#no wonder why its longer than some of my posts
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✦ Classical Musical ~ themed NPT
╰ DAY 2 of @rumblepumm ' s event !
NAMES ︙ adagio . adriane . adria . adrian . aria . ariane . ariette . ari . sonata . sonia . sonnet / sonette . crescenne . crescenette . cresciene . dolce . dolciene . dolc(i)ette . ensemblette / enslette . chordelle . chordiene . chordette . cadence . cade . melody . melodie . meliene . melodiette . harmony . harmonie . harmonette . symphonia . symponiette . orchestraine . orchestrae(tte) . cadentia . lyric . note . notesy . notesie . doremi . viola . violette . violiene . harp . songbird
PRNS ︙ mu / music . la / lala . mu / muse . soe / song . pia / piano . tu / tune . noe / note . soe / sonnet . doe / dor / doremi . sol / sola . ke / key . vi / vio / violin . har / harp . 🎹 . 🎧 . 🎵 . 🎶 . 🎼 . 🎻
TITLES ︙ the conductor of music . the orchestrator . the lover of music . prn who appreciates the classics . the classical beauty . the mastermind behind the lyrics . prn who orchestrated masterpieces . the greatest musician . prns timeless pieces/music . the maestro of the orchestra . the songbird . the song of the [x] . the [x]'s melody . prns beautiful symphony . the maiden of melody/harmony/symphony . the composer of masterpieces . prn who sings lullabies . the [x]'s sweet songs
dolce — Italian musical term ; to play softly or with a light touch
[x] can be replaced with any nouns or terms you prefer
The angel's melody
The song of the zombie
The vampire's sweet songs
#🦑 sea floor ┈ ♡#yes classical music is one of my favorites#no wonder why its longer than some of my posts#i just like classical music :3#rumblebdayevent#names#name list#name suggestions#classical music names#noun names#pronoun suggestions#pronoun list#pronouns#neopronouns#classical music pronouns#title list#title suggestions#classical music titles
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I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended
if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on
obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)
the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:
firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:
“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”
in the harpercollins version, the line reads:
“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”
this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized
the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:
in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”
in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”
maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”
both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point
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My 2024 goal: there is no such thing as "content" anymore
Social media squished EVERY human act of creativity, fun, and humanity into just "content"
Some one makes a song? It's just Content
Some one spent hours on a painting? Content
Some one spent weeks researching for a video essay? You got it, it's more Content
Article? Who cares what it's about, it's Content
Social media doesn't want you to STOP and TAKE YOUR TIME to truly absorb this information, this art, this humanity. It wants you scrolling and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, for hours, never spending longer than two seconds looking at the stuff your friends say and post. Why would you? There's too much Content and you want to passively take it in without actually thinking about it, just Enjoying the Entertainment
But why?
What's the point of a video essay if not to sit in silence afterwards for a bit in thought? If not to save and re-watch it later and check out their resources and dive into the topic that interested you enough to watch?
What's the point of enjoying a piece of art some one spent two weeks on only to glance at it for two seconds, give one quick Like, and move on and never think about it again?
What's the point of hearing one song one time and never once thinking about its lyrics, the artist behind it, nothing?
Social media drains you of the EXACT human connection it promised you. It insists on flattening human expression to just "content" for us to mindlessly consume.
But y'all, I'm fucking bored.
And this problem is a huge reason why misinformation and machine-generated images are so popular.
It's easy to fall for fake facts when you never really read the article or check the references in a video essay or tiktok
It's easy to fall for machine-generated art when you only spend two seconds to notice "yup those are indeed anime tiddies" without noticing the eyes are melting into the hair and the background makes no sense. Why would you bother looking? You just want Content, and content is QUICK. It's EASY. it's FAST. It's EVERYWHERE and there's always NEW NEW NEW NEW NEW
Stop. Take your TIME. You don't need to scroll to see everything, you don't need to be pressured by an algorithm to never slow down and focus on one topic/art piece/whatever at a time. Remember the ENTIRE POINT of all of this: HUMANITY. We connect our basic human selves through art and expression, and social media told you that ALL OF THAT is just… for consumption, for purchase. No wonder no one cares about artists' life work being thrown into a machine's meat grinder to make some tech guys rich… to you, none of that is art. It's content… just made to be consumed
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valentine’s day with your plug
stoner eren x reader
Tw: smut, mentions of weed and smoking, breeding and oral
just a little late valentine’s day post
Eren Yeager, the most well known suppler in your town. if you weren’t getting your stuff from him then who were you getting it from ?
not only did he have some of the best weed you’ve ever smoked but he was gorgeous, and quite frankly that made your blood boil. it was the brown hair that laid perfectly on his shoulders, half always tied up in a little bun at the back of his head. and those beautiful green eyes that always hung low when you saw him and would catch yourself getting lost in if you stared too long. he was hot and he knew it.
whenever you were in need of bud you dreaded having to hit him up because it’d either take hours for a response or he would leave you on read and randomly show up at your place saying “here”.
you’re sure he thought his looks could make up for his shitty service, but i guess it does because you go back everytime no matter how much it pisses you off.
well today was the same as every other day expect for the fact that it was valentine’s day so all of your friends were busy with their boyfriends and getting laid, blah blah blah and you happened to be violently single but at least you have weed right ?
oh damn i forgot i’m out…
…FUCK IM OUT
god this can’t be happening. it’s valentine’s day and you’re out. eren HAS to have plans tonight, there’s no way he doesn’t and youre gonna be stuck here. bored. sober. alone.
you might as well try to text him and see if there’s a slim chance he’s able to drop by.
walking to your room you contemplate what you’re gonna say, grabbing your phone tapping your fingers till you get to his contact. how do you do this without sounding like a loser ?
6:46pm. you: hey, was wondering if you’d be able to drop by tonight ? wasn’t sure if you’d be busy
now we wait. putting down your phone you go back to what you were occupied with before this catastrophe happened. you suspected it to either take hours or possibly you wouldn’t get a text back at all.
6:55pm. eren: nah i’m not busy tn, should be able to stop by in 10. that cool ?
you swear your stomach sinks to your feet when you hear your phone ding. you knew it wasn’t any of your friends so maybe he wasn’t doing anything after all.
“odd” you thought to yourself that’s definitely the longest message he’s ever texted you before, it was never any longer than a quick “yeah” or “be there in 10”. wonder what’s gotten into him
texting him back a quick “sounds good” you go to sit on the couch waiting for the notification for you to come outside to his car.
7:10. still no eren. you knew this would happen. its never the time he says. god he’s so fucking stupid i’m done goi-
*DING DONG*
you nearly jump out of your seat. heart now pounding out of your chest as you walk up to the door confused as to who it could be since you definitely weren’t expecting anyone to knock.
opening the door you begin to notice a familiar face…eren.
why was he at your door ? the mere sight of him makes your stomach churn with seems like anger. never has he once showed up and knocked on your door.
why is your heart racing? …
“the front door ? that’s new” snarky comment making him laugh. you felt awkward. was he trying to invite himself in ? you had so many questions running thru your mind but you were assuming it was nothing
“felt like saving you the longg walk from here to my car” he says dragging out long with a dramatic voice throwing his head back and bending his knees
“surprised you’re not busy with all the ladies that are probably dying to rip your pants off” ignoring his stupid joke. your hand reaches out to grab what he actually came here for but you’re met with nothing, like he wants to stand here talking to you more.
“ gotta keep them on their toes, you know. can’t make it easy or else i would’ve had back to back dates tonight” you were done with conversation already. you just wanted to get your stuff, watch some stupid rom-com and eat a burger the size of your head. he was getting in the way with that.
“haha. can i just have my stuff?” clearly annoyed he hands you the small little baggie, as you’re about to say thank you and close to the door on his face. you notice he’s not moving at all. looking at you like a lost puppy dog that showed up at your door.
he was definitely trying to invite himself in but he didn’t know how. “if you want to come in you could just say so” attempting to be nice you give him a smile.
“it’s okay, i don’t wanna intrude especially if you have a date or something” you laugh at him, his face turning a red tone as if he said something wrong. god you feel bad.
“i’m not doing anything tonight hence why i asked you to come by but if you wanna hang for a bit be my guest” wishing you would’ve shut yourself up but it was too late to take it back. you couldn’t believe you invited him in. you’re stuck now.
no words were said as you took a step back swaying to the side to gesture him in. he seemed hesitant for a second, but he enters. taking a couple uncomfortable waddles in before stopping in his tracks to kinda get a vibe your living space
it was clean. tv turned on to a random show on netflix. couch covered with cute pillows and blankets, coffee table with weed paraphernalia neatly organized but he was more fascinated with the way you’re dressed. maroon sweatpants and grey zip up that had your high schools name on the front. no makeup. so effortlessly beautiful.
“come” patting the couch you usher him to sit next to you. opening the baggie of bud, crumbling off a piece to put in the bowl of your most precious bong. offering him the greens since he is a quest in your house.
“how sweet of you” he says giving you a over exaggerated smile making you softly hit him on the arm. it was weird having him right here. you realized you’ve never smoked with him before. you’ve never seen him in such a intimate setting. it made you feel some kind of way.
a couple hours past. you guys ended smoking and chatting as if you knew each other for years and were catching up. it felt nice even tho you were dead set on the plans you thought of originally like getting food. mmm food the munchies were starting to hit hard.
“you hungry ?” you said being so serious because there was no way you were messing around when it came to eating rn and by the look on his face he wasn’t either.
“god i thought you’d never ask” staring dead into each other yes, breaking out into a laughing fit. you both decided to make your way to the kitchen and see what there was to make. letting him do all the work of course.
you’re sat up on counter while he’s looking thru the cupboards. hoping he can find something good because at this point you don’t even remember what’s in there.
“ahh mac and cheese ?” he says excitedly holding up a box of probably soon to be expired mac and cheese. you nod in agreement pretending like you aren’t practically drooling at the thought of it.
he starts boiling the water. “why don’t you have plans tonight ? didn’t expect you to be a lonly guy” you interrupt the silence to ask the question you’ve been wondering this whole time.
“i’m not a whore like you think i am. i just sell weed to people and the flirting keeps them coming back” shocked by his answer you can’t say that’s not a solid strategy. he goes to drain the pasta before adding the rest of the stuff, handing you a bowl.
“you don’t flirt with me tho” blurting out your response, he turns towards you. looking you up and down, getting just close enough you could feel his breath on your face.
“you’re different” your face getting hotter by the second. not sure how to respond because you didn’t know if this was his tactic or genuine emotion.
“how so?” twiddling your finger together looking down a little embarrassed for asking.
“idk everyone treats me like im just some hot piece of meat that can get them their fix” he says looking down with you.“but you, you act cold towards me and i find that so hot ” you felt like you were gonna faint at his words.
“ i’ve always thought you were just an asshole with a pretty face” his cheeks turning a pale pink.
“pretty?” he inches closer to your face so you’re just inches away from touching each other lips. “yeah, so pretty it makes me mad” those were the last words said before his lips are crashing into yours.
unsure if it was the weed or the fact his lips felt so good but you kissed him back without realizing. lips moving in sync like they were made for each other.
feeling like you couldn’t catch your breath, you pull away catching a good look at his face, red and flustered. you’ve never seen anything like this before and you never wanted to forget it. pulling him by the neck to continue he picks you up walking you both over to the couch. putting you down softly. breaking the kiss.
“this okay?” he says with genuine concern on his face. hes scared. scared hes gonna mess this up.
“more than” huge smile forming on his lips, he maneuvers himself on top of you between your legs. kissing your neck making his way down to your stomach.
he unbottons your pants so plainly slow that you’re about to rip them off yourself. he kisses your pussy thru your underwear making you gasp at the sensation of his cold lips on you, mumbling a low “fuck” before bucking your hips begging for more.
“don’t be so impatient baby” the pet name making your stomach turn with lust. you had to have him. you need him now.
your bottom half now undressed he makes you wait even longer by licking and biting your plush thighs, making you squirm. “please eren”. you’ve never been so desperate especially for someone that you hated a couple hours ago.
his tongue laid its first lick down your slit. it was soft, gentle. unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, other guys were rough and thought flicking felt good. how’d he become so good you couldn’t shake that thought from your mind. were you jealous ?.
“it feels so good, please keep going” bitting your hand to hopefully quiet yourself down because you knew you were being too loud. his tongue felt like heaven, but when he slipped one of his long finger into you was when you lost your mind. there was no way you weren’t gonna start screaming his name.
“eren fuck i’m gonna cum” without any hesitation he curls his fingers up hitting a spot that made you see stars. back arching, strings of curse words fall from your mouth as you cum. you’re panting like a dog trying to regain yourself.
eren sits up wiping his face on the sleeve of his hoodie, rubbing your inner thighs till you’ve finally come back from your mind blowing orgasm.
“that was crazy” you said laughing but you heard nothing but silence from eren, he looked uncomfortable then glancing down a bit you could tell why. he was so hard that you could see him throbbing thru his pants.
“come here, let me help you” you say pushing his shoulders down till his head in laying on the arm of the couch. crawling on top of him you leaning down catching his lips once again, tasting yourself. this time the kiss was hungry. like two wild animals fighting over who was superior. you grind your hips against his clothed cock hissing at the overstimulation from cumming not too long ago.
his hands raising up under your shirt giving your nipples a couple rolls of his thumb. hiding your face in his neck, sucking here and there unknowingly leaving marks that you knew he’d get upset about later.
“do you mind?” you say playing with the zipper of his pants. he gives you a nod of consent before you’re pulling down his pants along with his boxers. it springs up as you stare at the size of his intimidatingly large cock.
“you like what you see” jokingly punching his chest you come back up so your pussy is alined with his cock, he motions you to sit up a bit and he angles the tip so it’s at your entrance, sliding down a bit it was already a huge stretch but you were determined to make it fit. both of you hissing in sync till it was fully in.
“it’s so tight” he moans grabbing your hips to slide you up and back down, slowly to not hurt you. the stretch felt so good you began to move on your own craving more of him. groans could be heard from both of you just enjoying the moment and the feeliing of being connected.
