#beef sinew

[chuck-snowbug]

寒菊（日本酒／OCEAN99 白銀海 -Snow Sea- にごり無濾過生原酒）、牛すじ肉のトマトソース煮を用いた焼きそば、生ハムのサラダ。

Picture1-3: Kankiku(Japanese Sake) & Yakisoba with Beef Sinew Tomato Stew Dinner - November 2023

Picture 4: Leftover Breakfast feat. Penelope & Rodriguez, Next Day - November 2023

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#yakisoba #noodles #beef sinew #japanese sake #japanese food

[femmeboyhooters]

Anyone got tips on how to gain weight?

#everyone has told me if i wanna get pregnant i need some fat or at least meat on my bones to get my hormones up #pam said make mayo with coconut oil or beef fat and eat more butter #but i just keep losing weight #over the winter i gained 25 pounds and it's all gone now leaving me with nothing but sinew and bone #i dont feel too thin either but i know it'll help to fill out a bit more #i also have a food allergy that makes it impossible to eat anything i didnt personally make #my txt

[slaanxsh]

POV: *40 foot thwink calls your god a cockroach*

Ferzen’s taking their time with the Exalted Keeper of Secret voice lines towards the Chaos Dwarfs so I just, y’know. Took it upon myself.

It’s funny, she just straight up called their god a cockroach lmaoooooooo

#Slaaneshi daemons flaming the fuck outta everyone like usual #Slaanesh #warhammer fantasy #warhammer 3 #Sinewed Symphonies (Audio); #Pieces of Perfection (Keepers of Secrets); #just based on height alone you know the beef between Keepers and Chaos Dwarves is the realest shit ever

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Rape, assault, choking, slapping, suicidal thoughts, feelings of hopelessness.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, here is the next chapter.

I wanted to preface this by saying, please be cautious with the trigger warnings, it is going to be a heavy chapter. I also wanted to say, be kind in the comment sections and what you say, there may be survivors who read your words.

If you are at all triggered, please know that you are not alone, and that you are a survivor, and there are people you can talk to and get help with.

I think we all knew that this was coming, but even still, it feels wrong to say enjoy this time. Tread carefully, and be kind to yourself <3

Chapter 74: A Crown of Thorns 

Another day went by in your chambers, time moving at an odd pace. 

Sometimes it moved speedily, at others seemingly dragging on. You did not sleep that evening, sitting on the chaise as Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fireplace, continuing to whisper together until you had grown so used to their sound, that you did not find discomfort any longer. 

It grew to be a noise that was like a breeze outside the Keep, brushing against the windows or through the corridors, or the soft crackling of the fire.

A sound that blended into the background, like the waves that would crash against the cliff-face of Dragonstone, or the soft discernible buzzing of Flea Bottom.

There.

Inevitable.

Inescapable.

Despite being in the Keep for only a few of moons, you felt as though you had been there for a lifetime. It was a strangeness that you couldn’t shake off. And an uncomfortable reminder of how much time you had lost with your family. 

Another loss to never be gained again.

Your body had begun to feel weak, lack of sleep and proper meals scraping roughly against the sinews on your bones. You forced yourself to eat a meal, watched on by the maids that morning, concern evident in their eyes. 

You finished the bread on your plate, and the entirety of the sweet star fruit one of the girls had neatly cut up for you with your own knife and fork. You had even indulged in three slices of beef, and attempted to swallow a roasted tomato. But the tomato did not go down smoothly, its wet and slimy texture causing you to gag as soon as it hit the back of your throat. 

You had drank your tea under the eyes of the maids, who had whispered words of praise as you drank it, promising that it would make you feel better and that you should be yourself in no time. That Aemond would return soon, and perhaps they could escort you on a walk through the Gardens to lift your spirits.

They were kind. They were patient, and the walls that they had guarded themselves with when you first arrived had been lowered significantly. You even felt that they had come to care for you sincerely, and not just as a part of their duties. 

You missed Saria and Aella.

The meal had definitely helped your spirits, and your body felt slightly better being given some sustenance. Yet your mind was still raw, Helaena and Lucerys had been by your bed when you had woken, their whispers peeling back layers of dwindling resolve. 

