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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

Text

idaña: high valyrian meaning twin

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 || your twin never learned how to share, and he always hated when someone tried to take one of his toys.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 || 6.2k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 || twincest, noncon, kinda reader insert kinda oc because she has white hair and is aemond's twin, aemond is horrible and possessive and very nasty and mean, loss of virginity, pain kink, breeding kink, forced voyeurism/exhibitionism, jealousy, hair pulling, choking, kinda yandere vibes, a slap, brief somnophilia (just mentioned), degradation, angst

this fic is by, for, and about adults. minors do not interact.

this is a dark fic with very triggering content, please keep scrolling if it would be upsetting for you. if you do choose to consume it and you enjoy it, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

Your fingers toyed with the hem of your dress’ draping sleeves, your thumb nail tracing the golden embroidery at the edges; your teeth bit down on your bottom lip slightly to try to keep your girlish smile at bay. It was the gaze of Ser Corwin that made you so bashful— he was a handsome and kind knight, and every time you watched the men in the courtyard, he noticed you and looked up at you with a gentle smile.

Yes, you’d begun to fancy him; there was just something so… exotic about him. Not in a foreign way, he was a native of your homeland, too— but he was different from everyone you normally spent your time with. The person you spent the most time with was certainly your twin brother, Aemond, and Corwin was nothing like him.

Where Aemond was pallid and sunken, Corwin was tanned and full-faced; Aemond, like nearly every Targaryen, had long silver hair, but Corwin had a mess of amber-brown curls that somehow looked perfect even when they were clearly misbehaving. Most of all, while Aemond tended to be aloof, calculating, and snide, Corwin was patient, sensitive, and passionate. He reminded you of the knights in your storybooks: dashing and fierce in battle, yet tender for the woman they loved.

When your twin turned his face towards you, you looked away quickly, hoping not to get caught looking at the knight in the courtyard below. “Sister,” he said to get your attention, and you looked at him as if you hadn’t even noticed he was looking at you. “Is something the matter? You look flushed.”

“I— no,” you shook your head. “Sorry, brother. My mind is elsewhere.”

He smirked slightly. “Anywhere interesting?”

In the tower, just two nights ago, where Ser Corwin kissed my cheek, and called me beautiful— and told me that he hoped to fight for my hand someday. Swallowing, you shook your head. It had never gone further than those chaste kisses, stolen moments in shadowy corners or secluded alcoves, but for a sheltered princess like yourself, it was an exceptional thrill.

“Ivestragon issa skoros ao issi otāpagon bē,” he pleaded in a whisper to you, leaning closer. Tell me what you are thinking about.

You looked at him more carefully: at the interrogating look in his eye, and the patch covering the other; at the small smirk on his lips. Sighing, you reached up and brushed your fingers over the black leather patch. “Ao gaomagon daor jorrāelagon naejot ruaragon aōha laehurlion,” you replied quietly. You do not need to cover your face.

Smiling softly, he let you reach behind his head and untie the strings, taking the patch off, letting the scars and sparkling gem show in the sunlight of the afternoon. “Iksos bona sȳrkta?” he asked you with a grin. Is that better?

“Olvie,” you agreed; Much. Leaning forward, holding his face softly in your hands, you placed a gentle kiss to the place just under his false eye along the line of the scar; he shut his eyes, though the scarred one still never shut all the way, his lashes resting on the height of his cheeks.

When you broke away, the way he was looking at you had changed just a bit. Giving him one last smile, you rested back in your seat, and he in his own beside you. You both carried on silently, watching the tourney of knights below.

The events of yesterday’s tournament were still fresh in your mind: of Ser Corwin’s victory, after he received your favour; of Aemond’s interrogation about your inner thoughts and your kiss on his eye. None of those events were particularly unique in of themselves. After all, Corwin was a strong and talented knight, and Aemond was always trying to get in your head (and usually succeeding). Of course, giving your brother a kiss was nothing strange, either, as close as you two were. But something about yesterday felt different. It felt worse and worse each day to hide your affections for the handsome knight, most of all because you weren’t exactly sure why you had to hide it— you just knew that it needed to be a secret. And yesterday, you feared more than ever that Aemond would find out soon and how he would respond.

Pulling the blankets up higher over your chest, you turned your head over on the pillow to look over at your twin. He usually woke up before you, so it was rare to see him fast asleep in the early morning like this.

Your mother had tried to get you and Aemond to stop sharing a bed over a decade ago, saying you were ‘no longer of the age where that’s appropriate’. But that had never made sense to you; why shouldn’t you sleep with your twin, your other half, your best friend? He kept you warm at night and let you whisper about your dreams to him when you woke up. And so, every evening, your room was left empty and you cuddled up with Aemond instead.

Reaching up, you tenderly pet your brother’s hair, brushing through the fine silver strands with your fingertips. He hummed as he awoke, turning to smile at you as he blinked his eyes a few times. “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” you whispered.

“Sȳz ñāqes,” he greeted with a rough, low voice; Good morning.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked gently, humming as he pulled you closer and rubbed his cheek on the top of your head. He cleared his throat to get the sleepy gravel out of his voice, holding your face in one hand with his thumb petting your cheek.

“Like a babe,” he replied.

“You woke up to cry and shit every two hours?” you joked, making him laugh and hug you a little tighter, your face pressing to his bare chest.

“I never expected you to be so funny, sister,” he admitted. “You never liked my jokes when we were little.”

“Because your idea of a joke was pulling my hair or spilling my dinner on me,” you rolled your eyes. You paused as you really considered what he’d said, leaning back to look up at his face. “What did you expect me to be?”

His gaze ran over your face carefully, his thumb slowing down a bit as it gently stroked the highest point of your cheekbone, beside your eye. “I always knew you’d be beautiful,” he answered in a soft voice, “and fierce. I thought you might get wiser, but you’ve stayed just as naïve as you were as a little girl.”

Offended, yet flustered, you blinked quickly and looked away from his face, down to his chest and collarbones. “You’re wiser, brother, but still so rarely kind,” you whispered in return.

He sighed as he kissed your temple lightly. “I try to only speak the truth, sister— especially to you,” he explained. “You should tell me the truth, too: you should tell me what’s been on your mind these past weeks.” For emphasis, he toyed with the hair right by the crown of your head. “Something’s been keeping you from me… I miss you.”

You smiled a little, exhaling a ghost of a laugh. “How can you miss me? I am right before you now.”

He said nothing, because he knew you were feigning ignorance— even if he just called you naïve a few seconds ago, he couldn’t believe that you really didn’t understand what he meant.

“Avy jorrāelan, lēkia,” you spoke to him quietly. I love you, brother.

He hummed a bit as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, embracing him and shutting your eyes. He seemed to relax, then, petting your head soothingly. “Nyke gīmigon,” he replied; I know.

It was that same day that you saw the knight again, though you hadn’t realised you would. The afternoon was falling into evening, the sky turning orange above the garden as you wandered it; you loved this time of day, because the sky reminded you of fire. You were looking up at it, probably seeming just as dreamy and careless as Aemond and the rest of your family often accused you of being, when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Turning, it was Corwin behind you, under the shadow of a tall tree.

“Ser Corwin,” you blurted out, “I didn’t expect to encounter you here.”

“I apologise, my princess,” he sighed, “but I couldn’t wait any longer— I had to feel your touch again.”

He suddenly pulled you into him, and part of you wanted to simply swoon and accept it, but just enough of your logical mind remained. “W-we might be seen here,” you noticed.

“Must we always keep our love secret?” he lamented, gripping your arms tighter and smiling down at you— that warm, comforting smile, it melted you.

“Love?” you repeated excitedly.

“Of course,” he breathed, reaching up to caress your cheek. “My princess, my darling… tell me that you could someday be my wife. Even if I am not a noble lord or a political ally— tell me you could forget your duty and we could be wed.”

You swallowed, hoping you could answer him honestly. As far as you knew, you had little duty in marriage as the youngest child of the King— it might displease your parents slightly if you asked to marry a knight, but it wasn’t any kind of treason or even that much of a disruption, especially considering a loyal and just knight like Ser Corwin. “Yes,” you decided, beaming widely, “I hope so— I dream so.”

Smiling back at you, he grabbed your face and kissed you: it was hard and sudden, but lovely. You realised you’d never been kissed this way, with so much passion and joy, and it made your heart sing as your hands reached up to tangle in his curly hair. At that same moment, his hands found your waist and held you close; you felt small in his touch, in a way you enjoyed more than you expected.

Just as you broke away, opening your eyes, you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye— up on one of the nearby balconies, a flurry of white. You turned your head in an instant, looking for it.

“Is everything all right?” Corwin asked.

“Yes— was someone there, on the balcony?” you wondered.

“I didn’t see anyone,” he replied, “but I only see you anyhow.”

The flattery was less effective as an anxious feeling flooded your chest. “W-what if someone’s seen us, Corwin…”

“Then they’ll know how mad I am for you,” he decided proudly, pulling your face back towards him, “and that you’re mad for me as well.”

You blinked up at him, staring into the dark brown abyss of his eyes, letting it wash away your fears.

“Would it be so horrible?” he pressed. “If they knew… are you ashamed of me?”

“No, my love, no,” you promised, petting his cheek quickly, “anything but.”

You couldn’t answer his first question, though; you didn’t know if it would be horrible, if anyone knew. With him holding you like this, you almost didn’t care.

He tried to pull you closer again, but you pulled away. “I should go,” you decided.

“Not so soon,” Corwin pleaded.

“I’m sure I can see you in the morning,” you promised, but he reached for you again.

“I can’t wait that long,” he pouted. “I’ll miss you too greatly— one more kiss, please?”

Though you hesitated, you leaned forward to peck his cheek. He turned his face to catch your lips, just for a moment; you pulled back again, face warming.

“I’ll be thinking of you,” he promised.

You nodded and stepped away, biting your nail as you walked back towards the castle; as much as you wanted to promise the same, for some reason, all you could think of was your brother.

Seeking him straight away, navigating the stone halls, you went to Aemond’s (and, functionally, your own) chambers. Already you feared he wouldn’t be there, and then your worries would grow even more about where he was— where he had been, more specifically.

In retrospect, you shouldn’t have been so eager, swinging open the door so dramatically: it made you look sort of foolish when he was sitting back in a chair, reading a book. He was well into it, he must’ve been here for hours to get that far in; you sighed with relief, and he looked up at you, seeming confused.

“My apologies,” you nodded, “I hope I didn’t disturb your reading, Aemond.”

He shook his head, looking back at the book as his cheek rested on his fist. “No trouble. Come in.”

