#fanfic: heart of fire

[dyesprout0ysphoria]

One of my drawings from Art class that I spent way too much time on for no particular reason I

I really like it though I think it was worth the time I didn't sleep (coping)

Song - Rain in my heart

#✧ dyesprout's art! ✧ #dead plate #deadplate #dead plate game #deadplate game #vincent dead plate #vincent charbonneau #vince dead plate #Dead plate Vince #Vincent Deadplate #vince charbonneau #Dead plate Vincent #rody dead plate #Deadplate Rody #rody lamoree #Rodent deadplate #Coal fired heart #dead plate rody #rody x vincent #vincent x rody #vince x rody #Charmoree #traditional art #traditional drawing #Look at them playing music together :3 #silly guysnfdsfhdfaakd #I think the Cello looks really good here #Oh yeah to the people who read the humungous amount of tags I put on this shit #Fanfic for Deadplate progress currently is going slow #I want to make it good but like....

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

One of my favorite things that happened during my last mage Hawke playthrough was during the final battle against Meredith. Everything's going well. We're kicking her ass, she's got just this much health left, we're so close... but then everyone gets stunned dizzy.

Hawke is stumbling around all confused, seeing stars. The rest of his companions are stunned. I'm annoyed because I just want to end this fight. Don't know how or who did it, probably Meredith, but the situation's dire.

Meredith's standing by herself at the center of the Gallows, shouting nonsense and smugly believing the Maker's going to come down and make her his new bride after she murdered a bunch of innocent people.

Truly, this is the part of the story where Varric says they all thought hope was lost, that in the end, Meredith would pull a fast one on us and claim victory...

Until the REAL hero of dragon age 2 comes storming at her. I don't know why Carver was the only one to not be affected, but he literally jumped out of no where and just started bashing Meredith with his sword while everyone else was too dizzy to do anything until she was dead and the cutscene played.

"Hawke defeated Meredith-" LIES, VARRIC. I know the truth! I was there! Hawke didn't do shit! Carver Hawke was the main character all along! He got shit done and Varric gave Hawke all the credit!

I bring this up because last night I finished my warrior Hawke run and when we got to the fight with Meredith, I kind of hoped the same thing would happen where Bethany dashed in all heroic and got the killing blow on Meredith.

She did not.

She got squished by a statue.

But it's fine, Bethany Hawke was the true main character in my heart.

#da2 #dragon age 2 #carver hawke #bethany hawke #da2 hawke #varric tethras #da2 meredith #listen i have so much love for the hawke twins they are the main characters in my heart like yes fine hawke you're there too #but THE TWINS aaaaaaaauughghghghhhhhh #seriously though i'll never forget being annoyed that ed was bumbling around and then watching carver be the only one unaffected #and he's the only one beating meredith and tbh i was cheering him on yes baby brother get her show her how you do it back in fereldan #honestly doesn't it figure though? carver would be the one to deliver the final blow and then be completely overshadowed #because varric has such a hard on for hawke BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH #and it's the same with bethany like this entire run i was so invested in her and i wanted her to set meredith on fire #though this time the fight was actually super easy because i was way more prepared and at a higher level so hawke never got stunned? #i dunno but i wasn't keeping track of bethany during the battle and somehow she did die once... but it's fine she got better #siiiiiigh.... do you know how much i want a playthrough with just the twins? so badly like listen hawke you're neat #but maybe this time you could let the ogre eat you instead? just this once? i love both of my hawkes but the twins?? #hawke twins hawke twins haWKE TWINS HAWKE TWINS #i guess i have to settle for au crafting and fanfic...

[asksimonbelmont]

hello mr belmont!!

imagine you met gabriel belmont ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶

"It’s an honor to meet a distant relative. Come, tell me of your stories. I have much to learn from you."

#heart of fire #akumajou dracula #castlevania #simon belmont #gabriel belmont #i have a lot of feelings about gabriel (affectionately) #fun fact i only played his games for the first time late last year #after my spouse told me that some of my CV2 fanfic ideas reminded them of LoS's plot #(things like nightmares #questioning one's faith #being used and lied to #being [redacted for fanfic spoilers] #being a wifeguy hahaha #“the answer is love”) #not only that but Gabriel's costume really reminds me of CV2 Simon's costume #i also originally wanted to draw Selena and Marie in this as well but i have been struggling to draw anything lately #especially multiple characters in one image aha #loved this ask though #thank you

[allicentsallure]

Shaera and Aemond

Green lies black hearts by @xxpeppermintxx109

#house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #a song of ice and fire #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #fanfic #green lies black hearts

[pencil-urchin]

I just spent an hour writing a reaction post to the most recent chapter of @vibratingskull 's Jaw Crusher series, and Tumblr LOST IT.

So, while I calm down about that (I CAN and WILL redo it, I just spent an hour tailoring every image/.gif and word and am salty), I offer a doodle of my favorite scene from said chapter.

I'm just generally filling in the Reader's position with my OC, Iria, for sake of ease.

Kinda accidentally gave it torrid romance novel cover vibes and tbh? Here for it. It's what my soul knows is right.

I'm out for now, be back with the reaction post after I write it all again.

*yeets out*

#thrawn #star wars #grand admiral thrawn #art #digitalart #thrawnsimp #artist #fanart #digital painting #mirialan oc #mirialan #vibratingskull #thrawn fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #gimme that good shit #my heart #my loins #everything is on fire #because this chapter was LIT

[stardust948]

Brave is the heart that loves deleted scene

[After flying lesson]

“Mmm…”

“You can do it Lala!” Zuko cheered.