“oh im gonna cum” you whispered in his ear “im so close” you keep rocking up and down till his strong hands flip you both over so he’s on top, putting you in mating press.
“i’m close too, cum with me baby” his words thick like honey dripping its way into your ear. you pussy clenching hard trying to get that last bit of stimulation to tip over the edge.
knowing just what to do his hand snakes between you both to place a thumb on your clit. that’s exactly what you neeed before you’re moaning his name and squirming trying to get away as gush around his cock.
“you gonna let me cum in you ?” he’s panting hard but he can’t seem to focus on anything besides cumming your tight pussy.
“cum in me please” the neediness in you voice is all it takes for his hips to come to a halt as he’s pumping you full. you can feel his heart beating as he slumps down on your chest. the same awkwardness from before filling the air as you both come to your senses.
awkwardly get up putting your clothes back on, not saying a word to each other. you head to the bathroom to pee and return, sitting back on the couch packing another bowl and handing it to him. he takes a long hit. resulting in him coughing, he hands it back to you.
“guess valentine’s day wasn’t so boring this year” he manages the get out between coughs. slumping back on the couch looking at the tv watching whatever was playing.
“definitely wasn’t expecting this” your own joke making you laugh, catching his attention. eyes now on you. the silence was deadly but you didn’t have anything to say.
“i like you” he says quietly not sure if you heard him but he knows you did when he notices your face begin to burn firetruck red.
“when did you come to that conclusion?” interested in what he was gonna say because you’re sure it was an in the moment confession nothing he was feeling before today.
“ever since the first time i sold to you, you were beautiful and i never knew how to make the first move until today” your mouth hangs open because never in a million years would you have thought that the guy you despised had completely opposite feelings.
“i had no idea”
“i figured” he takes another hit from your bong before getting up grabbing his things and heading for the door “uh i gotta go, just hit me up next time you need anything”
“wait” you walk over to him, body moving for you confused as to why you got up before blurting out something you couldn’t take back.
“i like you too” coming to the conclusion that those were you feelings all along, not hatred or anger but love.
he smiles at you before leaning in to give you one last finally kiss before heading out the door.
#eren yeager smut#smut#aot#eren yeager x reader#eren jaeger smut#tsumhal#aot smut#armin aot#aot x reader#eren smut#attack on titan smut
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Sagau but the reader is the ACTUAL creator part 3
Part 2 part 4
ngl, I was kind of scared to post this cause there were so many people to tag 😭😭
____
It's been what? 2 days? A week? Or perhaps a month without seeing you. The Vision Hunt Decree got stricter, they now used more violent methods to seize the vision under Ei's command. Ei hasn't left Plane Of Euthymia ever since she last heard your voice, all she does is meditate and drown herself in her sorrow.
Morax isolated himself, busying himself in the Wangshen Funeral Parlour, it is rare to see him even talk about Osmanthus wine now. He's trying his best to not think of you, but his mind just can't help but wander to your lovely face.
All Barbatos does is spend his time away at the tavern, drinking away till he no longer can. Drinking as much as he can so he can forget about his miserable life without you.
Oh, how long till they get to see you? Are you really doing all this for a mere mortal? Are they of such value to you? Would you place a mortal above them, your devoted acolytes? This is too cruel for their poor souls, they rather would die a hundred times, no, a thousand times than spend another second without seeing you. They can't live like this. They need you.
_____
"Um-uh, Your Grace, I was wondering if we could go to..Liyue? I would like to sight-see, if that is okay with you," The girl, whose name you found out is Revelyn, asked.
You found out that Revelyn doesn't really have any family, if she did then you would have returned her there. However, she grew up in an orphanage and then was left to fend for herself when she was old enough. You had even initiated the idea of her returning to the mortal realm, but she says she is too scared, for everyone probably hates her, I mean, they took their Divine Creator's attention away from them.
"Hesitate not dear, Seraphina will escort you," You replied, reading some documents and quickly filling out some slots.
Revelyn's body tensed up as she responded swiftly, "I was wondering whether you could come with me!" She ended with a loud huff, both of you surprised at her outburst.
"Oh, I do apologise; however I do not seem to have any free time today," You glanced at your clock and started to skim over the documents again.
"..I see, that's fine. We can go another day," Revelyn slowly got up and took her leave from your office.
Just as you were about to get up, you saw a letter settled neatly upon your desk. Opening it, you read it.
“Hello, Your Divinity, how are you? It has been quite a long time since I last saw you. You make me worried sick, I will not lie.
As for why I am contacting you, ever since you declared the punishment of the archons, Ei hasn't come out of Plane Of Euthymia and it looks like she is slipping into insanity.
As her familiar, it is my duty to make sure she is in her best state, no? I was perhaps hoping for you to end her punishment and we could also have some tea together.
Your Dearest,
Yae Miko ♡. ”
You settled the letter on a stack of books and smiled to yourself, noticing Yae Miko's little attempt to spend time with you. Oh well, you might as well amuse yourself.
That reminds you, didn't Revelyn want to go to Liyue? Let's hope she is fine heading to Inazuma. Inazuma sure is a beautiful place on its own, dangerous nonetheless.
Perhaps you have been too cruel on your acolytes? Ah, let's hope they learnt their lesson.
____
taglist: @shizunxie @dearloonies @iruiji @yani-dere @kiraisastay @fauxizs @salvationprodigy @thetruepair @lunalily19
do y'all like revelyn? I feel like making her the enemy somewhat. the archons vs revelyn who will win.
Masterlist
#dark#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere genshin#sagau headcanons#sagau x reader#genshin sagau#sagau brainrot#genshin impact sagau#sagau#yandere sagau#genshin imagines#genshin impact imagines#yandere genshin imagines#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin headcanons#yandere genshin au#yandere genshin cult au#yanderes x reader#x reader#god reader#yandere zhongli#yandere venti#yandere ei#yandere yae miko#yandere morax#yandere barbatos#yandere raiden shogun#yandere raiden ei
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Push the Sky Away - Part One
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark)
Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical violence. Mention of loss of virginity. Smut.
Word count: ~6.5k
Summary: We are getting to know Aemond in this chapter. Some scene setting and world building, not much to be found of our OC until she is introduced towards the end. Laying the groundwork for what's to come later. Series masterlist.
Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
Fire and Blood, the infamous words of House Targaryen. It is a phrase that both haunts and eludes Aemond Targaryen from an early age, with its promise of greatness and constant reminder of all he will never be.
The Targaryen name is the only thing of any value that Viserys has ever bestowed upon his sons. Aemond ponders whether his father’s disinterest in him is a result of the illness that weakens his body by the day, or if he simply has no room in his heart for the children borne of his second marriage. When he watches him interact with Rhaenyra, how he lights up in her presence in a way that he does not for him or his other siblings, he knows it is the latter.
The fireplace warms his skin, uncomfortably so, and despite the septa’s caution that he not sit so close, he refuses to budge. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, dampening and curling the ends of the hair that sticks to it. His discomfort is of little importance to him, he needs to remain within this proximity to the hearth in order to keep his egg warm, to ensure it hatches. It is a vigil he has kept for as long as he can remember, not moving until he is forced to bed with aching joints and soot covered hands. Unable to understand why it had never hatched in his cradle, he is certain that if he does his due diligence then soon he will have a dragon of his own.
His mother is alerted of his disobedience, and Alicent regards him with sadness in her large brown eyes, as she reaches for him.
“Come away, my dearest love, you will have a dragon of your own one day.”
He simply shakes his head. She could not understand. He does not want just any dragon, he wants his. There must be a reason why this particular egg was imparted upon him, otherwise it is all for nothing.
Despite this, day after day the hardened scales remain cool to the touch, little more than a rock between his tiny fingers. Perhaps placing it within the flames themselves will yield the result he hopes for?
He leans forward into the fireplace, heat blazing against his pale cheeks, and an acrid stench fills his nostrils. It is not until he is pulled forcefully back by the firm grasp of the septa that he realises the ends of his long, fair hair have singed, charred and blackened by the heat of the fire.
The egg is taken away after that, and Aemond weeps bitterly at the unfairness of it. It is his birthright, his only birthright, and now his sole purpose for being has been snatched from him; it seems there is little point to his existence now. He never sees the egg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had been left uninterrupted to place it upon the flames.
When Aemond is a little older, he begins to frequent the Dragonpit, for what is a Targaryen without their dragon? If he no longer has his own egg then he will find another, or perhaps claim a riderless mount of his own.
The warmth beneath the Grand Sept is different from that of the fireplace. It is dank and humid within the pit, the odour of droppings hangs heavy in the air, mixed with sulphur and ash. The smell sticks to his clothes when he returns to the Keep each evening, and momentarily he feels his chest swell with pride as his mother winkles her nose in disgust at the scent. It is the same look of distaste that she bestows upon both Helaena and Aegon when they return from flying, and for the briefest of moments he can pretend that he has too.
Yet still he goes to bed each evening dragonless, and begins each day anew with the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth as he watches his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, interact with their dragons, Vermax and Arrax. Targaryens are considered to be closer to gods than men, so it feels like a cruel twist of fate that his half sister’s bastard offspring should be blessed with eggs that hatched in their cradles when his did not. Rhaenyra’s children have the favour of the Seven, whereas they seem to have turned a blind eye to him.
Aemond’s heart soars with hope when the dragonkeepers reveal to his sister that Dreamfyre is gravid. If she produces a healthy clutch of eggs then he can claim one, one that will actually hatch. In spite of the warnings that the she-dragon be left in peace during this sensitive time, and Helaena’s frustrated and repeated requests to stop disturbing her, he cannot resist the pull towards where she roosts within her darkened cave. If she is to lay an egg, then he wants to be the first to see it, to ensure he can take one for himself.
The blistering heat of the flames that Dreamfyre expels with her mighty roar of anger as he approaches yet again causes him to stagger backwards, wide eyed and slack jawed. But Aemond feels no fear as gazes into her fiery maw, his only thoughts are that one day soon a beast of his own will do much the same.
When Aegon claps a heavy hand upon his shoulder, steering him forward, and claiming a dragon has been found for him, he does his best to remain calm. He is used to his brother and nephews’ cruel japes at his expense. But as he stands at the top of the slope to the Dragonpit, he cannot help the way his heart races with excitement at the possibility that it might be true.
His hopes are dashed when a pig is led out to him, trussed up in wings, having been jokingly named “the pink dread”. He bows his head at the raucous laughter of Aegon, Jace and Luke around him, humiliation flushing his cheeks for having dared to believe it could be true.
The echoes of Aegon’s mocking pig grunts ring in his ears all the way home, and he stands dejectedly as Alicent delivers yet another scolding for him having dared to disturb Dreamfyre. He is usually silently accepting of her scorn, confident he knows better, and prepared to defy her all over again the next day. However, this time he can no longer bear the injustice of it all.
“They gave me a pig!” He cries, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. “They laughed, they all laughed.”
The warmth of his mother’s embrace does little to comfort the inferno that blazes inside of him. Today is proof of the fact that his own brother does not view him as equal - how could he? Aemond is a second born son and has no dragon. He is worth nothing.
If he is not destined to be a dragonrider, then Aemond decides he will give his all to becoming a fearsome warrior instead. He excels in the training yard with each daily practice, every strike of his wooden sword against the straw stuffed target more ferocious than the last. The proud glint in the eye of Ser Criston Cole as he watches diligently, offering guidance on both stance and technique, serves to spur him on. He will be the best at this, he has to be.
Much to his displeasure, the allotted time for sparring is shared with his nephews. Though they learn under the watchful eye of Ser Harwin Strong, there is still a competitive element, and an underlying sense of animosity between Criston and Harwin that he does not quite understand.
Aegon later tells him it is because Ser Harwin is the true father of Rhaenyra’s children. He feels a smug sense of satisfaction at being privy to this information, and it brings him and his older brother closer together. The two of them share rare moments of comradery each time they don their armour and pick up their practice blades. It’s the only time that Aemond ever genuinely laughs or smiles.
There is an obvious divide from that point onwards, Targaryens uniting against Strongs, and as the tension grows between the boys, it does between their mentors too, until one day it reaches a boiling point.
At first Aemond titters along with his brother as they watch Criston scuffle with Harwin, but his smile quickly fades upon seeing how valiantly their father fights for them, knowing his own would never do the same for him. As he looks up into the solemn features of Aegon, he knows the sentiment is shared. It is yet another privilege that Rhaenyra’s children possess that he does not have; the love of their father.
They journey to Driftmark when they receive the news that Laena Velaryon has passed away in childbirth. The icy, coastal winds that whip Aemond’s hair around his face as the stone coffin is committed to the sea are as bleak as the mood that envelopes them all. He seeks warmth near the brazier, attempting to catch the eye of Jace, who stands on the opposite side. Despite the tension between them, he hopes to offer condolences, knowing the loss of both Ser Harwin and his aunt play heavily upon his nephew’s mind.
He realises it is a futile gesture the moment that Jace turns away in disgust, and once more Aemond is reminded of how alone he truly is, that he has nothing. Luke will inherit Driftmark, and their mother has betrothed Helaena to Aegon. Luke snivels at what he is offered, claiming that when Driftmark passes to him it means everyone will have died. Aegon scoffs at the notion of being married to Helaena, claiming they have nothing in common.
It angers Aemond, to be overlooked in favour of those who are so ungrateful for all they have. If he were set to inherit anything, he would do everything in his power to prove he is worthy of it and bear the title with honour. If his mother had betrothed his sister to him, he would do his duty and ensure the match produces heirs that would make House Targaryen proud.
His attention is drawn to the clifftop when he sees the spread of enormous wings and hears the mighty rumble of the creature atop it. Vhagar. Laena Velaryon’s dragon is now riderless, and the pull he feels towards her is one he simply cannot ignore. At last, he has found his purpose and his desire to claim a dragon is reinvigorated with new strength.