You tried to examine him as you shut the door behind you and moved further into the room; you hoped to notice if he seemed irritated or emotional in some way, in case it was him you saw in the corner of your eye in the garden. He was hard to read, just sitting there, but if anything he seemed… normal. It relieved you, partially, though you were still cautious as you broke the silence. “How is your evening?”

He nodded as he shut his book. “Painfully uneventful. Yours?”

Continuing to approach him, you hoped he couldn’t see everything on your face. “About the same.”

As he stood, he took your hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss on your fingers. “I missed you, sister. I wondered where you’d gone— you know I prefer to read with you laying beside me.”

You nodded, remembering how many nights you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm around you as he read— aloud to you, sometimes, or silently to himself. “I was in the garden,” you explained. I thought I saw you there, you wanted to say, but you worried it would give away too much.

“Alone?”

You tensed up a bit. “Yes.”

He sighed slightly, but smiled; you relaxed again.

“What were you reading?” you asked, looking at the book— but he suddenly touched your face, getting your attention back.

"Hm," he hummed sharply as he lifted your chin, contemplating you with his stare. "Pretty and sweet, but never very smart, were you, dear sister?"

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, the back of his hand collided with your cheek and spun your face to the side.

"A-Aemond!" you yelped, holding your stinging cheek, and he grabbed the front of your dress to roughly pull you into him.

"You should know better than to lie," he hissed at you, rage seeping through his teeth. "I never expected you to lie to me— or to be a whore either.”

“I-I’m not!” you denied.

“You let some pathetic knight kiss you! It made me sick,” he spat. “You've always been mine, sister— did they never tell you? You were betrothed to me since we were born."

You shook your head, eyes watering, and he held your chin with his other hand so you couldn’t move anymore— so you had to look at him. “It’s not— that’s not true…”

“It is,” he insisted, “I said I would always tell you the truth. I always have. But I guess I never told you, fully, what my purpose for you was— what we must do, to keep our family strong.”

He spun you around quickly, pulling your back to his chest, holding painfully tight onto your shoulders. “Aemond, please, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he interrupted, “you’re not. Not yet.”

He began to rip through your dress— fine silk splitting down the back like it was parchment. “What— Aemond, what are you—?!”

His hand snapped up to cover your mouth as he snarled, holding your head against his chest. The other hand kept tugging and ripping your dress until it fell to the floor in tatters; your tear ran over his fingertips. “Hmm,” you heard a deep sound vibrate in his chest as he looked down at you, rubbing his hand over your bare skin. Your stomach dropped as he touched you, his breath on the side of your face, his eyes boring into you. “Mandia,” he whispered to you, the Valyrian word for sister, “did that knight touch you like this?”

You cried harder, though the sound was silenced by his hand tight on your mouth, as you shook your head.

“Now, don’t lie,” Aemond warned you. “Did that filthy knight touch you this way?”

His hand explored everywhere it could reach: rubbing your thighs, squeezing your tits, even cupping your mound for a moment which made your insides clench. You shook your head again.

You could feel his smile, you could hear it somehow, just beside your ear. “Good,” he praised— somehow, it made you feel a little better. It made you less worried that he was angry with you. “Only I should be allowed to touch you. And I should never have waited so long…”

His breathing was heavy and careful as he touched you, and his fingers ghosted over your skin with that same lithe grace that he always carried. Even when you were looking away, and couldn’t see his face— even when he wasn’t speaking— it was impossible to forget that it was your twin’s hands on your body.

“I’ll admit, I did touch you while you slept sometimes,” he added, laughing slightly, “but it’s better like this. It’s better feeling you shake… and hearing you cry…”

You shut your eyes tightly, and felt his lips press to your temple.

“I wanted to wait, you know— preserve your purity until our wedding night. But I'm so tired of waiting…"

He seemed to lose track of his sentence as he focused more on feeling you, on watching his hands explore your shivering body. It caused his hand to drop from your mouth, allowing you to reply in a weak voice. "Please, brother, you can't…" you began, trailing off to whine as both his hands groped your chest, even teasing and pinching your tightened nipples.

"Can't?" he repeated. "What can't I do to you? Ao issi ñuhon." You are mine.

The slight hint of amusement in his voice was gone as he pushed you right up to the bed, making you cry loudly as you realised he was really going to go through with this— up until now, you thought he was just trying to scare you.

"You belong to me," he hissed, forcing you to bend over as he pushed your shoulders into the mattress.

"Aemond, please! Please, no," you sobbed weakly, though you didn't even try to resist him physically— you couldn't, even with only one hand he held you down easily and kept you pliant, as the other landed a harsh smack on your bottom.

"I never wanted it to be like this, sister," he sighed, petting the stinging skin he'd just assaulted. "I wanted to be kind and gentle to you. But I've no choice— you embarrassed us both, and forgot your place."

After another hit that made you yelp in pain, you heard the sound of him opening his trousers behind you, and you cried harder. Thinking that begging in Valyrian might sway him more, you found yourself repeating kostilus ("please") and lēkia ("brother") over and over, but you were ignored.

You only stopped when you felt something hot press up against the swollen lips of your cunt. "My, dripping already, sister?" Aemond noticed, sounding pleased, as he started to swipe the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your lips apart for the thickness of his tip.

You'd felt his cock a few times before, when he was aroused in the mornings and pressed it against you— or when you were younger, and in your curiosity played naughty games like children do. But you'd never felt it like this, pressed right up to your opening, bare skin on skin. You'd known already that it was thick, but with clothes in between it never felt intimidating like it did now: even just the very tip of it, sliding up and down over your slick cunt, made you terrified of how brutally it would deflower you. "Please— it's not going to fit," you warned.

He only laughed, making you feel even more stupid. "Silly girl… it never fits the first time," he explained, "that's why it's so important that you saved yourself for me, for this moment: I'll make you mine and only I will fit you after this. No other man can have you… you'll be only mine, forever."

He had to punch his hips forward sharply to be able to go inside; it made you wince, but you tried not to react too loudly as you knew this was only just the beginning.

You still couldn't have imagined how much of him there really was left.

He put the rest of his cock into you slowly— to remind you that even as angry as he was, he had never lost control. He carefully slid every centimetre into you, listening to every whimper as the stretch broke your maidenhead and opened your body for the first time. "Aemond," you cried softly, struggling to believe it was your own brother hurting you like this. "I'm sorry, Aemond, lēkia, I'm so sorry—"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, petting your back— but still pushing his hips steadily forward until all of him was sheathed in you. "Gods above, you have such a nice cunt… so warm…"

You felt actually nauseous, because he was so deep in you— like he would stir your stomach and make you sick when he moved. But no, when he moved again— slowly, deliberately— you didn't feel sick. You felt pain, and your legs began to shake, but that's it. "You're hurting me, brother, please—!"

"Shh," he interrupted firmly. "I think you'll like it, once you accept it. I know you were made to take my cock, darling, it fits in you so well."

It didn't feel like it fit well— it still hurt, it still made you ache deep inside. But he was certainly enjoying it: he kept moaning each time he filled you to the brim, examining closely the way your face tightened up and twisted in pain. He obviously liked hurting you, specifically he liked knowing he could hurt you and get away with it.

"So well— you're doing so well already," he whispered to you, a strain in his voice from his own pleasure. Each time he pulled back it seemed like he only went deeper in the next stroke; your toes curled against the floor, sometimes your legs even kicked up and your fists balled up the blankets under you. "Fuck, you know who you belong to now, don't you, sister?" he grunted, starting to move faster far sooner than you were ready for it. "You know that you're nothing but your brother's whore, yes?"

The next thrust into you was fast and sharp; it made your whole body jolt, and a cry jump from your lips. And he did it again, and again, and again.

You tried to get up on the bed, tried to crawl away to keep it from being so painfully deep inside you, but he grunted and pushed you down— he got up on the bed, too, and growled as he kept you pinned, fucking you harder as punishment for your disobedience. "Just stay still," he ordered, "just stay fucking still and take it!"

Holding you down more forcefully, fingers digging into your shoulder and side, he let go of any reservation he might have had and began to really fuck you— hard and rough and needy, more focused on his own frustration than anything. You sobbed your apologies over and over until they were just useless blabbering, pathetic cries as weak and broken as you felt. You weren't just his whore, you were his toy.

But something had changed in the way you cried; it wasn't just pain anymore, in fact, it was hardly that. You were crying most of all because of the way your body, betraying you, responded to him. It was beginning to almost feel pleasurable— there was still a sting in the stretch, and yet a fullness that made your back arch on its own. There was still an ache inside you, but it made you long for more, not less. Every forced push into you made his cock rub alongside something, a sensitive place on your walls that seemed to awake even more the longer it went on.

Now, when your toes curled, it wasn't in agony but ecstasy. And you hated yourself for it.

"You are a whore," he insisted again, though his voice was quiet and rough. "Do you see how much you enjoy it? Should I have not waited so long, darling? You longed for me, didn't you?"

There was really no point denying it now; he'd believe what he wanted anyway, and probably end up convincing you to believe it, too. You whimpered as his face appeared beside yours, kissing one of your tears away.

"Gevie," he praised; beautiful. "I know you wanted this so badly. That's why you teased me, isn't it? Let me catch you in the garden with that boy? Because you wanted me to stop waiting, and finally take you as my own."

He cooed at you, clicking his tongue; you groaned as he forced his cock as deep as he could possibly push it, holding your hips down with one hand and petting your head with the other.

"Shh, shh," he soothed, "I know— it'll all be right now, my darling. All is as it should be now. Do you know whose you are?"

Shakily, you nodded, and he sat up again so his face wasn't so oppressively close.

"Good," he decided. "Now let's make sure everyone else knows."

He whistled, loudly, the way he did when he wanted to summon the guards outside into the room. "N-no, I can't— they can't see me like—" you began to protest.

He ignored you as the guards entered, and his hips stilled as he spoke to them. Your head was hot and spinning as you heard him talking to them, knowing they were standing right there as you were laid on the bed, naked, being used by your own twin right in front of them.

"Bring that knight," Aemond requested of the guards. "The one my dolt of a sister kissed."

"No!" you screamed. "No, please, please—"

"Shh, he needs to see this," Aemond insisted, petting your silver hair as you sobbed into the blankets. You heard the door shut again, and prayed that somehow Corwin had known to run far away from this place and never come back. "Oh, don't be embarrassed," he soothed you coldly, playing with your hair as you kept hiding your face. "Those guards only saw you for a moment, sister. If you learn your lesson this time, I won't let them see you like that again."

He leaned in closer, his voice tickling your ear until you turned your head away.

"But if you don't keep your voice down, they'll probably hear you anyways," he reminded you with a little chuckle.

He started to move again, faster than before he'd stopped, and you shuddered; you should've enjoyed the moment of a break while you could.