“Mmm… mmm…orrrre”

Her parents gasped. “Azula?!”

“Mmmorreee. More.”

Ozai picked her up and spun her around causing Azula to giggle. “You spoke! You said your first human word!!!”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so proud!” Ursa smiled as Zuko clapped and cheered.

Azula laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. “More! More!”

“Yes more!”

Ozai purred to show how happy he was. Zuko covered his mouth while Ursa gasped.

“Ozai!”

“What?”

Azula repeated the sound then giggled at her mother’s appalled face.

‘No no sweetie don’t say that.’

Ursa took Azula from Ozai then glared at him.

“What?!”

“I can’t even look at you right now.” She huffed then walked towards the house.

“What did I say?! Ursa!” Ozai yelled, growing more confused. He squatted down in front of his son. “Zuko what did I say to make her so upset?”

“Um…” Zuko flushed.

“Don’t you dare repeat that!!!” Ursa called back.

Ozai groaned as Zuko patted his hung down head. Mind as well start searching for apology gifts now. It was going to be a long night. 

#i was so sad to cut this out #but it was really cute #i had to share #atla #atla au #dragon au #royal fire famil #urzai #fire siblings #ursa #dragon ursa #ozai #zuko #dragon zuko #azula #dragon azula #deleted scene #fanfic #star's writing #brave is the heart that loves

[xxpeppermintxx109]

thistle and weeds - chapter i

summary -

“i know you have felt much more love than you’ve shown”

a story in which shaera velaryon is offered up as a peace offering, and aegon targaryen gives his wife a crown of thorns alongside her puppet strings.

[a glbh au]

#thistleandweedswip #xxpeppermintxx109 #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x shaera velaryon #shaera velaryon #oc #ao3 #fanfic #ao3fic #aegon x oc #aegon ii fic #greenliesblackheartswip #green lies black hearts au #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfic #asoiaf #fire and blood

[comikadraws]

Was the curse of hatred actually a real thing? or did danzo just demonize the uchiha;s anger? idk, being murderously angry or just angry in general is a reasonable and human response to oppression and genocide.

An interesting question. The Curse of Hatred looks dumb at first glance but there are also many misconceptions surrounding it.

Since it is such a hot mess to begin with, I will try to focus mostly on the in-universe canon and lore rather than making it even more complicated by bringing in too much real-world logic and criticizing Kishimoto.

There's a bunch of rambling in the tags though.

Kishimoto's Intentions

Whenever we talk about the "Curse of Hatred" the fandom will usually apply terms such as "racism", "bigotry" and "pseudoscience" - particularly in reference to Tobirama.

Again, I don't want to bring too much irl logic into this but I feel like we need to make a clear distinction between intention and interpretation over here. "[insert character] was a racist" and "the Uchiha were justified" is a valid interpretation of the story. But at the same time, I doubt that this was ever intended by Kishimoto.

In the narrative, everything we learn about the Curse of Hatred is framed as exposition rather than propaganda. The lore lines up pretty well with Kishimoto's beliefs and his idea that grudges are responsible for the cycle of war.

Aside from that, Japan has a fairly homogenous population and, correct me if I'm wrong, is not as sensitized to themes of racism as other countries might be. And let's be real here, Kishimoto himself is not particularly known for having a lot of awareness for such themes either. So it is very unlikely that Kishimoto consciously decided to portray themes of racism.

In other words, the Curse of Hatred is real in canon.

What Is The "Curse of Hatred" Even?

I have to admit, it's been a while since the last time I watched Naruto from start to finish, so I had to use the sources listed by the wiki rather than relying on my own findings and I might be biased. Because of that, I'd prefer everybody to regard my findings as headcanon rather than undisputed fact.

As far as I remember, the exact wording "Curse of Hatred" is only ever used by Obito. While not using the same wording, the curse is also referenced by Itachi, Hagoromo, and Tobirama who each have their own understanding of it. Unfortunately, we have no idea where exactly this wording or concept originated.

Hiruzen, Koharu, Homura, and even Danzo, while potentially influenced by Tobirama's teachings, do not reference the Curse of Hatred at all, at least not in relation to the Uchiha Clan itself.

Now here's the first one of my findings: The Curse of Hatred is supposed to be some sort of involuntary biological or cultural inclination causing Uchihas to become consumed by hatred but it is also something voluntary - a Nindo. While the former could be considered a "curse" in the traditional sense, the latter is definitely not.

For the Nindo, it is supposed to be some sort of antithesis to the Will of Fire. Because of that, it is not limited to the Uchiha but, according to Tobirama and Obito, closely associated. As explained later on in this post, most Uchihas do not follow this Nindo.

Core aspects of the Curse of Hatred as a Nindo:

Valuing a precious few above the many

Directing your hatred at those who took away your precious few

Growing stronger from those feelings of hatred (for the Uchiha, reflected in the form of the Sharingan)

A Biological Inclination?

Now back to Tobirama's theory, due to the narrative framing, we will assume his words to be truthful for the sake of this analysis. However, I will provide links to other people's posts delving into the fantasy racism discussion.

Tobirama is racist and his theories cannot be trusted. Tobirama is not racist and there is validity to his theories.

I myself do not completely agree with either of these, but they might be interesting reads for you. If you do not agree with either of them, please keep it to yourself and do not bother the original creators.

Tobirama's theory goes as follows:

The Uchiha feel love and hate more strongly than other individuals

The strength of the Sharingan and the Uchihas' hatred are correlated

In a fit of hatred, odds are an Uchiha will commit evil

It is nowhere mentioned that the Uchiha are more likely to feel hate - only that their hatred is worse than the average person's and puts them at risk of being swayed by hateful ideologies.

