe with Halsin or as one of Jaheira's wards, or maybe Gale wants a Sous Chef since she did bring her own carving knife if you didn't know. I wish Alfira got invited to the epilogue, god of song is fine but not the familiar face and it would've been cool for them to meet, nice to get a letter at least, and we'll have to visit Art's grave sometime. Surprised we got no word about Mizora, I didn't get a letter from Geraldus even though he survived, Naaber apparently had more in him after wanting to be a dog, sad not to get anything from Rolan, Devella (I know Valeria mentioned her but c'mon), the Gondians, Mol, Omeluum, or Aylin and Isobel from the epilogue, did we really need the ramblings of Ettvard? Plus the papers must've glitched they said Stelmane's killer was still at large? Post-credits scene felt a bit weak mind you, but guessing Withers is that old God of Death Jerghal? Least he's not a surprise villain to fight. As for me, well, I was never one to give up on people and neither is Dec, and thus Dec and Karlach brave Avernus to seek a fix for her infernal engine, punch a few demons and whatnot, Wyll is there too as the Blade of Avernus, a role he embraced twice after barely contributing to killing Ansur but that's more proximity. We'll chill in the House of Hope especially after her letter, but soon enough we'll all return to Faerun on a more permanent basis.

So you enjoyed it? Yes, very much. I did of course make a lot of mistakes though; kept forgetting about Dread Ambusher for one, my earlier failures at romance still stung, I think the game wasn't as welcoming to those unfamiliar to it. The dice did not like me many times, I once got a Nat 1 in a 2 DC with +2 bonus, I also have had several instances of back-to-back Nat 1s, even had 6 in two different streams. Combat was an adjustment period, I missed a lot of the time which was frustrating, or the enemy would make saving throws on my gambits, Karlach even got pushed into the abyss at the Temple of Bhaal, I was livid. I think I probably would've experienced more if the game established better that you can long rest as much as you like without turning into a Mind Flayer, because much of Act 1 was me reluctant to Long Rest because they say you can change 'within 2-3 days', as a result that affected some romance options too, nobody to spend the night with if there's no night, as well as other in-camp interactions - Astarion never tried to bite me for instance, and I'm sure Raphael would've arrived to reward me for killing Yurgir had we not dealt with a backlog of interactions. I remained quite the hesitant player too, I ignored Gale stuck in a portal for a while fearing some magical backlash was gonna vaporize me, oftentimes I expected worse than what actually happened. Graphically there were a few characters whose cheeks were being pulled to the far left side of the map which was weird, and some battles would have enemies who would just do nothing for their turns, and some areas didn't render quick enough to not be noticed, but it was small stuff in comparison, I didn't do much for camp clothes or dyes until late on but probably for the better since style should be for the final act. I also keep seeing stuff that I somehow missed in my playthrough; like there's an angry squirrel near the grove? A frog in Ethel's house? A bird who wanted help with the giant eagles? What? Where?

What was the most difficult part? Act 3 had a lot of tough shit going down, though one of my most memorable struggles was against Auntie Ethel in Act 1. Already deep in her domain at lv4 it was a rough run to start with, continually hit by Hold Person by her projections, only when I learned they were one-hits did it become a little easier, but without Extra Attack it was still difficult. After that combat was here and there, sometimes it was just the environment like being jammed in a pipe when fighting Minsc; Lorroakan was annoying, Grym I had to be tactical with the hammer, the Assassin at the Facemaker was quite difficult too because he'd Haste himself and hide. The Death Shepherds in the Mountain Pass were surprisingly difficult without the Blood of Lathander, much easier with its Sunbeam. The companion quest final battles of Cazador, Ansur and Viconia were each difficult in their own way; the former was most annoying because my party would be downed but the thrown healing potions weren't working (plus those downed members were the ones with Radiant damage and holy water), wasn't even Bone Chilled like with Viconia, Ansur was difficult because of his burst attack. Raphael hits fucking hard, but once I realised that Hope kept dying because she was getting backlash from dealing Radiant Damage it was just attrition and lots of potion throwing. Combat-wise I think the toughest battle was Cazador due to the glitch of thrown potions not healing, otherwise the toughest boss was Ansur. Overall the most difficult experience I found was the timed operations of the Iron Throne.