His own sighs were getting louder and more frequent, and his thumb massaged up and down your spine while he fucked you: you couldn't tell if he was trying to soothe or savour you. "Mm, how lovely you are," he spoke, under his breath, as his hand reached down to get a handful of your bum. He pulled that handful to the side, so it wouldn't block his view of your cunt stretched out for his cock, and you felt terribly exposed. "I'm afraid you'll ruin the bed linens with your slick… you've already coated my cock quite nicely— and look, it's on your thighs too… what a mess."

He sighed and clicked his tongue like he was disappointed in you for it; your chest twisted. "I-I'm sorry," you said again.

"Hmm," was his only reply.

There was a knock at the doors just before they opened, and as footsteps approached the bed, you turned your face away so you wouldn't have to see it.

"Oh! That was quick," Aemond announced. "Come closer, knight, get a good look."

You tried to move your arms up to cover your face better, you tried to grab the blankets to hide your whole head under, but your brother wouldn't allow that.

"Don't hide your face, sister," he cooed, the gentleness of his voice in opposition with the way he roughly tugged on your hair to force you to arch your back and expose your face. You cried harder at the sight of your beloved Corwin, your sweet knight, standing in front of you; his face painted in betrayal and heartbreak at the sight before him. "Tell him who you are," Aemond ordered you.

"I…" you whispered shakily, getting louder when your twin tugged your hair again. "I am my brother's whore!"

"Mm," Aemond hummed approvingly. "Yes, you are, my love. Look at his face, darling— look how disgusted he is with you."

Blinking tears away, you did: you saw the way his eyes ran over your face, down to your weak and shaking body that Aemond was fucking into roughly. You could tell he'd never look at you again as he has before.

"He only wanted your purity," Aemond explain in a whisper, "he doesn't want you now that your brother has defiled and claimed you. He never loved you, sister… only I love you."

"You're lying," you sobbed, "you're lying to me, Aemond!"

"I'd never lie to you," he promised, speaking just beside your ear, turning your head so you had to look at the knight again, who watched the sick display with a grimace on his lips and tears on his cheeks. "I won't hurt you again, if you do not disrespect me any further. Do you know your place now, my sister?"

He got angry when you didn't respond, tugging your hair again until you whined. Against all logic, the dull pain made a chill of pleasure run down your back.

"It's a simple fucking question," he sneered. "Yes—" he forced your head to nod by pulling your hair up and down— "or no—" he forced you to shake your head by pulling your hair side to side. "Do you know your place now?"

"Yes," you whispered weakly. "Yes, my brother."

"Is it playing childish games, flirting with boys in the courtyard, taunting horny knights with your maidenhead?" he asked you, and you sniffled before you answered.

"N-no…"

"Good," he smiled. "Is it in our bed, pleasing me, serving me, and keeping the bloodline pure?"

You exhaled shakily, but finally nodded your head— you were crying too hard to speak properly. Worst of all, you were afraid if you spoke aloud, they'd both hear you moan; you hated this like nothing else, in your mind and in your heart, and yet your body was washed over and over with pleasure. You weren't sure you could take it, how good it felt, and you were fighting everything in you to keep the ecstasy at bay.

"Yes," he agreed as he whispered in your ear. "Yes, that's it. That's your place, princess."

"May I be dismissed, my lord?" you heard Corwin's voice ask your twin weakly. Aemond didn't even look away from you, didn't even slow down.

"Not until she comes," Aemond decided. "I'd like you to see how much she loves this."

He grabbed your wrists and pulled them behind your back, forcing you onto your knees and keeping your upper body suspended; it made the sounds of skin on skin even louder in the room, along with the moans you couldn't help but release.

Aemond himself moaned louder, too, his hands squeezing your wrists and his heavy balls hitting your cunt each time he thrusted forward. "I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to fuck her," he offered the knight, who didn't seem to find it all that comforting. "She's so pretty, isn't she? And a tight little cunt— fuck, it keeps squeezing me, it's how I know she's about to come for me. Aren't you, darling? About to come for your brother?"

You dropped your head in shame and defeat. You didn't even know what it felt like to come, you'd never done it before— no one ever told you it was possible, actually. So, you didn't realise what you were approaching as your moans grew louder and louder, as your legs started to shake and your cunt pulsed rhythmically. All you knew was that you needed it to keep going, you needed this feeling to get bigger and bigger until it consumed all of you.

He hissed praises in Valyrian at you— kessa ("yes") and sȳz ("good") and, of course, māzigon ("come", though it wasn't usually used to mean what he meant it as). The encouragement did little for you compared to the constant assault on your walls, faster and harder with each thrust until your defences broke and it hit you all at once: with a cry, the last of your energy causing your back to arch and your head to tilt back.

Sobs of his name broke out of your sore throat, tears running down your face and making a puddle in the sheets— well, a new puddle… you'd already made one with your arousal as he so keenly noticed.

"What ever will I do with you, sister?" Aemond scolded through his teeth. "Calling yourself a princess, acting like an innocent girl, when you're nothing but a whore. All you wanted was a good fuck, yes? You should've come to me first, only your brother can make you feel like this."

Grabbing your jaw, Aemond forced your limp head to turn up slightly, so you could look at the knight in front of you once more. He held your face and kissed it, before whispering his demand in your ear.

"Tell him that you don't love him," he instructed.

"I… I don't love you," you spoke weakly to Corwin, your voice breaking and your words slurred as you tried to think clearly in the afterglow of such a sensation.

"Tell him you only love me," he added.

"I… I only love my brother, Aemond," you repeated dutifully.

He planted a kiss on your cheek as a reward.

"Please," Corwin begged, barely keeping a straight face as tears welled in his eyes, "let me leave…"

"You may go," he decided, and Corwin bowed quickly before departing in a blur, the door slamming behind him. You and your brother were alone again, as you often were, but you'd never in all your life felt so lonely before. "I thought about having his cock cut off," Aemond admitted, "but I couldn't be that cruel. It's better this way— he'll go fuck some other dumb girl, probably by the end of the night. You never meant anything to him but a chance at something warm to put his prick in."

"S'not true," you sniffled.

"It is, my darling little sister— it is true," he insisted. "He never loved you, no one could ever love you the way that I do."

He let you collapse onto the bed, finally, and fell on top of you. His lips and teeth took turns with gentle kisses and harsh bites along your neck and shoulder, grunts from his throat turning into deep and hungry moans.

"My pretty sister," he mumbled roughly. "It's nearly time: I'm going to give you a sweet little babe, a pure Targaryen, doesn't that sound nice?"

"I… I don't…" you started and trailed off. You'd wanted children someday, but not so soon, not when you were unmarried— and not by your brother.

"Shh, shh," he silenced you again, "just tell me you love me. That's all you need to say, just tell me that you love me."

"Avy jorrāelan, lēkia," you whimpered, repeating it over and over until his movements stilled with a long, satisfied sigh— and then you were both laying there in a daze, his weight atop you, his lips just by your ear and heavy breaths falling from them.

"You'll be even more beautiful with our child inside," he decided with a happy, hazy sigh. "We can be wed before the month is through… that should make sure no more knights come sniffing around you, hm?"

You didn't respond, you only laid there, numb. He rolled off of you but pulled you with him, keeping his cock inside you and holding your back close to his chest. Gentle kisses trailed your shoulder as his fingers traced random shapes on your arm. Your eyes grew heavier and heavier, the exhaustion from your body seeming to infect your mind as well.

"You can sleep, my love," he whispered to you soothingly. "I'll hold you all night, just the way you like, all right?"

Sleepily, you nodded, letting a final tear roll down your face sideways as your eyes shut. "Yes, Aemond," you answered, already halfway drifted into darkness.

He gave one more kiss to your cheek and hugged you tightly. "Sȳz bantis, issa ābrazȳrys," he offered to you under his breath. Good night, my wife.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen dark fic #dark!aemond targaryen x reader

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mmkin · 4 months

Text

Get You Some Arlong ch 8

I'm considering adding a subtitle to the title of this story. 'Get You Some Arlong' was meant to be a tongue in cheek title since I couldn't seem to think of a good one (they all sounded silly and cheesy) but now I would like to add a more serious one. Suggestions welcome

Ch 8 of the story is now up for those who enjoy my Smexy Fishmen stories. Chapter is NSFW/18+ but all consensual. TW mentions of biting/blood but consensual.

As a treat here is a new picture of Arlong and Squid I drew yesterday. I wanted Squid more feminine looking so I put her hair down, but now i can't help but think of the Rachel haircut and the outfit Luann wore for most of King of the Hill lmao. (these drawings I've been doing recently take about 15 min each in case anyone is wondering) Chapter is also included here under the cut.

VIII

When I first started planning this fic, it had been meant to be a fun one or maybe two-shot of smutty headcanons featuring that smexy sharkman, but after I watched the Sabaody and Fishman Island arcs, I wanted to do something more with Arlong, especially given the flashbacks we see of him in the Fishman Island episodes. I mean, how could I not?

Now we’re at 8 chapters and it feels like Arlong’s Reader has become more of an OC because of how much I have invested in this story and now I’m even wondering if I should write about Arlong having a child with his little squid. But hell, I had fun writing this, and falling down the delightful rabbit hole that is One Piece, and I’m happy for the new buddies I made in the fandom. If you enjoy this story, please check out the companion piece I am working on, ‘Get You Some Arlong Pirates’ which is a collection of stories featuring Arlong’s Big Three.

All reviews, feedbacks, recs and reblogs are sincerely welcome and very much appreciated by this author who works so hard to bring you smexy fishman stories.

o0o0o0o

Tempers were high. So was drunkenness. You were pretty buzzed, but unlike Toma, you weren’t the type of person to get volatile after a few drinks. Arlong, on the other hand… well, pissing off a drunk Arlong is never a good idea. No one needed to tell you that, but seeing a drunk, angry Arlong in action is not something you’ll forget. Especially when Arlong is angry because he’s defending you.

Toma's friends desert him, melting into the shadows or diving into the water as Arlong takes hold of his misbehaving subordinate. You see the panic in Toma's eyes, the realization that he absolutely, positively fucked up, and that he'll be lucky to get out of this alive. Part of you feels sorry for him because you remember how terrified you'd been after confessing to Arlong what you did for Nami. Arlong's maw is not something anyone wants to be looking at, especially if there's the chance they'll go down it.

Arlong doesn’t rip Toma apart, but the fishman got a bite from his captain that he’s not going to forget anytime soon, however superior fishmen may be to humans in terms of durability. It’ll be a while before he can do any work, and the ones who egged him on will be responsible for his care as well as the work he was supposed to do.

You sit in the corner of the foredeck, processing what just happened. You have to admit to yourself that it was nice having Arlong come in like he was your knight in shining armor. You might not be a captive princess, but all things considered, being a pirate is much more fun.