A Cultural Inclination?

Aside from Tobirama's theory, multiple characters comment on the historical origin behind the Curse of Hatred.

We are talking, of course, about Indra. Obito explains that Indra's values and his hatred (particularly what later became the Nindo of the Curse of Hatred) were passed down to his descendants - the Uchiha clan. Tobirama's exposition implies the same thing.

Tobirama states that there "used to be a thought that [...] the basis of the Uchiha clan's strength was the power of their jutsu". It is very similar to Hagorormo's description of his son.

If this is correct, that would mean that the importance placed on powerful jutsu by the Uchiha Clan does inadvertently promote hatred due to the close correlation between hatred and the Sharingan.

But then again, in the story, it is shown that many Uchiha were not particularly fond of perpetuating hate and it is also implied that to avoid hatred, they sealed their emotions away. My interpretation is that they recognized the pain that hate could cause and then took steps to avoid it.

The Reincarnation Cycle

Sticking with Indra, another explanation that is frequently brought up is Indra's and Ashura's reincarnation cycle, which has also been described as curse-like or haunting and neverending. A fate seemingly set in stone.

There is not much more to say, other than that this theory suggests that Indra's reincarnates are just naturally inclined towards lusting for power.

The True Origin

Now, here's another thing that's constantly being overlooked. Aside from Obito's exposition in chapter 462 on the Curse of Hatred Nindo, Tobirama's exposition in chapter 619 on the Uchiha's tendency to follow said Nindo, and even Hagoromo's exposition on the reincarnation cycle in chapter 670, we get a vital piece of exposition in chapter 681.

Ladies, gentlemen, and anything in between. May I introduce to you...

...the real Curse of Hatred.

Or at the very least what I believe is the real reason why the "Curse of Hatred" exists in the world of Naruto.

From the very beginning, Zetsu approached Indra to take advantage of his hatred and turn it into a tool for his own purposes. He then did that again and again. He focused on the Uchiha in particular - Either because of the previously mentioned reasons (i.e. the Uchiha / incarnates have a tendency to become obsessed with hatred and power) or because Hagoromo's stone tablet was left in the Uchihas' possession (which became another tool for manipulation).

In order to achieve his goal (awakening a Rinnegan), he had to somehow combine both Indra's and Ashura's power. It is implied that for this purpose, he instigated, perpetuated, and escalated wars and conflicts between Senju and Uchiha by pitting their reincarnates against each other. But unlike the wars he caused, Zetsu went unnoticed by the history books. Basically, he kept haunting the clans like a curse.

Without a doubt, had Zetsu never been there, 99% of the Uchihas' problems would not exist - regardless of what ideals, genes, or history the Uchiha hold.

You could even think this further. Perhaps Tobirama's, Obito's, Hagoromo's and everybody else's explanations were just desperate attempts to make sense of anything. They didn't know that Zetsu was pulling the strings, so perhaps they tried to explain the Uchiha Clan's history in some other way.

#i have actually thought about this topic for some time haha #this was the perfect prompt i needed to post this #the curse of hatred lore makes sense in-universe but from an irl perspective it is raising some major red flags that cannot be denied #ie race theory or whatever it is called #'race theory' CAN make sense in a fictional universe though #like 'vampires are naturally unempathetic towards humans' because they cannot relate to the lives of humans due to themselves being immorta #but as soon as you try to apply it to our world as an analogy it immediately crumbles #i'd also like to add that i am probably viewing tobirama through rose-tinted glasses as i am reading tobirama-centric fanfic #where he is characterized as a very interesting and also kind-hearted character #notably “Like a Pebble (Thrown In the River)” #and “In The Dancing Of Fire In The Curve Of Old Bones” #also adding that sasuke's hatred towards the village and shinobi system is entirely justified #but his actions are not #the genocide on the uchiha cannot be justified and the perpetrators deserved to be punished and the system was in dire need of change #but jfc solving genocide with ANOTHER genocide is not the answer #also feel free to add something in case you are more knowledgable on the topic than i am #ask #anon #naruto #curse of hatred #analysis

[thesunwillshineonusagain757]

𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

In the Westerosi constitutional monarchy, Crown Prince Rhaegar found himself imprisoned by the rigid dictates of his birthright. Despite his lofty status, the gilded cage of royalty choked him, killing his unspoken desires. As he treads the corridors of and the very exclusive and most luxurious boarding school in the continent, more and more he embraces the inevitability of having to concealing his heart's yearnings, to the day he died.

Yet, a fated encounter unravels his world. Lyanna, an enigmatic new student hailing from the North, emerges as a tempestuous presence. Veiled in mystery and unfazed by his princely mantle, she refuses to bow to convention. With her arrival, the halls of the boarding school transform into a crucible of transformation, igniting a journey that transcends fate itself. Follow the start, the middle and the end of the relationship that will change everything.

𝐋𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

Lyanna Aleksander Rickardevna Stark, is a new student in the Harrenhal institute, she came from the North after being released from prison. She likes to keep her history under wraps; Stark was enrolled into the Harrenhal Institute and went to the Labradorite house. Right as she came to the school she met Rhaegar Targaryen and unlike most people she did not treat him as someone who deserved her respect solely on the merit of his title, if anything her opinion of him wasn't the best because of this.

