#the only similarity they have is the usurpation but that's about it

[smilingdawn]

This isn't a jab at either Teams btw, but just from the "Based Maegor the Wise" memes, you know the show-only fans are gonna Chad Bobby B-fy Maegor when they make a show about his reign

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #asoiaf #maegor #aemond #yes yes i am aware that aemond-alicent and maegor-visenya are incomparable due to contradicting faith and belief #the only similarity they have is the usurpation but that's about it

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 9)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

If you’d lived any closer to other people, you’d be ashamed of the state that you arrive home in. Both you and John had stumbled out of the river and put on your clothes hastily, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your wet skin, difficult to put back on without drying off. He hadn’t brought a flannel or towel to dry yourself with after your swim—perhaps thought you’d dry in the sun. Even if there had been one, you can’t imagine you’d have the patience.

You move in quick bursts, pants pulled up your legs, blouse buttoned with trembling fingers, feet straight into your bottoms, your socks stuffed in your pockets. John moves with similar purpose, quick to dress and usher you over to Buttercup with a hand flat on your back, pushing you with the force you remember him using all those weeks ago on your way to the courthouse. 

Neither one of you says a word. Words feel far away and clunky. Rough in a way they’ve never felt. Improper too, to turn to your husband under the light of a clear day and whisper, I want you to make love to me. Say to him, I need to be as close to you as physically possible, I need you to soothe this ache in me, in front of God and all of His creatures wandering through the woods. 

You wonder if you look as disheveled as you feel. 

The ride home passes by in a blur. Perhaps the sunlight catches your eye through the treetops and pries the memory from your head, the passive observer in you usurped by the soft animal of your flesh. It feels John’s strong hand on your hip and purrs. It coaxes you to rub your backside up against him, startled when his fingers tighten around your hip and he holds you there against his erection, groaning softly. 

“Keep that up ‘n we won’t make it home, darlin’,” John warns, voice growling in your ear. Your blood sizzles, vision going white. 

You feel coltish when he helps you dismount, legs shaking beneath you as you watch him take Buttercup back to the stables. He makes quick work about it, long legs carrying him swiftly from the house to the stables. It’s different observing him now because the thought that rises to the top of your mind now, like the fat on the cream, sweet and plump, is, that’s my husband. My husband is going to deflower me. My husband is going to take me to bed and strip me down to nothing and spread my legs—

The thought evaporates when you notice him shut the stable doors and head back towards you. Again, he walks with such purpose that you can only stare at the movement of his hips. 

Time stops when he puts a hand to your cheek and bends low, drawing you into another kiss as deep and languid as the one back in the river. His tongue curls around yours, plying you open until you have no choice but to relinquish everything to him. Your tongue, your docility, your mind. Everything parts to let him inside.

“Look at you,” John murmurs against your lips. “Sweet little thing. Can barely keep yourself upright. Let’s get you to bed.”

He ushers you up the stairs with haste. The staircase feels longer than usual, more of an effort to get up each step. In the bedroom, he locks the door like he did that first night, but this time your heart flutters instead of trembling.  

It’s hardly been any time at all since you saw him naked in the river, but the sight of his bronzed flesh and hirsute chest when he strips his shirt off leaves you breathless. He’s the kind of man that you would studiously avoid looking at if you were to pass him on the street. Too strapping of a man to waste your yearning heart on. Too much of a blow if he were to pass his eyes over you and find you wanting. 

But to know that he wants you as bad as he does is almost too much as well. 

John leans back against the pillows with you cradled in his arms, your pants long since stripped from your legs. Your blouse is still on, but barely, rucked up over the soft swell of your belly. Only a single button holding it in place, even the thread on that button loose and fraying. A hand cups your breast, the other folded over your hand resting on your belly, your fingers threaded together.

“God, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. Your core tightens at that and he breathes a laugh when he feels the muscle of your stomach flex under his hand. “Could hardly believe it the first time I laid my eyes on you. I was spittin’ mad, left waitin’ and wantin’ all those weeks, but then you walked in and…Christ, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” you ask, ignoring the ache in your chest at the mention of the girl he’d been waiting for. 

“Knew I would’ve waited my whole life if it meant I’d get you.”

What does it mean that everything in you quivers at that? On the threshold of breaking. Your husband’s fingers plucking your nipple and then soothing the hurt by swirling his thumb around your areola. He’s worn your resistance down to the quick. You curl the hand on your belly into a fist and his fingers curl with yours.

“Been such a sweet thing for me too,” John says into your ear, dragging his hand from your breast down your stomach and over your hip, curling around the inside of your thigh and pulling it open. He can see everything now, the dewy petals of your sex spreading wide for his perusal, no longer hidden beneath a shift or dress. “Fuck, darlin’…look at that gorgeous little slice of heaven.”

“Oh Lord—” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

John huffs, rubbing his palm up and down your thigh, closer and closer with every stroke. Your sex pulses with each glancing stroke, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “Made me work for it, didn’t ya?”

“I did no—I barely did a thing.”

“Yeah, you did, pretty girl,” he says, dismissing your words, and then his fingers are there, splitting your lips wide, middle finger dragging down the seam like he did on the porch swing all those nights ago. Any rebuttal you might’ve had vanishes in a blink, heart beating staccato. “Could’ve taken it that first night. I wanted to—almost did. But I wanted you sweet and simpering.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, beard burning the skin there. “And what are you now, darlin’?”

“S-sweet and simp-simpering,” you whisper, stuttering when his finger glides over your opening and finds you soaked. So slick that his finger sinks right in up to the second knuckle.

Your knee falls open even more. 

He smiles against your neck before kissing up to your temple. “That’s right, honey. Knew you had it in you.”

“Oh—it’s…it’s…” you gasp when he gives you another, two fingers plunging into you, shallow pumps that hardly get you where you need to go.

“There we go, darlin’. Ain’t that nice? Need ya to be nice ‘n soft for me—don’t wanna hurt ya.”

He’s far from hurting you, but still your stomach twists up. 

“I need—I need—p-please, John, give it to me.”

“And wha’s that?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Give you what, honey?”

You’re tempted to grab his hand and bring his fingers up to your clit, but you can’t quite muster up the nerve. Instead you huff, brows puckering in frustration. You try to draw your knees up to your chest and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you and wrenches your knee back down to the mattress, pinning it there. 

“None of that,” John scolds, his wet fingers curling around the inside of your knee. “You have to ask for things, darlin’. Use your words.”

Your core clenches at his words. The little bit of stretching that he did leaves you feeling empty without his fingers, slickness dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

“I need to…” you say, thoughts slipping from you. All you want is for John to plunge his fingers back into your sex and take you to your peak, but the words get lost as they travel down your tongue. “It’s not enough.”

“Just my fingers, you mean?” The same ones he digs into your leg until the flesh bulges around his fingers. 

“No,” you whine. You try to drag the hand intertwined with his on your belly down to your sex, but he resists, keeping your hand pinned in place. He holds firm when you struggle, chuckling at the whine that slips past your lips. 

“Poor girl. Needy little thing, aren’t ya? Not stretched enough yet though, darlin’—I’m a lot bigger than a couple fingers.” You choke at that, scandalized. “I’ll give your clit a little lovin’ though.”

He takes his hand off your knee and brings it up so he can spit in his hand. You flinch when you hear the glob of spit hit his palm, and then his hand is back between your legs, wet palm grinding into your sensitive button when his fingers push back into your hole. Single-minded now, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Forcing a third finger into your hole and shushing you dismissively when you howl and try to squirm away.

The voice in your head demeaning you for acting so lewd is drowned out by your own cries when you come on John’s fingers. It disappears entirely when John kisses your temple and thanks you for giving him your release. Like it’s a gift you’ve given him.  

Your hands flutter over his shoulders when he gets you on your back and fits his hands into the creases of your knees to guide your thighs open. He must like what he sees because his eyelids droop when he stares down at the slick folds between your legs, heavy with lust. 

“Lord, that’s pretty,” John says, petting your clit with his thumb and smiling when you squirm. 

You breathe in quick, shallow breaths, hopelessly beyond composing yourself. Perhaps once or twice you might have allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to lie with a man. You’ve heard other women giggle amongst themselves about it, about men going cross-eyed, rubicund cheeked, heaving bellies and thighs slapping against the girl’s rear—a handful of thrusts and then finally some peace and quiet when he passed out on the other side of the bed. 

You’re familiar with the mechanics, if only in theory. The expectation of disappointment; that you’d only have to grin and bear it. Think of England. 

John, of course, does not conform to those expectations.

“You take my hand, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his and pressing it down to the bed. “Give me a squeeze if it’s too much.”

Your mouth is too dry, mind too scattered to form a response. All you can do is stare up at him.

“Hey.” With his other hand, he gives you a light tap on the cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it makes you blink. “You still with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Your heart jumps when he reaches down to take his shaft in hand and notch the head against your sopping entrance.

Everything collapses down to the feeling of him pressing forward, an insistent siege that doesn’t let up because when you squeeze his hand reflexively, it comes with a, yes, yes, please, falling unbidden from your lips. It feels foreign at first, bigger than the fingers he pressed into you before. Claustrophobic, suffocating. With his arms braced on either side of your head, John eclipses everything else from view.

When it gets too much, you squeeze his hand and dig your nails in, hissing at the stretch. It hurts, and the more you tense, the tighter you get. John winces when you clench around him.

“Easy does it,” he says, squeezing your hand back. He dips his head to drop a soft kiss on your lips, coaxing them open. When you think of the men that languish in opium dens, you imagine that it must feel something like John Price’s tongue licking into your mouth. 

“It hurts,” you mumble when he pulls away.

“I know, honey. Being so brave for me though.” You whine when he sinks in another inch, flexing your toes up in the air. “My brave girl—that’s it…just a lil more, darlin’.”

“There’s more?” you blurt out, and he laughs, the sound coursing through you, shaking you with him. 

Effervescent bubbling joy swells in your chest, so crystal clear for a moment. The man above you almost glows, so radiant that you reach a hand up to cup his face, entranced. 

There’s nothing like him in the world. No one else like him. Steel underneath silk, the very roughness and essence of man that you’ve always known tempered by a softness that makes you physically ache. And in spite of self-doubt and common sense, he looks down at you with the same reverence. Knowing nothing about you. Knowing only something essential about you, the part divested of history, past or future. Whoever you are at your core, he wants it. He’s taken it as his own. 

Then he pushes that last inch into your cunt and you go breathless. 

“There we go, darlin’,” John grits out, and you can see the sweat beading on his temples now. “Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of that.”

Your hand feels clammy in his, a thin layer of sweat building on the nape of your neck and along your back as well. He helps you cinch your legs around his waist more comfortably, and you lock your ankles at the small of his back, but still it feels too much. Stretched to your limits. You can hardly swallow, never mind open your mouth to speak. 

John praises you the whole time in hushed whispers, squeezing your hand in his and petting your face with the other. Fingers slide past your cheek and tangle in your hair, a thumb tracing the shell of your ear. He drops wet, sucking kisses down your neck and over your clavicle, licking up the hollow of your throat. Your skin must taste salty with sweat, but still he lavishes you with kisses. 

“Can you take a bit more, darlin’?” he asks. “Still hurt?”

“It—it’s tight,” you rasp, wiggling your hips. You’re hardly able to move though, pinned in place by his bulk. 

“C’mon, arms around me,” he tells you, waiting until your hands are tangled together behind his neck. “We’ll take it real slow, okay?”

You squeak with the first thrust, not expecting the feeling of his cock pulling out of you before pushing back in. He rocks into you slowly though, letting you grow used to the feeling of him inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. Dark blue warmed by the sunlight.

My husband’s inside me, you think, a bit hysterically. The same man that you thought might lock you up and throw away the keys now has you on your back in his bed—your bed—making a space for himself in your body. 