Will you play again? Most likely, which is something I don't tend to say so Larian did do their job well. Though I might wait a bit to play other games first and give Larian time to add more content and finer polishing, I think I'd have a better time with it the second time around, would definitely try to resolve previous wrongs or missed opportunities, though I doubt I'd look forward to everything there; killing the Goblin Camp was still difficult work, same with the Steel Watch and all the turn limit stuff, I'll at least wait until I have Extra Attack before dealing with Ethel in Act 1 and take more Long Rests, maybe rotate the party a bit more and try out some other classes - but you will pry Speak with Animals out of my cold dead hands! Learning later about there being a bunch of cut content would entice me to play a third time if they reach a stage where all the intended content has been added in, but there's not exactly a time frame for that or a clear show of intent so far, so we'll see in that one, for all that is cut it seems like the end product is the tip of the iceberg. Enjoyed the play, played for a long time, would play again: money well spent.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #larian studios #karlach #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #jaheira #minsc and boo #minsc #halsin #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 tav #bg3 withers #it wouldn't have killed larian to give us more dice skins too just sayin'#but I loved that they added little messages in the credits

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dungeon-strugglers · 2 years

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✨New item!✨ Raiment of the Raccoon Armor (studded leather), very rare (requires attunement by a rogue)

You have a +1 bonus to AC while wearing this armor. While wearing it, you are imbued with the hardiness of a raccoon. Your rogue feature Evasion now applies to Constitution saving throws as well.

Keen Sense of Touch. While wearing this armor you develop a hypersensitive tactile awareness. You can add your Wisdom modifier to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) checks, thieves tools checks and Intelligence (Investigation) checks that use your sense of touch. You can reliably detect the surface details, such as engraved writing or material properties, of an object by touching it.

Curse. While attuned to this armor you become obsessively hygienic. You must spend at least 10 minutes washing your hands to benefit from a short or long rest and you prefer to dunk your food into water before eating it.

Krandle had aspirations to become the best pick-pocket in town, but he got caught. Two months into his prison sentence, during a sleepless night, he heard a strange noise coming from the window to his cell. There, looking back at him, silhouetted by moonlight, was a raccoon in a hooded cloak, sliding a scroll through the bars. “Sign this contract and I’ll bust you outta here” it whispered. Krandle knew better than to trust talking animals, so he rolled over in his cot and fell asleep. He never saw that raccoon again and spent the rest of his life in prison, the end. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 150 magic items, item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

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innerchorus · 3 months

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Arslan Senki Chapter 126 (Part 2)

And unlike Kmanga you don't even have to pay twice for the privilege of having it split into two. SPOILERS for this chapter, I can't stress enough that the ending is a huge fucking cliffhanger so if you don't want to get spoiled please don't look.

That's a piece of the (Un)Holy Master's cloak...

Nicely dealt with by Andragoras!

Anyway, this is proper confirmation that Team Zahhak's clothing has magical properties / a life of its own and can potentially be dangerous even when separated from the wearer.

Given how fast the Master can dodge (or more correctly this is a teleportation style of evasion that I mentioned before where he reappears behind them) it's impressive that Andragoras actually landed a blow, though it's not even close to being a fatal one. Still, he looks like he's aiming to finish the job until the Master tries to regain control of the situation by attempting to blackmail Andragoras with the location of his child!

These panels of a shocked Hilmes in the background just watching all this drama unfold, lol

Anyway, it turns out Andragoras cannot be blackmailed and he'd rather renounce his child than be manipulated like this, which is... very on brand for Andragoras, regardless of what the truth about the child turns out to be in Arakawa's manga.

The Master: tch! Hilmes: Yikes

(Is anyone of the Parsian royal line a good father? Doesn't seem that way in recent generations. Hilmes, please reverse this trend with Irina by your side, I'd love to see you both happy with a family!)

Anyway GUESS WHO'S KNOCKING AT THE DOOR IN THAT LAST PANEL? THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S ZANDEH, PUPPY BOY TO THE RESCUE! And he's still got that little guy who was one of Kharlan's soldiers with him, and that warms my heart for some reason, I hope he gets to live.

Hilmes... 😭

I wonder what Zandeh thinks? It's clearly not 'nothing at all'.