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

The Crown Prince Rhaegar Lucaerys Aelon Targaryen, Duke of Dragonstone Rhaegar was born as the first son of King Aerys and his consort, Queen Rhaella, Rhaegar is currently first in the line of succession after his father. Since birth, he has dealt with the weight of many responsibilities and is acutely aware of what is expected of him, to keep up a positive public reputation for the sake of his family. He made the decision, he wanted to live his life as normally as possible, but that was not permitted by his parents, who sent him to the prestigious boarding school near Harrenhall. Rhaegar's life was, but he couldn't see a way to make it out of it. But in his junior year, he met Lyanna, and that changed his mind forever.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

Alternate Universe - Academia | Alternate Universe - Teenagers | Angst and Fluff and Smut | Some Humor | But serious too | Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con( not in the story )| Private School | Alternate Universe - Boarding School | Alternate Universe - Rock Band | Enemies to Friends to Lovers | Rivals to Friends to Lovers | Slow Burn | Lyanna uses sarcasm and antagonism as self-defence | Rhaegar is a sad boy who needs a hug | Forced Proximity | Fake/Pretend Relationship | Dark Academia | Flash Back Fic | Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD | Second Change Love Maybe ?

#go on and break my heart #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #lyanna stark #house stark #rhaelya #house targaryen #rhaegar targaryen #moder au #academia au #dark academia #but also #band au #second chance romance #au #rhaelya ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 stuff #ao3 #ao3 link

[buggiebite]

I want a fanfic where Mr. Everdeen escaped to District 13 and watched shit unfold.

#I need a novel… someone write it before I do #he would try his hardest to go back but would constantly be denied #he would feel so guilty #watching 12’s reaping footage for glimpses of his family #I know a rampage occurred when Prim’s name was called and Katniss volunteered #all of District 13 rooting for Katniss in the 74th games and #but his heart hurt for the Peeta because he always knew he had a crush on her #there’s so much I can say omg #then when both of them win… it’s like brains started kicking into gear and a rebellion is planned #buggiebite #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #peeta mellark #thg #mr everdeen #everlark #mockingjay #catching fire #fanfic

[chaoticmessofmymind]

I think I should write it.... should I write it??? It would be my first real attempt at fan fiction. What do y'all think????

#spn #spn fanfic #deancas #destiel AU #fanfic idea #seriously tho would you guys read this? #i need to know #fire fighter dean has my heart

[evita-shelby]

November Writing prompts

in an attempt to break through my block, i've decided to give these a try.

these will be a mix of all my pb fics i think? idk yet

My requests are still closed for now

Prompt list by @creativepromptsforwriting

crisp air

rainy

memories

tea time

carriage ride

star gazing

mysterious

early sunsets

historic

cozy

shooting stars

gloomy

cuddling

scarecrow

gratefulness

stellar constellation

blanket

rainboots

hugs

mist

fireplace

steaming mugs

wind

puddles

moonlight

Thanksgiving

grey sky

smoke

apple cider

lanterns

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #jack nelson x eva smith #evacore #jack nelson peaky blinders #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x eva smith #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x diane shelby #diane shelby #charlie shelby #national anthem fic #incantatrice fic #peaky blinders au #world on fire fic #tie your heart to mine

[red-riding-wood]

Chapter 1

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

“Here, allow me,” my sister spoke, her voice a murmur and her fingers like silk as they wove themselves through my long, tangled hair. She had always been soft-spoken, unless the fire awoke in her. Her voice was soothing, in these rare moments when I did not allow my envy to pervade my mind.

And while I initially relaxed under her touch, watching as she undid the snares in my locks, I could not help but allow my gaze to linger on the pale silver of hers, the arcane violet of her gentle eyes. Mine stared back a dull, cold grey that I could only imagine must have belonged to my mother, much like the red hair that came from being born of a Tully. Though only a half-sibling to Daenerys, I was twice the Targaryen she was. But it was hidden beneath the markings of a mutt.

“Do you know when your wedding is?” Daenerys asked me softly. “I wish to see you before I am pledged to Khal Drogo.”

My mouth pinched into a bitter line.

“Viserys hasn’t said.” As much as I tried, I could not hold the spite from my tongue, though I believed she would perceive its aim to be at our brother, who had made the arrangements.

“You haven’t asked?” Daenerys seemed genuinely surprised; out of the two of us, I had always been the more headstrong, even with the brother who proclaimed himself the last dragon.

“I have,” I said. “I believe he is still negotiating for a higher price.”

The only time my brother had ever called me a Targaryen was when he was selling me to amass wealth and soldiers for the army he planned to march on Westeros, the origin of each of our births. The land of the Seven Kingdoms, and the fabled Iron Throne he claimed awaited him.

Dany’s expression turned rather grave at that. Neither of us wanted to be sold like cattle, nor did we want to part from each other. Despite living in her winged shadow, we shared a bond that would never break, no matter how wretched my disdain grew.

“Viserys thinks Khal Drogo’s army will carry out his wishes when I am wed. At least with the gold, he can hire mercenaries loyal to his purse. Let us hope that he settles for less than you are worth.”

While Dany was being sold to the great horse lord of the Dothraki, I was offered to a wealthy magister in Pentos, a man whose name I had never heard uttered before my brother had told me the news. And while my sister would become a khaleesi, a queen of a warrior tribe, I would be nothing more than a housewife to one of Illyrio’s lazy aristocratic friends. Of what use would my swordsmanship be, my years of protecting my family from the many vile creatures and men in Essos? And of what would become of my sister’s soft skin and feather-like hair? When would the Dothraki break her gentle heart?

“And what am I worth?” I dared to ask, stiffening.

Her fingers didn’t cease their rhythm, not even now that she was making intricate braids from the outer layers of my hair. Her violet eyes didn’t even meet the biting steel of mine in the mirror. And she said,

“Sister, there is no sum of gold that could ever be worth your company.”