You nurse a bottle of rum, letting the buzz soothe your nerves.

“Do you really think we shouldn’t sell them?” you hear Chew ask. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you do not realize immediately the question was aimed at you. You turn to where Arlong and the Big Three sit, lounging in the chairs that would normally only be used by the top-ranking officers of the ship and their guests.

“There’s several reasons. I was serious when I said we shouldn’t bring ourselves down to their level. I have nothing but sympathy for those of us who spent time as slaves. There are plenty of things we do to retaliate against those who would harm us, and we are called many things. Let’s not add ‘slaver’ to that list, all right?” you ask, but before anyone can answer, you continue, “Sure, there would be a profit in Berries, but humans are generally the cheapest on the slave market, so in the long run, I do not believe it would be worth it, especially as the Marines are bound to notice when a number of their own turn up on the market. And last but not least, engaging in the slave trade would just bring us more attention. There’s already enough to deal with because of the new additions to your territory and the extra manpower needed to maintain these holdings. Plenty of people hate slavers – humans, too. You see how they enslave one another, not just other races.”

Arlong stares at you but says nothing. Chew gulps his drink. Kuroobi has his arms crossed, looking at you. Hatchan simply nods.

“With this many Marines in our custody, I am sure we can find at least a few that can be bought off. Nezumi can only oversee so much territory, after all. As for the rest, this is the biggest vessel we’ve captured, so I don’t doubt we have some skilled people down there. We can use them and have them teach what they know to fishmen.” Despite the World Government’s official stance on equal rights for various races, there is one glaring fact – there is not one single fishman in the Marines. Nor are you aware of any other race than humans or giants being enrolled in the Marines.

“They can still be a source of income… just a more steady and permanent one. With slaves, once they’re sold, they’re gone, and so are any useful skills they might possess. If we keep them, others can’t use them against us. We have Marines here, not just civilians. Let us use them for the glory of the Arlong Empire,” you add coldly. At that, you see a smile stretch Chew’s pert lips while Kuroobi looks at his captain.

“I do not disagree with the idea,” Kuroobi concedes. “We can always threaten or kill anyone who refuses to cooperate.”

“There we go," you say dryly, raising your bottle to him before taking a long swig. After they talk a bit more, Arlong's friends leave one by one, leaving the two of you alone, the sound of waves lapping against the hull and cries of seabirds fill the silence. The morning will come, with plenty of work to do, so you are happy for these quiet moments with him.

“Thank you for being a gentleman and so gallantly coming to my aid,” you tease him. Moonlight catches in his eyes as he looks at you, and the corners of his mouth pull his expression into an appreciative smirk.

“I can not have anyone disrespecting my mate,” he comments with a faint growl.

“When did that happen?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“This is not the first time you’ve called me that,” you say quietly. “But we never courted, or made an agreement…” You trail off, knowing that’s going to sound pretty weak to someone such as Arlong as soon as the words slip past your lips.

“So?’ His gaze is cool and predatory.

So… what? “I…” You pause, unsure of how to express your thoughts.

“You object?” He leans closer to you. You ponder your answer. You do not object to the position you are currently in. You just… sort of wish you had been asked. Maybe it’s the romantic side of you. You know that this man is a predator. He is selfish, possessive, easy to anger, and prideful. Still, you let him have you. You can’t say that he hasn’t treated you well.

“… No,” you reply quietly, but in a firm tone as you look at him. “I don’t know if I sound silly to you, but…” You look down.

“You do sound a bit silly. I will not hold it against you, little squid." You feel his hand under your chin. "Think about it. You have told me in no unclear terms, multiple times that you were mine. Whether in answer to my questions or making these declarations on your own."

You blush at that, and he grins, baring these sharp teeth that had just torn into someone to defend you. There is still a bit of blood just past his lower lip.

“You took a great risk with Nami, knowing my wrath. You did it because you cared for me.”

“I do.”

“That is when I knew you would be a worthy mate. And you did not object the first time I called you that, did you?”

“… No, Arlong,” you concede. “Though that’s not entirely fair… you had me in a position where I could not really think to object…”

He chuckles at that, taking pleasure in the fond memory. Fond, indeed, since you were right there with him, sharing and making these memories.

“After all the time we’ve spent, and what we shared, do you have doubts?” he asks.

“No, Arlong. That’s not it…”

You feel his other hand grasp your forearm, forcing you to scoot your chair closer to his.

“I just wish you had asked me. I know it’s a small thing considering what we’ve done, but it still startled me when you called me mate the first time,” you admit.

“Is that so?” You feel his fingers trail along the inside of your arm, and that sends pleasing shivers down your arm and spine. “What’s done is done, little squid.”

So it was done. Many times in the past, and the future holds the same. You do not pull away as he caresses your arm or other places.

o0o0o0o

You and Chew are sitting at the bar, going over the most recent messages. Arlong and Kuroobi are away with a troop of fishmen, leaving Chew in charge of Arlong Park. You’re not a leader in Arlong’s crew, but being his mate does place you firmly in a position of respect, especially among those who know about you.

And since Arlong’s friends are a big part of his life, it means they’re going to be part of yours, regardless of how you feel about them. It’s a good thing you’re already solid friends with Hatchan, and it seems that your relationship with the other two may become more than polite. Which would be nice, you have to admit. You normally didn’t stay long enough in one place to make more than acquaintances, but you know that you’re here for the long run, as a member of Arlong’s crew and as his mate. And Arlong’s friends were fiercely loyal to him and their shared goals, so you were going to be spending a fair amount of time around one another.

“I miss him.” you sigh almost without thinking as you flip through some papers to make sure you didn’t miss anything. You woke up this morning hot and irritable, and cursed the fact that Arlong had to be fucking gone when you were starting one of your heat cycles. You would find things to distract yourself with, and once you were done meeting with Chew, you were going for a long, cold swim.

You feel a little embarrassed once the words slip past your tongue. You don’t want to sound needy or whiny. After all, Arlong had to deal with the loneliness at home when you were out on a mission. You were a grown adult, and you’d deal with this.

“Hm.” Chew lets out a quiet hum as he glances over a page before he speaks. “You really care for him.”

You’re not sure if that’s a question or a statement. But a nod works either way. “So do you,” comes your soft reply. “As a longtime friend and nakama, I mean…”

He nods in affirmation. You make notations on a couple of the papers. So you both care about Arlong and share the same desire to see him home safe. How warm and cozy.

“I am happy for my brother.” He looks up from the paper to meet your gaze. You get the feeling that he has something he wants to say, but is not quite sure if you’re close enough to share his confidence. You give him an encouraging smile.

“But I do wonder if you have any lady friends who might want to come here…" He raises his eyebrow, and you let out a small, warm laugh. It's as you've noticed since you first arrived here, it's pretty much a sausage party even though now there are a few fishwomen in the village. There is quite a ways to go, but it's a start.

“I’m working on it.” You raise the tumbler of tangerine juice you were sipping. “To friendship… and happiness.” you offer. Chew raises his bottle and you clink the glass together.

After you’re done with Chew, you go for that swim, trying to tire yourself out with mad laps around the island.

But it seems like it’s going to be a restless night.

Arlong doesn't keep toys around, nor does he want you to keep any. After all, as Arlong reasons, whatever do you need such things for when you have him? His fishman pride disdains these toys that humans use for their pleasure, pointing this out as another example of their inferiority.

And yes, when he’s around, you don’t need any of these toys you’ve seen in advertisements in certain magazines. But when you’re alone, what the fuck are you supposed to do to satisfy that ache in your loins? Your fingers and tentacles just don’t cut it, however much you try to use your tentacles to fill your passage in an attempt to stimulate the fullness of Arlong’s cock(s), or when you use your fingers to try to stimulate what Arlong does to your clit.

Any pleasure you achieve is minimal. You would be lying if you said that propositioning a fishman didn’t pass through your mind.

“Fuck, Arlong!” you exclaim in an angry whine. Part of you wants to give up, knowing that you’re not going to get full satisfaction without Arlong’s help. The other part of you is stubborn, demanding at least some release from the heat that aches between your legs.

Fucking heat. It’s awesome when you have a mate to share it with, but absolute misery when you’re on your own. You’re curled up on your side, working at yourself frantically and commanding your body to release some of that pressure already so you can move the fuck on and hopefully get a few hours of sleep before the sun comes up.

“Fuck… come the fuck on…" you pant and gasp. You can feel how engorged your clit is against your fingers, and your insides respond to the friction against its surfaces, but your body also knows that it's not the real thing. You arch your back and curl your toes, increasing the intensity of your self-ministrations while imagining Arlong being the one to give you such attention. You're so lost in your work and muttering heatedly that you do not hear the door to the bedroom open and then close.

Arlong stands there for several moments, eyes adjusting to the semidarkness as he watches you try to bring yourself some measure of satisfaction. The scent of your heat is heavy in the air within the confines of the room, with the effect that one would expect. His shorts become too tight as he listens to your frustrated mewls, your hips rocking, your appendages making soft, wet sounds as they work at the most intimate part of you.

“Y/n,” you hear a growl, and you’re so feverish with pent-up energy that you think you’re hearing things.

“Arlong…” you breathe, trying to visualize him. It’s not as if you don’t have enough memories of his face, his voice, his touch, his smell, his taste… but what is an illusion compared to the real thing? It’s not until you hear cloth dropping to the floor that it dawns upon you that your desires are manifesting themselves into reality.

Your eyelids flutter open, and you gasp softly to see Arlong standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at you. It takes a couple of seconds – and the sound of his breathing – for you to realize that he really, truly is there, in the flesh, and from the looks of his cocks and hungry grin, ready to ravish you.

“Arlong…! How did you…” you manage to gasp out.

“The job was a success, and so I hastened back home. None too soon, from the looks of it…" he says in that lustful chortle that makes you feel so dirty but in such a good way…

“None too soon," you agree, withdrawing your appendages from yourself, and spreading out for him. He had better not tease you…

Fortunately, it seems like being apart from you has built up his need as well, for he climbs on top of you, giving you the attention you so crave. He pounds into you with a ferocity that pushes all non-sexual thoughts from your head. Your cries and shrieks fill the room, as do his roars and growls.

After several rounds, you indicate to him that you want him to clasp his cocks. This is a rare treat for him, and he is all too happy to oblige. The soreness that will come from this is well worth the abatement of that maddening heat, and you arch against him as he pushes the fullness of his manhood into you. It almost seems as if he might break the bed itself with the way he’s going at you, not that you’re doing anything to stop him.

Aren't you just so happy that he came home early? He only leaves your side to get drinks and towels to refresh or clean up. You cling to him and he keeps his arms around you as you lay there together, basking in the afterglow of a passionate session. You run your hand along his chest and arms, savoring the feel of his sharkskin. You rub your cheek against him and kiss his chest, feeling his heartbeat and breathing. He has a nose and fangs that can tear you apart and arms that can break you, but there's no safer place in the world for you than his embrace.