Aemond waits until nightfall. Sea spray has made the rocks slippery beneath his feet, and he ascends carefully, though determined, towards the top of the cliff where Vhagar roosts. Windswept and breathless by the time he reaches the top, he stands awestruck at the sleeping dragon. Even partially submerged in sand, she is a magnificent sight to behold. She had appeared massive when looking at her from above, but it does nothing to prepare him for the sheer scale of her up close. She is gargantuan.
For a moment, icy fingers of fear grip Aemond’s heart, and he considers simply turning back, he has made a dangerous mistake. He shakes the thought from his mind the moment it presents itself.
I am no craven.
His approach is tentative, palms outstretched to communicate that he does not present a threat, as the elderly beast grumbles and shakes sand from her back. He stares transfixed as she opens her jaws, the white hot inferno that swirls within their depths makes that of Dreamfyre’s seem like a mere campfire. He feels as though he is looking into the very mouth of the Seven Hells themselves, but instead of fear Aemond feels kinship. Vhagar is without purpose, as is he, until now.
“Lykirī,” he calls out, the wind carrying half the sound away with it. Yet she hears, and she stills, eyeing the child before her with keen curiosity. Be calm.
Emboldened by her calmness at his command, Aemond steps closer, fingertips ghosting against the heat that radiates from her scales.
“Dohaerās, Vhagar,” he tells her, voice trembling. This is the same dragon ridden by the great warrior, Visenya, the conqueror’s wife. She is battle hardened, and with the smallest of movements could snuff out his short life. Serve.
The faintest sound of displeasure reverberates through Vhagar’s body, yet she remains still. Aemond’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he grips the ropes attached to her saddle and begins to pull himself up. If he had thought the climb to the top of the cliff difficult, it proves nothing compared to this. His arms ache with exertion, the expanse of the great beast he is attempting to summit is vaster than anything he has ever climbed before.
By the time he pulls himself into the saddle, Aemond’s palms are red raw with rope burn and his skin is damp with perspiration. There is barely time for him to catch his breath though, as the moment Vhagar feels him settle on her back, she rises to her feet, vast quantities of sand slipping from her back and wings in drifts.
The movement startles Aemond, and he fears he will fall. His sore hands cling tightly to her reins as he shouts his final command to her.
“Sōvēs.” Fly.
As she rises into the air with an effortless flap of her wings, he feels as though he has left his stomach on the ground below. The rush upwards is dizzying, frightening and exhilarating all at once. Aemond begins to laugh as he grows used to the weightless sensation of every ebb and flow through the air as it whistles past his ears, and chills his skin to the bone. He is finally complete, he has his dragon, and for the first time in his life he is genuinely happy.
That happiness is short-lived.
The moment he reaches solid ground, his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, are waiting for him, alongside Jace and Luke. He had anticipated this, and is well prepared.
“It’s him!” Rhaena shouts as soon as she sees him.
“It’s me,” he responds calmly, confident there is nothing to be done now that Vhagar is his.
“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”
“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.”
“She was mine to claim!”
“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride? It would suit you.”
He is startled when Rhaena angrily charges towards him, though he is bigger than her and pushes her to the ground with ease. A punch from her sister, Baela, catches him off guard, the pain in his face enraging him and causing him to hit back so hard she falls over.
“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” He snarls angrily.
Jace and Luke rush at him, and in a moment of confidence Aemond thinks he has bested the both of them, until all four children knock him down and begin to rain their fists down upon him.
He is the rider of the world’s largest dragon, and his new found confidence coupled with the surge of adrenaline allows him to fight them all back. He grasps a rock, holding it above Luke’s head as he grasps him tightly by the collar.
“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did. Bastards!” He hisses.
“My father is still alive!” Luke wails.
Aemond smirks, rock still held above his sobbing nephew, and he glances to Jace. “He does not know, does he, Lord Strong?”
Jace unsheathes a dagger, to the protestations of both Rhaena and Baela, and the distraction is enough for Aemond to knock it from his hand. His dedication in the training yard has paid off and he quickly gets the better of Jace, snatching up the rock once more, prepared to bring it down upon his skull should he try to attack him again.
In Aemond’s mind, the matter is settled, they should accept what has happened and retire to bed.
Unfortunately, his nephews do not share the sentiment. He winces, staggering backwards as Jace throws sand in his face, and before he has had time to fully recover, Luke is racing towards him, Jace’s dagger in hand.
The pain is excruciating as his nephew slashes upwards, and suddenly his vision shows blackness on one side, instead of his surroundings. He falls to his knees, a shriek of agony leaving him as blood seeps through the fingers of the hand he clasps to one side of his face.
His only focus is the searing, torturous pain he feels, waves of nausea rippling through his prone body, until a clamour of armour alerts him to the presence of the Kingsguard. As a knight kneels beside him, coaxing his hand away, his pale, horrified expression and exclamation of “Gods be good” are all Aemond needs to know that his face is ruined forever.
The fire in the hall of Driftmark is warm against his skin, and he does his best to focus on that sensation instead of that of the Maester extracting his eye from his skull. Though he has been dosed with milk of the poppy, he still feels every cut, every tug, and the pierce of the needle as it’s pulled through his skin repeatedly to stitch up the wound.
Aemond is unsure if it is the milk of the poppy that dulls his senses, or the satisfaction he feels at having claimed the world’s largest dragon, but he does not feel anger or sadness as he expects he would have when he is told his eye is lost forever.
When his mother snatches a knife and charges towards Rhaenyra, he is certain she has more blood of the dragon coursing through her veins than his coward of a father does. She is willing to risk everything to avenge his disfigurement, while Viserys makes excuses and appears more affronted at his eldest daughter’s children being called bastards. The loss of Aemond’s eye seems of little importance to him.
It is in that moment that Aemond feels the tiny semblance of respect he had for his father wither and die. As he takes in the harrowed expressions of Alicent, Aegon and Helaena, he knows they are all he has left.
“Do not mourn me, mother,” he says softly, rising to comfort her, though unsteady on his feet as he adjusts to his partial sightedness. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”
A scar mars the flesh of Aemond’s face, but also ravages its way through the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra and her children leave King’s Landing, settling upon Dragonstone with Daemon and his daughters. Meanwhile, the health of Viserys continues to decline and the instances he is not bedridden grow fewer. Aemond does not miss his presence.
Worry hangs over his mother, a permanent shroud of anxiety, while Aegon becomes more debaucherous, sinking further into his cups with each passing day. Helaena retreats deeper into herself, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and bristles at any initiation of physical touch.
Slowly, Aemond heals, though it is not without struggle. He must learn to do everything anew. His favourite books become a chore to read, no longer able to pore over their pages for as long without suffering a terrible ache in his head.
Criston has to begin his training with the sword all over again. There is a newfound blind spot to account for when he fights. Not only does he have to learn how to balance, pivot and wield his weapon with accuracy, he also has to develop hyper vigilance and an acute awareness of where his opponent is at all times, to prevent them from drifting to the side from which he cannot see, and besting him.
Even flying on dragonback is difficult, though he only has one flight to compare it to. He learns fast, and is grateful that Vhagar’s advanced age makes her placid and more forgiving than a younger mount might be. When Aemond is airborne he can almost forget his disfigurement entirely, until he returns to the ground and the world is half blackness once more.
It is enough to make Aemond want to scream in frustration and give up at times. However, he is accustomed to a life of feeling out of place, of having to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. There is nothing to be gained from a defeatist attitude, so he hardens himself to the challenges he faces, determined to be better with one eye than he was with two.
If his vision of the world is now limited, then he will simply expand his mind beyond that. He loses himself in tomes of history and philosophy, ignoring the dull pain that plagues his skull as he reads into the small hours.
In the training yard, he is quick to learn to keep Criston within his line of sight at all times, and wields his sword viciously, relentlessly, always striving to be faster, stronger, more precise. The proud look upon the Knight’s face means little to him now. The only person he means to prove anything to is himself.
He reasons that a warrior must appear as fearsome as they fight, and takes to wearing a sapphire in the empty socket of his eye, when it is not covered by a patch.
The single matter that Aemond is never able to quite grasp is that of the fairer sex. Aegon has always seemed to have an overly indulgent interest in women, moreso what lies between their legs, but he has never understood his brother’s obsession with fornication. He has read about the mechanics of it in books, and the idea makes his lip curl in disgust. However, he reasons that Aegon is older, and perhaps his own appetite will develop in much the same way as he ages.
Aegon reasons that women’s skin is soft, they smell nice, and when you find one that has the perfect pair of tits and legs then there is little else that matters. While it is agreeable to Aemond that women are indeed more pleasant to look upon than men, he questions why he should not take an interest in their education or how they like to pass the time. His brother argues that once you are sheathed inside a woman, it is not what is in their mind that matters in the slightest.
Upon Aemond’s thirteenth name day, Aegon slaps him on the back and informs him that it is “time to get it wet”. The very idea makes his guts churn with unease, yet he dons the clothes of common folk just the same, pulling a hood over his head, and allows his brother to guide him to the Street of Silk.
The walk through Flea Bottom reeks of urine, with men staggering half drunk through the narrow cobbled streets, while women in varying states of undress beckon them forward into darkened hovels. Aemond keeps his head bowed, dreading what is to come, and is thankful when the establishment that his older brother guides him to looks slightly more respectable than the half a dozen they have passed by already.
The pleasure house is dimly lit and the heady scent of cheap perfume burns his nostrils, though it barely covers the smell of another undesirable stench that he assumes is the byproduct of what goes on here. He half wonders if it will stick to his clothing, much like the smell of sulphur and ash does when he returns from dragonback. He sincerely hopes not.
His throat runs dry when Aegon staggers away with a busty woman, full of giggles, leaving him alone. The brothel’s madame has a kind smile, though it does not meet her eyes, and when she places her hand upon his shoulder it makes him shudder. He feels her touch there like a brand long after she has taken it away.
“Choose any of my girls that you like,” she tells him.
Timidly he eyes all of them. He wants none of them, but how can he say that?
When he hesitates, she chooses for him, pushing him towards a room with a girl that cannot be much older than he is. Her hair is the colour of straw, her skin reeks of the same perfume that lingers thick within the air, and there is wine upon her breath.
The fireplace burns low in the room as he lays upon the bed, and he keeps his eye fixed upon it until it is over. He has enjoyed none of it, the finish feeling little more to him than the satisfaction he experiences when scratching an itch. He cannot understand why Aegon makes such a fuss about it, if that is all there is to it then he never wants to partake in such an act of vulgarity ever again.
He leaves without saying a word, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to the Red Keep. In the bathtub that evening, he scrubs until his skin is red raw, wanting nothing more than to erase every trace of what he has endured that day.
When he is served his favourite meal for his name day feast, roasted haunch of venison, he finds he has no appetite. Sickly perfume fills his nose and turns his stomach, and he leaves his plate untouched.
From that day forth, Aemond decides that he has no taste for depravity, and dedicates his time to reading, training with the sword and taking flight on Vhagar. Despite the nagging ache at the back of his mind that Aegon is set to succeed their father when he passes away, despite neither wanting nor deserving it, he feels a sense of fulfillment in knowing that he is making both their mother and House Targaryen proud.
There are few books in the Keep’s library he has not read at least twice, and he trains daily in the yard with Criston, now at a point where he is the victor in almost every sparring match.
The years pass, and Aemond is content with solitude, assuming that is his lot in life. Fire and blood course hotly in his veins, and in spite of his disfigurement he feels every inch a true Targaryen.
Viserys deteriorates to the point that Aemond’s grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto, now oversees most of the royal duties, and he has begun in earnest to plan with Alicent for Aegon’s eventual coronation. It comes as no shock to Aemond the day that he is beckoned to the Small Council Chamber, though he is surprised to find it is just his grandsire that sits at the table, there is not even a cup bearer present.
“I trust you are aware of the plans to crown Aegon once your father passes?” Otto asks, once Aemond is seated in the chair nearest to him.
Aemond sits up straight against the backrest, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, as he regards Otto impassively. “I am.”
“Good,” Otto nods, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “Then I am sure you must know of your own duty to the realm.”
Aemond purses his lips, eyeing the older man carefully. “I will do what I must to ensure Aegon’s claim to the throne goes unchallenged.”
Otto sighs, leaning back and regarding Aemond with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Rhaenyra is sure to challenge your brother’s birthright, as your father foolishly named her heir, but there are means to remedy that.”
Aemond says nothing, waiting for Otto to say what he means. He watches as he fills both their wine cups, before setting the jug down. He takes a deep drink from his own, but Aemond leaves his untouched, wishing his grandsire would just get to the point.
Otto clicks his tongue before continuing. “To strengthen Aegon’s claim, we must curry favour with the other Great Houses of the realm.”
Aemond lowers his gaze, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the armrests of his chair. “You wish for me to marry.”
“Yes, Aemond, you are to be betrothed.”
The tone of voice in which Otto says this has such finality, it sounds as though a match has already been decided. His eye flickers upwards to meet the unyielding gaze of his grandsire.
“To who?”
“Your mother and I thought it best not to present you with suitors, we know you would not enjoy such a spectacle.”
You know all of them would take one look at me and be horrified by the very notion of being married to me.
Otto continues, “So we have chosen for you. The daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, Lorra. She is a pretty girl, and having the allegiance of a Great House of the North will weaken Rhaenyra’s claim.”
Aemond stays silent as his mind races.
House Stark. Their sigil is a dire wolf, their words are Winter is Coming.
Beyond that, he knows nothing of Northerners, what could he possibly learn about his betrothed from a book anyway?
He wets his lips, resigned to his fate. “When?”
“She will arrive in King’s Landing in two weeks, so that you can begin your courtship of her.”
“I will do my duty.”
“I trust that you will.”
Aemond retires to his chambers for the remainder of the day. He had anticipated that he would have to marry to form a political alliance at some point, however, the thought rattles him all the same.
He is a solitary creature by nature, what on earth will he do with a wife? He supposes life will stay much the same, if his mother and father and Aegon and Helaena are to be used as examples - both couples married, yet living entirely separate lives. It is a mere formality. He will not be expected to spend time with her.
They will be expected to produce heirs, however. Nervousness swirls in his gut at the thought. He does not want to endure what happened to him at the brothel each time he couples with his wife, yet he cannot leave her childless either.