The thorns around my heart softened a bit at that, but guilt gnawed at my chest. I wondered, sometimes, if she was completely unaware of my envy of her.

“What of an army?” I asked.

The line of her mouth quirked into a smile, and she said, “There is no sum of men, either.”

---

The Dothraki had come for my sister when the sun was highest in the sky, the hooves of their mounts thundering through the snaking paths of the hills to announce themselves before they spilled into the courtyard, bare-chested warriors butting shoulders as their steeds snorted and bayed. Reins pulled taught and black, wild eyes flashed as their riders brought them to heel.

The entire ceremony had lasted less than a quarter of an hour, and not a word was spoken other than those I’d heard Viserys whisper into Dany’s ear, pointing out the long braids down Khal Drogo’s back. Each braid signified a battle won; the Dothraki cut their hair after every defeat. If it was fear or awe that had stricken my sister’s face, I was certain not, but I would never forget it. Nor would I ever forget the sinking feeling when she had strode towards her new king, could never forget how emptiness weighed so heavy in my gut.

Viserys had sent me away shortly after the meeting, wishing to seek council with Magister Illyrio, the man who had opened his doors to the three of us nearly a year ago. He had aided my brother in finding suitors for us both, was a believer in Viserys’ claim to the Iron Throne and wanted to bleed him dry of a king���s generosity.

All I knew was that Dany had come sobbing to me afterward, that she had tried to speak against her union to Khal Drogo, that our brother had uttered words so vile to her that they still echoed in my own ears. And while I dreaded my own dinner tonight with my suitor, while I found myself grimacing at the thought of having to cook for him and watch him grow fatter over the years, of having to clean his bed sheets each night after he used myself or one of his whores, of never again feeling the weight of a sword in my hand or my sister’s fingers through my hair, my heart could not help but fracture from her own miserable fate as her tears dampened the fabric of my gown. And though I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat, though I had always wished to be her, I had put aside my resentment and told her to be stoic, to let her tears fall quietly when Khal Drogo would take her purity. She was so fragile, yet she needed to be strong. I needed her to be strong. 

Now, sun swept the bathhouse in a blanket of gold; dusk was within the hour, snaking its talons beneath the awning of the balcony overlooking the sandy hills of the Pentos outskirts and glittering off the colourful masonry of the bath’s walls. Tousled curtains of ridiculous proportion billowed from the great gusts of wind that poured into the every crevasse of the building and threatened to chill me past the dampened fabric of my gown. One of Illyrio’s servants scurried from my sight with the last urn of soiled water from my sister’s earlier bath, sandals landing heavily against the stone as I descended the steps. I could still picture Viserys handing her the fine silk she had worn for Khal Drogo, could still taste the bile on my tongue when I watched his hands wander across her naked form. As the servants slipped dragon pins that I would never wear through the shoulders of the light garment.

My wrath burned like fire beneath my skin, drummed against my chest like the hooves of the Dothraki stallions, and split the quiet of the building as I practically roared my brother’s name,

“Viserys!”

One of the curtains whipped and curled around itself as the wind changed direction, before blowing back with another gust of wind that stirred the curls from my shoulders and revealed the bright red robes of Illyrio, surprise flashing across a pudge face as a bearded mouth parted to speak.

But, ushering him aside, was my half-brother, tall yet thin in frame and leaning to bark something in the man’s ear. Whatever he said, it was disagreeable to our host, who seemed all the more shocked by his words, but pinched his mouth shut and disappeared along the balcony.

Pain flared where my nails had dug into the palms of my hands, only noticeable when I peeled my fingers from my fists. Viserys knew better than to hit me; it was not a physical battle I would need to win today but one of words, and I could never twist and morph them into such sweet yet false promises as he did, could only spit them like hellfire as its flames licked at my throat and boiled my blood so hot it threatened to consume me. 

And while I should have been silent, should have kept my protest and my sister’s admittances to myself, I could bear the echoes no longer.

“You are calling it off,” I ordered him, tone dark as the stallions’ eyes that had flashed at me in the courtyard. “You are calling it off – the wedding, Khal Drogo, the khaleesi and khalasar, so help me, by the gods, I will – “

My words were extinguished in a shattered breath as my brother’s finger rose to my lips, and he said to me, “Hush, dear sister. Do you wish to wake the dragon?”

My lip curled around my teeth as I glared up at him, meeting the lilac of his glittering eyes and taking note of the subtle yet gloating line of his smirk. As the sole surviving male Targaryen of the Rebellion, he had proclaimed himself the “last dragon”, though he had all the strength of a child still pink in its skin, and his foolishness was only at times mistaken for courage by imbeciles like Illyrio and the servant girls who frequented his quarters.     

“If I must,” I growled.

“Khal Drogo is already expecting his bride come their wedding. I cannot withdraw my end of the bargain now. He would have all our heads.”

It was to be expected that my brother had chosen to weasel his way into a situation that could only benefit him but had mortal repercussions for his family. And it was only natural that he was attempting to use fear as a means to quell my fury.

“Then call off my marriage, and let me go with her, to protect her. As I have always done,” I suggested, trying not to let the desperation creep into my tone.

Viserys’ finger reached to brush a lock of hair from my face; I had undone Dany’s braids earlier and it must have made me unpresentable. I witnessed his smirk twist into a displeased line when pale eyes examined my face, felt my heart quicken in my chest, my blood boiling yet my stomach fluttering.