You love him.

Love. It’s not a word to use around Arlong, and you’re not sure if it will ever be. Love, in Arlong’s eyes, is a weakness, a human sentimentality, a silly dream fed by romance books and old tales of chivalry. So it’s a word that you do not allow yourself to voice.

It’s not that he’s not capable of caring. You know he cares about his crew, especially the Big Three. And there’s no doubt he cares about you. But Arlong is Arlong. The words he chooses to express his bonds with the people he cares about are more pragmatic. ‘Brother/sister’, ‘nakama’, or 'mate' are roles he assigns with respect.

You wonder if, in the future, Arlong will ever soften in his feelings towards this 'pathetic human sentimentality' because even though you accept that Arlong is the way he is, you'd be thrilled if one day he were to ever tell you that he loves you. Maybe you've spent too much time around humans and some of their notions have rubbed off on you...

“I’m happy to be your mate,” you say as you look up at him, placing kisses along his jaw as you hook an arm around his neck, your chest flush against his own as you drape a leg across his hip.

“Mmm. Good,” Arlong rumbles as he runs his hand through your hair. “You are a worthy mate, indeed. I could not ask for anyone more pleasing,” You feel his lips press against your forehead.

You did not realize it at this time, but that is one of his ways of telling you he loves you. You bask in his affection, studying how the moonlight drains nearly all the color from his skin to leave it a pale silver tinged with just a bare hint of color, the sun on his left chest standing out in a red so dark it's almost black.

‘I could hear you moaning outside the door before I came in,” Arlong comments. His fingers trail along your hairline. “And the scent of your heat… I’m almost surprised there wasn’t a pack of fishmen thronged outside,” he adds with a tone that is a mixture of lecherousness, smugness, and pride. You blow a raspberry at him, and he rumbles out a low laugh.

“You had best get some rest, Y/n. There’s plenty to do in the morning.”

“Only if you hold me,” comes your reply. He tightens his embrace, and you smile to yourself as you cuddle with him.

o0o0o0o

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to that,” you comment as you see the headless body of Buggy the Clown struggle against his restraints for several seconds before going slack, a curious trophy among the prizes displayed in the games of Arlong Park. Arlong might have simply disposed of him as he has done to many others who challenge him, but in the clown's case, it was because he was trying to run his own operations in Arlong's territory.

However, this Devil Fruit user and his particular abilities have caught Arlong’s interest, so your captain has decided to make use of him as suits his skills. His head is safely secured within the building, on a level where just Arlong or his Big Three have access, at least when he’s not being used elsewhere. Chew has taken to taunting Buggy, keeping his head firmly tied in the sack while walking by the body several times, Buggy’s white glove-clad hands reaching uselessly for its head. The clown will protest, of course, but his head does not come out of the bag unless there is enough distance between the two parts of his body, or Arlong locks his body in a trunk as he’s done a few times. The clown was being especially mouthy this afternoon, so Buggy will be in solitary confinement for the rest of the night.

You have to admit, there's a certain charm about that human, at least when he's not being too annoying. You've kept mostly out of the way, simply listening as he goes back and forth with Arlong or Chew. It's a weird kind of dinner theater, and you have to admit it does make the park a bit livelier when Arlong puts Buggy's head on a table for show. On occasion, you feel bad for the clown, because hey, it has to be an absolutely weird experience being separated from your body and completely helpless to the whims of a pissed-off sharkman pirate captain.

The clown was quite resistant to his situation at first, but the need to be reunited with the rest of himself is wearing him down, and Arlong knows that. So the sharkman just shrugs and laughs at your comment while his crew sits around him, drinking, playing games, and gambling with their cut of this month’s tribute money while Buggy fumes and schemes and you have to admit to yourself that you wonder what the clown might do or say when Arlong brings out the head tomorrow morning. Buggy might not have intended it, but he’s now providing Arlong Park with entertainment, with Arlong as his defacto manager.

o0o0o0o

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” you whisper as you stroke the hair from Arlong’s face. The blue is cold and clear, terrifying when he is angry or predatory, and brings out the cool lavender tones in his skin.

But right now, you see his eyes gleam with warmth as he looks up at you. You press your lips to his temple as you caress his cheek. Several months have passed since that fateful night on the Marine ship. There is a definite shift in the way some of the fishmen regard you. Toma serves as a clear lesson – or two of them. First, do not assume that the mighty Captain Arlong will allow himself to be controlled by anyone. And secondly, don’t fuck with Arlong’s mate.

What’s done is done.

“Oh, before we get too comfortable, I have something for you.” He rises, the back of him almost as impressive as the front. His dorsal fin juts out from the wild mane of black hair that’s spread between his wide shoulders, and you are also afforded a nice view of a glorious ass and legs that almost seem to go on forever. You wonder what this little interlude will bring and what could distract Arlong from getting ready to climb on top of you as you know he was about to.

He pulls a small velvet bag from a desk drawer before returning to the bed. Your curiosity is piqued and he knows it.

He pulls out a stacked gold chain bracelet, seven strands of golden chains almost as thick as your pinky, connected at both ends with matching gold bars that clasp together. It is an ideal piece of jewelry for someone who spends a lot of time swimming, with no jewels or embellishments that are vulnerable to salt water. The design is simple but elegant, and you imagine how it will look on your arm. You wonder if there is any special occasion for such a lavish gift, and try to remember if there's any significance to today's date…

“I know I told you before that what is done is done,” you hear him say as you stare at the bracelet draped across his palm, shining that deep, rich yellow under the lamplight. You blink and look up at him in surprise.

“But I am asking you now.” He lifts his hand. “Do you accept?”

“Yes,” you breathe You repeat the word more loudly, lifting your left arm so that he can put the bracelet around your wrist. His large fingers struggle for a moment with the toggle clasp, but the bar slides home and the cool metal rests comfortably against your skin. It’s an appropriate complement to the thick gold chains around his wrist and neck.

“Looks good on you,” he comments. You regard him with a happy smirk.

“I know that’s not the only thing you have to offer,” you reply. Not that you’re not grateful for the gorgeous – and quite valuable – gift he’s just given you, but Arlong is Arlong. You know him too well, and the gleam in his eye tells you that he knows exactly what you meant. You can’t deny that Arlong was – is – right about you being his mate.

One might even call you his Siren, even if you do not count singing among your abilities. He’s inexorably drawn to you as you are to him, since the first moment you laid eyes upon one another, before either of you quite understood what you were feeling.

He rises on his knees, leaning over you, and the familiar lust surges fresh in you as you respond to instinct, your loins pulling toward him. A downward gaze reveals both of his cocks on full display, and there is no denying the visual appeal of an attractive man displaying his arousal for you.

“Arlong,” you purr as he closes in on you.

o0o0o0o

(Arlong’s POV)

His mother is lost forever. His father abandoned him. Even his sister became distant from him. Fisher Tiger was dead, and Jinbe… hm.

He leans over his mate, looking down at her as he strokes her arm and back, careful around the area on her shoulder where he’d bitten her. Marks from his nose were visible on her neck and cheek. There was another bite on her hip. He was careful to not do these sorts of things to her too often, and the mark on her cheek was no accident – he was mindful about his nose in regards to that lovely face of hers.

He will mark her again and again. The tattoo is not going away. Cum can be cleaned off, but he can always produce more, and enjoy himself while doing so. The bites and sawnose cuts heal and he is sincerely glad for that, for his mate’s sake. But there is something about the act of biting or marking her in itself, committing the deed on her, the thrill of knowing she is his and that she accepts and even welcomes it, tasting her blood and the vitality she brings into his life.

He places kisses along the puncture marks on her shoulder, careful with his nose as he nuzzles her. She is his mate, and he knows he will never let her go.

It honestly surprised him, what she'd said that night after he'd disciplined the fishman who'd tried to bully her. At that time, he didn't see why a seemingly small matter should bother her so much when she'd come to him freely. He did not doubt her loyalty or care for him.

He told her that what was done was done, and why not? He asked her if she objected to being his mate, and she said no. The matter was settled, and she accepted his amorous advances, making fierce love with him in the captain's quarters, christening his newly-acquired Marine ship. Life was good.

But what she said nagged him. It was such a small and trifling thing, so why should it bother him? And why was she bothered about it in the first place? It wasn’t until a conversation with his officers about tributes and collections that he started to understand. When he came here, he’d taken the island. Then the others surrounding it. And so on. He wanted something, he took it. He did not ask these weak humans if they wanted to be part of the Arlong Empire, or if they wanted to pay him tribute for their pathetic lives.

She wasn’t simply something to be taken – however much their intimate activities might indicate otherwise – but something to be valued. Making this simple gesture would make her feel valued, and didn’t she deserve to feel valued by the mighty Arlong the Saw?

Arlong hated to admit that he felt a bit nervous when trying to decide what he would give her as a physical reminder of this gesture. Finally, he’d decided upon the gold bracelet, something practical but valuable and a status symbol that speaks well of both its giver and recipient. And it did look good on her, the polished metal setting off the cool tones of her skin.

“You do know that this means I am never, ever letting you go, mate?” he asks with a growl, his hand running along her arm, feeling the gold on her wrist. Although he’d already made that decision a long time ago, he thinks with satisfaction, he would enjoy reminding her now and then.

She is his mate, the velvet glove to his iron fist, the voice of reason to his power and rage. He curls up around her protectively and possessively.

“Is the big, bad sharkman threatening me with a good time?” she replies with a smirk.

“Shahahahaha!”

o0o0o0o

And that’s how you got you some Arlong. All the Arlong, in fact.

SHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

This picture is what I imagined for the gift that Arlong gave Y/n.

#writing #one piece #strawberrycatbeans #villain gets the girl #arlong #fanfiction #opla #arlong pirates #arlong x reader #fishmen are sexy #op x reader #one piece x reader #arlong/reader #x reader #fanart

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melissanovels · 4 years

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♡ Chapter 5 of TRANSIENT TIME TRAVELLER is out! ♡

○ Read on my Website ○ Read on Tumblr (below) ○ Read on Ao3 ○ Read on Royal Road ○

TTT is an LGBTQ+ historical fantasy novel about Aida, a time traveller hellbent on proving the innocence of a 1,200-year-old dead queen, and Lorian, an escaped princess-turned-officer who wants to drain the royal blood from their body, & the two coming together with the help of their mischievous future selves.

♡ Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Read Chapter 5 Below:

As Lorian walked into an empty classroom and waited for Aida and Mister Omar to leave, she pressed her back into the door and utterly lost it.