Though as you had eaten, they had left from your sight, their whispering voices still ringing in your ears.

In truth, you were exhausted.

Mentally and physically.

It felt like an uphill battle. 

You would take two steps forward, and five steps back. Your mind waxing and waning through strong and brittle. Memories of the past striking fear seemingly out of nowhere at times, and storms of uncertainty racing you towards the edge of a cliff you knew there was no coming back from. 

But surely this was progress. 

The road to recovery was a long one, and although your side had healed, it still came to irritate you.

Where there was once an open wound, now sat puckered and scarred skin, still sensitive to the touch if you pressed it. Some days it would twinge, and small sparks of discomfort would rise up your ribs if you sat at an odd angle, bumped it against something, or even if one of your gowns was too tight across the new skin.

At moments like those, when your elbow would push pressure against it, or the side of the chaise would dig into it meanly, or Aemond’s hands would grasp or tease, you could feel the phantom pains of when it had once been opened. You could feel the way in which the new skin was now pulled taut by scars and ached at random.

Sometimes it even itched, and you had to gently let yourself rub the pads of your fingers, no nails, across it to soothe the irritation. 

The scar, you supposed, was similar to your mind. 

Though it had healed, there was still the presence of what had happened. There was still the pain and uncomfortability, the voices and visions, and reminders of the past whenever those corners of the mind were pressed or disturbed. 

Like your scar, if the wound was touched, even though healed, it would still offer a reaction. It would ache, or itch, or send panic rearing through you. And this was something that you hoped would heal with time. 

You just needed time.

And time was what you had, though the looming threat of Aegon did little to the scars on your psyche which were poked, and prodded, or scratched by the sharp nails of paranoia and justified rage.

You doubted the lacerations to your mind had even begun to heal, and if they had, any little progress they had made, any scabbing over, or the prospect of change had been picked away by the circumstances surrounding you. Relentless fingers pulling at the platelets that had formed over the injury, blood and memories spilling forth, setting you back to where you started from. 

The same open wound.

That evening, when the maids had come to your chambers, you had ate with little fuss, though your stomach cramped at suddenly being so full. You had nibbled at the warm bread and feasted on cooked potatoes and legumes. Even indulging in a goblet of wine, which somehow settled your nerves. 

A quick fix to a longer issue.

When you had finished your meal, the maids, who had not left the chambers as you ate, hovering about, pretending to tend to their duties, when in reality they were casting quick and short glance over their shoulders at you, readied you for bed. 

The vanity sat in front of you as one of the maids had begun to brush out your hair, combing it gently as she looked at your face in the reflection. A soft humming came from her chest as she worked, untangling your knots.

It was a tune that plucked a string of familiarity within you. A musical lilt that felt ancestral to its core, and you found that it calmed you almost immediately. 

There was something about it, something that made your brain tick.

You shifted in the green cushioned seat and looked the girl in the eyes.

“What are you humming?” You had asked, voice soft. 

The girl cleared her throat and stopped, “A daughters song, Princess.” She responded meekly.

“Would you sing it for me?”

You wished to hear it.

To feel it.

For it to drown out any whispers in the back of your head, or the corner of the room. You wished to hear it for what it was, to see if it did hold familiarity or if it was, like many things in that present moment, just in your head.

The girls hands stopped in your hair as she looked at you, before a blush spread over her cheeks. She looked down and then over her shoulder at the other maid, who had discontinued fluffing the same pillow she had been arranging for quite some time. 

Clearing her throat again, she nodded, “Yes, Princess.” And began unsteadily, as if nervous for your reaction, uncertain if she would be punished or berated. 

“Come now my daughter, come sit beside me, rolling green hills, and a mountain of flames,” She began, and you let yourself lean into her hands as she kept them threading through your hair.

“We sit one last time, two parts of the same, a curse to be born, a woman’s last name. A woman of duty, a wicked hearts game, a wife’s job is set, the children are tamed.” As she continued, you realised that you had not heard the song at all, though the melody reminded you of a memory you could not discern.

“The girls life is done, the woman’s life breathes, rise with the sun, and rest with its leave. Clipped of your wings, never to fly, a woman’s one job, is to let her man die.” The maid looked down, not meeting your eyes as her hands stilled in your locks.