The discomfort takes most of the pleasure away at first. All you can focus on is the way your flesh has to stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, the breath forced out of you. Lips screwed up, teeth digging into your bottom lip painfully to hold back the soft grunts building up in your chest. 

“You alright?” John asks in a pulverized voice. You’ve never heard him quite like that.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound fine. The sound he lets out lets you know what he thinks of your response. He takes greater care for a time after that, each stroke deliberate, a slow, smooth glide. You feel ragdoll-like in his arms, like a poppet for him to play with; a well-cared for thing. A treasured thing that he rocks into and peppers with kisses, across your eyelids and forehead. 

The bedroom echoes with the sound of your panting breaths and John’s deep, guttural groans every time he sinks into your sex, the lewd, wet squelch of your cunt growing louder as his hips pick up speed. You can see the second you lose him when his eyes go flinty, staring past you. His hands fist into the bedsheets, knuckles going white. 

“Jesus—” he grunts, driving into you hard enough to send you shuttling up the bed. You squeal at that, digging your nails into his back. “Yeah, hold me like that, honey.”

Your breasts bounce with every thrust. John’s eyes flit between them and your eyes before snapping back up to meet your gaze, barely tearing his eyes away long enough to blink. 

Your skin feels hot, tight. Worse when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth like back in the river and suckles. Crude, wet sounds fill the air; sucks that turn sloppy. He kisses between your breasts before latching on to your other nipple. 

He murmurs praises into your skin, breath going choppy. Little susurrations. My wife. Brave, pretty girl. Taking it so well. Tiny little thing.  

When a couple tears leak down your cheek and it starts to build beneath your skin, hot tongues of fire licking up in you, John’s lips pull into a flat line. He can smell it on you. See it in the way your eyes lose focus, glossy and wet. He grabs your face with one hand, pinching until your lips purse. 

“Look at me when you come,” John growls, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You look at your husband when he makes you come.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His fingers pinch where they hold your cheeks. This close to his end, his strength gets away from him; you can feel the attempt to be gentle, but it gets lost in his frenzied need to pump his spend into your belly. His biceps bulge beside your head, a vein near his temple throbbing. 

“You w-won’t let me go? You won’t leave me?” you ask desperately. You don't know why you need to hear him say it, but you’re afraid you’ll die without it. 

“Mine until the end of fuckin’ time, you hear me?” He pinches your cheeks until your mouth falls open, then leans down to lick into your mouth. “You’re gonna let me put a baby in you, wife, and you’re never gonna fuckin’ leave me.”

You come when his mouth brushes over yours, the intimacy overwhelming. Your thighs tighten around his waist, trying to get as close to him as possible, nails raking down his back. If you could climb into his skin, you would. 

John reaches his peak noisily, his thick spend filling your cunt and his tongue filling your mouth. You can feel it inside of you, spurting against your womb, and even the thought of that makes you shiver. He made a house for a wife and children, and he has the former now. Only the latter is missing. 

His hands and mouth are everywhere on you. Petting along your flank, stroking down your side. Sucking softly at your lower lip while he pumps the last of his essence into you. You feel wrung dry, every limb aching and sore. It’ll be worse come morning. For now, exhaustion settles over you like a blanket.

When he pulls out, you can’t help the sound that comes out of you, like a sob trapped in your chest. 

“Oh Lord, I’m a mess,” you whisper, leaning up on your elbows and glancing down between your legs with morbid curiosity. 

Embarrassment at the sight of John’s come leaking onto the bed sheets nearly makes you curl up into a ball. It’s filmy and sticky when you try to gather it up with your fingers. You wipe it on the bed sheets when you realize that now you just have a mess on your hands. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he gets off, wet, flaccid cock swinging between his legs. Again, you can’t help but stare despite the way your stomach twists. 

“Sit up,” he orders, and you do without thinking. “Can’t go to bed like this.”

John washes you with a warm cloth, dunking it in the porcelain basin on the bedside table whenever it gets too cold. You’d protest the gentle treatment, but it’s nice to be waited on for a change. You can see why some would grow used to it. The only time you lose your cool is when he drags the washcloth gently between your legs. 

“You could just give me the cloth,” you snip, horribly embarrassed. “I’ve washed myself once or twice, you know.”

For all your spitting and hissing, he only laughs. 

He takes care of the wet spot beneath you as well, lifting you up and sitting you down on the wooden chair before changing the sheets. 

“I can—I can wash those in the morning,” you chime from the chair in the corner of the room, ankles crossing and uncrossing nervously. You wince when you feel a glob of his spend drip out of you. 

John’s mustache twitches with a barely contained smile. “We’ll worry about that in the morning, bug.” 

It’s hard to just let things go. Two weeks in his care can barely begin to equate to the decade plus you spent fending for yourself. There are still days you spend looking over your shoulder, waiting for your past to catch up with you. Waiting for this life to evaporate like smoke. You can’t relinquish all of your control just yet, not when that possibility still looms on the horizon. No matter how much you want. 

You don’t think he knows what’s doing. Not truly. 

John can’t know what he’s become to you. That he is fixed, that he is binding you to a present that you never saw as sure. It wavers in front of you like the fickle light of a candle, and suspended above it, you stare at the douter, waiting for it to come down and snuff the flame out.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x reader #price x you #price/reader #john price x reader #john price/reader #captain john price

[bloodyshadow1]

I get people being sympathetic to the Rat grinders, I really do, but the way people will out right lie about canon to make the Bad Kids the villains. The Rat Grinders are kids, they're being groomed by charismatic and dangerous teachers who they trusted, they're corrupted by rage so they're not thinking straight. At the end of the day, that makes them cultists, pitiable and sympathetic, but still villains who are perfectly willing to create a hell on earth for the plan.

I've seen posts condemning the bad kids for killing the rat grinders, I've seen posts calling the Bad Kids bullies this season, I've seen posts that blame the Bad Kids for the whole thing saying the rat grinders are just kids who are being tricked. It's all bullshit, whatever your headcanons, whatever your feelings on the Rat Grinders, they're not the good guys here and are very much the villains this season.

The bad kids killed the 3 of the rat grinders this fight, Ivy, Oisin, and Ruben. No, they didn't stop to try and reach out to them, to try and make them see the light. The Rat Grinders are trying to condemn a whole town to become the domain of a the new god of rage and murder a goddess to usurp her domain. They are high level with the capacity to cast 9th level spells regardless of their hp, with two epic level pc's with super abilities that normal class features don't cover. If the Bad Kids hesitated they would be dead, they knew that, the Rat grinders tried to murder them little over an hour ago. They've hated the bad kids for years and now decided to make their vendetta known, they fucked around and found out.

Which leads me to my second point, the Bad Kids are not bullying the Rat grinders. They're not pleasant to the rat grinders, but you don't have to be nice to the people who hate you. Other than Fig, who I will admit was messed up with how she treated Ruben this year, but also the Rat Grinders did something similar, they were just bad at it, the Bad Kids mostly ignored the Rat grinders. The worst thing the other bad Kids do to the Rat Grinders is make fun of Kipperlily's name, that's it. They don't even do it in front of other students, unless they legitimately forget her name, other than that it's only in front of each other or not other students like Alewyn or Jawbone. It's not great, but that is literally all they have done.

The Rat grinders however, have done all they could to make themselves enemies of the Bad Kids. Ivy was a mean racist bitch who helped steal the cloudrider engine and place pingpong balls all over seacaster manor for the plan. Ruben tried to get the bad kids to take drugs knowing it would get them in trouble. He intentionally had frosty fair held at Gorgug's home to corrupt it, putting not only Gorgug's family in danger but countless other people. Sure Jace had a hand in that, but at best Ruben was an accomplice. Buddy was a smug creep who vandalized Kristen's locker, threatened her brother, and demeaned her and her goddess, without being corrupted by rage. Mary Ann legitimately didn't do anything wrong this season she was just there and did her best on the field as she was supposed to (not even saying this as a joke, she has literally done nothing bad on screen so it's hard to judge her like the rest). But Oisin tried to honey pot Adaine the first week of school, stole the cloudrider engine and the pingpong ball trap, and sent a whole pack of dragons on them to murder them and hundreds of other kids. Kipperlily has been goading the bad kids since the first day of school, she has tried every dirty trick to try and win. She has murdered people, not even people affiliated with the bad kids, but people like Buddy who was on her side, she's tried to murder the bad kids or at least make sure it's harder for them to come back to life if they die, she's stolen from them, she's tried to kill them, she's done everything bad the fans have accused the bad kids of but worse.

And that's just the Rat Grinder's individually. Why are the Bad Kids monsters for killing dangerous people who have tried to kill them, but the Rat Grinders aren't? The Rat Grinders literally tried to commit mass murder of their school a little more than an hour. 500 students of the Aguefort adventuring academy were in Seacaster manor when it was brought into the sky and beset by dragons. 500 innocent bystanders, almost all children, half of them younger than both parties.

I'll get to the rage stars in another post, but I just want to finish this off with, the Rat Grinders are kids, kids who are being groomed by evil men and corrupted by magic. But the Bad Kids are just kids too. They're kids who have been specifically targeted by the rat grinders. The rat grinders started this feud, the Bad Kids retaliated and were better at it. If you're going to take a shot at the king you better not miss, and the rat grinders have been missing their shots this whole season. I don't get why people are blaming the bad kids for trying to save the world but it pisses me off. I apologize for the rant but the tag is for everyone

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #the rat grinders #the bad kids #riz gukgak #fig faeth #kristen applebees #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #long post #fantasy high meta #d20 #d20 spoilers

[authorhjk1]

Love your writing! It's so immersive and gets me soo turned on

Can I request Blackpink Lisa used as a public free use toy?

Thank you! I hope you enjoy this:

"She isn't home yet."

Rosé furrows her brows.

"But the both of us finished recording together."

Jennie shrugs her shoulders.

"Let her be. She is a grown woman."

"I'm gonna call her. She said she would be home, after we left for lunch."

Jennie stops Jisoo from taking out her phone.

"I bet she is completely fine, unnie. You almost sound like a overprotective mother."

"I'm not."

Jisoo crosses her arms in front of her body.

"Lisa is fine."

The older girls look at Rosé, who is showing them her phone.

"She just uploaded a picture on Instagram."

With a satisfied nod, Jisoo walks into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Jennie zooms in on Lisa's picture.

Why did Lisa change clothes? She had a different jeans on this morning.

A knowing smile forms on Jennie's lips, connecting the dots. Lisa is trying to usurp Jennie's position inside the company.

10 minutes ago:

Lisa closes her eyes, a big smile on her face. The meeting has finally ended, time for her reward. She worked the last thirty minutes for this.

The five men in the room get out of their seats, before walking towards the end of the table.

Lisa is already lying on the wooden surface, her head hanging off the edge. As she hears the guys coming closer, she opens her mouth.

Only a couple of moments later, Lisa feels warm liquid stain her face. Five loads of cum hit her skin, eyelids, lips, mouth and tongue. She has been sucking them off throughout the whole meeting, kneeling underneath the large conference table.

It takes a couple of moments, until all of them have finished on her face. Lisa gasps, before letting her tongue clean the cum that has landed around her mouth.

Her eyelids are heavy with cum. As the young idol starts to wipe it off with her finger, she hears the five guys walk out of the room.

Lisa keeps lying on the table. Enjoying the aftermath of the meeting. She keeps cleaning her own face, licking their cum off her fingers. Not the entire company knows what she does. Rather 85%. That's why Lisa is still somewhat cautious. She doesn't want to run into the CEO while her face is covered with loads of cum.

Something similar happened already. Luckily, the two guys in the recording studio didn't seem to mind at all. Lisa came in with two loads on her face. And she left with two inside her pussy.

After taking the first picture, Lisa notices that she missed a spot. But it seems like no one noticed, while she walked towards the restroom.

She cleans it with her tongue while taking another picture.

As soon as she sees the result, Lisa feels even hornier than thirty minutes ago, when on of the five men told her to get under the table and "do her job".