She covered her mouth with her gloved hands. She’d done it. She’d finally talked to Aida again. And she hadn’t been so crass as she’d been when they’d first met. The first time had been a complete disaster. With Aida being naked and Lorian open-mouthed staring at her, the curves of her wide hips and ass, her breasts, her face, her eyes. God help her, she’d never seen a woman’s body so openly before. All she’d wanted to do that night was slam her down into bed and do unspeakable things to her, yet what had Aida wanted? To talk about fantasy novels and a queen who’d been dead for 1,200 years. What had Lorian even said that’d led her up to Aida’s bedroom? She’d need to write it down for reference.

Despite being betrothed for more than half of her life, Lorian hadn’t a clue how courting worked. The girls she’d met in the palace were diplomatic and groomed to please her, all peachy smiles and saying whatever they needed to make her happy. She’d tried to court an Aldaían knight a few years back, but she’d only earned her name and her preference of cakes before they’d parted ways.

Aida’s attitude was so defiant, so cheeky and unbecoming that it would’ve sent Lorian’s father into hysterics. She wanted her. She wanted to crack her open and explore her mind and passions and give it back to her a ten-thousand fold.

Lorian dragged her hands down her face. Maybe she’d buy her a history book, really push more into the things she loved, or maybe a ticket to En Tempore Rose. The official one, the one that played in the Colosseum. She’d have to schedule a trip to the city center. She’d wear a cloak.

After she heard Aida run off somewhere, Lorian re-entered the library and backtracked for the books Aida had put away. They were old and leather-bound, with yellow pages that smelled of mothballs: History of Roma: From the Perspective of King Julius II to His People and Hidden Dangers of Visatorre in Roman History.

Lorian put that last one back. Aida was brave to read about history that was so rarely taught in class. Lorian had secretly read about it behind Missus’ Sharma’s back. She’d learned about the lost city-state of Siina and the belligerent queen who killed one of the dead kings, and how they killed and tortured those poor Visatorre people for sport soon afterwards as punishment. Thrown into the Colosseum with a pack of lions without any weapons with which to defend themselves. In this aisle alone, Lorian saw four other books detailing what a plight the Visatorre were to other people not blessed with the ability to travel through time.

She believed. The power to go back in time, acting as a ghost to witness history in the raw way it was intended, only to come back and harbor the pains of going backwards. She’d never understand their full pain, she could only educate herself and hope that that injustice would never happen again in her history.

After skimming through more of Aida’s books and realizing how little of it she retained, Lorian picked up the shortest read and went near the windows for light.

She got to page ten, most of which was a glorified chapter about how great the Roman kings were and are, when she heard someone call her name.

“Lorian, you fuck!”

Between the library and the writing hall was a strip of muddy grass. It was a shortcut between the buildings for her and other officers to travel. Two of them were there, calling for her: Alessio and Matteo, the two assholes she’d befriended that month.

“There he is, little bugger,” Alessio said, catching Lorian’s profile from the window. He climbed onto a rock wall to get closer. “Get out of there and come down. Lunch’s almost over!”

“Alright, alright,” she said, and slotted the book for later.

They were good boys, these two. She liked them enough to hang out with them while not on duty. They didn’t know this, and they never would, but she’d actually known them back at the palace. All officers-in-training had to go through a mandatory training program held by a Constable. Lorian had always favored officers for their rowdiness. She’d watch them work out in secret, sneak peeks at their naked bodies when they’d change. When she’d found that both Alessio and Matteo were working as security details at this academy, her decision had been made. A few faked letters of recommendation and her crafty ability to lie through her teeth and she was enrolled as an officer-in-training in a week.

They’d never known it was her as she paraded around as a young, unfavorable princess with incredibly long hair wearing the dresses she loathed, but she liked to tease them every now again with knowledge she shouldn’t have known.

“Hey, Alessio, have you ever been persuaded to eat worms?”

“Matteo, didn’t you pee yourself after seeing a real lion in captivity?”

“Have you two ever kissed on a dare?”

She’d lied to them, calling herself a good guesser.

She walked out of the library and turned the corner to find her boys, but they weren’t there. The yard was quiet; she heard the teachers writing on the chalkboard from the writing rooms.

She stilled her steps. From her knowledge, she knew nobody could truly vanish from the world for good. Something would always bring you back to where you were meant to be.

A twig snapped behind her, and she was put into a chokehold that stole away her breath. She could’ve gotten out of it easily, but she didn’t want to hurt who, from their laughing, she knew was Alessio. Alessio was a redhead with more power than Lorian believed him to have. Matteo, on the other hand, was softer, with dark, floppy hair and innocent eyes.

Laughing, Lorian took out her rapier and used the butt of the sword to knock the wind out of Alessio.

Alessio gagged and let her go. “Ow! You ass.”

“You attacked me.” She lightly kicked him for good measure. “What’re we doing now?”

“Late lunch,” Matteo said, and shared a loaf of bread. They weren’t students, but through their enlistment, they were given a dorm room that she shared with Alessio and Matteo and three simple meals ordained by their royal regimen. Sometimes, if they wooed the right girl or boy, they’d get sweets and even alcohol, something that was forbidden to officers. All three of them had already gotten drunk in that month alone.

They walked to their preferred eating space that the Academy cheekily called “The Defense Wall.” It separated the school from the villainous farmlands of lazy cows and stupid chickens. What used to be a formidable, three-meter tall fortress from a time period Aida probably knew about was now a blockage from the smelly farm animals that provided the school a portion of their eggs, milk, cheese, and occasional meat.

Lorian hopped atop an abandoned wagon of hay to scale the tall wall. Alessio followed her, and they needed to help Matteo make it due to his size. There, they shared their bread and butter and made horrible jokes for hours that, if any other officer heard them say, they would’ve had their hands whipped. Lorian had had her fair share of that back home and was keen not to get struck again for misbehaving.

As Lorian dined, Alessio asked her, “Why do you always spend your time in those libraries? You never read.”

It was true, Lorian wasn’t so much a learned soul as her mother and father pretended she was. She was a physical person who liked getting her hands dirty in order to understand something abstract. This had been her fourth trip to the library that week. The first attempt to find and talk to Aida had failed miserably and she was left hiding behind a bookshelf to spy on her. The other try and Aida hadn’t even been there. The girl kept Lorian on a leash and Lorian had no problem with that. “I do read. I know a great deal of things, much more than you do.”

“Then name two books you’ve loved over the past year. No, five authors, and no poets.”

“You try that. When’s the last time you ever picked up a book?” Lorian reached to pull on Alessio’s hair, but he jerked away and stuffed his mouth with his dry loaf end.

“That Miss spends her time there, doesn’t she?” Matteo asked. “That Aida girl.”

“The traveller?” Alessio asked. “She’s a weird one. I’ve talked with some of the girls in her class, and they say she’s really weird. I heard she’s gonna get the nix, you know?” He made a mark across his neck. “Cut out.”

“What do you mean?” Lorian asked.

“I heard it from my father, and he heard it from Constable Carmine. Word from the Lion is that he’s gonna bar those types of people from secondary education.”

Lorian’s ears heated up. “Carmine said that? And the king agreed to it? When?”

Alessio slowed his chewing at Lorian’s mention of Carmine’s name without his title. She had to stop doing that, being so informal about a man she shouldn’t have known so personally. “That’s just what I heard from my dad, so I think it’s true.”

Lorian rubbed her neck. She knew Carmine well enough to forgo titles when she’d address him in the palace, but after being promoted to Constable, she couldn’t say if this was something he’d enforce under the king’s orders or not. He’d exchange his heart for his duty.

But she wouldn’t have put this horrendous action past her father. He was the most racist, hurtful, selfish person she’d ever known, and she hated herself that parts of his speech and behaviors had sunk into her own bones. It took a great deal of unlearning to undo all of those negative stereotypes, and it took her finally leaving the house and joining the ranks to realize how real Visatorre people lived and how awful the world was to them.

“What’s to happen to her?” Matteo asked when they went silent.

“Dunno,” Alessio said. “Kick her out? There’s only a few of those people here, so it’s not like we’d notice right away.”

“But that’s not fair,” Lorian said. “She hasn’t done anything.”

“That’s not gonna stop them, you know that.”

“Then…I’ll stop them,” she promised, and tried mimicking how confident Aida sounded whenever she opened her mouth. “It’s not right. Do you know Miss Mirko uses a cane because of her illness—” She bit her cheek. “Uh, affliction. Can you imagine walking around with a cane at our age? It’s uncouth to belittle those who were born with advantages we weren’t given.”

Alessio pulled a face. “Don’t act high and mighty to me. This wasn’t my decision, I’m just the fucking messenger. And it’s not like we can change this.”

“Say I become a leading Constable, then,” Lorian argued. “I’d rewrite the rules to make them fair for everyone.”

“You wanna be a Constable?”

“Don’t you? Isn’t that the goal of being an officer, to one day be a Constable?”

“Eh, not really. Not for me, anyway. I just needed to get away from my mother, and this was the best option. To be a Constable means you have to put in ten, sometimes fifteen-hour-days and be on the king’s every beck and call. Thanks, but I’m good just being ordered around for simple things.”

“And I wanted to become stronger like my brothers are, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to do everything a Constable does,” Matteo said, and he looked across the field towards the water well. “Oh.”

Alessio and Lorian followed his intent gaze.

“Speak of the devil,” Alessio said.

Stomping down the fields, dress lifted to keep from stepping in cow droppings, was Aida on a mission. Her hands were bunched up in her dress, her teeth grit, and she was mumbling something to herself as her heels plowed through the dry mud. She’d lost her cane, shortening her steps.

Lorian brushed the crumbs off of her chest and stood up higher to better see her. She always walked with such determination, like she truly did not care how other people saw her. Lorian wanted to walk like that one day.

“Do you need a hand, Miss?” Alessio called out.

“Fuck off!” Aida yelled back.

Alessio tensed up. “What the fuck’s her problem?” he muttered.

“S-she isn’t allowed to talk to us like that,” Matteo said meekly. “What should we do?”

“We need to stop her. Hey—”

Lorian palmed Alessio’s chest, almost knocking him off completely before clutching his jacket and keeping him vertical.

“Ow! Lorian, what’s with you today?”

Lorian stared intently at Aida.

Silent tears were running down Aida’s cheeks as she walked. She wasn’t sobbing or weeping, the tears were simply there, though it was hard to tell why she was crying in the first place. It looked like she was off to kill somebody.

When she was out of sight and then some, Lorian got up, told her friends that she was thirsty, and secretly tailed Aida down her chosen path.