Lorra is a highborn lady, however, not a common whore, so perhaps he will be able to find pleasure in the act. Doubt niggles in his mind as he ponders his inexperience. A Prince must know what he is doing if he is to produce children, and Aemond possesses neither experience nor interest in the act of procreation. He will need to prepare if he is to perform his marital duties as anticipated without embarrassing himself or his wife.
The thought of returning to Flea Bottom makes him shiver in revulsion. He has no desire to part with coin for an act that sickens him. He will need to find an alternative.
There are plenty of maidservants around the Keep who are pretty enough, and of a similar age to him. He does not wish to be like his brother, however, and will not take what is not freely given. He has observed the way that Aegon expresses interest in the women that attend to them during mealtimes and decides to deploy some of the same tactics, though in a much more subtle manner.
At supper the following evening, he spots a young woman who is pleasing to him. She has a slender neck and pretty face, her large eyes framed by thick lashes. He watches her carefully as she rounds the table, filling each cup with wine, and when finally she approaches him, he deliberately reaches forward, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her wrist as she pours from the jug she holds. She glances down at him and he looks up, holding her gaze, the faintest of smirks on his face. A slight blush creeps up her neck, dusting its way across her cheekbones and he knows she is interested.
He spends the rest of the meal catching her eye whenever he can, and when the evening draws to a close, he lingers in the doorway, beckoning her with the slightest tip of his head when she looks at him, before walking back to his bedchamber. Aemond does not have to wait long for the knock at his door.
“Your grace, will you be needing anything else this evening?” She asks with a polite smile.
He closes the door behind them, steeling himself before turning to face her. “You understand why you are here?”
She nods, reaching up to cup his face as she leans in. He turns away, pulling back slightly.
“I have no need for you to kiss me.”
She nods in understanding and moves towards the bed, slipping out of her clothes. Aemond stands in silence as he watches her disrobe. She is attractive to look at, much more desirable than the girl he had coupled with in Flea Bottom. Smooth skinned, with subtle curves and firm breasts. He wonders how many others have looked upon her in the same manner that he has.
“Lay down,” he instructs her, once she is fully bare before him.
She moves to position herself face down, but Aemond steps forward, halting her actions.
“Let me look at you.”
“As you wish, your grace,” she whispers, blushing again, and repositions onto her back.
Aemond stands over her, his eye raking over her form as he takes in the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the narrowness of her waist expands outwards towards her hips.
Tentatively, he reaches forward, fingers trailing lightly over the plush flesh of her inner thigh, tugging gently.
Obediently, she spreads her legs and he sucks in a breath at what glistens between them, curiosity guiding his actions as he spreads his fingers through the slick folds. She sighs in pleasure, and he looks back up at her face. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded with desire. Admittedly, though this is a much better experience than what he’d endured when he was thirteen, he still feels little in the way of excitement. Aemond appreciates that she lays there quietly, however, allowing him to take things at his own pace, and he feels his body respond to her regardless of his lack of emotion.
When his cock strains almost painfully against the lacings of his breeches, he unfastens them, crawling over the maidservant to cage her body in with his. She feels better against him than the whore had, her skin is more supple and her scent not quite so overpowering. He grunts as he pushes himself inside of her, her tight, wet heat gripping every inch of him as he slides forward.
The inside of her is different from the grasp of his own hand. Aemond is no stranger to the act of self pleasure, using it as a means to clear his mind or lull himself to sleep on nights when rest evades him. It is not a carnal act for him though, he simply focuses on the sensation, guiding himself to release. Despite the pleasant warmth of her body, he does not feel driven to desperate passion as he had anticipated, as he has so often heard Aegon describe.
As he rocks his hips into hers, back and forth, the growing ache he experiences is nice enough, but it does not light a fire within him. He is simply rutting against another person. The dulcet sounds that fall from her lips as he pistons into her sound too performative, and he feels resentment as he looks upon her face, just wanting to put an end to it.
He speeds up, and her sounds grow louder. Annoyance prickles at his skin.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.
She falls silent and the room fills with the sound of the slap of his skin against hers, until finally he spills inside of her with a quiet gasp. He is quick to withdraw from her, standing and tucking himself away.
“You can go now,” he tells her, turning away.
He doesn’t watch as she dresses and quietly leaves his chamber. Aemond feels disappointment that he is unable to derive pleasure from such a carnal act. He has read that it is supposed to evoke excitement within a person, and from the way Aegon behaves he knows it is certainly true. So why does such a feeling evade him?
It matters not, he supposes. He will treat his wife in the same way he has the maidservant this evening. He will not take her by force, and he will be gentle with her. The act will be for the sole purpose of producing heirs, besides that they will live their lives as they please. He did not choose her, and she did not choose him, so he is confident that this will be an arrangement she finds satisfactory.
The next two weeks pass by without incident. Aemond reads, he trains and he flies, and thoughts of his betrothal scarcely enter his mind.
Upon the day of Lorra’s arrival to the Red Keep, he gathers in the Great Hall, with Alicent, Otto, Aegon and Helaena to greet her upon her arrival. He stands straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back, eye scanning the room impatiently. He hates the formality of it all, and wonders what could possibly be taking such a long time.
He will, of course, be dutiful and stand here for as long as necessary, but irritability simmers within him as he exhales heavily through his nose, wishing to be anywhere else right now, the library, the training yard, on dragonback. Such a display seems wholly unnecessary for an arrangement that is a mere formality.
When finally the doors open to the steps that ascend into the Hall, he faces forward, eye fixed upon the Kingsguard that file in. Until he sees her.
Draped in a cerulean cloak, trimmed with grey fur, she seems as though she is floating, rather than walking as she approaches. Her ivory skin is tinged with the faintest of pink against her cheeks and the curls of her ebony hair are braided down her back.
Aemond’s throat runs dry, his heart pounding quickly against his ribcage, and he realises he is holding his breath. The last time he felt such a powerful combination of fear, awe and longing had been the night he had first laid eyes upon Vhagar. It unsettles him, and he is grateful that his hands remain behind his back, otherwise he is certain that she would be able to see how they tremble.
“Lady Lorra of House Stark,” comes the announcement to the Hall, but it sounds distant and far away to Aemond as he stands, transfixed by her.
His blood pumps like liquid fire through his veins. Her eyes, so blue they could almost be sapphires, meet his and he feels a shiver run through him. After a lifetime of resonating in the warmth of flames, he is chilled by the ice that is reflected back at him.
#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond fic#aemond#prince aemond targaryen#pro aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#aemond smut#aemond angst#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fan fic#hotd#hotd smut#hotd angst#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fan fiction#aemond x oc#aemond x ofc#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#the one eyed prince#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen
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alr to help with the Great QSMP Content Drought of 2024 im gonna empty all the death family headcanons in my brain onto this tumblr dot com post
all these are cubitos unless stated otherwise btw i just didnt want to go through and indicate every name lmao
(also to my qpr deathduo homies (luv yas) I'm a bit of a romantic pissa truther so be warned about that)(but i also suck at writing romance so it's pretty subtle also most of these are about chayanne)
remember last year when Chayanne was almost always asleep because the admin was too busy? i think that his ties to death pulled his conscious into Kristin's domain whenever he slept, so he just spent his time chilling over there (i simply choose to ignore the fact that she isn't canon)
Tallulah can clearly see and hear spirits, all her brother can see are blurry figures and the occasional whisper
Chay's wings started growing feathers very early on, Phil had to pretend he had no idea where they came from whilst also assuring a heavily sobbing Missa that he didn't cheat on him
no one has known fear like a fed worker that tried to touch Chayanne's wings in the early days and almost lost their hands to a newly-grounded crow
unrelated to that Philza Minecraft puts the 'death' in 'death-glare'
Chayanne's first attempts of jumping off the wall on day one were baby-crow instincts but after that he was just doing it for his dads' reactions
Chayanne knows the blade, but he knows strategy far better - both draw blood in the end, regardless
Juanaflippa was the best at swimming, then Leonarda, then Chayanne
when they learn to fly, Chayanne is the best, then Tallulah, then Pomme
Leonarda wonders why bother flying when she has a cloud to do it for her
Chayanne wants to fly just as much as Tallulah, but she's more vocal about it since her brain is experiencing crow instincts for the first time
Phil taught Pomme how to aim
Phil has dreamed about his kids in his hardcore world more than once
Richarlyson was the one who cut Tallulah's hair short (THANK GOD HE DIDN'T LEARN FROM MIKE)
Tallulah often put flowers in her hair when it was longer, so she sneaks some into everyone else's now that its short
Chayanne can summon his mask over his face (like the Visoreds from Bleach. this is because i like Bleach and will put as many references as i want)
Phil acts more short-tempered than before, and the roses have started to wilt
upon arriving on a reset island, Phil finds Missa hanging off of a rose branch
i hc Missa's face to be similar to bad's since they're both reapers (so a black void with two white eyes and nothing else) but instead of horns Missa has flowy, almost mist-like hair that fades to cyan at the ends
Phil saw it for the first time at the prison when Missa's mask and hood slipped off in his sleep (entirely Chayanne's fault) and was completely normal about it end definitely went back to sleep and didn't stay up staring between Missa's hair and the ceiling.
upon stealing a kiss from Missa, Quackity had to sit down for a few minutes because he couldn't comprehend the texture of Missa's face
Phil was fine tho. he's kissed death plenty of times
#qsmp#pissa#just a tad#qsmp philza#qsmp chayanne#qsmp tallulah#qsmp missa#qsmp death family#can you tell i like the bird instincts bird man#can you tell why my favourite egg is
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I have a Zosan fic inspired by a post I think I saw on Tumblr, but it being Tumblr, I can't find it to reblog it, but I'm gonna post it anyway (just a heads up, it's kinda long)
Sanji Accidentally Reveals Who His Partner Is During A Livestream! (NOT CLICKBAIT)
“Welcome back to Cooking with Sanji, this time we’re Live! Thank you my mellorines for being such sweet, loyal and gorgeous fans and taking time out of your busy schedules to attend my livestream today!” Sanji crowed, making finger hearts at the camera.
He was in the location of all his videos and livestreams, his kitchen, which straddled the line between cluttered and cosy and straight out of a magazine, with its industrial grade appliances and overfull cabinets and refrigerator covered in random memorabilia, such as postcards, polaroids and for some reason, an absurd amount of fish related pictures, magnets and posters.
“Today we’ll be cooking my partner’s favorite, Onigiri!” Sanji continued, going on to list the ingredients while chatting with the stream and answering any questions that pop up and highlighted by his mods.
Sanji’s partner was an elusive mystery his fanbase (and that of the Straw Hat Pirates, the group of content creators he was part of) had long wondered about.
It was no secret the man was married, the man in question having made comments mentioning his partner more than once and flaunted his wedding ring on occasion when it was brought up, though he didn’t often wear it on his hand when he was cooking, choosing to wear it on a chain around his neck.
They knew the man lived with his partner, as he often made mention of them while filming and streaming through snarky comments that would nevertheless dissolve into lovestruck looks and loud confirmations of his love whenever one of the audience (usually a newer fan) wondered why Sanji stayed despite his complaints.
Many of his fan base assumed that the person in question was female, what with Sanji’s womanizing tendencies, believing it to be one of the female straw hats or their associates, though this was quickly disproven as they came out or started dating other people.
However, some fans still held onto this conviction, many of them shipping Sanji with his female friends, or with Pudding, a baker that Sanji had collabed with before, who had then insisted she was Sanji’s partner, despite not having a ring or being mentioned by the Straw Hats, who had confirmed they had long met Sanji's partner, before that moment.
Sanji had long since spoken out to disprove these rumors about their relationship, but still, some of his crazier fans insisted on shipping the two, along with many of Pudding's hardcore fans.
Most of Sanji's fan base however, couldn't care less about when or if he would ever reveal who the person was, or even their gender, respecting his right to his privacy.
They were more than fed on the scraps they were given, after all, as the look Sanji would have on his face and the way he gushed over his partner spoke volumes about his love for them.
At some point, Sanji’s dad, Red_Leg_Zeff, pops up on the stream’s chat and starts scolding Sanji through his comments, urged on and enabled by his mods and audience, who cheer him on and highlight his comments for Sanji to read, much to his chagrin. He complains loudly about how his old man needs to stop worrying and get off his stream and isn’t he supposed to be getting ready to open up his restaurant, the Baratie?
The stream adores the interaction, though some of the newer viewers need to be reassured that this is just the way the father-son cooking duo interact, and that they truly adore each other.
It was just the way Sanji showed love, whether to his adoptive father, his friends, or when he spoke about his partner.
Eventually the stream settles down and Zeff leaves to work, as Sanji continues to deftly shape onigiri balls as he chats with his audience.
The stream runs longer than usual, thanks to Zeff’s appearance, but it is just about to end when they hear a door opening off screen.
Sanji however doesn’t seem to notice, wrapped up in excitedly explaining what the All Blue he mentions in his bio on all his social media is to a new fan. This distraction would be his undoing.
From out of frame, a very familiar man to those who were fans of the Straw Hat Pirates as a whole appeared, sending those that noticed him into a tizzy.
It was the half naked, sweaty form of one Roronoa Zoro, the group’s resident sports addict, or as he was better known in the words of Sanji himself, ‘Directionally Challenged Mossbrain’, who often got lost and ended up being dragged back to the group by Sanji. He was also known to most as Sanji's rival.
The two were known for their spats, spitting insults and jabs at each other at the slightest slight or provocation, the arguments often devolving into brawls with kicks and hits thrown by Sanji and Zoro respectively. So it was a surprise to see the man so casually ambling about the house that was known to be shared by Sanji and his partner.
This surprise and interest continued as the man, who seemed to have just finished one of his morning workouts, walked up to Sanji as he used the towel around his neck to wipe away the sweat on his forehead.
The chat waited with bated breath for something to happen, for Sanji to snap and shout at him or something to break the tension created by the man's appearance.
And break it did, as the man bent his head down towards Sanji and tilted his face towards him, kissing him right on the lips, cutting off the man's words with the action.