And the fact that Jennie is the only other person from Blackpink, who knows what's going on, turns her on even more.

So much so that Lisa needs something inside of her. Right now.

She quickly leaves the restroom, searching for the ideal spot. She can't just strip in the hallway and wait for someone to fuck her right there. She isn't as much of a slut as Jennie. And she doesn't have time for that.

Entering the elevator, she bows to the three people inside.

"Hi Lisa, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. How are you?"

She smiles at the two women who work on the fifth floor.

When her eyes land on the man standing behind them, she knows what is going to happen as soon as they are alone.

The number five lights up the small display on the wall. The two women leave the elevator. Not even waiting for the doors to close, the man starts to unbuckle his belt.

"Why are you not on your knees yet?"

"My bad, sir."

Lisa drops to the floor, a little worried about being caught.

The man's pants hit the floor quickly after. His cock springs free, landing on her face.

Lisa licks along it's length, before she starts to take it into one hand. She starts her blowjob, feeling the elevator going up.

"That's a good girl."

Lisa smiles with his cock in her mouth. Her tongue glides along his length, before his hand rests on the back of her head. The young woman only has a moment to brace herself.

He quickly starts to fuck her mouth. Lisa's gags fill the otherwise quiet elevator. Her hands rest on her thighs as she takes the rough treatment, trying to fit all of it inside her mouth and throat.

"Fucking hell."

He sighs after a couple of minutes, taking his cock out of her mouth.

Lisa is able to catch her breath as he slaps her cheeks with his member.

"Mr. Kwon told me how he fucked your ass this morning. Can't wait to find out if you are still tight enough to make me cum."

Lisa feels fade heat inside her ass as he reminds her of this morning. Her asshole hasn't been fucked this hard for the last couple of days.

"Where do you wanna go?"

"What do you mean?"

He lifts her off the ground, before turning her, Lisa's back facing him.

"Here? What if-"

"Jennie would love it."

Lisa immediately stops talking. She is better than Jennie. She won't just love this. She will make this her new thing. Getting fucked in the elevator.

She feels him pressing against her, pushing her face into the metal wall. Her jeans are off within seconds, exposing her lack of underwear. The plug with the small pink stone on it greets him as he slaps her right ass cheek.

"Mr. Kwon is so considerate. Making sure that everyone can enjoy your tight ass."

Lisa moans as she feels him slowly pulling out the anal plug. It has been inside of her for hours. Her hole is barely letting go.

The young idol feels him push inside of her just a second later.

"Fuck. How are you still this thight?"

"I'm doing my best, sir."

Lisa let's out a deep moan, when he starts to pound her ass. At first slow, than increasing his pace. The elevator starts to shake a little in the rhythm of his thrusts.

Her cheek is pressed against the wall, his hands knead her ass cheeks. Lisa feels how her nipples poke through her shirt, grazing against the cold metal.

In that moment, the elevator stops. Lisa closes her eyes, praying that it's not the CEO. The door opens.

No one says a thing. The door closes again as the man behind her keeps fucking her ass.

After three or four thrusts, he suddenly pulls out. Because her face is still pressed against the wall, Lisa doesn't know who got on. She hears someone fumbling with their belt. A moment later, she feels someone pushing past the tight ring of her puckered hole.

"So deep."

She can't help but moan. Lisa can feel how this cock is slightly longer, but also lacks a little in girth. Not that she is complaining. The first man started to bruise her insides already.

Despite not knowing who he is, Lisa feels him hitting new depths. He seems to rearrange her guts with every powerful thrust.

The first man watches as the new guy fucks Lisa into the wall. Her nails scratch at the surface, her eyes still shut tightly. The scene in front of him slowly brings him towards his orgasm.

"I need another turn."

The two men switch places.

"Fuck!"

Lisa yelps as he shoves his whole cock into her without warning. His thrusts are hard and deep, making her moan and squirm. She can feel him pulsating inside her ass.

"You make such a perfect cumdump."

Seconds later, he buries himself deep inside her asshole. Lisa moans as she feels his cum flood her insides.

"Fuck, that's hot."

The other guy talks for the first time, but Lisa doesn't know who he is.

Once the first man pulls out, he starts to put his pants back on. The second one let's his hands roam over Lisa's cheeks.

"Have fun."

As the door opens, the first man walks out, leaving her with the man behind her.

"Oh fuck!"

Lisa moans loudly as she feels him entering her again. As he fucks her, the other man's cum gets pushed even deeper into her. She can feel how the warm liquid makes its way through her body.

"Such a nice ass."

The man praises her, before giving each cheek a spank.

"You know, I was just about to call you after I saw your new picture."

He takes a step closer, which pushes him even further into her ass. Lisa is now completely filled. With a low groan, she has to stand on her tip toes.

"You don't need to clean your face after a facial. You're getting more than enough anyway."

With that, he pulls out.

Lisa feels how a trickle of the other man's cum leaks out of her ass. Most of it is so deep inside of her that it's gonna take days, until she is completely empty. Not taking into account that she might get her ass filled multiple times a day.

"Time for another one, whore."

He spins Lisa around. Her already weak knees are unable to support her weight. She slides down the wall, finally squatting. A moment later, the man paints her face with warm cum. It stains her nose and cheeks, until the last drops land on her lips. Lisa gladly licks off as much as she can, moaning at the taste.

The door opens, while Lisa is still recovering. The man walks out, not even looking back at her. Three more employees step inside. When they see her, they start to undo their belts. Lisa smiles up at them.

Jennie looks at the picture on her phone, an angry frown on her face. On of their stylists send her a picture of Lisa. Her face covered with cum. More leaking out of both of her other holes as she lies on the metal floor. The elevator? Jennie scoffs. Lisa really is a slut.

She can't loose this position. There are so many benefits to being the company's free use cumdump.

Jennie gets off her bed, opening her closet. She is looking for the skimpiest outfit she can find. She can't just sit back and watch. After a couple of minutes, Jennie finally finds something fitting.

Her manager rings the doorbell. Maybe she can start by sucking him off on the way to the company?

Jennie smiles as she reaches for the doorknob.

#kpop #kpop smut #ask #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #blackpink #blackpink lisa #blackpink jennie #jennie #lisa manoban #lisa #jennie smut #lisa smut #authorhjk1shorts

[knightsickness]

if you were in charge of the hypothetical hbo blackfyre rebellions show, what directorial choices would you make to improve upon the source material?

this is not improving upon the source material so much as tailoring it to my tastes

start w baelor’s court i feel strongly about this. first episode a sort of bizarre womanless church of a court with a king wandering around barefoot in rags and the girls in the maidenvault. in my blackfyre rebellion show we’re doing themes about women and themes about the faith and also prince aegon unworthy breaks daena out and daemon blackfyre is conceived. baelor dies shortly after this maybe bc of shock and horror maybe bc viz ii poisons him i kind of like the latter bc ->

aegon poisons his own dad to get the throne quicker. i would want at least a season of aegon iv reign i want them to do the mistresses and the increasing number of bastards at court properly. aegon psychologically tormenting naerys and aemon and ignoring weakling daeron in favour of his handsome chad bastard son daemon

not the first to say this but i want aemon to also be creepy to naerys but to desperately punch this down bc shes so Good she would be horrified by his affections. daeron isn’t his

aemon and naerys not idealised beautiful arthurian knight and lady i want them to be PALE and SICKLY. drawn and stricken-looking with that pink eye makeup thing they do to the targtowers. aegon comparatively conventionally handsome deteriorates over the season w gout and five million stds

daemy blackfyre charismatic jock kid intentionally similar to young aegon who broke daena out. daeron fucking hatess him once he takes the throne hes taking out his feelings towards his own shitty dad on his shitty dad’s bastard he liked more than him. telling daemon he can’t have two wives bc its wrong and this is the real world and barely able to keep a smile off his face about it when daemon leaves in a huff

focus on barba missy and bethany + the bracken blackwood feud in general. i want barba to be weirdly close w aegor as her perfect royal son her golden ticket connection to the throne

bittersteel focus <- non negotiable for me hbo would neverr do this. in the sense that hes an unmarketably misogynistic homophobic old-gods-hater deeply unpleasant catholic brute in a love triangle where theyre just dating and he has a problem with it. horse girl. keeps throwing tantrums. loser. only guy there without magic powers or blonde hair. manipulating his half brother w the kingsword into usurpation

those cruel intentions promo posters where theyre all draped over each other but its their stupid triangle. shiera makes him and bloodraven kiss for her amusement

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #bittersteel #bloodraven #aegor rivers #shiera seastar #brynden rivers #barba bracken #melissa blackwood #aegon the unworthy #aemon dragonknight #naerys targaryen #daemon blackfyre #daeron ii targaryen #baelor the blessed #viserys ii targaryen #aegon iv targaryen

[valyrfia]

Why do so many F1 fans hate on Charles Leclerc? I, myself, am an "old time" so to say fan of the sport and while I appreciate the generations past, there is no denying his astounding talent and connection to the car. And yet when I started to get back into watching recently, I have seen nothing but distasteful jabs at his ability and his fans, along the lines of "he's just a model" and "only girls in love with him like him". Why is that, I really do not understand - not even as a fan of his, I'm just asking as an objective observer of motorsport

Thanks for your ask anon! I think there's two facets of it. There's the fact that Charles has a lot of expectations that haven't been fulfilled yet due to a variety of reasons and media that may already be skewed away from him doubling down on that, and quite frankly, there's a misogyny aspect due to the composition of his fanbase.

Focusing on the expectations aspect first, as I'm sure you'll probably know better than I will since I've only been watching F1 for a year or so, Charles came into Ferrari with an incredible weight to him already. Not only did he totally crush competition in junior categories but he was the youngest Ferrari driver in the 21st century (later to be usurped by none other than Ollie Bearman at the 2024 Jeddah GP) and he had quite frankly an incredible first season. He would have won Bahrain 2019 if not for the engine issue and he won Monza. This understandably gave Charles's name a gravitas and expectation unlike any non-WDC. I mean, his nickname is literally il predestinato, there is an expectation that Charles will bring the championship home to Ferrari.

Now, unfortunately, that hasn't happened yet. This has been due to a multitude of reasons, but mainly Mattia Binotto's terrible management, the effects of it we're still feeling years later.

An aspect of Mattia's management that people discuss less however, but I'm certain contributes to some groups having a strong dislike of Charles, is Mattia's complete inability to manage a strong driver line up. Ferrari has had an incredible line up, with Charles and Seb for Charles's first two years, and Charles and Carlos for the next three. A lot of the general population who dislike Charles are Seb supporters, feeling as if Seb was pushed out by this young upstart who hasn't even managed to bring the WDC and WCC home as promised. This is entirely due to Mattia losing control of the narrative. DTS encouraged this viewpoint, but media doubled down on it. Mattia also failed to manage each driver's expectations.

Similar is Mattia's signing and then subsequent management of Carlos. My dislike of the Carlos camp is well-documented, but Carlos is by no means a bad driver, in fact I think he's probably in the top six drivers currently on the grid. The issue is, he's not Charles. He doesn't have Charles's raw talent, nor any sort of similar mythos that the tifosi revere about Charles. Carlos on paper, is an excellent n2 to Charles's n1, and I think if Mattia had been honest about that in signing Carlos, I would like him a lot more. Instead, Mattia promised that Charles and Carlos were to be treated as equals, resulting in bizarre strategy calls like Silverstone 2022 where they sacrifice the race of their driver fighting for the WDC in order to gift the other driver a win, or having a championship car in early 2022 only to undevelop it because Carlos complained that he wasn't comfortable. It's frankly bad management, when Checo wasn't comfortable with the RB19 Red Bull didn't change their development direction, because the focus was on getting Max the championship. Ferrari needed Mattia to make a similar decision in 2022, but he instead chose to try and pander to all sides instead of enforcing a potentially difficult decision like a team principal sometimes needs to.