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bcrtonarrcws · 3 years

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Drabble #001: so ‘ve always had this idea that clint’s early days at SHIELD weren’t the most easy - he often had to go on missions he didn’t like, work with agents he didn’t agree with, and basically he felt like everything he was doing was just one big test (this transfers over to claire, of course as well). so i decided to write a drabble kinda showcasing what i mean. PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG/REPOST ANYWHERE. THIS IS NOT A STARTER THREAD, THIS IS A DRABBLE.

⤗ ⤗

The woman at the desk gives her a smile, it's the fake one that almost every SHIELD agent gives her whenever she comes around. If she were anyone different, anyone with less tough skin, less of a shitty history behind her, she'd take it personally, but she is Claire Barton, she does have tough skin, and her shitty history that lives behind her ( lives right beside her, lives rent-free in her head ) tells her that the fake smile is their way of showcasing that they're all normal - they're not all spies, liars, killers; they're all normal people.

Claire gives one of her own fake smiles back, though hers is more of a grin, a smirk, a look of danger, before she nods her head and walks right into Director Fury's office, eases herself into the first chair she comes across, all but sprawling as she does so. The man in question stares, one good eye wondering if he'd made the right choice in recruiting her and she's got nothing to say about that. She doesn't even know.

❛ You wanted to see me, Director? ❜ she asks after a minute, the silence in the room the not-quite-uncomfortable type.

He continues to stare.

Claire moves, sits up properly, giving her own stare. She thinks back to any trouble she might've caused lately to see what could've gotten her in trouble with the principal. It hits her, ❛ If this is about what that utter child, Agent Malcolms, said, I want it known that he provoked me first. ❜ Calling her out, saying she was a killer and didn't belong amongst the other SHIELD agents. They were all killers, she just used to do it for a less steady paycheck then the rest of them.

Though, she probably shouldn't have decked him and kept going. She doesn't feel bad though, he should've known better.

Fury nods his head, one hand moving to a piece of paper on his desk that he lifts up and stares at. ❛ Y'know what this is?" ❜ he asks.

❛ Did Malcolms complain? ❜ Claire shoots up in her seat. She wants to pretend she's not shocked, but really, what a man child. ❛ He really came crying about getting punched out? What a bitch! He should've known better than talk shit about someone especially someone that isn't terrified of getting on his rich ass daddy's bad side! ❜

❛ This isn't about Agent Malcolms. ❜ Fury's got one side of his lips quirked upwards, as though he wants to laugh at her rant. All she feels is the burning in her face as she moves to sit back down.

❛ Then no, Director, I don't know. ❜ Her words seem smaller than she wants them to. She wishes it was a complaint.

He drops the page, slides it against the smooth surface of the desk. Claire starts to read the words they're upside down, but she can make out the words DEED and WAVERLY. Sickness pools in her stomach. He gives her a motion - he expects her to pick it up, but Claire won't she can't.

❛ What's this about, sir? ❜ Professional. Cool. Collected. Calm. Her eyes continue to stare at the paper, a flash of y e l l i n g

( ❛ EDITH I swear! ❜ Harold Barton's fist raised, Claire ducks behind her mother's skirt, Barney's somewhere in the background, trying to move from the other side of the room to come stand with her without making too much noise.

Edith whimpers, a soft broken noise. ❛ Harold, they're kids! They didn't mean it.❜ Bruised arms move to placate an angry man.

❛ They never mean anythin' do they? ❜ He inches closer, Barney's darting across the room, moving to grab at Claire before she can )

❛ Agent Barton. ❜ Fury calls to her. If she were a betting woman, she'd say he was worried.

❛ Sorry, Director, I wasn't listening. ❜ No, too busy going down memory lane. Too busy letting the bad thoughts take control.

Fury gives her another look before nodding his head, ❛ When your brother died, ❜ He's too polite to mention that she's the reason said brother is dead; that she shot him and killed him and she's a murderer and a monster for it. ❛ All of his property got left to you, including your old family home. We, here at SHIELD, have been holding onto it. ❜

Holding onto it, sounds more like they were hoarding it to see if she passed if she were loyal, if she were going to run the moment they set her out. She didn't want it though. She had left Waverly and it behind for her reasons, never expecting to ever have to return there. ❛ I'm afraid I don't understand, sir. ❜ Not a question, just a statement. She'll never understand what the old farm has to do with anything.

❛ I want to turn it into a safe house, ❜ Fury says, leaning back in his chair. ❛ I want you to clean out any personal items and get it ready for some agents to outfit it with what it needs to secure our agents. ❜

Claire swallows. She doesn't want it to be trampled upon by any others. The words stick in her throat. This has to be a test. Just like the missions, this is a test. A loyal agent will nod her head, say it’s fine. But she can’t. It’s not fine. Her eyes water as she continues to go without blinking -- as she continues to stare at the paper.

❛ Director ❜ She cuts herself off, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to voice her thoughts, just completely unsure.

Fury nods his head though, as if he's read her mind. ❛ If you have a problem with that, tell me now, Agent Barton. ❜

I have a problem with it, she thinks, I don't want random agents walking around my childhood home - the place where my brother and I lived; where my daddy got so drunk he beat the shit out of us; where my momma patched up our wounds and whispered sweet words to us; where I learned to fight; where I learned to break bottles; where I learned to become Claire Barton.

❛ I don't think it'll be the best safe house, ❜ she says instead. It's never been a safe house. ❛ The stairs were shit went I was a kid; there's no real insulation; it's barely a house, just a money pit. ❜

It's what her daddy used to yell. Momma's parents had left them a money pit, and unless Barney did some fixing up, it's still a money pit.

Fury nods. ❛ Would you like to put it up for sale then Agent Barton? ❜

So another family could fall apart in it? So it - and her - could be the catalyst for destruction. No, no siree, she does not want that. ❛ I would like to keep it and I would also like to request time off when I’m not on probation, Director Fury. ❜ He gives her a look and she swallows down the trauma, swallows down what she wants to say what she wants to scream, ❛ So I could spend time there to fix it up to become a safe house - I would like to do it on my own dime too sir, so that SHIELD doesn’t have to spend any of their own money fixing a money pit. ❜

Fury nods again, giving her a look - as if he expected something different but is still pleasantly surprised. She must have passed the test, must have did something right. It takes all she has not to sigh in relief as he pulls the paper back, looking at it as he puts it away in her files.

❛ Anything else you need, sir? ❜ she asks even though all she wants to do is run away to hide herself someone safe and small.

He shakes his head, turning his dark, all seeing eye away from her. ❛ Agent Goodman wants to go over your next mission with you, ❜ he says, dismissing her without even looking at her.

Claire nods, moves to stand and leave, all while ignoring another sick feeling in her stomach growing. She hated Agent Goodman; he was definitely not a good man. He found her to be whiny, to be misbehaving, to be troublesome. He was sure she was going to bolt with all the secrets she learned here sell them to the highest bidder. There wasn’t much he could do about it though. Fury had made it clear ( hopefully it would stay clear, even if she disagreed with him today ) that she was there for the rest of her time on this earth.

Claire shut the door on the Director’s office, sighing lightly as she did. She owed SHIELD her life, and she was sure they were going to be the ones to take it.

#do not reblog #abuse mention tw #death mention tw #child abuse tw #long post #⤗ the past is only a story : headcanons ❛ meta ❜#⤗ everybody’s early days suck; don’t take it personal : SHIELD days ❛ claire barton❜#⤗ sometimes when the feeling strikes I’ve been known to write : drabbles ❛ mun ❜#/ also did i write almost 2000 words just for a headcanon #you betcha ass i did

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clerithraven · 7 years

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This is the first and the last time I will talk about this, so please hear me out.

A couple of days ago, a clerith shipper went Anonymous and submitted this ask to a blog that primarily caters to the c/loti ship (though the owner has said it is open to multi-shipping).

Here is what the CA anon said:

Hello! I'm a Clerith fan and I just have a short story to tell. ( I'm afraid of opening this up on the CA forum/twitter/tumblr because I might get bashed D: ) I've been a CA fan ever since I first played FF7, and I've actually been seeing a lot of Tifa hate in the CA fandom. I for one liked Tifa, and Zack for that matter (because a lot of CA fans hate him also), but it feels like if I want to get along with my fellow CA shippers, I have to hate those two. I feel alone in the fandom :(

astoryofalove has already made her statement about this, and I would like to add mine.

It is deeply saddening that a clerith would feel unsafe in turning to fellow cleriths about an issue like this. So I would like to address the statements this CA anon has said in defense of the whole clerith community.

1) I'm afraid of opening this up on the CA forum/twitter/tumblr because I might get bashed D:

As far as I know, we, the ones who are currently active, do not go after our fellow clerith shippers for an opinion that may differ from ours. We make it a point to be open to everything, no matter our personal preferences. I do not know which community this anon has been involved in to give him/her an idea like this. But I, for one, do not stand for this kind of treatment. I know I’ve already made a statement regarding my dislike of Tifa and Zack (for reasons I may or may not have already stated but will not put in here), but that doesn’t mean I will be mean toward someone who does just because. And a lot of other CA shippers share the same sentiment.

While we are at this subject, for the clerith shippers who are currently reading this, I implore you:

Talk to us. Open up. Share your opinions, even if it’s different. Don’t be afraid to speak out against something you consider to be hurtful for you that the fandom is involved in.

astoryofalove and I, among others, will surely be there to listen to you and support you. And if either of us goes too far with what we say, please don’t be afraid to tell us about it. Inform us of any clerith who misbehaves in any way (harassing or insulting others, being mean or hateful, etc), and we will deal with it as needed. Point us in the right direction, and we’ll be sure to do something about it.

We are not claiming leadership of the fandom. Nothing of the sort. It is only that we would like to be able to actually do something to help stop the negativity from the clerith side as we are active on the clerith fandom.

We do not want the clerith community to be viewed in a negative light. That is not what we stand for. As a fandom that represents Cloud and Aerith’s love, we do not condone any unwarranted negativity toward anyone, whatever the fandom they are in.

2) I for one liked Tifa, and Zack for that matter (because a lot of CA fans hate him also), but it feels like if I want to get along with my fellow CA shippers, I have to hate those two. I feel alone in the fandom :(

I said it in the reply I gave to his/her ask on my main blog, and I’ll say it again.

I can most definitely assure you that you are not alone in this regard. Which community gave you this notion?

I admit I don’t like Zack and Tifa, and I’m vocal about that over on twitter. I’m not the only one, as well. But there are CA shippers on twitter who like them both that join in on discussions, and they don’t suffer any negative treatment from me or any other CA shipper who don’t like Zack or Tifa. In fact, the whole contrast makes for a great discussion between CA shippers. So, do understand why we found that particular claim unbelievable as we are the ones who are active on the clerith fandom.

And let me add: the clerith shippers who do like Tifa and Zack do have tumblr accounts as well.