Anyway this makes me really sad because where we saw Arslan open up to his followers and receive their support, Hilmes... can't bring himself to do that. Personally, I feel that at this point, Zandeh would support him regardless (as would Sam, who unbeknownst to Hilmes already knows the truth) but Hilmes can't bring himself to admit it, to admit the fact that he's based his whole life around a lie. Without his claim to the throne, who is he?

It's sad that he can't see that the right to rule and the qualities that might inspire loyalty and love are based on so much more. I'm not saying that he's a worthy ruler right now, unlike Arslan he hasn't even thought about how he'll govern the country for the better, but I do find it sad that his mindset leaves him so isolated here when it doesn't need to be that way.

(I'm going to need an Irina mention soon. At least show that Hilmes is thinking of her, even if he feels he can't speak with her.)

That's it for Team Hilmes content this chapter, anyway.

Who should Team Arslan bump into on the way to Mount Demavant but the Zot with a leashed Don Ricardo, still clinging on to Rukhnabad! So while Arslan did deliberately set out to get the sword, in the end it looks like it's going to happen via a chance encounter (well, if anyone can ever persuade Don Ricardo to let go of it).

Gieve recognising Rukhnabad is a great moment! Even he is so shocked that it seems like he's struggling to form the words as he processes what he's seeing.

I feel pretty sorry for Don Ricardo, he hasn't really recovered mentally from his encounter with Zahhak, he doesn't look to be in a great state, and while the Zot are merely intending to hand him over to Arslan, they can't communicate with him so presumably all he knows is that he's their prisoner, he has no idea what his fate will be and nobody to reassure him. Likewise, they don't know what he's been through.

Team Arslan try to figure it out thanks to Estelle, but Don Ricardo is too distressed, so they decide to find a village to stay the night. It's at this point that alarm bells started going off in my mind.

Narsus says "It's too quiet." (I start thinking of the village he stayed in with Alfarid where Arzhang had killed all the villagers.)

The horses start freaking out (we know they react this way to Team Zahhak)

Team Arslan find bodies of villagers with only their brain eaten (and who do we know of who has an appetite for brains?)

OH FUCK, OH SHIT, OH FUUUUCK

A weird mist begins to seep into the scene; Zahhak in the novels was described as exuding a miasma of sorts, I think it provoked fear in those who were close to it?

PANELS THAT FILLED MY HEART WITH PURE DREAD

Gods, I hope everyone survives this encounter. I don't know how it's going to go down but it strikes me that this could be it, this could be the actual deciding fight as far as Zahhak is concerned, because we have Rukhnabad on the scene right here, it could really be happening in Arakawa's manga right now, and I'm not sure I'm ready?

My head is ringing with questions. What does Zahhak's full form look like (we see the snakes clearly but not what they're attached to)? Is he fully resurrected or are the shoulder snakes just operating on the instinct of hunger? What happened to Kaykhusraw's body? Are any members of Team Zahhak here with the Snake King? If Team Arslan do fight Zahhak here, how do they go about it? One on one? As the strongest warrior, will Daryun take him on? Will Arslan (with Estelle's help) manage to persuade Don Ricardo to hand over Rukhnabad, and will he opt to take on the Snake King himself with the sword's powers?

Man I wish Kubard were here... I've always said he'd set everyone straight about the notion of taking on a being like the Snake King in single combat... Just kill it, any way you can.

Part of me feels like Zahhak won't be defeated yet and this encounter will serve its purpose mainly in showing Team Arslan that he truly has been unsealed, so now they'll know what the sorcerers were working towards and they'll know what they're up against. But will they come through this unscathed? I'm not ready for character deaths!

My working theory as of this post: Zahhak is not fully conscious and is mainly being driven by the snakes' hunger; he is heading for Ecbatana for some sort of ritual involving the head jars where he will truly return in full. The final confrontation will take place after matters in the capital with Andragoras and Hilmes have been resolved, and may involve entering Team Zahhak's lair beneath Ecbatana (ArAkAwA sHoW mE tHe DaRk TeMpLe).

Guys... I am utterly exhausted, this chapter has wrecked me. I'll keep an eye out for raws / somewhere to read the simulpub for free and post a link if I see it.

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #arslan senki spoilers #the master #andragoras #hilmes #team zahhak #zandeh #don ricardo #zahhak #arslan

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