I've said that Sainz media is responsible for much of the traditional media smear campaign against Charles, whether that's them using links with Spanish media, or paying off various outlets, and now I'm putting that down to Mattia not managing Carlos's expectations correctly a couple of years ago, and now relationships have broken down to a point that they're pretty much irreperable, even if Fred is managing everyone's expectations correctly. Mattia's bad management from the car development perspective gives Sainz media an angle to smear Charles as well. 2022 was Charles's championship to lose, and he lost quite badly. It becomes quite easy for journalists to take the line of "oh well, is Charles REALLY a generational talent or is he all hype?", and then compare Charles and Carlos in frankly incomparable situations to make it seem like, at first glance, Carlos comes out on top (key example of this would be Bahrain 2024, where Charles had an insane brake imbalance and still managed to finish p4, but Carlos's camp were quick to point out that Carlos's brakes had cooling issues, which if you know anything about the sport you know that's comparing a mouse to an elephant, but a lot of people chose to ran with Charles and Carlos having the same issue, resulting in people applauding Carlos for a podium in a car that's undergoing normal race stress and decrying Charles for managing to finish P4 in a car that should've been undriveable).

The second aspect moves away from traditional media and to word-of-mouth and online perspective of Charles, although often the first point about Charles not yet living up to his il predestinato name is sometimes used as evidence. Charles's fanbase is female (at least outside of the countries of Italy and Monaco), and disproportionately so compared to other driver fanbases. And look, sure he's a conventionally attractive guy, we're not going to deny objective facts. But those who dislike Charles like to use the fact that he has an active female fanbase, along with the fact that he's conventionally very attractive, in order to mock Charles and his hype. "Leclerc is mid and people only like him because he's hot and women don't understand wheel knowledge" seems to be the current argument of MANY a Charles hater.

Ultimately, it boils down to thinking that his fanbase don't truly understand the sport, because we're majority women and CAN'T be in the sport because we enjoy it we MUST just be here for the hot man. Which is both untrue and fundamentally misogynistic. While Charles himself can't experience misogyny as a man, his fanbase of women certainly can and certainly does. Our voices are trivialised and counted out, and that in turn has an impact on Charles's public image, since people think that a majority of his fans don't have any actual knowledge of the sport (when in my experience, this is perhaps the furthest from the truth).

#charles leclerc #formula 1 #asks #anon #charles public perception

[2rats1gogh]

Stop comparing Alicent to Cersei. Compare Rhaenyra to Cersei instead.

Let’s go over some similarities they share, shall we.

1. Both Cersei and Rhaenyra had several children with their lover (Jaime and Harwin) and pretended like those children were legitimate even if it was pretty damn obvious in Rhaenyra’s case that they weren’t, and somewhat suspicious in Cersei’s. Alicent didn’t love her husband either, yet her children were all legitimate and fathered by her husband.

2. Both Cersei and Rhaenyra were pretty spoiled children of rich parents that made them believe that their actions will have no consequences, so they could get away with pretty much anything since their daddy has their back. Alicent was never spoiled and never really did anything that she would regret. She always did her duty as wife, mother and queen.

3. Both Cersei and Rhaenyra always pretended like their children are perfect and could do no wrong. I’m cheating a little with this one, tbh, since Cersei kinda knew that Joffrey was fucked up but still, she never really did anything to stop him/fix him. The only time she slapped him was because he asked her “if Robert fucked other women when he grew tired of her.” She never really punished him for everything else he did and always took his side. Alicent always calls out Aegon for his behavior and don’t forget the “you are no son of mine”. Cersei would’ve never said such a thing to any of her children, not even Joffrey. Neither Rhaenyra or Cersei would comfort the rape victim of their child.

4. This one is kinda hard to explain but; both Rhaenyra and Cersei are responsible for the way their children turned out to be. Cersei was responsible for Joffrey being the way he was, and Rhaenyra was responsible for Lucerys’ behavior (i will never shut up about him cutting Aemond’s eye off). But you cannot fucking blame Alicent for Aegon being a rapist (i haven’t read the books but as far as i’m aware, that never even happened in the books, it’s just a show thing to demonize the Greens. Correct me if i’m wrong).

5. Even tho both were women, neither Cersei or Rhaenyra ever were feminists. They only cared for themselves and their own well being, as well as their children’s. Alicent has always been an altruist and although she doesn’t do much to overthrow patriarchy either, she doesn’t really have the power to do that. But again, at least she cared for others and the smallfolk, not just for herself.

6. Cersei kills or threatens anyone who dares speak to her or her children the wrong way, and Rhaenyra isn’t much different, being afraid that the truth about her bastards might come out. Alicent was not an usurper, she never tried to silence others for the truth, since she has nothing to hide.

this post is kinda chaotic, i wrote this list at like 1 am and was tired af so maybe some things aren’t really understandable so sorry about that lmao

#team black stans dni #anti team black #anti team black stans #anti rhaenyra targaryen #cersei lannister #pro team green #anti rhaenyra #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #pro alicent hightower #pro alicent #team green #game of thrones

[visenyaism]

to what degree do you think jaehaerys is supposed to have a good or bad legacy from GRRM’s point of view? like the books paint him as having this legacy of being a wise pragmatist, and the perspectives in fire & blood back that up superficially even if it’s not hard to see how his decisions directly led to civil war and oppression. is that intentional or just an accident of asoiaf being a good critique of monarchy in general? is the text saying that monarchy is bad because not every king is jaehaerys, or is it bad because even its greatest mythologized figures worked towards its corruption?

genuinely no clue. to me it is one of the biggest points of dissonance both plot-wise and thematically in the whole series. If i want to be generous id say that it’s clear that Jaehaerys is remembered as a Good King, like the best possible ruler in the monarchical system, and this is BECAUSE he is unambiguously just a terrible person to his family because that’s what feudalism mandates and that familial destruction causes the civil war? To me this SHOULD be the point, but somehow it is NOT because fire and blood and the main series don’t really draw any particular conclusions about the ethics of Jaehaerys’ rule.

You get to fire and blood and he is just not singularly a standout politician despite everyone saying he is? as a ruler he is not fantastically distinct from maegor the cruel other than their relationship to the faith. He built a bunch of stuff, but most of the reforms were his wife or his septon’s idea and he doesn’t really get enough to demonstrate competence as a ruler. One standout is that he’s so inexplicably terrible at making marriage alliances like he somehow seems genuinely surprised any time one of his kids comes of age and needs a spouse and the only logical explanation for the bonkers matches he makes for his children seems to be active malice against them. His actions specifically his misogyny against Rhaenys literally caused the dynasty destroying civil war.

and if the similarities between the two were the point, the book was making, I would be pretty interested. like yeah they both build all these things but their entire legacy is built on reproductive coercion and violent misogyny. Jae and Maegor both got their start by usurping Rhaena. Jaehaerys is actually worse in terms of how he treats his mother. Maegor actually named a female heir at one point while Jaehaerys refused to do so at multiple points. Like his uncle Jae was also obsessed with making children and forced his wife to have THIRTEEN of them even though she begged him not to. Jaehaerys had someone hold his teenage daughter down and make her watch as he chopped her boyfriend into small pieces with a sword to punish her for having premarital sex.

all of this is just the plot- not atypical for ASOIAF which really focuses on gender violence as a theme and condemning its entrenchment in the setting. except it’s just depicting a lot of violent misogyny without the commentary or making a point about it because Jaehaerys is Good which is really weird unusually shallow writing.

TLDR: there’s so much dissonance in how he is written: he is described as this fantastic ruler, but doesn’t do a lot of big political moves that maegor didn’t, he’s a terrible person, but is never really called out for this by anyone in the text in ways kings like Baelor are. What’s the point? What IS the text trying to say about Jaehaerys? I would also like to know.

#asoiaf #if they had explicitly made him a maegor parallel i would be so interested omg. but no it’s just this tonally dissonant grab bag of ?????

[milk-ly]

Kotoko and her connection to Dante’s Inferno’s Satan

Disclaimer: This is just about symbolism and I know how it sounds but I promise I’m not trying to imply anything or demonize her! I love Kotoko! Ive just been repeatedly noticing details about the parallel for several months now and I just really want to bring it up! This is just an analysis of the details MILGRAM has provided for it. I’m incredibly sorry if I make a mistake!

Kotoko has a lot of parallels to Dante’s Inferno Satan, especially in relation to Es.

To make sure we’re all on the same page, Dante’s Inferno is a Christian poem that outlines the 9 circles of hell. MILGRAM directly references Dante’s Inferno by quoting it in all the t2 door arts.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter.” A quote derived from a sign at the gate of hell in the poem.

Each ring of Hell contains sinners with different levels of sins, and each ring’s sin was meant to be worse the further inside you go. Ive seen a couple theories that each prisoner correlates with a specific ring of hell. (Ex: Haruka is ring 1, Limbo; Yuno is ring 2, lust; etc)

But Dante’s Inferno only outlines 9 rings, what about our 10th prisoner, Kotoko?

While it could be that she’s again the “outsider” to the other prisoners, the last section of the 9th ring of Hell is significant because it is the center of Hell, containing Satan. So it could be reasonably argued that Kotoko correlates with it.

MILGRAM already has a TON of religious references. One that I’ve seen pointed out is how it seems the cover art of each novel is a reference to a famous Christian art piece.

The Es in each novel seems to be where Jesus relatively is. Remember that Jesus is both the son of God AND God. God gives sinners their judgements which sounds very similar to Es and how they're giving the prisoners (the human sinners) their verdicts.

Plus, the quote Milgram quotes is on the doors the prisoners are entering, and in Dante’s inferno, it’s on the gate of hell so you can compare or theorize that MILGRAM is a parallel to (or straight up is) purgatory. And Es, being the one who decides the verdict, parallels God.

Also, her t2 VD is named “YONAH,” which is the masculine version of the name Jonah. Not only does this relate to her themes of masculinity again, Jonah is a name that originates from Hebrew origins which means “dove.”

It is also a reference to the book of Jonah. A main theme of this book is “Jonah wants God to operate on his timeline [...] He wanted God to dole out punishment on his clock instead of according to God's plan. Yet God showed Jonah that in his infinite wisdom, he can't and will not be rushed.” Which is pretty much exactly what happens in YONAH, and also once again compares Es to God.

Dante’s Inferno’s Satan was an angel, a splendid being, apparently the most perfect of God's creatures… an “Angel of light.” We/Es deemed Kotoko innocent in t1. She had the highest innocent percentage in t1 too because a lot of people thought her murder was justified. You know, the most perfect of God’s creatures. The most perfect out of the prisoners.

“We really can work together.”

But then Satan tried to usurp God.

“If you don’t have the strength on your own, let me take care of it. Es! I can do it in MILGRAM!”

Kotoko wants to be the prison guard because Es isn’t capable in her eyes.

Satan was ultimately sent to Hell and punished as "the ultimate sinner" for his betrayal of trying to usurp God.

We are now punishing Kotoko for her attempts to judge the prisoners herself and “usurp” Es. It works even better now that she has the highest guilty percentage in all of MILGRAM so far as the “ultimate sinner.”

As a lot know, Fuuta also has tons of religious references too. (Ex. His VD is titled Baptism by Fire) By him also passing judgements onto people, you could say that he was trying to play God.

What is that saying about us, the audience, then? And our parallel/foil to Fuuta/Kotoko?

Dante’s Inferno as a whole is very much based around the idea of “evil will be punished,” which not only encapsulates Kotoko’s ideals but MILGRAM’s as well. It makes sense that MILGRAM says that Kotoko is a perfect parallel to the facility.

(I also wanna mention that there's something that could be said about the holy trinity in relation to Es + the audience + jackalope. For example, how Jesus is God in the flesh and Es is the audience "in the flesh," by acting as a personified version of us to interact with the "human sinnners" but I feel like I might be going into tinfoil hat territory.)