Though he looked about to comment on my unkempt appearance, his eyes wandering from my wild hair to my tear-stained gown, he said,

“She does not need the protection of a girl who thinks herself a warrior when she will have an army of the most vicious fighters at her side.”

I could not bring myself to draw from the touch that I craved, but his words stirred the hellfire in my chest and I practically spat in his face, “You said you would let every one of those ‘viciousfighters’ fuck her – and their horses, too, if it meant reclaiming your throne. And tales of the Dothraki and their brutality do not go unsung in any corner of Essos.”

Of all the dangers in this cruel world, it was not the rapers nor the thieves nor even the assassins sent by the usuper, but our brother she needed protection from the most.

Not a trace of doubt shadowed Viserys’ glittering eyes as he told me, as if speaking to a child, “She needed to understand how important my conquest is.” His deft fingers fell from my cheekbone and settled on my shoulder, thumbing at the fabric of my gown.

“Your conquest?” I spat, and his flinch came as a simple yet earned satisfaction. “Your army and your gold is bought by selling your family. Is this really how you want the great song of your reign to begin? How can you even expect to continue your dynasty, that you insist to be so pure? You cannot expect to wed Daenerys, not when she is pledged to Khal Drogo, and – ”

“Daenerys will mother my heir.” These words, spoken so calmly amidst the storm of my fury, brought mine to a slamming halt in my chest, my lungs screaming for air and my lips parted in a silent plea as a knife twisted between my ribs.

My brother’s hand slid to my other shoulder as his body pressed against mine, and his soft lips brushed the tingling flesh of my neck. I was paralysed, captive to his venomous touch and his cold words. “Khal Drogo will not be able to refuse a king,” he whispered in my ear, and I shut my eyes to find a tear suspended on my lash, now streaking down my cheek. Viserys worked the fabric of my gown from my shoulders, the winds outside now sweeping a chill across burning flesh, the garment tumbling slowly down to my breasts.  “And neither will you, dear sister. When my army marches on the Red Keep, we will pay that usurper back with fire and blood, and I will ascend to my throne, and the people will cheer, and you will hear great songs about me from the bards in Essos.” I could almost feel the heat from his body and the fire of his touch melting my fury away into yearning. I leaned into him, if only slightly, a soft moan catching on my tongue as he groped at my breasts through the fabric that would only fall at his whim. “And tonight, you bed not a prince, but a king. The one, true king.”

And just as he released the fabric, I stole myself from my trance and I tore my body from his, tugging the sleeves of my gown back over my shoulders. His visage was blurry past my unshed tears, the silver of his fine hair undulating beneath the dusk’s blanket of rich gold so befitting of a king.

“Take me with you,” I pleaded, nearly breathless.

A grin so wide it came sickening to my stomach stretched across his features, and I blinked, his high cheekbones and his furrowed brow and his scornful eyes sharpening. “How absurd. Of what use would you be to me when I am king? Is it my throne you desire?”

I swallowed lead. And when my lips formed the confession, my voice was quiet, so quiet it mimicked the gentle whisper of a lover,

“It is not a throne I desire.” I looked him deep in his eyes, forcing back the new hail of tears that threatened me, and from his look I could tell that he knew what I meant to say, that mayhaps, in all our years of growing together as siblings, he finally understood me.

“You foolish girl,” he chuckled, the baritones of his voice loveless. “You want to be my queen.”

My fury surged again in my chest, stirred by the pain that had burrowed itself deep in my soul, and I suddenly found my voice as my tears streamed freely down my face,

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be worthy enough for this family, to be by your side.”

For you to look at me the way you do Daenerys. To speak of me not as a bastard but a Targaryen.

But I once more bit my tongue, a slave to my desires.

“Aleera, you are not a queen. You are a bastard – a whore, like your mother. Your blood is tainted, your flesh sullied by scars. You throw yourself at any man willing to offer a copper for your bedside.” If my words were fire, his were poison, sinking deep into the marrow of my bones, chilling my boiling blood.

Past his soured expression, I studied the beauty of his face – the fairness of skin that I had once known to be filthier, stretched gaunter over pointed cheekbones, before Illyrio had come along. The face of the Beggar King. Even then, I had found him handsome.

But each scar that had not tarnished his flawless skin nor my sister’s had scored cruel through mine, and I wore the stench of blood and steel to his bed, blood as red as the hair and steel as sharp as the eyes that marked me as half-bred.

And when I told my sister stories of my skirmishes and thievery and whoring, I looked upon her ethereal face that mimicked my brother’s so, and I would have given anything for her silver hair and her pale lashes, and the light rose of her cheeks, and the soft skin I knew my brother favoured.

And each time I bid her goodnight, I cursed the gods others prayed to for these differences that made me an outsider.

Years of this torment frothed at my tongue as I rose my voice, shaking, in more fury or fear I could tell not,

“You would be dead if not for my scars, brother. Each was earned protecting this family. Each meant another week that you could live. And each man I bed meant another meal to fill your aching belly.”

Each another step from the acceptance I craved.

“And I would do it all again, for you and my sister,” I told him, my tears still falling unbidden to my breathless lips. “I may not be your family, Viserys, but you were mine.”

 And there it was. That awful, simple word. Were.

Now that mud no longer caked his clothing and hunger no longer gnawed at his gut and he slept in a bedchamber rather than a gutter, now that he was to be a true king rather than a beggar, I was no longer necessary. I would be gone, in a day, or two. Mayhaps sooner if he could be rid of me. And I would forget that beautiful face, slowly, as I spent the rest of my life serving someone who never made my stomach flutter as he once had.

And I needed to let go.