As you made no move to punish her, or reprimand her, or even correct her, she continued, voice a fair bit more confident, though still soft and gentle, “We all face the fate, no woman can hide. The sins of the flesh, till the woman has died.”

You blinked sheepishly at the girl as she distracted herself with brushing your hair, not daring to look up at you.

“Why is that so familiar? Is it a Westerosi song?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. My mother used to sing it to me.”

“It is quite dark.” You mused softly, reflecting on the song.

‘Clipped of your wings, never to fly.’

“It is a song about becoming a woman, Princess. It is not an easy road, especially for common folk. It is a song sung to us to prepare us, should we ever be married.”

You hummed in agreement, “Thank you for sharing it with me. Is your mother-“

“Gone.” She uttered, voice hoarse with emotion, “A fever when I was a child, Your Grace.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. She sounded like a wise woman to sing it to you.”

“She was.” She smiled softly at you in the reflection. 

The smaller maid came to the both of your sides as the other took her hands from your hair, “Will you be needing anything else from us, Princess?” She asked.

“No, thank you both.” You smiled at them, though it twitched from strain, “You may rest for the evening.” 

As the girls turned to leave the chamber, a crawling sense of shame and realisation washed over you. 

“What are your names?” You called across the chambers, looking at how the two girls stopped to turn and face you, not looking down at their feet, but instead directly at you.

The eldest of girls who had mousy brown hair, and deep brown eyes, bowed her head as she spoke, “Amala, Your Grace.”

The youngest whose hair was a deep blonde, skin littered in freckles followed the other, bowing her head and looked down as she introduced herself, “Joanna, Princess.”

You smiled at the both of them, a genuine smile, and repeated their names on your tongue to the chambers. 

“Apologies for not asking sooner," You apologised sheepishly, "Thank you. You may leave.” 

The girls gave another short bow and smiled at you before leaving the chambers, the orange of their robes disappearing out the chamber doors. 

You sighed, back bending on the vanity chair as you relaxed without their presence. 

Exhaustion seeped into your bones, and your eyelids grew heavy with every breath you took. Looking across the room, Helaena and Lucerys stood by the fire watching you, mouths moving, and only snake-like hissing coming out as they whispered. 

Wearily you moved, and got into bed, promising yourself that you would only rest your eyes, if only for a moment, and then you could rise again and stay vigilant. Yet resolve flew out the window as soon as your leadened limbs laid on the plush down of the bed, and the soft doona was pulled over you. 

Laying your head on the pillow, you kept your eyes on the chamber doors and waited. But the wait was longer than your body could stand, and so your lids grew too heavy to hold open and slid shut, the depths of sleep dragging you under. 

Dreams of serpents surrounded you, their glistening yellow bellies and scales of emerald green shining against the stone floors. 

Jet black eyes stared at you as the largest of snakes rose its head. 

A forked tongue flicked out. The thin, pink muscle rattling in the air around you as it watched you with beady eyes, tasting the air.

Tasting you. 

It hissed, large fangs showing as it begun to curl around your feet, winding its way higher and higher up your body, its muscles constricting you. 

And yet there was nothing you could do, and nothing that you did do but watch as it wrapped around you higher and higher, pressing your arms to your side as it hissed in your ear. Your mind screamed at you to move, but your body refused, knowing that it could not escape its fate.

Knowing what was to come. 

Making peace with its own demise.

The serpent pulled back to look you in the eyes as it curled its body around you tighter. Its scaled gums pulled back, revealing rows of needled teeth as it grinned at you.

“He is coming.” It hissed, before striking forward towards your neck.

You woke with a start, a sharp biting pain on your flesh as you felt weight atop you. 

The chambers were dark, and all you could feel was your heavy limbs that were held down by a weight atop you. You jerked, breath coming out of you in a gasp as the feeling of teeth on your neck pushed you to the surface of consciousness.

Your heart galloped in your chest, beating against your ribs.

In the dim of the chambers, the teeth relinquished your neck, head rearing up to look down at you. 

There, above you, hands holding your arms down and thighs pinning your own beneath him, sat Aegon. His teeth shone in the night as he looked at you, canines glistening predatorily as he realised you had woken. 