#edit: GIRL WTF THIS POST WAS A DRAFT I THOUGHT I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED SO I REWROTE THE WHOLE THING. BUT I JUST ACCIDENTALLY QUEUED IT??😭 #this…. could’ve been worded much better… but too many people have seen this post now I can’t repost it💀 oops…. #original tags: #this has been in my drafts for so many months now😭 #it’s been in my mind for even longer #but ive been really scared of posting this because I don’t want people to get the wrong idea #milgram #kotoko yuzuhira #milgram es #fuuta kajiyama #Milkly ramble

[fadingstudentbananacookie]

It's hilarious how Daemon and Rhaenyra's grandchildren carry the Green's legacy in spirit by destroying House Targaryen through internal conflicts decades later.

Aegon IV grows up to be far more extreme and gluttonous than Aegon II could ever be, coupled with a greater degree of cowardice (Aegon II would never). His sister Naerys is a little Helaena/Alicent-coded, but her cousin Daena mirrors Alicent more than I could imagine. And I am precisely talking about book!Alicent here.

Both Alicent and Daena were unapologetic in their pursuit of power after years of abuse and neglect, demanding the realm recognize their sons as kings by birthright. Neither of them gave two fucks about starting a civil war and I call that a slayyy. Go, my queens!

If Daena had been more like Rhaenyra, believe me when I say I wouldn't have liked her as much. It's their defiance that makes both Alicent and Daena more compelling characters.

I don't necessarily think Daena would have liked Alicent, but she would have definitely felt grudging respect and admiration for her courage.

Daeron the Young Dragon is just like Daeron the Daring (both are extremely popular among the nobles and the smallfolk). Both died young and were eternalized. Baelor the Blessed is obsessed with catholicism and guilt to a point that would even scare Alicent and Criston.

Aemon the Dragonknight is essentially a more refined, though not necessarily cooler, version of Aemond One-Eye. Aemon literally stood aside while his sister endured years of sexual and psychological abuse from her brother-husband. Aemond would never have stood by if Aegon II had tried to harm Helaena. His loyalty and protectiveness towards his sister would have driven him to intervene. Their love stories are similar too, with many fans shipping Aemond with Helaena, and Aemon with Naerys.

Elaena is intriguing, but there's not much to say about her or her sister Rhaena.

Daemon and Rhaenyra's grandchildren are worse than the Targtowers in every aspect. Alicent (the Hightowers) and her children de-stabilized House Targaryen during the Dance, but Rhaenyra's grandchildren did so much worse by starting a civil war that lasted for generations to come. Team Black got the realm and power back, and they still fucked up. Again.

Another intriguing aspect is that Alicent and her children had legitimate reasons to resist and fight for Aegon's claim to the throne by feudal right—even if those reasons were fueled by spite and revenge. Alicent endured years of sexual abuse from Viserys, bearing children he barely acknowledged. She was humiliated in court and called "mad" when her son lost his eye, and Rhaenyra's son faced no repercussions—not even a slap on the wrist.

The Targtower children were neglected by their father for years and were practically forgotten when Rhaenyra lived in the Red Keep with her sons in tow. (And if you think Rhaenyra didn’t use her father’s love and rejection of his other children as a political machination, then you’re an absolute idiot.) If usurping her throne was the biggest fuck you they could give Rhaenyra and Viserys, then I fully support it!

Despite their complicated and angry feelings towards each other, the Greens would never act on them to cause significant harm. They understood that they only had each other for support and protection. But Rhaenyra's grandchildren, who were also in a similar situation, harbored outright hatred for each other for no reason! You'd think after the Dance, they would have learned a thing or two about the importance of family, but the gang didn't give a single fuck LMAO.

Daemon and Rhaenyra's grandchildren didn't have significant opposition. House Targaryen still held substantial power and ruled over the other Great Houses. Although they had to be more cautious without having dragons to threaten others, the internal strife could have been avoided if Daena and her sisters had been treated like actual human beings rather than cattle. The lack of care and respect towards them sowed the seeds of war, leading to the internal conflicts that ultimately weakened the dynasty.

The generational cycle of abuse and neglect within House Targaryen itself is one of the main key reasons why they were driven to extinction in merely three centuries. House Hightower only did so little to show their true color.

Rhaenyra's claim that "The only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon was itself," couldn't be more accurate!

#house of the dragon #hotd #pro team green #pro team alicent #a song of ice and fire #daena targaryen #alicent hightower #daena the defiant #aegon ii targaryen #aegon iv targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemon the dragonknight #helaena targaryen #naerys targaryen #dance of the dragons #blackfyre rebellion #team black #team green #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targeryan #anti viserys i targaryen

[kell-eramis]

Skybound Spoilers ahead//

Okay so my thoughts may be a bit disorganized because it is 4 AM but I was thinking and doing research on two small essays I’m writing comparing transformers characters to tragic characters of ancient greece (and rome) and I realized a blatant parallel in Skybound

So I’ve long believed that Starscream’s arc in Skybound is reflective of a cycle of power and hubris that parallels Megatron, however until now I only thought it was subtextual—however, in the FCBD spexial we see Megatron’s fate.

He is shot by Starscream—who takes out his right optic— out of the ark and into space, thereby ascertaining Starscream’s position as leader during the first 7 issues of Transformers. This happens after Optimus cuts off his right arm.

During these 7 issues, we see Starscream twice again in a similar position, both within the comic panel and within his in-universe position.

During this confrontation, Starscream, where she was previously on the left, is now on the right, where Megatron was, as she confronts Cliffjumper and Carly. Attempting to squish another human—Carly—he is knocked over the edge of the Ark to fall onto the ground. This is both the same metatextual and physical positions as Megatron was in, and we once again see this with her and Soundwave’s confrontation.

Soundwave is now on the left, as the righteous usurper, while Starscream is on the right, grasping at the remnants of leadership and power, to no avail. Her right wing is blown off by Soundwave, once again paralleling Megatron, and his left optic is ripped off by Laserbeak. She is then thrown off the edge of the cliff, left to die just as Megatron had been.

HOWEVER: also in the annual we see that Megatron is not dead, and is vowing vengeance against Starscream (who had supposedly died already by the time this was published—yet alludes to a future confrontation).

This leads me to conclude that my previous hypothesis, that Starscream is in fact not dead, is quite likely.

However, it is notable that where Megatron’s right optic was taken out initially, it is Starscream’s left optic that is taken out. I posit that this is meant to parallel a previous non-canon story set during the G1 continuity, Redemption Center.

During Redemption Center, it is Starscream’s left optic that is damaged, and as a result of that plus subsequent injuries, she loses her memory and is found by the Autobots, where Optimus and her bond. At the end of the story, he is a changed mech, who realizes that perhaps by following Optimus’ example, not Megatron’s, she can lead the Decepticons properly. Since we’ve already seen Starscream emulating Megatron in the current Transformers, as well as these other parallels, I strongly believe we have not seen the end of Starscream, and we might be about to see Daniel Warren Johnson’s take on a redemption arc for Starscream.

#skybound transformers #starscream #megatron #optimus prime #soundwave #transformers 2023 #energon universe #transformers #transformers meta #my writing #transformers skybound

[separatist-apologist]

Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Summary: Gwyneth Berdara wants nothing more than to return home and exact revenge on the courtiers who hurt her and killed her sister. Exiled to a distant temple, Gwyn finds herself at the mercy of a mysterious stranger offering to escort her home on orders from her eldest brother and king of the realm.

Unraveling the secrets of the strange soldier will prove more deadly than Gwyn could ever have imagined, setting into motion events that began nearly five hundred years before.

Happy @gwynrielweeksofficial!

TW for mentions of past sexual assault

Read on Ao3

Five hundred years before:

“No more,” Azriel breathed, spiked boot pressed to the neck of his would-be adversary. “It’s over.”

Heavy chains curled from the loamy ground made of thick roots. It took no effort to bind him given he was dying, bleeding from the sword still protruding in his stomach. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the mighty roar of Rhys and knew he and Cassain were likely suffering similar fates. They’d tried to take the world, to leave the underplane they ruled, to overthrow the high god Koschei.

Where was Lucien, he wondered? Was he dead too? Was this failed cosmic coup over so easily? Azriel wanted to struggle but his body was pinned in place, sinking slowly toward an earthy grave. 

“You give up easier than expected,” Koschei murmured, sharpened teeth dripping with some dripping, black substance. “Like a coward.”

Azriel snarled furiously, pulling at the bindings dragging him further down. Could Koschei see the promise of retribution in his gaze? Did he not realize no prison could hold him forever? Azriel would find his way out eventually. He had nothing but eternity to plot and creatures like Koschei grew complacent in the end. 

Crouching so he could speak better with Azriel, Koschei flashed another foul smile. “I hear your thoughts, little god. You think you can usurp me with time. Consider your undoing.” With a snap of his fingers, a body fell from the sky, falling with a sickening crunch inches from Azriel. He recognized the red hair, splayed out over a too pale, lifeless face. Knew the body of the woman now crumpled in a heap, the sword broken off in her midriff—he’d given it to her. 

A once white ribbon, now stained rust red, was still tied around her forehead. Azriel wanted to reach for it, to blow life into the lifeless body of the only woman he’d ever truly loved.

It had been a mistake to bring humans into this mess. To think he could raise her into godhood—that she wouldn’t get hurt in the end. Azriel had sworn he’d keep her safe.

His Gwyn.

“Pretty little thing,” Koschei murmured, running clawed hands through Gwyn’s tangled hair. “Didn’t you warn her to stay away from monsters?”

“I’ll kill you,” Azriel swore, thrashing again. It only made him sink faster. 

“Oh, you’ll try. And every time you raise yourself against me, your little human will find herself reborn and thrust back in your path. You can try and save her, of course—but you have to give up your designs on godhood, shadowsinger. Or you can kill me and watch her die all over again. Something to think about.”

Azriel shouted, but dirt filled his mouth before darkening his vision. With his eyes closed, all he could see was Gwyn’s helpless body left to rot while he was buried beneath her. Azriel forced himself to calm down, just enough to keep his mind clear.

Koschei thought he had him.

But he didn’t know Azriel at all. And the ancient god had only given Azriel time think.

Time to plot. 

-    - 

Gwyneth Berdara woke just before dawn, like she always did. Some internal clock inside her mind refused to let her sleep in—to sleep well—especially now that she’d come to the temple in Sangravagh. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She should have been in the palace with her brothers, should have been mourning her sister's death with the rest of them.

She’d had one minor outburst. One room had exploded into flame before her brother—the king—had extinguished it. Nothing of consequence had been harmed and yet she’d seen that steely look in Eris’s eyes. 

“It’s been a year, Gwyneth,” he’d said without humor. “How much longer am I expected to tolerate this?”

“How long would it take you to mourn the death of your other half?” she’d snapped back. That had been a mistake. His patience was already thin—there was conflict at the border, the first in five centuries, and swirling rumors the dark princes were rising from the slumber.

Eris, who lived in the shadow of Lucien Spell-Cleaver—a god, truly, more legend than he’d ever been a living man—was uneasy. Devoid of smiles, same as their late father. As if Beron Vanserra could have any relation to the great Sun King. 

So Gwyn was here with the priestesses to learn humility, and to vent her rage somewhere none of the courtiers could see. She wondered what he’d told the court. What had he told Nesta Archeron, Gwyn’s dearest friend? Did he admit the truth? That she was an embarrassment he couldn’t stand any longer? That Eris didn’t want to deal with the messiness of loss, that Catrin’s death didn’t bother him as much because he’d never been close to either of them? They were the youngest by nine years, an accident their father hadn’t wanted and their mother was too exhausted to deal with.

Eris had five brothers, but Gwyn had only Catrin. They’d had governesses, of course, and the usual training given to princesses, but they were merely more players on their father’s board, turning the Vanserra siblings from five to seven in the blink of an eye. They’d run wild, managed more by Eris than their parents, who’d done a better job keeping Catrin’s moods in check.