The chat started screaming, filling with comments that rushed by quicker than the eye could catch. More viewers started appearing as people called their fellow fans in to see the shocking moment, the mods struggling to tame the hoards.
All this went unnoticed by the two lovers as Sanji melted into the kiss, seeming to forget where he was for a moment.
Finally they broke apart, a look of lovestruck bliss on Sanji's flushed face as he stared into his lover's eyes.
Only for him to redden furiously and start to bluster, flustered as he realized what just happened.
He started screaming, as a fans had foreseen, hitting Zoro as he shooed him away, the man calmly avoiding the hits as he scooped up an onigiri and moved away. Only to double back, calling Sanji's name, making him shout.
“What do you want, Marimo!”
At which his head was cradled and another kiss was bestowed on to his forehead, causing his squawking to redouble in its intensity and resulting in Zoro leaving his haloed kitchen chased by whatever objects were in reach that Sanji could throw.
Sanji finally calmed down at his disappearance, breathing heavily as he stared after the other man.
Finally he turned back to the screen.
A bright, furious blush creeped slowly across his face as he realized who exactly, had just seen the chaotic interaction.
He lunged forward, over the countertop and the stream ended abruptly, sending the viewers back into the waiting room, where they tittered to each other about what they had seen.
It was a moment that would not soon be forgotten, against Sanji's best wishes, and it was the most talked about, dramatic and chaotic coming out of any content creator.
Though despite its suddenness, all Zoro and Sanji's fans would agree that it was utterly, irrevocably, them.
-
We've come to the end, thank you for reading :) you might want to take a moment to rest your eyes before moving on
#zosan#op zosan#op youtuber au#op streamer au#op content creator au#cooking with sanji#one piece#op#one piece zosan#rorona zoro#black leg sanji#red leg zeff#zoro x sanji#sanji's cooking show#charlotte pudding#charlotte pudding bashing#charlotte pudding is a crazy fan#i should have added a law cameo#pudding#pudding has a crush
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please you write fluffs so good I WANNA AUGH JSKSKSKDN CAN I PLEASE REQUEST MORE SANA FLUFF??
What’s Yours Is Mine (?)
« silly series - 9 »
Sana x gn!reader
Fluff
synopsis - just a classic case of girlfriend stealing clothes
wordcount - 834
A/N - thank you very much anon it means a lot bc me personally i think there’s definitely room for improvement, but ask and you shall receive! a small draft i picked up, enjoy!
The way Sana ran to get to your apartment had nothing to do with you.
Well, she was excited to see you, that was a given, but she was less thrilled about the rain that suddenly started falling on her way to your apartment.
When she stepped in, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at the sight of her. That unsurprisingly earned you a glare which you quickly turned into a smile when you told her to go and grab whatever from your closet after a warm shower.
You know, just until her clothes dried out.
She took you up on that offer and came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, proudly wearing your own clothes as if they were hers.
You were busy, posted up on the kitchen island and focused on some work matter that required you looking at your laptop for way longer than anyone would like. You’d much rather be looking at your girlfriend instead, who looked absurdly cute in that one hoodie she knew you loved and haven’t let go of since your early college years.
A tired smile made its way to your lips when you allowed your eyes to take a break from the screen, granting them the soothing sight that was Sana.
“A sight for sore eyes” suddenly made all the sense in the world to you.
“What are you wearing?” You chuckled, your gaze never leaving her as she made her way over to you.
You didn’t expect to see her in that clothing item, and you wondered how it didn’t happen earlier. It was so endearing, how the sleeves were slightly too long for her arms, and how cozy she looked.
“Something comfortable.” She said, glancing at her sleeves. “Do you like it?”
“I do.” You wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer and she took it as an invite to sit on your lap. “I think I have the same one.”
She giggled at your bad joke, a proof of her love.
“You have great taste.” She booped your nose and your features scrunched up, causing your glasses to slide up with them.
You looked too adorable not to kiss at that moment, so she did just that, wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you in for a kiss or two. Her lips felt just as amazing as the last time she saw you, maybe a little sweeter.
“Are you gonna be done anytime soon?” She gestured to your laptop and you frowned, sighing.
“No. Someone messed up at work, I have to review and fix a whole program.” You pouted at her knowing you won’t be able to have her in your arms like that for a while still.
“Why are you sad, that means you’re good at your job.” She tried to cheer you up and managed to turn your lips turn into a smile again.
“I guess. But it means we won’t be able to cuddle any time soon.” You explained.
Sana shrugged, “I can just stay on your lap while you do your work.”
“I’d love that but I don’t think my legs would.” You said without much thought before the sound of your words reached your ears. Sana’s gasp complimented your widened eyes and a nervous laugh pushed itself past your lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!”
You tightened your arms around her, hugging her closer to make amends in hopes she’d find you cute enough. “I love you.” You said, looking up at her, before stealing a kiss from her cheek.
“And?” She asked, deciding not to let go of your honest mistake without teasing you at least a little bit.
“I’ll make dinner.” You proposed, but she didn’t budge.
“You were going to do that anyway.”
“I’ll let you play with my hair while I work.” You tried again, a hopeful smile on your lips.
“What so I’ll just stand for two hours?” She scoffed. “You’re so bad at bargaining.”
“Fine, then what do you want?” You sighed, only wanting her to quit the teasing.
“I keep the hoodie.” She grinned, but it wasn’t innocent.
“Sana, it’s my favorite…” You whined.
“It’s mine too.” She whined back and you chuckled despite yourself, sighing before giving it a thought.
“Am I ever going to get it back?” You asked, although you already knew how that usually goes.
“No.”
Her smile, the happiness she displayed made it hard to say that same word back to her. Honestly you wouldn’t mind seeing her wear it from now on, but only a few times. It was still your favorite hoodie.
“Can we at least share custody?” You tried to compromise and this time she was the one humming as she thought about it.
“Maybe. But I take it first.” She said a second later.
“Fine.” You gave in, taking the hand she was offering in yours and shaking it in order to close the deal.
”Pleasure doing business with you, baby.” She giggled, bringing your hand to her lips.
The soft peck she laid on top of it made the butterflies dance in your stomach, coating your cheeks in a similar shade to the one on your hoodie.
You’d never see that hoodie again by the way. At least not on yourself.
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We Gotta Talk About Barbatos (And Kinda Solomon But This Ain't About Him)
SPOILERS for up to Chapter 16 of NB
These recent chapters have been giving us breadcrumbs about the pasts of both Barbatos and Solomon, the two of which seem to be deeply entwined. I have yet to make a post about Solomon's past (which gets twistier and twistier by the minute btw), but right now I just want to touch on my questions about Barbatos and... well. The hell is he up to?? I have one question that has been eating away at me the longer NB goes on and I think its answer could solve everything:
Is there only one Barbatos?
What I mean by this question is something along the lines of my Timeless!Barbatos idea from a while ago. Is there only Barbatos, i.e. is Barbatos a being that exists outside of the constraints of time? Is he like the controller/arbiter of time, but not subject to things like continuity himself? When he exists in a certain timeline, is that mirrored through every other timeline (i.e. multiple Barbatos that are spread throughout multiple branches) or is there ever only ONE. Just him. And he selects which timeline to inhabit?
I have this question because there are things about the Barbatos we interact with and hints dropped by others that Barbatos is, potentially, far, far older and far more powerful than I think we can actually grasp.
Thirteen's last point is the one that really makes me wonder, because if Barbatos really has such a broad ability to transcend time and space, then it would be a bit of a nightmare if there were a billion of him running around. Any random change makes a new timeline that makes a new Barbatos with those same godlike abilities until you're completely swamped in the man. Plus, Barbatos never gives us any indication that he speaks to or witnesses his past or future selves, even when he's manipulating things from sidelines...
If there is only one Barbatos, then 1. Little Dia managed to convince, like, the singularly most powerful being in the universe to play House with him, which is such a power move. And 2. That also means any interactions we have with Barbatos in this (or any) timeline cannot be replicated elsewhere. No matter how funky our time adventures get, that Barbatos remains a constant. Thus, NB Barbatos IS OM Barbatos. Probably just hijacked by Solomon to go to past. A past he was no longer present in, because he exists in a continuous state of "present" (his presence is instantly erased from past and he doesn't appear in the future).
And for a being THAT powerful, you really have to wonder...
How much has he changed...?
In Chapter 16, we learn why Beel went berserk and destroyed the Castle. He was triggered by Lucifer explaining a banshee's scream. In OM canon, two kinds of people can hear these screams: those who will die or have a loved one who will die soon and those who have heard it before.
Beel heard a banshee scream in the human world before the War and internalized it as the warning that Lilith was going to die. Naturally, he thinks that if he had told Lucifer then he may have changed his mind but Satan drops this bombshell on us.
A baneshee's warning is supposed to predetermine time. According to Satan, Lilith was alway going to die. But we have a problem here...
Lilith just. Is not dead. Like. Canonically in both the OG title and in NB, Lilith survives the War. So... what gives??
Beel can hear a banshee scream and nobody else can. There's no question that someone was supposed to die. Which only leaves three options:
1. Lilith is dead. Even as a human, she perished.
2. Lilith was never made human... Someone lied to Lucifer and she's actually dead.
3. Barbatos fucked with time to save Lilith.
Option 1 would be pretty lackluster, all things considered. Though it would be a little darkly humorous if Lilith fought and survived in a Celestial War, then got hit by a car one year later or something.
Option 2 would be... so fucked up. But could also shed some light onto Diavolo's guilt about taking in the brothers. Like, imagine if he knew that nothing could be done for Lilith and still tricked Lucifer into eternal service anyway knowing that he could never check his bluff. That would be downright diabolical... and out of character, so I don't think that's the case. (Though, I could see Barbatos lying about it if it gave Diavolo Lucifer's loyalty in the end.)
But Option 3... I think that's actually spine-chilling. Imagine if Diavolo ordered Barbatos to find some way to twist time to save Lilith. And not just spare her life, but to somehow turn her human. That means that we're already playing the events of an altered timeline.
Now combine this idea with our Singular Barbatos theory. If there is one Barbatos, then this is the only timeline where he currently resides. If Barbatos wasn't in THIS timeline, Lilith would be dead. In every other timeline, Lilith is dead. And if OM keeps the detail about MC's lineage, then MC NEVER GETS TO EXIST. They can only be alive in THIS BRANCH OF TIME. There are no other MCs. Just the one (and the corpse that got phased out of being, but we don't talk about them). And this could explain why MC's very existence would be so important to a time-travel being like Nightbringer. There's only one MC to use.
Now, since MC is so powerful (possibly as being that is an aberration in time) it makes me wonder a whole lot more about where someone as powerful Solomon actually came from... How much meddling as Barbatos really done here? If... it was even Barbatos at all. 👀 (Speculation for another day)
#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall-we-date-obey-me#obey me nightbringer spoilers#obey me nightbringer theories#obey me nightbringer#obey me barbatos#obey me solomon#obey me thirteen#omn spoilers#omnb spoilers#omnb barbatos#omn barbatos
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𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 #𝟐
pairing : john price x fem!reader
summary : after being taken by John, you are left in your private mansion. However, unlike what you expected, the Brit did not appear for some time to see it and after a few days, you receive an invitation from him to attend a private party and there things get complicated.
warnings : lil angst (promisse is just a bit), abuse and harassment (from a fuckin dog, not from price), violence and guns (a lil too), and eventually smut at the end (dirty talk and breeding kink)
word count : 6k
notes : I'M FINALLY BACK OMG!!! I apologize for the delay, but it will have to be so for some time (unfortunately until the summer of next year :(( ), but I will always try to post when I can. Thank you all for trying to pay attention to my stories, you have no idea how much happy I get :))
A last thing that I like to say is that this part of this story isn't one of my biggest works :/ so I apologize for the inconvenience but try to understand that I’ve been since summer without writing.
Anyway, good reading!
The life you led reminded you of little Nero.
Nero was the name of the nightingale your grandparents had in their house. The beautiful, delicate little bird had the whitest plumage you had ever seen and looked like freshly fallen snow on the first day of winter. And brownish feathers protruded from the crown of its head, blending in with the bright white.
But even though Nero was the most beautiful and breathtaking bird you had ever seen, you still wondered.
Why did Nero have to be trapped in these bars? Why couldn't he be free like the other birds?
Because Nero was special. That's what your grandmother said when you asked her. But if the delicate nightingale was special, why was it locked up? You just couldn't understand that.
You felt sorry for little Nero because he was deprived of his freedom. He deserved to fly free with the other birds and soar over beautiful landscapes. He shouldn't be trapped in a tiny cage for the rest of his life.
But Nero didn't seem to notice, because he was always happy. He hummed happily in his little cage almost all the time, as if it didn't bother him that his freedom had been stolen from him.
And at certain moments in life, you just couldn't understand how the little bird could behave like that.
Especially when you've been in the same situation for a long time without even realising it.
You wish you could be like the nightingale. You wish you didn't have to worry about being trapped between the bars of the suffocating, loveless cage you call marriage. Wishing you didn't feel like every moment you spend with Colt, your husband, you want to let the tears and sobs out. You wish your husband wouldn't act so inconsistent or come home drunk, completely out of control and ready to put you in danger.
That's exactly what he did when John came to make amends for his reckless actions. He threw you to the big man as if it was his last ace in the hole not to deal with the consequences of his actions.
That hurt you more than any other betrayal he committed against you. Isn't it a couple's job to protect each other?
Did all the years you spent together mean nothing to him? Did you really mean nothing to him?
Realising that was the worst thing of all. Realising that all the years you lived together had become boring and unpleasant and, above all, that they had turned you into a used-up, melancholy woman.
You could no longer recognise yourself when you looked at your reflection. Where was the cheerful girl you were years ago? You could only wonder if you weren't enough, if you weren't attractive enough or interesting enough.
You couldn't even recognise yourself when you looked at your reflection. Where was the cheerful girl you were years ago? You could only wonder if you weren't enough—if you weren't attractive enough or interesting enough.