Fear coursed through you as you began to thrash beneath him, desperate to get out of his grip as he held you down, his short wavy hair halo’d around his face. 

“Thought you’d never wake up.” He grinned excitedly.

“Get off me.” You growled, trying to shift your legs to knee him between his.

He tutted you with his tongue, cocking his head as his hands tightened around your arms, bruising the tender flesh, “That’s not very nice.”

“Fuck you. Let me go!” You yelled into the chambers, hips bucking up as cold dread settled over you. 

Please, Gods. Not this.

“Why do you fight this?” He mocked, “Why do you try to honour my brother when he fucks Alys? He has left you here,” A sick grin crawled wider across his face, “All alone.”

“Fuck you. Get off me! Kn-“ You began to call out to the knight for help, to see if he would respond, but Aegon’s hands lifted from your arms and pushed down on your throat roughly, pushing all air from your lungs and preventing the scream which had begun.

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing at him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to come in here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled, fingers tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin. 

Please Gods, have I not given enough?

Your hands flew up to grab his, nails digging into the skin as you desperately tried to pry them from your neck. The muscles in your back cramped painfully as you tried to push up and away, to throw him off of you, but the Kings hands did not relent, and the world around you began to fade into black, the chambers softly floating away.

You relaxed beneath him, mind going numb as his laughter faded, hands releasing slightly. Air rushed into your lungs as you coughed and spluttered beneath him. One of his hands slid down your body to yank your chemise up from your thighs. 

Grunting you tried to wriggle away from him, one hand lifting to try and claw at his face which he batted away with ease. His hand continued to pull up the chemise as you jerked in his hold, one hand still on your throat squeezing.

No. 

Gods, please, no.

Not him. 

Anyone but him.

“You know, I think I like it when you pretend that you don’t want me. The chase makes it far more enjoyable.” He purred, wine on his breath as it fanned over you. 

Your voice was trapped in your chest.

You wished to scream at him.

To tell him to get off you.

To cry for help.

But nothing came out. 

Aegon slapped your cheek playfully with one hand as he cooed at you.

“Should have taken you as my second wife, just as Aegon the First had. You and Helaena could have been sister-wives, and I could have watched you both swell with my seed.” He smiled, as you tried to push him back.

Aegon grabbed your throat roughly, pushing down, jolting your head and holding you, grin staring down at you in the dark of the chambers. The room dimmed as you struggled to breathe, legs kicking pitifully beneath you. 

And then you were floating. 

Not there in the room. 

Not beneath him.

Not feeling anything but the pain against your throat and an odd numbness that began to surround your body. You could hear the mumbled voice of Aegon, but it felt so far away. 

So far away. 

You felt like you were fading. Drifting, and drifting, like a ship sails the sea, bobbing atop the waves as it moved through crystal waters on its way to a destination, weightless and carried by the tide. 

But you didn’t know where your destination was, and instead you were being carried, drifting in gentle waves that told you not where you were going, moving you as you faded further and further into the darkness. 

Until you lifted away.

Gone. 

A weight moved across your body and the world came back around you, ears ringing as your body was jolted. A coldness spread down you as you slowly moved through the abyss and back to the room.

There was a voice, mumbling to you. 

But you didn’t want to leave the numbness and dark you had sunk into. You wanted to stay were you were. You wanted to keep your eyes shut and bask in it.

There was no pain there.

There was no fear there.

There was nothing.

Not even you.

You were so tired. 

Why wouldn’t they let you rest?

Someone was speaking to you.

Why wouldn’t they just let you sleep?

The pull on your throat steadily brought you to the present, and feeling shot back through your body. 

There are hands on you. 

Hands all over you. 

Hands touching you and pinching you. 

A hand slapping your face roughly, snapping you back into the room. 

Your eyes opened as Aegon sat atop of you, lips moving but you couldn’t hear a word he said, your ears ringing loudly in your skull. The world tilted and confusion rolled through you.

Your throat hurt.

Why did you throat hurt?

You groaned trying to shift him off of you. 

Why was he on top of you?

Aegon kept talking down at you, and as your body slowly came to be, and feeling moved back through your mind, you felt a rough pressure against one of your breasts as he squeezed it meanly in his hand.

You tried to squirm away from his grip, mumbling as he smiled at you. 