She was gone now. 

And so was Beron. 

That left Gwyn to pick up her sister's mantle and give Eris hell when it suited her, and left Eris to exile her until she was ready to stop being a pain in his ass. Or to find her a suitable husband, some minor lord with money and men that Eris could exploit while cleanly wiping his hands of her. 

Gwyn resented him for it. 

There were secrets, too—things she couldn’t tell Eris, that he’d never guessed. Things she’d confessed only to Catrin, curled up in a bed they’d never been meant to share as she sobbed softly. Of men at court who took far too many liberties and her brothers who were too busy with their own lives to notice their sisters. 

Catrin had nearly convinced Gwyn to tell Eris the truth.

And now she was dead. 

Unlike the other priestesses, Gwyn was given her own room at the top of one of the dark spires in the temple. It wasn’t nice, nor was it spacious, but it was private and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have her own bathing chamber which annoyed her given Gwyn had to trek down circling stairs and make her way through the drafty temple for the one bathing room they all shared. 

She didn’t like the way they stared at her, how their laughter and conversations died when she stepped into the room. Maybe that was why she’d begun getting up early. Better to bathe alone than to endure their quiet judgment. They didn’t want her here, either. They loathed having to teach her to work in the garden (a task Gwyn hated), and embroider, (Gwyn stuck her finger almost as often as her cloth), and work the stables (the horses were nice, but their stalls were foul). Gwyn didn’t mind midwifery so much, though the first time she’d watched a woman bleed out while the other priestess called it Lady Death’s will, Gwyn had found she liked it a little less. Everything was left in the hands of the gods and no one had to take any responsibility for their actions. The gods ordained every act of cruelty and mortals were helpless to resist. Gwyn loathed that more than anything. 

The only place that felt like solace was the library. It was a special privilege to work there, earned after years of dedication and Gwyn knew the other priestesses resented seeing her working for Merril. The books kept the score, besides—villains always got what they deserved, the heroes always came out triumphant. Even outside of the novels she loved, history was written in the blood of victors and lacked the meddling hands of the gods. Gwyn was allowed to help transcribe these histories which was clearly her brother's influence. Everyone knew it. 

They didn’t know the alternative was her constant attempts at escaping. They didn’t understand that Clotho had watched as Gwyn was dragged back, at first kicking and screaming, before she’d become compliant, though still defiant. She would rather die than sit in the temple, complacent and meek, awaiting Eris’s decision on what to do with her. So she ran, and she was caught, and she ran again. Over and over and over until Clotho finally had enough.

Signing silently, Clotho had said, If you stay, you can work among the books. 

It was a bribe more than anything. Gwyn imagined Clotho loathed having to write her brother all those letters about how difficult she was. And Gwyn was certain Eris had demanded they find a way to make her complacent, along with a hefty sum of gold.

And hated even more that it had worked. 

She’d loved the library at home, and she loved it here in Sangravagh even more. Here they had books that went back to the reign of Lucien Spell-Cleaver. That told the story of the epic battle between him and the legendary Dark Lord—The Shadowsinger. Defeated at the very last moment, when all hope was lost, by the Sun King’s unassuming, beautiful wife. Her mother had told her and Catrin that story more often than any other. It was said his body had been cut into five pieces, scattered to the four corners of the globe while his head was buried beneath the floors of the Forest House. It was said that Lucien himself had buried him that way to ensure he never returned. 

Catrin used to sympathize with the Shadowsinger—likely the only person in the world who could. Gwyn had been mesmerized, proud to be part of that legacy. Curious, too, as she’d become older. How much of it was actually true, and how much was merely legend. Gwyn suspected Lucien Spell-Cleaver had been mythologized, melded with other, older legends until he became a god-like figure.

And the Shadowsinger much the same. 

In the library, Gwyn found records from the time, recording births and deaths, and endless expenses for building palaces and roads and walls. She found records of ship inventories carrying the goods from Velaris and Illryia to Avalon, which meant the legends of the Lord of Bloodshed and his equally terrifying brother known only as Death Incarnate, couldn’t be real, either. They were said to rule Velaris and Illyria proper, and the Shadowsinger oversaw what was now Avalon. 

Likely they had just been regular men, too, whose regimes were toppled and they, too, were made more fearsome by legend trying to immortalize an Empire, and terrifying those that would defy it. Bedtime stories for children, real lives made into parables to teach lessons. 

She couldn’t stop herself from translating the books, though. From painstakingly working by candle, until it had burned to nothing and she was half asleep against the hardwood surface. Merrill allowed her to do so, likely because it kept her busy and out of everyone's way.  

Gwyn rushed through her morning bath, well aware that the stipulations to being in the library required her to spend three mornings a week shoveling horse shit from the stables.

Gwyn always chose the first three days to get it out of the way. Begrudgingly, she could admit to herself that the hard labor did calm her mind a little. She’d never say that out loud, but Gwyn liked the horses, too. 

She dressed quickly, slipping on the standard blue of her robes that all priestesses wore. She had some old gowns from court but Eris had ordered she be treated no different than anyone else. What good was chiffon and lace in a place like this? Once, Gwyn had cherished those things. She and her sister had giggled over new gowns made of silk, had spent hours at the dressmakers ordering everything that caught their eye and then some. Catrin, especially, had more dresses than anyone could ever have worn and had taken such care with her appearance. She’d been so beautiful, so lively—the living embodiment of the flame that wound its way through their family bloodline. 

Gwyn couldn’t prove she’d been murdered to keep silence but rumor had been spreading that something had happened. Catrin couldn’t hide her rage, had snapped at the men responsible, had messed around in their policies and in one particularly cut-throat move, interfered in an impending marriage that would have enriched one of the families beyond their wildest dreams. 

It’s my quiet revenge until you’re ready to get loud, Catrin had told her. 

Gwyn had always been afraid to be angry, to take up space.

Not anymore.

The air was cooler than usual, salty without the tang of fish that it usually had. Gwyn could hear the ocean churning in the distance and knew if she continued walking toward the cliffside she’d find the brutal gray waves rising and falling against the rock, battering away. She wasn’t allowed to go that far—everyone thought she might fling herself off the edge.

Some days it was tempting. 

Some days her anger burned so hot Gwyn thought she might explode from it. Today was one of those days. It itched beneath her skin, expanding until she felt like she couldn’t contain her feelings. Her sister wasn’t just dead. She’d been murdered. Eris swore he was looking for the killer, had promised Gwyn there would be justice but there wasn’t, and there hadn’t been. Did her brother suspect the truth? That nobles in his own court were responsible and condemning them to death was likely to cause an exodus and, even worse, an attempted coup? Or was he too busy with things he deemed more important to see what felt so obvious to Gwyn. Maybe she could have pieced Catrin’s final night alive together—all she had were her suspicions.

Now she had nothing at all. 

Gwyn looked up at the moody sky wishing she had the Spell-Cleaver’s affinity for magic. All she had was flame, and it was fairly pathetic in comparison to her brothers. Perhaps that was for the best—Gwyn might have raised the whole world in her grief and anger. 

Instead she put on mucking shoes and made her way to the horse stalls. The first stall was easy enough. Pancakes was a sweet, older gelding who didn’t mind getting out of Gwyn’s way so she could take a pitchfork to the manure and replace the soiled hay with something fresh. Gwyn replaced the water in the bucket and fed her before she was rewarded with a sweet nudge from a soft, gray nose.

The next stall was more of the same, and by the time Gwyn reached the third, she was coated in sweat and already thinking about her books. She wouldn’t be done before lunch and already regretted not having breakfast. Still, the quiet company of the animals soothed some of her rage and the work kept her mind mostly quiet. 

Pulling open the wooden stall, Gwyn paused. Buttercream was waiting for breakfast with impatient eyes, nearly trampling the limp body in his stall. Gwyn blinked, certain she was seeing it wrong—but that was a man lying there.

Dried blood stuck to his midnight black hair, to the golden brown of his cheeks, to the white of his torn shirt. Gwyn took a step forward, thinking this wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen. Buttercream stepped out of the stall entirely which was going to get Gwyn in trouble. She considered going back for the horse before deciding that Clotho would understand. 

Hopefully.

Gwyn knelt beside the body, roughly turning him to this back. More dried blood caked over his neck and his bare chest, though she couldn’t tell where he’d been wounded. An old scar screamed white against his neck, like someone had tried to cut it and failed. Gwyn swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she pressed them against the pulsepoint.

He gasped, eyes flying open to look at her. His bloodless lips parted, hazel eyes dilating with fear. Gwyn tried to skitter back but he grabbed both her arms with a surprisingly strong grip, sitting up just enough to put them at eye level.

His were the most intoxicating mix of brown and green, dotted gold around his iris. “You,” he breathed before releasing her arms to hold her face in callused hands. “You—get help.”

She might have done exactly as he demanded had he not crushed his mouth against hers. Gwyn yelped, held in place by this stranger who, despite the blood coating his skin, tasted like warm smoke curling against icy snow. Gwyn kept her eyes open and so did he before those thick, dark lashes fluttered and he felt back with a loud thud. 

Gwyn exhaled, fingers flying to her lips. It should have enraged her, this kiss from a stranger who hadn’t even asked if he could touch her. Yet another man taking what he wanted without bothering to ask, to consider if she wanted what he was offering. And yet…Gwyn’s fingers found her lips, eyes still on his unconscious body pillowed by straw. It hadn’t felt like conquest the way it had before. This felt like desperation—like he needed help and could think of no other way to convince her. 

It was her first, proper kiss. She’d imagined something different. Someone different. 

Not a vagrant half dead in a barn.

Gwyn rose to her feet, hating how her knees were wobbling. “CLOTHO!” she screamed, stepping back out into the cool world.

Overhead, thunder clapped a warning.

And the skies began pouring rain.

 -    - 

Gwyn was in the library, hidden far in the back when she heard the voices of other priestesses. “He can’t stay,” someone whispered. “I told Merrill as much.” “Where did he even come from?” asked another. Gwyn paused from her scroll, grateful for an excuse to rest her aching hand. 

“This isn’t the first time a man has tried to infiltrate.”

“I heard his throat was cut—”

“He was stabbed, supposedly. I told Clotho we ought to leave him to die—”

“That’s terrible.”

The priestesses had been forbidden from visiting the stranger, but Gwyn wasn’t a priestess. And she was curious given he’d kissed her right before passing out. Surely she deserved to see how he was progressing before he was kicked out of the temple? That man was the first interesting thing that had happened since she’d arrived six months before.

She waited until the voices floated away before putting her things away and blowing out her candle. No one paid her any mind as she walked the familiar stone halls, guided only by the silvery moonlight overhead. 

Gwyn knew exactly where he’d be, assuming he was still alive. He’d be closer to her tower where they kept people who’d committed egregious offenses. Gwyn had never seen that happen but she’d heard of a priestess who’d been stealing coins for a lover in a nearby village. The punishment was typically just long enough to cool whatever ardor existed between the lovers—men were fickle things. A week of no contact and they slunk off, moving on with a new, warmer body while the woman was left to pine. Gwyn pitied them both. Was that all love was? Close proximity ignited with physical touch? 

She wasn’t interested. 

Gwyn turned down the sharp corridor, ignoring the door that would take her up to her tower for the one at the far end of the hall. Pushing it open, she saw him lying on a cot, his shirt cut from his body and his chest wrapped in pristine white bandages. The blood had been washed from his body, leaving him utterly bare from the waist up. Gwyn thought there was something odd about him—something missing, though she couldn’t explain what, exactly. 

She was distracted by a trail of dark hair starting just beneath his navel, vanishing in the band of his pants. Cocking her head, she examined the hard muscle of him, made softer in sleep but still visible through his skin. Who was he, she wondered?