My gown swept across the floor as I turned to stalk across the bathhouse, towards the winds of Pentos that howled into the deathly silence of Illyrio’s seaside domain.

“Aleera!” Long fingers curled around my wrist, tightening so firm the flesh would surely bruise, and my head snapped around, my cold eyes surely shooting sparks as I let my gaze fall so tragically on the face that I would remember, for a time, not as my brother, but as the man who’d sold me.

“Do not ever touch me again,” I hissed, and shook him off as virulently as his own touch had landed upon me. And though uttering such words split my heart in two, twisted the knife deeper past my screaming ribs, I knew that it was always meant to be this way, that I was never anything to him but a means to an end and another body to warm his bed.

---     

Each tide that drew back into the sea seemed to steal a piece of my heart with it, and each wave that crashed against the rocks below echoed my fury. I clenched and unclenched my fists where they rested on the sandstone railing, nails stinging my palms. Dark clouds crowned the bright of the sunset, and the winds swept sand into the frantic air and commanded the sea with an iron trident.

My sight rested where the sea gave the illusion of stretching forever into the light fog that crept along the water, and each time the chill of the western winds buffeted my face I could almost feel the beyond calling to me.

But it was not the Narrow Sea that called, but rather, the continent known as Westeros, the land of my birth and the home of my alleged mother, who in her late years came to be known as Catelyn Stark, wed to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North. A powerful title, and a powerful name; the Starks were one of the longest standing houses in Westeros, and commanded a vast, near barren stretch of land until the Wall of the Night’s Watch barricaded them from northern savages known as wildlings. Snow was said to fall from the sky, shadowcats and mountain lions and wolves said to prowl the lands, and great, white trees with leaves red as blood stretched into the heavens of the oldest gods.

My adopted mother had died giving birth to Dany when I was barely out of the womb, but a knight named Ser Willem Darry had smuggled us three children across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities of Essos, in which he purchased a beautiful manor to raise us until I was the age of nine and Viserys the age of thirteen, when King Robert Baratheon’s assassins burnt it to its foundations. In his rebellion, he had usurped my father, The Mad King Aerys, the second of his name, and had commanded that every Targaryen be executed to ensure his claim to the throne and his dynasty.

As one of the last Targaryens, my mother Catelyn had given me to Dany and Viserys’ mother, Rhaella Targaryen, for my own safety. It was because of Ser Willem and Viserys that I knew these things about the mothers I’d never had, about the father who’d burned cities, about the houses that waged wars across the sea.

And while I had always yearned to seek the mother who had been forced to give me up as an infant, who probably still cried for me as I did for her still, I had always been needed here in Essos, to take care of this family that was never truly my own.

I would bring Dany there, to the North, where my birth mother would welcome me back as her eldest child, where my sweet, innocent sister could be free of Khal Drogo and our cruel brother.

Where he can never touch her again, a venomous part of my mind added as lead formed once more on my tongue. Where she cannot bear his children.

“Sister?”

I flinched at the soft lull of her voice, and when I turned to behold her, I found myself snapping with a still-virulent tone, “What do you want from me?”

Though evidently taken aback, fear dashing through bright, arcane eyes, she was calm when she spoke, “I overheard some of your words with Viserys.”

My stomach churned, and my heart seemed to clench in my chest. “How much?”

“Enough,” she said, and took a step forward, but no more. “I don’t mean to cause you pain, sister… I only wish to help ease it as you did mine.”

When I looked at her face, I saw the silver-haired beauty who had always overshadowed me, had always been more wanted. And when I looked at the silks that were draped across a now womanly figure, I thought of Viserys shedding them, thought of his hands entwining themselves into those silver locks as they once had mine. I foresaw her belly, swelling with his child, and it was all I could do to muzzle my rage.

“I’d rather be alone,” I said bitterly, turning my gaze back to the writhing sea and hunching over the railing with an almost petulance.

“I don’t want Viserys. Not in the way he…” Dany trailed off, her words nearly swept away by the winds.

I whirled on her, my heart clenching tight in my still-aching chest as I hissed, “Not in the way he wants you. Did you come here to remind me of that? Are you here to tell me that you don’t want Khal Drogo as well, that you don’t want to be a queen?”

While I would never wish to be pawned off by my own brother, in any circumstance, I wasn’t certain my sister realised how greater an honour it was to be sold to such a dangerous, prominent man than a nobody who happened to carry a large purse. And unlike my sister, I knew the Dothraki would not break me. If anything, I could learn to turn them against Viserys. Break free.

Dany’s eyes were more sad than fearful now, and something about them made my heart splinter. I closed my eyes, exhaling, realising that I was mayhaps unjust with my words.

Turning once more to the railing, I said, voice lowering, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” My fingers curled into another fist to quell my rage as I forced the image of her from my mind. “None of this is your fault.”

After a pregnant pause, and a few mournful cries of the gulls, Daenerys stepped beside me, her footfalls silent but her presence indicated by the sweet perfume Illyrio had gifted her. And she told me, plainly,

“I had a dream.”

I sighed. My sister had always thought her dreams had meant something; when she dreamt of the three of us prospering with mountains of gold and an army at our heels as we marched back to Dragonstone, the isle of Dany’s birth, she’d told me it would someday come true. When she dreamt of horrible monsters emerging from the darkness – likely a result of overhearing the priestesses who pledged themselves to the Lord of Light – she asked me to watch over her the next night closely with my sword.

“Please, spare me,” I said, imagining that she was about to try cheering me up with some pointless illusion. “Nothing but cruel tricks from the gods, no doubt.”