“Get… off me.” You uttered softly, still dizzy and unsure of what was happening.

Aegon knelt half on you, half off, his knee pressed down on your stomach, as one large hand pinched painfully at your nipple, and the other moved between your thighs. You jerked in his hold, trying to get out from beneath him as a large finger forced its way inside of you.

You cried out as he thrusted his hand into you painfully, not caring for your pain or confusion. Pain rippled up from between your thighs, his fingers scratching against you dryly. 

“Fuck you’re tight.” The King growled from above. 

The world tilted, and you felt as though you were to be sick as he continued to fuck his hand into you, the other rolled a stiff nipple between his fingers. Tears began to gather in your eyes as the world caught up around you and realisation sat in.

This was it.

You could scarcely move from your spot beneath him. Every jolt of his hand stirred your head and made you nauseous, and all you could do was whimper beneath him, desperate to not throw up. You thrashed on the bed, feeling his fingers slip out of you.

The hand on your breast moved back to your throat and squeezed. The chambers grew dark, and your vision blurred as you looked at Aegon. His figure slowly disappearing as you faded away again. 

You were so tired. 

If you closed your eyes maybe this wouldn’t be happening. 

If you closed your eyes, perhaps he would not be there anymore. 

Your eyelids grew heavy and slid shut, and you felt yourself fade away from the world again, drifting away on the waves that pulled you in with its tide. 

Please let me stay here.

Everything around you was black until it wasn’t, and you were blinking your eyes awake, a sharp pain blooming across your cheek.

“Stay with me, I want you to watch.” Aegon growled, as a tear slide down your cheek and onto the pillow below. 

“Aemond.” You whimpered, head fuzzy, fear mounting within you. 

Your heart was in your throat.

Fight back.

Fight back.

Where was Aemond? 

“Aemond isn’t here to stop me this time.” He purred, “I’m going to fuck an heir into you like he should have.”

“He’ll kill you.” You slurred, tongue heavy.

Aegon laughed earnestly, “He won’t. I’m his brother, and you’re nothing but his whore.”

A sob fell from your lips as he laughed in your face. Despair settled in the pit of your stomach.

The King adjusted himself atop you, slapping away your hands as you tried to push him off of you again, kicking your legs out underneath him weakly, sheets tangling at the end of the bed, raising your head to chase his hand as you tried to bite him. 

One knee slid between your thighs and then the other, parting you open for him as you tried to pull yourself up the bed and away. Aegon wrapped his hands around your throat again and squeezed, rutting his clothed cock against you roughly, enjoying the way you cried beneath him. 

Please, let it be over.

You felt yourself begin to drift away again before he let go of your throat, your head lulling to the side as your body jerked from lack of oxygen. Your uncle jerked his pants below his ass, pulling his cock free before leaning over you. He rubbed his tip along your entrance and you felt the urge to be sick. 

It was like the dungeons. 

The feel of the stone beneath you. The dampness of the room. The darkness of the cell. 

It all came rushing back as you sobbed beneath him.

“I’m going to fuck you, the way I should’ve in that cell.” He pushed forward, rubbing himself along you as you cried and clawed at his hands, “The way I should have when you first came back to Kings Landing.”

Aegon squeezed your throat, causing dots to form in your eyes as he forced you to stare at him, jerking your head. 

“I’m going to fuck an heir into your cunt, and watch you swell with my child.” 

Across the room, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena had quietened, and all you could hear was the heavy breathing of your uncle who began to force his way inside of you. 

Please, Gods, spare me.

You cried out in agony, sharp burning pain rippling through you as he forced himself through your folds dryly, huffing a laugh of pleasure as he pushed to his limit, seating himself inside. 

You felt yourself tear as he jolted you up the bed with his thrust, crying out in pain, splitting you open on his cock as your eyes scrunched shut. Your hands raised to claw at him again, trying to reach his face or chest, but Aegon’s hand around your neck tightened further.

This was it.

You wished you would die.

You wished he would kill you as you sobbed beneath him. 

You were so weak, too weak to fight back as he pulled back slowly, moaning as he went, looking down to where his cock speared you. There was a wetness between your thighs that you knew was blood, and you whimpered again as he slowly pushed back inside of you. 