Also, the CA anon mentioned the CxA Forums. They have moderators who monitor the forums, and any sort of bashing is relegated to a specific bashing section so that it will not be prominent in any other. The only way someone would see hate there is if that person went into the bashing section itself.

Since we’re already on the topic:

What counts as “hate” for Tifa and Zack? What do fans deem as insulting to these characters?

I honestly can’t remember calling them names, or saying nasty things about them just for the sake of spreading hate for them. I may have been aggressive in some of my posts that can be viewed as anti, but it was never for the sake of just hating on them.

What I also remember is that I’ve been vocal of the reasons why I don’t like them, adding in known facts to support my own reasons for my personal dislike of the two. It was not done to garner hate toward them, but merely to express my own opinion. My fellow cleriths do not have to agree with everything I say, nor am I asking that of them. In fact, I would welcome their honest feedback or any discussion they would like to raise. Clerith fans have already done that on twitter.

With that said, if you do come across any of my posts, or any other cleriths’ as well that you deem is full of meaningless hate and animosity, bring it to my attention and I will try to address the issue as much as I can, with astoryofalove’s help as well.

And I’m sorry, but that CA anon followed-up and submitted another ask to the same blog that said this:

Hi! I'm the Clerith fan who confessed about the Tifa/Zack hate in the fandom. Thank you for being nice to me! I thought of telling my rants to someone who doesn't hate Tifa and Zack, that's why I wrote to you. I'm sorry you're getting hate because of me >< I can prove that I'm a true blue Clerith fan though, I just don't know how without getting bashed by these defensive Cleriths, so if you know any means please do tell! And I'm glad to have come across your blog! I see you aren't biased at all

This is after that blog commented on astoryofalove’s post containing her reaction to the CA anon’s confession.

My issues about it are these parts:

1) I'm sorry you're getting hate because of me ><

Which is just untrue. I checked. Aside from my comment when I reblogged it with my response to the CA anon, Cali’s response, and a fellow clerith’s response to Cali’s post, all of which are in no way directing hate towards the blog’s owner, the rest are c/loti and clerith fans who agree with the owner and had only nice things to say for him/her and the CA anon.

So I have to ask, where did this anon get this idea? Because I most definitely did not see any proof of it.

2) I can prove that I'm a true blue Clerith fan though, I just don't know how without getting bashed by these defensive Cleriths, so if you know any means please do tell!

Have we bashed this anon since he/she has made the confession? Any name-calling or nasty comments thrown his/her way? None. I admit I have doubted his/her credibility as a clerith fan, but I did say why: Because what he/she said he/she has experienced was not what I have seen in the active clerith community. Of course, this is only on the platforms that I am actively participating in. But as the sites that the CA anon has listed (CxA Forums/twitter/tumblr) are all places I am active in (tho I now rarely visit the CxA Forums due to network problems), I was highly doubtful of his/her claim.

And excuse us for being defensive. Years of hate and animosity towards us has made it so, especially for those of us who has been in this fandom almost all our lives. If that is taken against us, we can do nothing about that except to say that we have our own reasons for being so.

Moreover, why ask a c/loti blog how to prove one is a clerith? The answer is quite simple: Go off anon and send me, or anyone else, a message owning up to being this CA anon. You will not get any backlash, I assure you. Your approach to this whole issue would have made a world of difference.

And I would also like to take this opportunity to defend astoryofalove against the blog owner’s response to Cali’s post:

This is not about you and you shouldn’t make it about you. This is not about your history or your essays, but this is about the anon’s experience and about the people who got fed up by hatred towards Tifa and Zack that caused them to avoid the fandom. Nothing in my post argues against Clerith, criticizes Aerith or mocks any Clerith’s interpretation of canon.

astoryofalove had asked that the clerith tag be removed from the post containing the CA anon’s confession, and went on to give her reason for not believing in this confession which was based on her own experience.

astoryofalove has been the target of hate for years because she is the most vocal among us. And yes, her defenses may have been raised in response to what the owner of the c/loti blog said to the CA anon about ALL the essays for clerith being hateful toward Tifa or the relationship between Cloud and Tifa as the reason the owner turned away from the clerith ship. But do understand that it was because she was vocal about her dislike for Zack and Tifa, thus was of the belief that it was her whom the owner was pertaining to. After all, no one else posts essays for clerith anymore these days aside from astoryofalove, and lately me.

I also do not understand why the owner’s response said this:

Nothing in my post argues against Clerith, criticizes Aerith or mocks any Clerith’s interpretation of canon.

Because astoryofalove’s response never mentioned anything about it, nor did she even allude to it being a reason for her to ask the removal of the clerith tag and changing it in that post. The request was not done because it argued against clerith, criticized Aerith, or mocked any Clerith interpretation of canon. The request was done because the CA anon’s confession was unfounded in our eyes, and thus paints the clerith community in a negative light with no proof, which we do not need in the clerith tag.

Moving on to other matters...

astoryofalove had asked that this post be removed from the clerith tag. And I have asked the same of the owner of the blog, in private. The tag has since been removed, but the owner told me it was not done because we requested it so, but for the owner’s own reasons.

I have to admit, I was curious as to what these reasons were. And what I read further saddened me. And I want to address the owner’s reasons here:

I took out the tag because the message of my post is 1] automatically invalidated due to being published in a C/loti blog 2] Because Cleriths who agreed on my post are in risk of bearing wave of retaliation.

1) the message of my post is 1] automatically invalidated due to being published in a C/loti blog

It was not “automatically invalidated” because it was published in a c/loti blog. Cleriths who read it from Cali’s post found it “ridiculous” or perhaps unbelievable simply because it was. This is due to the fact that, like I’ve said, there are CA shippers who like Tifa and Zack, maybe even more than those who dislike them. We are not in every site, every social media platform, so we may not be aware of the Tifa or Zack hate on these places, but in the sites where our presence is active or known, we do not see this unless it is of our own doing-which, I repeat, is only our own opinion and not done to foster hate among the fandom or single out those whose opinions differ from ours. And it’s not that often that we voice our dislike anyway.

2) Because Cleriths who agreed on my post are in risk of bearing wave of retaliation

I checked. And no, not one of those who agreed to the owner’s post with the CA anon’s confession was given any indication or a hint of getting attacked or garnering any retaliation of any kind. And even after my and astoryofalove’s posts, nothing of the sort has happened. So I have to ask, why did this person make this claim? What was his/her basis of saying so? Where was his/her proof? I may never know the answer, but I will say this:

We speak up only when provoked. We do not start any sort of drama, and those who are proven to have been doing so will be dealt with as long as they are brought to our attention. That is how seriously we treat cases like this.

In addition, once the whole post regarding the reason why the clerith tag was removed from the original post is read, readers would see this:

What was disappointing is that there are real points that were ignored:

Massive hate on Zack and Tifa causing shippers to move away

Not treating Cloud and Aerith as individuals (even in the Zerith pair

And that Cleriths are diverse and can disagree with each other, and that they are can also be critical of their own fandom

The entire post is taken emotionally and stripped of its value of discussion. It has already reached an audience who expressed agreement, but it’s pointless to keep it there.

1) The point about “Massive hate on Zack and Tifa causing shippers to move away” was ignored

We did not ignore this. We just cannot believe it. I have yet to see this “massive hate on Zack and Tifa” that is implied to be widespread among the clerith community. Like I’ve said, astoryofalove and I have expressed our dislike of the two, and we’ve seen cleriths agree and disagree with us, all in a healthy environment with a positive discussion. No bashing, no criticism, no harassment has ever resulted from it.

We also addressed the CA anon’s concerns about feeling alone in the fandom. I would have wanted the chance to try and make it so he/she would feel secure in being part of the fandom—if only he/she had come to me. And I believe other clerith shippers would share the same sentiment. The CA anon had only needed to take her concern to us, and we would have gladly listened, no matter the difference in our preferences.

2) The point about “Not treating Cloud and Aerith as individuals” was ignored

This was never brought up by that CA anon. I don’t understand how this even came to be a point. Still, I will say something about it.

Please do not say that we do not treat Cloud and Aerith as individuals, as separate entities that can exist without the other. That is not what we do. Sure, most of our posts are us celebrating how Cloud and Aerith’s appearances in the OG and other games are somehow deeply connected to them being a pair, but that does not mean that we are stripping them of their individuality. It is just that we tend to focus on them as a pair most of the time as shippers. If cleriths want to discuss their individuality, one only needs to start the discussion, and the rest will surely follow.

Excuse us if we’re too excited about the clerith fluff we get that we do not talk about their individual characters as often, and instead fangirl over their portrayal as a pair. We’re called shippers for a reason. Doesn’t mean that we never talk about them as individual characters.

3) The point about “And that Cleriths are diverse and can disagree with each other, and that they are can also be critical of their own fandom” was ignored

I have already said that we are aware of cleriths who have differing opinions, and that contrast makes for a good discussion. This is something we are already aware of. And we also welcome any criticism that is directed at us by fellow shippers, as long as they approach us in a good way. We will not turn them away or rebuke them. In fact, I’d daresay that we’d welcome it instead.

4) The entire post is taken emotionally and stripped of its value of discussion. It has already reached an audience who expressed agreement, but it’s pointless to keep it there.

We did not strip it of its value of discussion. We did not discourage cleriths from speaking about voicing their experiences that relate to the original post about the CA anon’s confession. You, blog-owner, even said it already. It has “reached an audience who expressed their agreement”, and a discussion was actually starting. What came of that discussion, or what did not come of it, was not in any way our responsibility or doing.

In fact, astoryofalove and I have made our own posts with our own responses, trying to address the issue with fellow cleriths. And considering that astoryofalove has a number of Clerith followers, those who had anything to say had already done so, whether by simply liking the post of making a comment. It is not our fault that no one else wanted to chime in, for their own reasons.

Having said all of that... For my fellow clerith shippers:

If my or astoryofalove’s posts have too much hate on them for Tifa or Zack in the rare times we do give them our attention, you can always unfollow and block us. We will not hold it against you. It just means you do not want our content on your feed, and that’s fine with us.

We’re here to speak and advocate for Clerith, for the love between Cloud and Aerith. If you do see hate on our posts, frankly, most of it is really directed toward the rabids who invade our tag with their brand of negativity, and so we retaliate.

Cleriths have stood by and have been silent for years. But that is no longer the case. As new fans fall in love with the love story of Cloud and Aerith, and old fans are brought back into the fold, you may see more of us. But I assure you, it will not be about hating on Zack and Tifa.

We are “Cleriths”, not “Zack and Tifa haters”. Just because a number of us dislike these two doesn’t mean the whole fandom does. So try not to generalize, the same way we distinguish the rabids from the good ones.

Thank you for reading this very long post. Happy shipping to all of you!

#pro-clerith #clerith community #a response #ff7 #personal opinion

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