But she spoke anyway, her fingers landing across the railing adjacent to mine and her silver curls whipping back from her face as she stared into the blackening sunset,

“I dreamt of two dragons, one of ice and the other fire; one of silver scales and the other a crimson as blood red as your hair. The red dragon seemed to claw itself from the other, rising above it in a black sky.” Her head tipped back to regard the first stars emerging in the hollowness above. “And then both were swallowed by each other’s flame. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I wonder if it has come true. If the dragons are meant to be you and Viserys.”

I scoffed. Dragons had not existed for nearly a century, though tales of the great beasts tamed by my Targaryen ancestors were always favoured by mummers and bards. But it was her interpretation of the dream that baffled me most.

“Viserys is no dragon,” I said, my lip curling with more than a slight disdain.

“No,” she said, her voice soft but assured. “But you are.”

Something winked in the last, fading rays of the sun, and I looked to what she held out to me in shock.

The pendant was of the three-headed dragon, the sigil of the Targaryen house. The intricacy of the craftsmanship detailed even the ridges along the slender necks that reared above the body of the beast, its maws gaping and tongues as sharp as its teeth. I could not help but run my fingers across the silver-hued jewelry in awe, thumbing at the tightly woven chain that bound the circular pendant.

“Valyrian steel.” Though I had suspected it mainly from the ripples that ran through the metal like markings along the dragon, I could confirm it now that I held its unusually light weight in the palm of my hand. Few remnants of Old Valyria remained, but there were some blacksmiths and jewelers who still knew how to reforge the rare metal of our ancestors.

My heart swelled, warm and whelming, in my chest, mending the fracture the sight of her had carved moments ago. When I looked up at her again, everything about my demeanor must have softened, for my eyes were swathed again in unshed tears, and she bore a small yet loving smile, violet eyes glittering in the quickening dark. I glimpsed the silver dragons that Viserys had pinned to her silks, and I no longer looked upon them with envy, but rather, a strength that emerged deep from my soul and bound me to the one person who had always been there for me, who may, in fact, still have been my family.

Rendered speechless, another silence passed between us before she spoke, “No matter where our paths take us, promise me, Aleera…” Her fingers gently folded mine over the pendant. “… that we will always be sisters.”

The tear was warm against my cheek as it shed, and the smile that quirked my lip was genuine. I held the necklace to my chest, tightly as if in fear of it being swept away by the winds. And I realised that not all of my heart was torn empty.

“I promise.”

NEXT CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST / FULL MASTERLIST

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Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @confidentandgood @shelbydelrey @punypoesy

#game of thrones fic #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf #ramsay bolton x oc #ramsay snow x oc #petyr baelish x oc #fanfic #asoiaf fic #oc: aleera #targaryen oc #my writing #fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fic #got #got fic #series #blood of fire heart of ice #boifhoi

[defences-down]

Today wraps up @twwpride which means this is my last fic for a while (They say with a notebook full of fic ideas and an open wip doc nearby)

I started writing this AU a little over a year ago with the goal of exploring Sam’s character in Season 1 through a queer lens. It spiraled into exploring the aftermath of In The Shadow of Two Gunmen specifically through the lens of a secret relationship between Josh and Sam because every time I watched the show I saw a glimmer of something more than friends. Little did I know when I started that it would turn into exploring every aspect of their lives, or today’s fic, their wedding set sometime in 2015.

When you said hello(you’re always gonna be mine)

Pairing: Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn

Rating: Explicit

WC: 4,873

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, LOML Universe, Weddings, Wedding Night, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Sam Seaborn, Bisexual Josh Lyman, Found Family, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Praise Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language

Thank you so much for reading!

#ps I know there are a lot of people who don't follow me for tww stuff but I encourage everyone to pop over to the collection on ao3 and #check out the work done this week. it's all phenomenal and you might even find a new story that sets your heart on fire. #i've read things this week that i will be thinking about for weeks and will go back to time after time. I promise you won't regret it. #the west wing #tww #the west wing fanfic #josh lyman #sam seaborn #twwpride23 #wod.ff

[stardust948]

~*~

She then lifted her head and sniffed the air. Azula gasped. She glanced at her brother who also looked alarmed. There was no mistaken the faint scent wafering from the forest.

Human.

‘I’m getting Mama.’

Zuko started for the cabin when Azula stopped him.

‘No. Mama’s sick.’

‘But-‘

‘It’s up to us to protect her!’

Zuko’s eye widened.

‘We’re big and strong now. We can do it!’

He nodded. Mama had protected him all of his life. It was time he returned the favor. ‘You’re right. Let’s go!’

The siblings shifted into dragon form and raced into the forest ready to defend their home and family.

~*~

#ao3 fics #atla #atla au #dragon au #brave is the heart that loves #dragon zuko #dragon azula #fire siblings #zutara #sokkla #fanfic update #pls mind the tw

[xxpeppermintxx109]

Qoren Martell dilf with his controversially much younger wife enthusiasts really won this chapter is all I’m gonna say

#greenliesblackheartswip #xxpeppermintxx109 #Qoren Martell is the dilf of all dilfs #that man has three children and is married to a girl young enough to be one of his own #he’s both Shaera’s husband and could be a stand in father figure #father issues and female rage all wrapped into one neat little package with a bow set to start a fire #house of the dragon #idk maybe aemond should’ve thought a little bit harder before he turned Shaera’s brother into mince meat #aemond targaryen #green lies black hearts #shaera velaryon #qoren martell #aemond x oc #this isn’t cheating cause I say it isn’t #but aemond deserves a little bit of hurt sorry not sorry #fanfic #ao3fic #ao3