You couldn't stand it any longer, and you prayed that one day everything would change. For some kind of miracle to happen and change the direction your life was taking.
And for the first time in your life, your wish came true.
You stare at the cream-coloured dress lying folded on your bed.
I mean, your new bed. Because that wasn't your room or your house. It was John's house, where you'd been living for at least a week and a half.
It had only been a week and a half and already your life had taken a complete turn.
You woke up in a huge room that was almost as big as the small house you shared with your husband, who claimed a small house would cost less money than a big one - money he wasted on his damn gambling and drinking.
The room you were in reminded you of the historical novels you used to read, in which the protagonist lived in a huge country house with gigantic living rooms and large bedrooms.
The room didn't look much different from the descriptions you had read. The walls were a light shade of beige, with gold-coloured damask wallpaper in some places. There were oil paintings in some corners of the room. The white ceiling was also decorated with damask patterns, and a huge golden crystal chandelier in the centre lit up the entire room.
The bed with its fine silk sheets stood in the middle of one of the walls, surrounded by two cream-coloured bedside tables with lamps. On an exquisite cream dressing table stood an elegant, ornate mirror, and on the other side, opposite the large window surrounded by faded curtains, was a pastel-coloured sofa and two armchairs on opposite sides. Finally, the beige porcelain floor was covered with a large greyish Persian rug.
You sighed and felt humiliated as you looked at your room. How could a single room be so extravagant?
You mean you didn't complain. Who wouldn't want to live in a room like that? It was everyone's dream. You just felt like an intruder. Your presence seemed to tarnish the grandeur of the room.
You curled up on the sofa, looked at the big TV screen - even though it was old, the room was still modern - and saw that 7:35 pm was displayed in the corner.
Earlier, the maid Mary had told you to be ready at 8pm. You asked her why, but she just replied with a smile.
"The master just told you to make yourself even prettier, ma'am."
You could still feel the heat in your cheeks at that remark. Your teeth bit lightly into your mouth and your body warmed instantly as the memory of your last encounter came up.
I'll fill your pussy so deep, princess, that you'll have my cum inside you for days. That's what you want, isn't it? Maybe I should give you a child of my own, don't you think?
Your face turned completely red and flushed as you felt your clit pulsing against your panties. It was so dirty, but you couldn't control it. There wasn't a single time that your husband had been able to give you these feelings that Brit had given you that fateful night.
Unfortunately, that was the last time you met the captain. That is, the last time he actually showed up, because deep down you knew John would show up without you realising it. Namely, when you were asleep.
You weren't that stupid. You could smell his expensive perfume in your room, in your bed to be precise.
But that was all. To be honest, you had expected the Brit to be a more uncontrolled, rough and merciless man than the rumours suggested.
You feared that, but the blue-eyed man was more than that: he was careful with you, although he intended to humiliate your husband, he took you in his strong arms and lodged you in a luxurious mansion that would astonish anyone.
Perhaps he took you in as a loan, so Colt could pay off his debts, you thought. That could only be his interest in you. If not, why would John be interested in someone like you? That was completely ridiculous.
You laughed pathetically and picked up the silky, exquisite cream-coloured dress. You had no choice, because it was so…
Or maybe your death.
You shuddered at the thought, swallowed, and hurried to your bathroom. There was no time to lose.
Your distracted eyes tracked the various unfamiliar faces in the huge hall, from the farthest reaches of the room. Some of the guests, who were probably all members of the mafia, were flaunting their expensive and exquisite dresses and suits. Others talked about their illegal and lucrative businesses to increase their fortunes while classical music played in the background.
And in the depths of the hall, one felt excluded while a single question buzzed around in the back of one's mind.
Why on earth had John brought you here? What was his plan?
You swirled the liquid in your champagne glass and nervously tapped the tips of your heels on the white floor as you let your third sigh escape your lips, which didn't go unnoticed by the person next to you.
"Don't worry about it, ma'am. The captain will be here shortly." Kyle's soothing accent suddenly entered your ears, startling you. When the man noticed this, he nodded apologetically.
You smile and accept his apology. During the time you lived - as they say - in John's huge mansion, Kyle's company - or Gaz, as he likes to be called - was what rescued you from the depths of loneliness. Not only him, but also the fun-loving and easy-going Johnny - known as Soap - who also helped you to have many a long laugh during this time.
You knew they were the people closest to your leader. Aside from those two, the only one you didn't get to know that well was Ghost, who only impressed you with his cold, stoic presence.
But at least he was there, unlike his absent captain.
Your rouged cheeks reddened, and a shiver ran through your whole body. Actually, you should be angry at John for leaving you in this situation and not miss him, God! What on earth was so attractive about him that you felt so lost?
Unable to answer your own question, you decide to ignore your disorganised thoughts and just focus on Kyle. "I know, but it's hard to stay calm when I'm in a place like this." You let off steam, but then a smile graces your features. "But thank you. That was very kind of you."
Kyle let a small smile appear on his handsome features. "No need to thank me, ma'am. You're well protected."
You put your hands over your mouth and laughed casually. "I've already told you that you can call me by my name." You let your hand fall to your waist, covered by the expensive fabric, and let yourself play with the soldier. "I'm not that old, am I?"
Gaz's cheeks flushed this time, and he quickly turned to answer you. "That's not what I meant, ma'am. It's just that the captain…" Before he could finish his words, the radio communicator in his blazer made a noise. When he had finished speaking, the man turned to you. "Miss, can you stay here alone for a while? I promise it'll be quick."
"Of course. Am I a child by any chance?" You joke, but when you notice the serious look on his face, you pause. "Did something serious happen?"
"No, nothing like that. It's just something trivial." Kyle replied quickly. "But stay here, no matter what, until Soap shows up."
Noticing the other's haste, you quickly agree, not wanting to delay him any longer. "Yeah, don't worry about me. You can go." Kyle waved at you and quickly walked through the main door of the common room, where more people were arriving.
You set the glass of champagne down on the small table next to you and snuggled into the white scarf that lay there, hugging your elbows. You let your eyes rest on the people around you for a few more minutes before you felt your bladder fill up. You blushed slightly and let an embarrassed smile appear on your lips.
Why did you have to drink so much champagne?
You look around until you finally find the sign for the toilet. But before you could make your way there quickly, Kyle's words came into your mind.
Stay here, no matter what.
Nothing much could happen, could it? You just wanted to go to the toilet. No one would notice your insignificant presence anyway.
So why bother?
After doing your business, you came out of one of the numerous cabins in the bathroom. You went to the small sink in front of you and washed your hands. Finally, you tidied yourself up in front of the mirror and quickly left the room, not wanting to waste too much time there.
However, as you walked along, you noticed a different pace. Not wanting to get scared, you ignored it and continued walking, but your efforts weren't rewarded, and your tiny body was pushed into a large room by strong hands.
You tried to get up, but soon a pair of strong hands wrapped around your neck and wasted no time in pushing. You placed your small hands on top of the stranger's, trying to somehow free yourself, while desperately pleading. "Let me go..."
The stranger laughed amusingly, as if he enjoyed your distress. And when you finally heard his voice, you realized that he wasn't just a stranger to you after all.
"I really couldn't believe it was really you, but it seems my eyes didn't deceive me after all."
You widened your eyes. That was Gerold, one of your husband close friends and the man primarily responsible for bringing your husband into this kind of world.
What on earth was he doing here?
"Looks like what Colt was saying was really true. Captain Price really did take you as a credit until he pays off the debt." Gerold said debauched, clamping his hand's tighter around your neck as you squirmed. "I bet he's taking good advantage of you. Well, who wouldn't, with a woman like you?"
Revulsion and fear rushed through your body like a tsunami as Gerold's burly frame came closer and closer to you. The man glued his mouth to your ear. "You know, I always knew that Colt didn't know how to take advantage of what was waiting for him at home. After all, you were always a lot of sand for his little, insignificant lorry." Gerold lowered his gaze to the neckline of her dress. "What you need is a real man who can use that beautiful body of yours to do with as he pleases." Gerold lowered his gaze to the neckline of her dress. "What you need is a real man who can use that beautiful body of yours to do with as he pleases."
You wanted to scream and destroy his satisfied and despicable features with your bare hands. You wanted to tear him apart. You were so sick of it all, of what your whole life had become! How much longer would you have to put up with this whole miserable situation?
However, the only thing you could do was cry silently and beg for help, with your voice weak from lack of air.
Gerold laughed at your state and quickly tore off your dress, revealing all your delicate flesh. Seeing everything that had happened, you quickly began to do everything you could to get him to let you go: you screamed for help, struggled, scratched him and tried to hit him. You heard Gerold grumble, and not a second passed before his firm palm slapped you hard across the cheek.
The metallic taste quickly invaded your mouth, accompanied by the slight tingling that shut you up for a few brief moments. Sobs and tears escaped you as the man pushed you to the ground to keep you quiet.
"Stop moving, bitch!" Gerold shouted at you impatiently. "I see the captain has given you too much freedom, and you've become an undisciplined bitch. However, don't worry, I'll make you a silenced doll again."
You denied it with your head, not ceasing your struggle when he began to touch you. This sensation was completely different from what John had done to you. It wasn't pleasurable or caring, despite the situation you were in. It was so raw and disgusting that it made you vomit and feel filthy.
You just wanted to be in his protective arms again. You wanted John to hold you and never let you go back to that ghost you once were at your husband's side.
"Please…" You asked softly, your dry lips barely opening.
John, please come to me. Help me.
Help me, John.
Suddenly, you heard something cut through the air so fast that you thought you were dreaming. However, the blood dripping down your face proved to you that it was reality. Gerold's grip lessened, and a painful cry came from his mouth as he lay writhing beside you. You opened your eyes and finally saw the cause of all your sudden pain.
A bullet.
Your vision automatically followed the trajectory of the bullet, and from a distance, you could see the familiar silhouette next to the door. And even from afar, you could feel his murderous aura.
John Price stared at the scene in front of him in pure fury and hatred. The Briton felt his whole body burn with such rage that he could feel a nuclear bomb about to decimate an entire civilisation.
How dare that son of a bitch let his filthy hands touch you? He could only be asking for death and, just in those few seconds, Price already had plenty of doses of suffering planned for the bastard.
John would make this scum suffer in the worst possible way.
His sole purpose for being there was to introduce you to the whole of mafia society, so that precisely such situations couldn't happen since everyone would know that you were under his protection and that no one would be stupid enough to harm you.
However, it was incredible how, with just a few second delay, his whole well-laid plan went completely off the rails. And the Brit wouldn't admit to that kind of mistake. Never. Even more so when you were involved.
Why did he do that? That wouldn't be revealed just yet.
John marched up to your pathetically exposed body, slowly, as if he was afraid of scaring you. However, when he got close, you quickly threw yourself into his warm arms and let the chained sobs escape.
John clenched his fist around the gun, deciding whether to let his anger take him over and kill him right then and there, or to let him suffer. Sensibly, he chose the latter, not wanting to cause her even more discomfort with the whole situation.
"Darling, I…" John tried, but you quickly cut him off.
"Please… get him out of here… please…" You asked sobbing, and the Briton could feel a part of his heart squeeze, and consequently his anger rise.
The blue-eyed man didn't take long to do exactly what you asked because a few seconds later, his men arrived and carried off the sobbing scum. However, they didn't leave before the captain said. "Leave that damned son of a bitch alive. I'm still going to settle the score with him."
After these cruel words, his men left the room, leaving only you and John. The man turned to you and gently embraced your trembling body, calling you softly by your name. "It's all right now, love. I'm here."
Your body just snuggled closer to his, letting itself be cradled by his warm touch. And so he let him stay, trying to soothe you, silently, as a reminder that he was there.
Slowly, the sobs stopped, and you raised your head, looking him in the eye for the first time that night and in several days. John's blue eyes focused on your watery ones, and they gave you only one certainty.
He would destroy anyone who puts you in that state. He would make him choke on his own blood if necessary and give him a direct ticket to hell.
The Briton approached you, placed his calloused hands on your warm cheeks and left light kisses on your wet eyes, feeling the salty taste. You let out a silent sob again and couldn't stop thinking.
Why was John so worried? I mean, you weren't complaining. In fact, you had often dreamed and wished that someone would anchor you in these difficult times. You were just curious.
You rested your hands on his firm shoulders and when he pulled away, you called out to him, panting and trembling. "John…" Your sparkling eyes never left his. "Touch me… please…"
Hearing his gasp, you saw John's sapphire eyes widen and then darken. He was controlling himself - you could feel it. And to prove his point, John asked slowly, his British accent thickening, "Love, you've just been through a difficult situation. I don't want to make you do anything…"
You stopped the captain's voice completely when you took his hands and brought them to your exposed breasts. You continued to stare at him with your glowing eyes and begged, trembling. "Please touch me. Make me forget the touch of those disgusting people. Make me feel like a new woman again, like you did before, John."
Hearing your words, John pushed your exposed body into the furry carpet and quickly covered you with his massive, muscular body. The Brit wasted no time in ripping off what was left of your dress, and when his goal was complete, he spoke dangerously into your ear as he let his firm hands roam your body. "I'll do it, love. I'll make you focus only on how you're going to come so hard that the only thing that will be left in that little head of yours will be just my name and my cock."
Your eyes widened, and your cheeks flushed, denouncing your excitement. John smiled at this reaction and began to apply bites and sucks to your neck, making you gasp. After this area received a great deal of attention, John's hot mouth descended on your puffy nipples, and he wasted no time in sucking them one at a time.
You arched your back at the pleasure you were receiving, feeling the ridges of your pussy wet the lacy beige panties and your clitoris getting excited. Realizing this, the captain moved his fingers down to your needy region and began stroking your luscious clit.
"Oh God!" You exclaimed, tilting your head back, letting yourself rub against his ardent touch.
"It's John, darling." The Briton complained, raising his face to the same height as his own. "God won't help you in this situation."
And with those last words, John sealed your mouth to his, completely devouring and destroying your delicate little lips. You gasped against his lips and put your fingers between his brownish strands, squeezing and scratching as you tried to follow the frantic rhythm of his lips.