She didn’t realize he was awake until she glanced back at his face, meaning to leave. “You again,” he murmured in a midnight dark voice. “I thought I imagined you.”

Gwyn’s heart began thudding in her chest. “You passed out in the stables,” she told him. 

“Seemed like a safe option at the time,” he replied, groaning a little as he tried to sit up. 

“What happened to you?”

He glanced down at the bandage wrapped around his body. “A knife.”

“Did you rob someone?”

A smile tugged at his lips and Gwyn was struck by how beautiful he was. She was used to beautiful men—all her brothers had the good Vanserra genes, after all, passed down from the Sun King himself. And the lords at court were often quite handsome with the annoying quality of knowing it. This man, though, was different. Otherworldly in his beauty and radiating strength—strong jaw, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and a full mouth. Those dark lashes didn’t hurt him, either, nor did how nicely his body was arranged.

“I’m a soldier, not a thief.”

“You’re a long way from the border,” Gwyn said, arms crossed over her chest. The man watched her for a moment, his amusement plain.

“What do you know about conflict in Avalon?”

Not much, admittedly. She’d never cared to, and it wasn’t like Eris shared with her. She was his obnoxious baby sister and not a trusted advisor. “What are you doing so far up north?”

“I’m looking for a princess,” he admitted, head cocked as he took her in. “The king sent me to retrieve her.”

Of fucking course he did. Gwyn blew out a breath. “He’s too good to come himself?”

He snorted a small laugh. “I suppose he’s quite busy with his soon-to-be-wife.”

“Wife?” she spluttered. “What woman in her right mind would marry Eris?”

The soldier laughed then, head tipping back as the throaty sound filled the small chamber. “I won’t tell him you said so,” he replied, wincing a little as he tried to draw a breath. “Princess.”

Gwyn only frowned. So Eris was getting married, and she was freed temporarily from exile. How very like him to send a messenger rather than fetch her himself. Gwyn swallowed the hurt, not wanting this man to see her anger. 

“I’ll tell him myself when we arrive. She must be out of options.”

“I hear she’s incredibly beautiful,” he countered, those eyes practically glowing feline in the dark. “And that he’s in love with her.”

“You must not know him well.” Eris wasn’t capable of love save for, perhaps, their mother. A wife, though? No, that was something political, an alliance that benefitted Eris so greatly he’d tie himself to the terms legally. Gwyn imagined she was likely beautiful and meek, the sort of woman that would stay out of his way. A woman he could discard without concern only to pick back up when she became necessary.

“Better than you think, princess,” the soldier countered. But Gwyn very much doubted that. This didn’t look like one of Eris’s personal guards, one of his most trusted. This looked like someone who could get stabbed on the side of the road without Eris caring too terribly much. Maybe he was hoping so he could snub Gwyn only to inform her he had sent someone, and how tragic that they’d never made it. Gwyn had enough of the entire thing.

“You should rest, then. It’s a long journey back to the palace.”

“Clotho was very kind, offering me this room. I offered to sleep in the stables.”

Gwyn didn’t care. She turned her back to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she went. She was too busy seething at Eris to fall on niceties. This was merely more proof that her family only ever saw her as a burden. It was only when she reached the door and heard the man groan again, settling back against that threadbare cot, that she wondered who he was.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked. 

There was a beat, and then— “Azriel,” he told her. Something in the air hummed for a moment before the world stilled again, some magic Gwyn didn’t recognize. Only the royals and the gods commanded magic—no simple soldier could have evoked such a response. It was merely a manifestation of her own anger or some desire to be more important than she was. The gods had long turned their gazes from her—had abandoned her entirely. 

“Sleep well, then, Az—” Gwyn choked on the name, unsure why she couldn’t say it. 

And maybe he knew it, because his mouth quirked to the side, even as he settled back to the bed, one hand on his bare stomach. Something about him seemed off—he didn’t look like Eris’s usual type. Though, to be fair, what did she really know about Eris anymore? Ever since their father died and he’d taken over, Eris was different. 

Maybe his soldiers were, too. 

#gwynriel #my humble submission

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hi!, I saw your requests were open, If it’s okay maybe kirari’s secret girlfriend/wife coming to the school and everyone reacting to how similar or different they are?

Not So Different

Kirari Momobami x She/Her Reader

A/N: There is something special about a character who seems nice but can actually be pretty scary. I like it. Anyway, here you go, I hope you like it! Word Count: 2,513

The student population was abuzz after the student council president, Momobami Kirari, gracefully slid out of the glossy black car she arrived in every morning, but this time, with a catch. She held her hand back out to the open car door, and to the surprise of those who cared enough to pay attention, a hand emerged to grasp it.

Another girl slid out of the leather car seat behind Kirari and even after the chauffeur closed the door and returned to his seat to drive away, the girl’s hand remained with Kirari’s as they walked towards the school gates. Though she was wearing the school’s uniform, no one recognized the girl at all. A new student perhaps? And already in the claws of the president, poor thing.

“Good morning, President!” Sayaka greeted her at the front gate as she did every morning, then with less enthusiasm and a smidge of bitterness, she greeted the other girl as well, “Good morning, (Y/n). Welcome to Hyakkaou.”

“Thank you, Sayaka. Good to see you again.” (Y/n) smiled earnestly.

Of course Sayaka seemed to know what was going on. Though Kirari had a vexing mysteriousness about her, no one was more suited, nor dedicated enough to chip her way through than Sayaka. Though even she would say she only knew the tip of the iceberg when it came to Kirari. Although she did know a lot more than the average person, including the fact that Kirari had been betrothed to (Y/n) before either of them had even been born, something about dangerous business deals and complicated Bami Clan traditions for the family head.

Until recently, it was forbidden for the arranged couple to even be seen together in public until the Honebami family had disposed of all the threats. This would be the joining of two very important and influential families after all. Many contracts and a stupid amount of money was hedging on this union.

Now with all possible usurpers and hired guns sinking to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the couple was given more freedom to do as they pleased which Kirari promptly took advantage of by helping (Y/n) transfer to Hyakkaou.

“President, I have tea warming in the student council room should you like a cup before the morning meeting begins.”

Kirari hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head towards (Y/n), “Would you care to come for tea, my dear? At the very least it would be a good way to meet the rest of the council.”

“Sounds good to me!” Came the chipper response.

Most of the student council was already loitering about the room doing their own thing, but seeing a new face joining the President had piqued the interest of a few members.

“Ooo, who’s this, Kirari?” Runa asked around a mouthful of cherry hard candies. She had only barely glanced up before returning her eyes to the colorful screen in front of her.

“This is my fiancée, (Y/n). She will be joining us for the remainder of our last year. It would have been preferable if we could have shared more of our school days together, but such is life.”

“Better than nothing.” (Y/n) smiled, giving Kirari’s hand a quick squeeze.

“No way, fiancée?” Yumemi gasped. “When did this happen? I’ve been so out of the loop!”

“This union was predetermined by fate and the stars before we even existed.” Kirari colorfully explained, taking her seat at the front of the table, almost dragging (Y/n) down with her, but she declined to sit in Kirari’s lap. Kirari gave a low hum of disappointment.

“It was a high stakes arranged marriage.” (Y/n) corrected. “It wasn’t safe for us to be in public together until recently. For a time, the less people who knew about it, the better.”

“Oh, okay. I know a thing or two about paparazzi myself,” Yumemi flipped her hair over her shoulder, “They just gobble relationship gossip up.”

It was a little more involved than paparazzi, but neither Kirari nor (Y/n) cared enough to get into it.

“Well, it’s good to be meeting you now.” Yuriko chimed in, fidgeting a bit nervously in her seat, “Will you be joining the council?”

“Wouldn’t that be interesting.” Kirari spoke first, “Although… there aren’t any seats open, are there? Not now that I let Sumeragi in due to her father’s generous contributions. Would you give up your spot, Yuriko?”

Yuriko flinched. Why had she opened her mouth at all?! She couldn’t lose her place on the council! Her lip wobbled and she tried to speak, but fortunately, (Y/n) saved her.

“Don’t be mean, Kirari,” she gave Yuriko a reassuring look, “Don’t worry, student government isn’t my thing.”

“Oh…” Yuriko visibly relaxed in her seat, making Runa and Midari laughed.

“I’ll just come by to hang out. You guys can just pretend I’m not even here.”

“Already on it.” Kaede grumbled, clacking away at his laptop.

“Then perhaps keep your mouth closed, Manyuda. If that is truly your intent.” Kirari warned, eyeing the treasurer over the rim of her tea cup.

“Spooky, Prez!” Midari grinned, “I’ve never seen your puffy sleeves get ruffled so easily before.”

“Let’s all just simmer down.” (Y/n) took the seat between Kirari and Ririka, resting a hand on Kirari’s thigh. Kirari’s demeanor returned to normal with a single lazy blink. (Y/n) turned her attention to Ririka next.

Though Kirari had explained to her that Ririka was supposed to be the mysterious vice president until the proper time, whatever that meant, she still wanted acknowledge her soon to be sister-in-law anyway.

“Good morning.” She greeted with a quick wink.

Ririka smiled beneath her mask and gave a nod in return. Shortly after, Itsuki came running in just before the meeting was set to start. Frazzled, the girl looked for an extra chair. (Y/n) offered hers up.

“I should look around the school and find my classroom anyway.” She told Kirari, “Good luck with your schemes!”

“Schemes,” Kirari smiled, amused, “Really now?”

“Yes, schemes.” (Y/n) affirmed. She wasn’t blind to this whole house pet racket Kirari had going on, but growing up in the families that they did, she hardly batted an eye. “See you in class.”

Because of course Kirari made sure they would be in the same third year Hana class. Though Kirari would have rather her stay to help ease the boredom the meeting would surely bring, she let (Y/n) go explore.

“Are you sure you should let her just wander around? She is new…” Yuriko tentatively spoke up against her better judgment.

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something if your girlfriend became a house pet while your back was turned?” Midari cackled and leaned back in her chair. “A nice girl like that will be sniffed out and ripped apart in no time.”

Kirari giggled resting her knuckles beneath her chin. Looking at her in just the right light, one would see a wild glint in those arctic ice eyes.

“Do you think so?” She asked.

***

“Yumeko, it was just a stupid rumor. You look like an idiot!” Mary hissed, pulling Yumeko away from the stairwell wall she was bent over, looking down for a sign of the president and her mysterious guest.

“Oh, it’s no rumor, Mary. It is one hundred percent factual that Kirari and her betrothed were recently given the green light to be in public together. It was such a big secret, that many of the family branches didn’t even know about it! Knowing Kirari, I would bet that with the restrictions lifted, she enrolled her fiancée to our school.”

“And what of it? Why do you care?” Mary crossed her arms, back stiff, annoyed that she had to follow Yumeko around all morning.

“It’s simple,” Mary swore she saw a glint of red in Yumeko’s eyes, “I want to gamble with her!”

“That’s so dumb,” Mary scoffed, but then, she reconsidered.

Actually, this could be good… If they could win a high stakes gamble against Kirari’s fiancée and make a house pet of her… that would surely get a rise out of the aloof tyrant masquerading as a student council president, right?

“You know what, count me in.”

“Yay, Mary!”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I could have sworn it was supposed to be on this floor… oh dear.”

Mary and Yumeko paused their little scuffle to stare at the girl who just passed them by. The way she checked every room placard as she walked cemented the fact that she just had to be new.

“Excuse me,” Yumeko wasted no time slipping in beside the girl, “are you lost?”

“Yes,” the girl sighed, relieved at the prospect of a helping hand, “I’m looking for the third year Hana classroom. Could you help me?”

“That’ll be easy enough,” Mary chimed in, “We’ll take you there.”

“Thank you guys so much. I’m (Y/n) by the way.”

“I’m Yumeko and this is Mary, nice to meet you!”

They shared a bit of small talk as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. When they reached the correct classroom, (Y/n) thanked them both.