However, it seemed impossible for you to do so. The man was literally consuming you as if he had been starving for days. His tongue enveloped yours in a ravishing, lustful dance, making you submit to what he was offering you.
You'd never felt this way before. It was so...different. So ardent.
Taking advantage of your moment of vulnerability, John stopped playing with your pussy and reached for your panties. You were about to complain when the man pulled it down and stuck the small garment between your soaked folds, directly against your core.
With that sudden movement, you could feel your body squirm and heat up completely with pleasure. You broke contact and opened your mouth to moan loudly as John continued to play with you by rubbing the garment against your pussy.
"J-John...oh my..." You moaned loudly as you tried to control your breathing. God, it was the first time you'd received such a strong dose of pleasure. You simply didn't know how to react.
"Shh... it's all right, love. Breathe calmly." John said smiling and left a kiss on your cheek, making you shiver completely at the feel of his facial hair. "We still have a long way to go."
You whimpered at his words and nibbled on your lips, swollen from the previous contact. You felt your knickers being removed and your soaked pussy being revealed.
You swallowed in anticipation as the Brit lowered himself to the middle of your trembling legs. However, contrary to what you had expected, the captain began to undress in front of you, and you wasted no time in admiring the man's athletic physique.
Despite having certain scars - which you wanted to explore properly - his body was nonetheless attractive. The lines of his defined abdomen were visible beneath the light fur that covered his entire torso, making him look more virile. His strong arms, which reflected the firm, strong muscles as they wrapped around his thighs, also sent a huge wave of excitement throughout his body.
You lowered your gaze, starting from his abdomen, and stopping only when his large, hard penis, full of protruding veins, caught your eye. You widened your eyes. He looked bigger than the last time you'd seen him, and he was just sending out the message that he was going to completely destroy you.
"Liking what you see, darling?" John's thick, husky accent came through, making your clitoris throb and your core release more grooves of pleasure. You didn't answer, as your body wasted no time in denouncing you, but that didn't please the captain. "I asked you a question, darling, and I don't like being ignored."
You shivered completely and let out a shaky sigh as you heard his stern, authoritative tone. You wasted no time in responding to his command, albeit timidly. "I like that."
John smiled and left a light seal on your aroused clitoris, making you let out a loud, long moan. "Good girl." And with those two words, he wasted no time in letting his mouth devour your pussy eager for his attention.
You bit your lips, stifling the scream that was about to burst from your lips. However, it was difficult to hold back the lustful sounds as John relentlessly consumed your wet region.
"J-John..." As you moaned for him, you only encouraged him to go harder and harder, until your pussy was swollen and sensitive from so much stimulation.
His erratic movements continued, alternating between your pussy and your sensitive clitoris. It was a short, quick sequence: sucking, licking and penetrating with his broad fingers and hot tongue, making your mind completely lose itself and become dependent on his lascivious touches.
And then, when you were close to orgasm, John suddenly stopped, making you moan and whimper pathetically at your denied orgasm. "P-Please...don't stop..."
Hearing your pleas, the British man's husky laugh rang out. "I didn't want to either, darling, but I promise it will get better."
Your hot body jumped as she felt the fat, wet glans slap against your soaked pussy, which throbbed with anticipation. Your lips trembled slightly and you brought your trembling hands to your face, hiding it from the man's deep gaze. Your move didn't take long, however, as he quickly grabbed your wrists and brought them up over your head, trapping them there and forcing you to face him.
"Eyes here, love." John commanded, as his free hand lined up the throbbing glans on his moist little hole. "I want to see your face when you feel my cock deep inside you again. Are we clear?"
You stared into his darkened eyes and nodded breathlessly, letting your tongue run over your pink lips. "Yes."
"Very good. Looks like you've learnt something, darling." John complimented, making you blush. "And you, what do good girls deserve? They deserve to be fucked until their little brains are mush and their pussies are so full, they will leak for days with all the sperm they put in them."
Listening to his dirty words, her pussy unleashed more lustful grooves and her clitoris throbbed, as if it were a silent invitation for him to invade. Her legs trembled and her breathing quickened, something that didn't go unnoticed by the Brit, who quickly commented with a laugh, "Is that your dirty secret, love? You want me to pour all my sperm inside you so you can feel it leaking out of your swollen little pussy, don't you? I bet you've been touching yourself thinking about the words I said the last time. You're so dirty."
Your cheeks flushed at being caught, and you denied it with your head, trying to save your last shred of dignity. "I-It wasn't like that...."
"You can try to lie all you like, doll, but your body will always be honest with me." John said, smiling, as he rubbed his own fluids into your hole, causing you to moan lewdly. "But don't worry, I'll do exactly what you want."
John groaned hoarsely and bit his lips. God, how many times during these past few days had he longed to return to this damp, warm heat since the last time. Damn work and unfinished business kept him away from you, he hated it. The only time the captain could be with you like this was when it was late at night and you were asleep.
The Brit would make sure that never happened again.
His free hand went next to the other, to your bound wrists, and this movement brought John's face face-to-face with yours, panting. After this small interval of time, his erratic movements began frantically inside you, making you both moan with the pleasure you were receiving.
You whimpered, while trying to hold back your moans by biting your lips. God, you were in a public place! There were people almost right next to you, they could hear! And the captain, realizing this, narrowed his eyes and brought his thumb to your mouth, forcing you to release your restrained moans. "I want everyone to hear your moans so they know you're already with someone, love. I want them to know who you're moaning for. Who's giving you pleasure."
You shuddered as you moaned loudly. His strong, fast thrusts made your insides burn and throb, sending waves of heat throughout your body and making you cry from the sensations they provided.
"John...John...more..." You called out and begged tremulously for it, as you felt him bite down harder on your neck.
"That's it, doll." John said muffled, letting his teeth bruise the sensitive skin of your neck. The hand that had been on her mouth moved down to your centre and wasted no time in rubbing the sensitive button that was begging for attention. Your pupils dilated, and you arched your back with the pleasure you were receiving, not containing the loud moan that left your mouth, making John smile. "Tell me, who's fucking you?"
"Oh... oh God..." You moaned breathlessly, unable to form a single thought properly because of what you were feeling. "You... it's you!"
John smiled, as he felt sweat beading on his forehead. Even so that didn't stop John from continuing his cruel, deep thrusts. "That's right, darling. It's not your slag of a husband. It's me, John Price. I'm the one who comes so deep that he makes you squirm and cry with pleasure. I'm the one you call and ask to go faster. And it's me who will fill your insides completely with my seed." John said breathlessly, not stopping to rub his thumb over your clitoris, making you moan louder. "Can you feel it, love? Can you feel how deep I am?"
You denied it with your head and John took your hand, taking it to your belly, which moved according to the firm blows of your cock. You blushed and it just made you moan louder. "Can you see? No one can get that deep inside you, love. And you get my cock so well in that little pussy of yours."
"J-John... I'm... close." You warned tearfully and tilted your head back lost.
"Cum for me, doll. Cum." John said and joined his mouth into his, initiating a lustful and quick contact that you couldn't even breathe right.
In just a few seconds, you reached your apex and you anchored yourself in the captain's strong grip as you felt your whole body tremble. Soon after, John also followed you and freed himself within you with a hoarse groan, fulfilling his promise.
He dropped himself over his tired body and left a light kiss on his sweaty forehead as they tried to catch his breath.
You were the first to break the silence some time later. "Do you think anyone heard us?"
John laughed loudly and took his hand, which previously rested on his clitoris, to his cheek. "And what's the matter if anyone hears."
You bit your lips and commented embarrassed. "They will comment..."
"Nobody has the courage to comment on anything, dear. Don't worry." John pushed his ideas away and re-sealed his mouth on him, making you feel his facial hair.
You sighed softly against his mouth, returning and following his contact. After some time, both turned away and you stared at him. "Please don't do anything to Kyle or his subordinates. I was the one who walked away to go to the bathroom.
"Well, yes, yes..." You agreed and before you could do anything else, your body was turned facing the carpet and your ass was piled towards the captain's hip, which was still inside you.
"What a naughty girl... accusing me of leaving her alone and still getting involved with my soldiers." Price spoke into her ear slowly, as she rubbed her limb inside herself. "It seems I shall have to punish her."
"I-I just..."
"No buts, love." John said, banging on his ass band, making you jump and moan again. "And as for your request, I will consider it carefully as I fuck you again."
You moaned loudly as the merciless thrusts returned.
#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#john price#captain john price#cod mw2#captain price#captain price x reader#john price x you#call of duty#john price smut#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty x reader#price call of duty#modern warfare x reader#cod modern warfare#cod mwiii#call of duty mwiii#modern warfare 3#modern warfare#mw3#cod mw3
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Hi!! Hope I am not bothering you (if so please feel free to ignore!) with a Gale lore question, but I figured you're the person on tumblr who would most likely know given all the cool shit you've been posting, but do we have any idea *where* gale was when he got snatched by the mindflayers? I can't seem to find a straight answer about most of the companions, but there seems to be a fairly straight forward answer for most of them except Gale (and Astarion to some extent) I know he had his year of solitude that he seemed to have left willingly and from what Tara says about Waterdeep it doesnt seem like they had a massive nautiloid attack the city a la the opening.
I figured he either left Waterdeep in search of more items to sate the orb/protect the city in case of rupturing and was taken there or he was just maybe beaten over the head and abducted in the city by one of the few Absolutists that are in Waterdeep.
thank you for your message! i really appreciate your words.
sadly, there is no indication at all where precisely gale was before the events of the game take place.
i've collected some pieces of the puzzle, however, that i thought are relevant to at least paint a broad picture of what likely happened:
gale is well aware of how unstable the orb is. when he escapes the nautiloid, his first thought is that the illithid tadpole is very likely to have adverse effects on it:
he has lived with the orb for about a year or longer, knowing well what its effect might be. i have wondered often just why gale would know so much about ceremorphosis before the game starts. perhaps the devs just needed another exposition machine, which is likely, too, of course.
but considering the very real and very present danger of the orb, i think it's also likely that in his desperation to find a way to heal himself, reading up as much as he could on everything that even resembled some sort of solution, gale perhaps even read up on ceremorphosis, before deciding that it's just not viable, that it would do more harm to than good.
i think it might be in line with the same reasoning as to why the player can bring up the nightsong to gale as a possible solution to the orb.
2. gale is aware just catastrophic the consequences of the orb being unleashed are. when gale goes to rest in his origin playthrough, sleep will not find him and once more, his thoughts turn towards the orb first:
it's likely that this is why we find him staring into the flames playing a custom protag. these two scenes seem to mirror each other.
3. we also learn from the same dialogue two important things: that gale made tara promise to stay in waterdeep, concerned for her safety. we also learn from his conversation with tara that he is not only concerned about her safety, but his mother's as well and that he left her behind in waterdeep as well:
morena isn't aware of what her son tried to do. he kept it from her. not only had he disappointed her faith in him and his talents, now, with the orb, he was actively putting her in mortal peril. along with everyone else in the city.
from a later dialogue we also learn that gale is afraid of bringing shame to his family name:
player: So, your last name is Dekarios?
gale: It is. Courtesy of my mother, the inimitable, dare I say it sometimes unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. It's been so long since I've used it. 'Gale Dekarios' cuts a poor figure next to the wizarding prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep.'
player: You're right. Just 'Gale' is better.
gale: I agree. And on the plus side, if I get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.
we also learn that while news of the absolute seems to have reached waterdeep, tara doesn't seem to think that they have infiltrated waterdeep yet. which in turn means that waterdeep wasn't affected in the same way baldur's gate and other cities and regions were.
4. the next morning, gale can have the following conversation with tara:
"you left the tower in such a hurry you didn't leave an address." is what stands out to me here.
what exactly did make gale leave so suddenly?
was it a particularly bad flare-up of the orb? i think it might be likely because i also found this line in the files:
player: i fail to see why you need me to help you this. you've done fine without me so far.
gale: A fair point - however, until recently I was able to rely on a supply of artefacts stored in my tower in Waterdeep. A supply that has now run dry.
The reality of the matter is that a lone wizard with a chronic impairment such as my own is not in the most ideal of situations with regards to self-defence.
The manner of artefacts I need are not often found waiting patiently on a shop-keep's shelf. One usually has to lift them delicately from trap-filled tombs or prise them from the hands of violent ne'erdowells.
so not only does this validate the fact that gale indeed suffers from chronic pain due to his condition even more, it also clearly states that he had nothing left in his possession to treat his condition anymore.
(as an aside, larian really did the seriousness of his condition a grave disservice here on a multitude at levels and this is another point where the narrative is at odds with the game mechanics of the full release. in ea, it truly required great artefacts (the sword of justice blessed by tyr or even the idol of silvanus) to soothe the orb.)
so to bring all of these points together, this is what i believe:
i think gale left waterdeep in a hurry after he felt the orb destabilising.
having no artefacts great power left, staying was no longer an option, lest he puts his mother (and waterdeep itself even) at great risk. he hurriedly packed what he could.
i assume tara was there and that it was then that he made her promise to stay because he didn't want to put his longest (and now only) friend at risk, too. perhaps he also felt better knowing that tara would be there for morena.
i think he was abducted while on the road, trying to find information about artefacts of great power and perhaps even setting out himself to acquire them.
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#baldur's gate 3#bg3#baldurs gate 3#bg3 meta#ch: gale dekarios#vg: baldur's gate 3#series: baldur's gate#meta: mybg3
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My, What Beautiful Hair You Have!—Vash the Stampede
summary: on a boring Sunday, you decide to get Vash's attention through some head scratches
content: 771 words. mostly fluff but suggestive towards the end, head scratches, needy reader kinda ngl (but who isn't for Vash's attention), one (1) hickey, written with tristamp vash in mind
a/n: saw this fanart and immediately wanted to write this. his hair looks so nice. anyway something soft before i post my first smut piece. aha
You should be thankful. Its been a long week of nonstop travel from dusty town to dusty town. You stopped remembering what the town names were, every stop melding into one as the exhaustion from the constant Tomas riding got to you. But finally, the week reached its end, producing a lazy Sunday for you and Vash to recuperate at the latest town you stopped in.
Both of you were lounging on the motel bed, sunlight creeping in from the second-story window, dust flurries apparent from the rays pouring in. You were lying sprawled out on the mattress, Vash sitting at the end of the bed, cleaning his gun. You feel your eyes shut, not from sleepiness. No. Boredom. You sigh loudly, hoping Vash can give you some attention. Silence meets your ears. You sigh again, this time much more slowly and drawn out. Nothing. Wondering what is so interesting about that damn gun of his, you open your eyes and stare longingly at his back.
“Vashhh,” you whined. He hums questioningly, continuing his ministrations against the metallic piece in his hand. That’s not the answer you wanted. You wanted him to turn around and pay attention to you. A conversation. A wrestling competition. Anything to drive away this boredom that’s consumed you.
Your eyes land on the back of his head, outlining where his scruffy brown undercut meets the soft gentle waves of his longer, blond hair.
When does he find the time to cut his hair? Why does it look so nice? He should let me cut it for him…
What stands out to you the most, is how fluffy it looks. You feel your hand moving on its own before your brain can even register the action. You feel your fingertips reach his head, and just as you expected. Soft. You trail your fingers up from the undercut and into his blond tresses.
Vash is used to you touching his hair. What he isn’t used to is you actually using your nails to scratch his scalp. A pleasurable shudder runs down his spine, whipping around to face you as he lets out a squeak.
“Uhh…” He doesnt even know what to say, only averting his eyes and trying to distract you from the blush that’s fallen on his cheeks.
“Oh, sorry, did I scare you? I can stop.”
“No, no. It’s fine… just took me off guard.” Vash glances at you, shooting you a quick smile before turning back around. Assuming he’s ok with it now, you sit up straighter, reaching your fingers back to softly scratch at his hair, admiring the way it shifts back into place, covering your path.
“How the hell is your hair so soft? We live in a dry desert!”
“I just take showers with whatever soap we have. Other than that, mostly water when we come across a fountain and I wanna wash the dirt off me.” Vash shrugs, peeking at you over his shoulder, his gun forgotten. You smile.
I win. You thought. You finally got his attention.
“I don’t know what pisses me off more: the fact that you’re blessed with this hair, or the fact you don’t even realize. Ugh, I hate men.” You tease, a slight quirk in your lip.
“Mayflyy, you love meee though, right?”
“Yeah yeah whatever you say hot stuff.” You can’t let him think he’s got the upper hand after ignoring you for an hour. The way his brown undercut trails into a peak at the slight bend of his neck triggers an impulsive thought. You lean in, trailing your lips across his neck, giving light kisses along the way. You feel Vash stop his movements suddenly, his breathing becoming shallow.
Got you right where I want you.
Just as Vash begins to relax into your gentle kisses, he gasps, eyes shooting open as you abruptly bite into the soft skin, suckling slightly after. You pull back, leaning on the palms of your hands as you stare admiringly at your work.
The satisfying grin falls away as Vash doesn’t turn around after a minute. Thinking you may have crossed the line, you offer a white flag in surrender.
“Heh, hey sorry I didn’t mean to stop you from working on your gun. If you want, we can go out and get din-”
His gun clatters noisily on the ground near his feet. Looking up, you meet Vash’s swimmingly hot gaze.
“Not tonight. You started something you have to finish now, Mayfly.”
You scoot backwards, inviting him further up the bed as he crawls his way to you.
This was gonna be a long night.
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#vash x reader#vash the stampede x reader#trigun x reader#trigun#trigun stampede#tristamp#vash the stampede#vash x reader fluff#vash fluff#vash drabble#bendycxmet writes
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𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐭?
Social Media! Au | Jude Bellingham x Reader
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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Anonymous: How the hell is it a marketing strategy if they have had the relationship longer than her modeling career . 🤦♀️
Anonymous: I'm sad to see a girl trying to change herself for a guy she's super sweet when I met her :(
↳ Anonymous: She's super kind too but it's just sad tbh
↳Anonymous : don't get me wrong I bet Y/n is a nice girl but why is jude looking like a villain to this situation? Isn't friends with benefits 2 thing?.
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June 30,
Right now its one of your stupid breaks with Him that last few weeks then He drunk dials he always wants to stop but you don't know
Is it even worth trying? "I miss the times when everything was normal before feelings complicated everything " having conversations with your sister
" pick someone who's decent not someone who's a dirt bag and just has every girl in he's finger tips "
it's been 1 week since he asked to stop for the time you've forgotten how many times you've gotten cool off trying impressing him it was just sad telling your friends and therapist they could tell you clearly love him but it's codependency
Nights where you lie awake, you block him, but then you feel bad and unblock you dream the day when he's sure he wants you
from trying to dress the way he likes high heels, trying to be everything he wants, or you think he wants . You just wish he could have a clear mind it's hurting you inside to know that
You just want to hate him but some reason you can't you've seen him in other relationships then block you out when it doesn't work he calls you
He's your only and first relationship. "You should try others guys if he's been with other girls and block you out block him too then," your friend says
"or you know stop this and be secure with being alone," your other friends suggested to you
July 1.
Everything felt like the end of the world. Everyone knew you and jude reading comments of people. Reading it makes you pity yourself, realizing it made it worse for months you didn't realize it nor think about it
"Be yourself and know that that's good enough Dont try to act like someone else, be yourself Be secure with yourself Rely and trust upon your own decisions" your friend reassures you that everything's gonna be fine
"They're are other people than him and when you're ready they'll appear don't rush it" you hated the fact you're a safety net for him the things you've done with him never thought you'd have to do with other people trying to accept that you have to move on and on to the next
Looking at pictures at night and crying cause he's spotted with another girl while you're in your room crying wondering why it got so messy to begin with you sometimes wish you never bothered to begin with.
Hi its me again I'm nervous about my work nowadays and I decided to make this new one I hope you guys appreciate it also should I make this a series?🤍 - Love mishaella
Hi updated the series is #Risque the story
#jude bellingham smut#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham x reader#football x reader#football x you#football x y/n#jude bellingham angst#jude bellingham fanfic#football au#social media au#football social media au#Risque the story#risque the story#L0verF0rever#football smut#football#jude bellingham fluff#jude bellingham#soccer
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Day four of Astarion x Rogue!Tav winter fluff for the BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge!
Prompt: Mulled Wine
Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav
Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here
Premise: Astarion walks into you making mulled wine. He doesn’t understand why you must ruin wine for the sake of winter. When he refuses to see your point, you find another way to show him.
Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, Alcohol, Kisses, post-cannon
Word count: ~1k
“Darling, what are you doing to that red wine?” Astarion walks into the kitchen, turning his nose up at the concoction you’re stirring.
“I’m making mulled wine,” you say, turning to smile at him. “What do you think I’m doing?”
He gives a single sniff and turns his lips down into a grimace. “My nose tells me that you’re ruining a perfectly good bottle of wine.” You drop the smile and give him a glare.
“What do you mean ruining?” you ask, incredulous. “I’m following the instructions that Gale gave me to the letter. Though I guess I am skipping over some of his longer-winded tangents…” A quick glance over at the notes on the counter confirms your accuracy.
The vampire shakes his head at you and walks up to the stove where you’re still stirring. “I have no doubt that you’re executing it perfectly, dear. You’ve made poisons that require more finesse than this. However, adding all of those spices– and oranges? What was wrong with the original wine?”
“Nothing was wrong. I just wanted to make something seasonal,” you say, feeling the need to defend your creation. You look down at your mixture, at the various pieces of seasonal flavors swirling as you stir, and you’re almost positive that it will taste perfect on a cold winter’s day like today.
“Why not a nice buttered rum? I don’t mind if you torment the rum.”
You roll your eyes at this, knowing full well now that this line of questioning was meant to be entertainment for Astarion. He was likely just bored and wondering why you were spending so much time in the kitchen. “I don’t want buttered rum. Why are you so against mulled wine– when was the last time you even had mulled wine?”
A moment of silence passes between you, and you turn away from your pot to look at him, suddenly fearful that you accidentally struck a nerve you hadn’t meant to. However, he just looks pensive, a single finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. When his answer finally comes, he just says it with a sense of awe, “You know, it’s likely been over 200 years.”
“Oh,” you respond, pursing your lips. You gesture at him with the spoon you’re holding. “Maybe it would be like a brand new experience?”
“It could be,” he responds, and while there’s some hesitation to his tone, he does sound more amenable to the idea now. He wafts the steam from the pot toward his nose, as if a better sniff might change his mind. Instead your lover physically recoils and places a hand over his face. “Gods, what are these spices?”
“Let’s see... cardamom, cinnamon, and star anise,” you recite, looking back at the paper Gale wrote you.
Your lover makes a face at you before he chokes out, “Star anise? That’s where the pungent smell is coming from. Darling, as the resident connoisseur of scents, you should have asked me for your spices.”
“Ah,” you breathe out, understanding dawning on you. You point the spoon at him excitedly, “I got it!”
“Got what?” he says, staring at you blankly. You can feel his assurance in your ability to make mulled wine deteriorating by the second. No matter– you know how to fix this.
Scooping up a bit of your brew in the stirring spoon, you blow gently on it to cool it down and hold it out to him. “Try it.”
“Oh no,” he immediately says, taking a step back. “I refuse to be your test subject.”
“Fine then, let me try it first.” You sip the mulled wine out of the spoon, savoring it on your tongue. It’s sweet, it’s spiced, and it tastes just like cozying up to a fireplace– your face breaks into a wide grin at its rich flavor. As you suspected, the star anise only gives it a subtle note, none of that strong licorice smell it typically has. Astarion wouldn't remember that after hundreds of years away from drinks like this. “Mmm, it’s perfect.”
Astarion looks at you for a second, as if waiting for your composure to crack, your body to convulse with disgust. When nothing happens, he only asks, “What does it taste like?”
“Would you like to try it?” You’re beaming at him now, absolutely certain that this will change his mind about mulled wine.
He still seems cautious, probably wondering if this is all some ruse devised by you and Gale.
Sensing his worries, you scoop another spoonful for yourself, take a drink, and close the distance between you. “Mmm mm,” you say to him, behind closed lips.
“What?” the man asks, raising a single eyebrow at you.
“Mmm mm!” you repeat, pointing to your lips, which you’re emphatically puckering at him.
Your request clicks in his head a moment later and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “My love, have I told you that you’re utterly ridiculous lately? Because I feel like you’re overdue.” Nevertheless, he takes a step forward, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you close as he meets your pursed lips with his.
The kiss, much like the mulled wine, starts off sweet but quickly comes with a kick of spice. Astarion’s tongue traces your bottom lip and you open your mouth to allow him in. One of his hands finds your face and angles it to deepen the kiss, locking his mouth with yours to try to keep the wine from spilling.
You feel a few trickles of liquid fall down your chin, but you find that you don’t mind– in fact, the only thing on your mind is the way Astarion’s tongue is relishing the mulled wine. The vampire gives a low hum as his tongue circles yours, tasting the liquid fully. He has yet to run away in revulsion, so you’re pretty sure he likes it. Or at the very least likes kissing you.
When he finally pulls away, a bit short of breath, his lips stained with wine, he gives you a smirk. “I think I finally understand the appeal of mulled wine.”
“So does that mean you liked it?” you ask him, equally breathless.
Astarion swipes his thumb down your chin, wiping away the wine that dribbled down before bringing it to mouth. He gives you a dark, lidded look as he licks it off and gives a rumbling hmm. “I’m not sure yet. You’ll have to give me another taste.”
It’s slow going, but you enthusiastically ensure that your lover gets his fill of mulled wine.
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I feel like I'm constantly talking like a broken record, lol, leftists this, leftists that.
Sometimes it's surreal to see myself typing that and agreeing with it, given I used to be very left wing myself until the response on the left to October 7th. And I hate the idea that it's giving other people the impression that I'm conservative--I'm not. I have some views that I'd share with conservatives--being a Zionist being one of them... obviously.
But I'm literally bisexual. I support same-sex marriage. I think democracy is the best form of government, that the US should have universal healthcare, should abolish the Electoral College (National Popular Vote Interstate Compact, I'm praying for you). I think the invasion of Ukraine is a monstrous crime and Putin is a threat to world peace. I think systemic racism is a real thing in the United States, as is police brutality against black people. I think vaccines work, and mandates are a good idea. I think most right-wing politicians are right-wing populists more interested in causing democratic backsliding and peddling conspiracies than they are in fixing literally anything.
But I can't call myself a leftist anymore, even with this set of values. Why? Because--oh, God--I believe Israel has the right to exist. And to defend itself.
I'm not even some radical on Israel unlike some friends of mine--I think it's a travesty that Israel hasn't yet legalized same-sex marriage or established a civil marriage system. I think the 2018 Nation-State Law was racist in making Arabic no longer a co-official language with Hebrew. I think Bibi is one of those aforementioned populists. I think Israel has a democratic backsliding problem.
But the rest of the left--the rest of the queer community, especially--has made it clear in no uncertain terms that I am not welcome among them anymore. Like, they genuinely think I'm a genocide defending fascist, which is just so weird to me sometimes. Yeah, me, the fascist who thinks queer rights should be non-negotiable in any society. And they, who are posting pro-Hamas slogans, are the ones standing against genocide and bigotry. Uh huh. Oo-kay.
I don't want to constantly be saying 'Oh, the left...' and 'Leftists when...' like I'm some boomer posting shitty memes on Facebook. The right has its share of problems, too. And I'm sure they'll do something soon to make their antisemitism known as well--especially as the 2024 presidential election draws nearer.
But right now, the immediate threat isn't in Ron DeSantis, Nikki Haley, or whoever. I'm more worried about being accosted by pro-Palestine protestors with something to prove than I am about neo-Nazi gangs. And so are most Jews right now. And that's why I'm posting about the left more than the right here... even though my values are mostly left.
Oh, the wonders of being politically homeless!
#jewish#jumblr#anti zionisim#antisemitism#leftist antisemitism#israel#judaism#pro israel#zionism#antizionism#left wing antisemitism
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