“Thank you both for the escort. I’d love to give you a favor in return sometime.”

“You may be able to fill that favor in right now, actually,” Yumeko circled, finally stopping behind (Y/n) to drape her arms over her shoulders in a loose hug, “You are Kirari’s fiancée, right?”

“Yup, that’s me,” she chuckled, slipping out of Yumeko’s arms, “feels weird to get to tell people that now. Anyway, what’s the favor?”

“Mary and I want to gamble with you!”

“A gamble, with me?”

“Yes,” Mary came to stand beside Yumeko, trapping (Y/n) between them and the wall, “gambling is a big part of how this school functions. But you probably know that given whose circles you run in.” Mary tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Though (Y/n) seemed nice on the surface, she was still betrothed to Kirari who was by far the worst person Mary knew. (Y/n) could be just as deranged.

“Wow,” (Y/n) audibly exhaled, “an invitation already. Well, when in Rome, as the saying goes. Game of choice and stakes?”

“You’ll really do it?” Yumeko was practically foaming at the mouth, but (Y/n) didn’t bat an eye.

“Well, I have a favor to repay, don’t I?”

“Why don’t we take this to the library then.” Mary suggested.

(Y/n) soon found herself being ushered away from the classroom she had been searching for and into a library study room turned gambling den. Yumeko gave her an excited smile.

“Why don’t you pick the game, (Y/n). Then we may discuss the stakes…”

***

Sayaka had only left the student council room for a moment and already she had heard the most disturbing rumor. Jabami Yumeko, demon, Antichrist, what have you, had slithered up to (Y/n) like the snake she was and proposed a gamble!

Now, Sayaka’s feelings on (Y/n) had been… not so good in the past when she had first discovered the arrangement, but the girl had wormed her way into her heart, giving her the more direct praise and validation that Kirari was so stingy with. It also probably helped that she introduced Sayaka to her current therapist who in turn hooked Sayaka up with some really top tier medication.

Needless to say, the moment she heard (Y/n) and Yumeko’s name in the same sentence, she was bursting back into the student council room and falling over herself to tell Kirari.

“Really now?” Kirari rose from her chair, an easy smile spread across her blue stained lips. “This meeting can be picked up at a later date. I hope they haven’t started yet.”

“Are you going to stop them, President?” Sayaka asked hopefully.

“Oh Sayaka, of course not. I wish to observe.”

“Nyahahaha!” Runa laughed, “Alright, my interest is piqued too. Let’s see how the new girl holds against Yumeko.”

“Yumekooo!” Midari wailed, “I gotta see too!”

A majority of the council was curious and chose to follow Kirari and Sayaka through the halls, students parting like the Red Sea when they saw them coming. A frightening sight to behold. They sauntered into the library, found the correct study room, and crowded inside. Seating around the table, Yumeko had a crazed excitement about her, Mary was looking pale, and (Y/n) had her back to the new arrivals.

“Saotome is involved too? Oh, what a treat.” Kirari observed, “You couldn’t have found a better pair to test your gambling mettle against. Having fun, darling?”

(Y/n) slowly turned in her seat to look back at the invading council members and all but Kirari shuddered under her gaze and chilling smile. Apparently, (Y/n) was a pretty good match for Kirari after all. Though she seemed like a normal, easy-going girl on the surface, she could actually be quite vicious.

“Oh yeah, I’m having a great time. Yumeko and Mary put up quite a fight, but I think they are at the end of their rope.”

And sure enough, when the cards were cast to the table, (Y/n)’s were the highest possible combination, knocking both Mary and Yumeko’s out of the game.

“No…” Mary whispered, clenching her fists.

“We lost!” Yumeko’s heart was pounding, excited to hear exactly what it was she would be losing.

Before the game began, each girl had written down what they would make the others wager. Now was the moment of truth, what had (Y/n) forced Mary and Yumeko to wager.

“What have we lost, (Y/n), show us! I can’t wait another second!” Yumeko begged.

“Okayyyy,” (Y/n) peeled up a corner of the paper agonizingly slow and flipped it over. Mary and Yumeko leaned in to read, finding that they both owed… absolutely nothing. “There it is. You’re welcome. Try to mess with me like that again however, and I may not be so forgiving.”

Mary fell back against her chair, to emotionally exhausted to even feel relieved, while Yumeko slumped into her chair in disappointment.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you, but I should to get ready for class. Kirari,” (Y/n) turned to face her, looking much more unassuming than she had a few moments ago, “walk with me?”

“Always, but let’s go somewhere more exciting.”

The couple exited the study room together, leaving everyone behind in various states of shock.

“This is where we differ most. You could have taken them for all they had and more. I don’t know exactly what Yumeko was hoping for beyond a gamble, but Mary surely wanted to take everything from you.” Kirari pondered as they walked.

“I just don’t see the appeal. I’d feel bad taking from people who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.”

“Ah, but they should have known. You are my fiancée after all.”

“I guess you have a point.“ (Y/n) shrugged.

The couple made their way to the roof of the school and took off in Kirari’s private helicopter while rumors that the student council president and her fiancée were not as different as they initially seemed, spread. Not when it came to their gambling prowess anyway.

#kakegurui oneshots #kakegurui x reader #kirari momobami x reader #kirari x reader #kirari momobami #requests #anonymous

[rayshippouuchiha]

Tasea!

Okay so I just stumbled upon your Tasea au and it's living rent free in my mind.

Skull and Tsuna just living their best life while Hibari and Reborn are chewing glass is my favorite thing ever

Consider this:

Both Skull and Tsuna become ridiculous strong throughout this trip.

They don't even notice it.

It starts with casual convos about how they use flames, then experiments, light spars etc.

Turns out not being in mortal peril 24/7 does wonders for some people.

So from time to time, videos of them come to light, Tsunas twink ass obliterating someone in an arm wrestling match. Skull killing it in some weightlifting challenge or doing some insane acrobatics.

Videos of them sparring without flames in open parks or maybe being stumbled upon in abandoned warehouses.

Everyone who isn't Reborn or Hibari can actually see how good this is for them.

Gokudera keeps a collection of "Decimo being Amazing" pictures and videos he finds. That's his best friend after all!

Maybe Reborn would feel slightly jealous that even his teacher position was usurped, but he's kinda busy picking which leash he's going to put on Skull the moment he catches him.

Hibari is listening to Olivia Rodriguez during his speedrun of becoming the world most feared Hitman (only possible because Reborn is busy picking which tracker to put under Skulls skin once he finds him) in search of Tsuna

Sometimes, he picks a random grunt to ask for relationship advice.

I also like to think that as time goes on, a whole countersquad starts to form.

Like they notice that maybe they have some things to talk out, and that's why they keep searching, but they aren't per se helping Hibari or Reborn either.

But yeah anyway I love this au

I need a 100 chapter fic injected i to my veins pronto, but als I don't have that kind of talent... R.I.P

See, the thing is, it's not that Tsuna and Skull become ridiculously strong during their little vacation.

They're both already monstrously strong in their own right.

It's just that, for the first time since they were each dragged into this lifestyle kicking and screaming, they're spending time with someone who A.) learns in a similar fashion and B.) also understands what it's like to be given no choice about this entire thing.

So, for the first time, they're both ,,, comfortable.

Tsuna can ask questions without having to worry about dodging bullets or having to scream to be heard. Skull can impart his hard and bloodily won knowledge on someone without having to hear any "well actually" type bullshit because the way he uses his Flames is technically "wrong".

So of course that means they both start rapidly progressing.

Skull is able to describe things to Tsuna in terms that he understands and can actually visualize. Tsuna is so genuinely open to whatever it is that Skull's doing that Skull no longer feels the need to really hide.

Tsuna gets his hand-to-hand and acrobatic skills refined. Skull starts really opening up about what he's capable of.

They both refine how they look at and utilize their Flames.

They both stop caring about what everyone else is going to say/do.

On the opposite side of the situation, Reborn is ready to chew glass, Hibari is actively forcing other people to chew glass, and if Kusababe has to deal with Kyo-san turning to him one more time asking about why "the little animal fled" he's going to look into taking a vacation of his own.

The others, having now seen countless videos and photos of Skull and Tsuna taking the world by storm together, are starting to reevaluate what they think/know of the situation.

#RayRambles #KHR #Katekyo Hitman Reborn #Tsuna And Skull's Excellent Adventure AU

[daenerysies]

givemelibertypleasw is focusing too much on show fanon, not what’s actually in the books.

Both Criston and Otto made wild accusations about her killing her siblings but Rhaenyra was ready to forgive them because she saw them as victims of Hightower ambition. She only turned on them AFTER Luke’s murder, not before.

People forget how damaging the tarnish of kinslaying is in Westerosi culture. Rhaenyra would never start her Queenship with this because it would make people turn against her.

Daemon’s shown to be a wild card in the show because the dumbass writers think passive women = feminism. In the books he’s Rhaenyra’s attack dog, he doesn’t kill without her direct order e.g. Vaemond Velaryon. So no, he wouldn’t kill her siblings because like I said kinslaying is political suicide and Rhaenyra made no indication she blames her siblings for her crown being usurped.

imo I think she would still be against kinslaying despite Luke’s death if Aemond had been punished, instead Aegon II threw him a feast. How else would a grieving mother react?

She wouldn’t kill them but she’s also smart enough to know keeping them around will have long term repercussions, especially for Jace. What I can see her do is have Daeron and Aemond sent to the Wall or to the Citadel to become Septons/Maesters that way they automatically lose their claim. She’d do the same to Jaehaerys and Maelor when they come of age. As for Aegon he would be put under house arrest, similar to what Baelor I had done to his three sisters. Helaena isn’t a threat by herself and Jaehaera could be easily married off to Joffrey.

Point is Rhaenyra had options when it came to her siblings that didn’t involve kinslaying. Options she would’ve gone through with if it wasn’t for Luke and Jace’s death and the Greens subsequent reaction to said deaths.

i don’t have anything to add, this right here is exactly it.

#fire and blood #rhaenyra targaryen #pro rhaenyra targaryen #team black #anti team green #anti team green stans #faye answers #atopcat #it’s funny that in both the book AND the fuckass show #there is no evidence to support rhaenyra becoming a kinslayer #if no usurpation takes place

[daemon-in-my-head]

Listen, today is just one of those tinfoil days, but hear me out: Durgetash is far more fucked up than I first realised. I may be late to the party, but thinking about it, Durge is far too similar to Raphael for it to be a simple coincidence.

Both of them are the biggest nepo babies, one is a cambion that has powers far above what a cambion should have, thanks to being Mephistopheles heir, and the other is potentially immortal and made from the flesh and blood of a literal god.

Both have the biggest daddy issues you can imagine. Raphael tries to usurp Mephistopheles, and Durge tries his best to be a filial child. Both also suffer from their father's neglect while at the same time being stalked by them.

Both fuck(ed) weird things (sorry Harleep).

Both are unhappy being nepo babies, Raphael despises his dad, and Durge despises the one special thing he got from his dad, the urge.

Both struggle with their persona, Raphael refers to himself as a devil despite not being one, and Durge literally got so dehumanised his name is "the dark urge."

Both are native to Toril while being outsiders. Raphael is still a cambion so he's only half devil with a mortal mother, meanwhile durge lives on Toril but his blood and flesh aka everything physical is straight from Bhaal, who uses Gehenna as his home plane.

Both had their fathers plant servants in their life, once again, sorry, Harleep, and now also sorry, Sceleritas.

The name Raphael means "god has healed". Its also one of the names present in the bible, namely as the Archangel Raphael. Durge, by definition, can be considered an Aasimar, the FR equivalent to an angel.

Suddenly a sub Gortash has an entirely different flavour. Don't wanna say foster daddy issues but -

#i still wanna see the tyrant tied up like a xmas present tho #switches be switching what can i say #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #durgetash #gortash x durge #bg3 durge #durge #enver flymm