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight for me. Are you sure you’re not a maiden? You’re bleeding on my cock like one.” He huffed, continuing to slowly push himself back inside of you, each and every inch of his cock sending agony racing up and down your spine as your legs were forced open beneath him.

“Aemond’s probably fucking a bastard into Alys right now as I fuck one into you.” He laughed, your heart clenching in your chest as you sobbed loudly into the chambers. 

“Don’t cry,” The King cooed, thrusting harder into you, “It is an honour to have my seed inside of you.” 

You coughed beneath him as he picked up his pace, pistoning his hips into yours, your body jolting beneath him. The pain never leaving you, and a sickness settling into your stomach. 

Please let me die. 

Please let me fade away.

Please Gods, take me away from here.

“Please.” You uttered. 

Please, Mercy?

Please, Gods, help me.

Please, Aemond, return to me.

Please.

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing through your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and his flesh slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs. 

And there was nothing you could do but endure.

As you always had.

It was only a matter of time.

This was inevitable, you told yourself. 

It was always to happen. 

You could never stop it. 

Aemond could never stop it. 

The Gods had made it so. 

It was to always happen.

Your head lulled to the side as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your walls painfully, your breasts jerking beneath him as he fucked you up the bed.

You silently cried as Aegon raped you mercilessly in Aemond’s and yours bed. 

Eyes looked anywhere but him, searching to be anywhere but beneath him. To feel anything but him tearing through your walls, or the way his cock bruised your cervix.

The fireplace was blurred, and beside it, two figures watching you.

Aegon’s pace began to increase, the bed creaking as you sobbed quietly and gagged, begging in your mind. You kept your eyes on your aunt and brother. 

Please, help me brother. 

Please, aunt. 

Please.

But they did not come to help. 

Nor did they whisper. 

Instead the pair watched on from the fireplace. 

Helaena’s face full of sorrow, and Lucerys’ of rage.

A numbness began to creep through your mind, the same numbness you had felt before. The numbness that had crawled through your veins at the night of the wedding, and instead of fighting it, you welcomed it with open arms. 

Take me.

Aegon became more vocal the closer he got to his release, his moans and groans cascading into the air as his thrusts became sloppier and more painful. You blinked into the dark, slumping in the bed as you prayed he would finish soon. 

That it would be over soon.

“Kepa.” You whimpered, calling out to your father that you knew could not hear you. 

That you knew could not help you. 

That you knew could not save you. 

Aegon groaned loudly, and suddenly it was over. 

He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt the heat of his seed begin to pool against your womb. Nausea rolled inside of you, and you retched loudly, feeling the food you had pitifully eaten begin to rise from your stomach. 

The weight of the King settled atop you as he laid his body down from exhaustion, cock still twitching inside of you.

Searing pain spread through your core as you blinked the tears away, still crying beneath him.

It was over. 

It was over.

It was over.

Aegon shifted, pulling his now soft cock from inside of you, a moan tumbling from his lips as a whimper escaped yours. 

You laid still, mind reeling, body frozen as he looked down at you. 

“Let us pray you birth a King’s bastard.” He snickered, your head still turned as you looked at the fireplace, Lucerys and Helaena watching on.

The tears continued to flow down your cheeks, and the familiar comfort of the murky tide rose to swallow you whole. It tugged you beneath its surface and dragged you under more rapidly than it had the first time, and you swam with it, diving down into the abyss.

And then it was quiet. 

And then it was still.

And then it was over. 

You do not know when Aegon had left, nor if he had left without a word. But your mind sought solace in the cold numbness that spread through you, and you let yourself drown in it, turning on your side to stare at the wall unblinking.

The sticky wetness of his seed and your blood on your thighs had begun to dry as your tears subsided. 

The pain still strummed inside of you, but it did not feel like you, it was as though you were experiencing someone else’s pain. It was unfamiliar. Alien.

Uncertain.

Soon, the room faded away, and the world around you fell silent, and all you could feel, was the feeling of not being. 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[alienpossession]

Body a Day 2: Orbs

When Abe pushed the 2 glowing orbs he found in the forest in his backyard to his chest, he was not thinking clearly. It's just, the squishy texture of the orbs enticed him to do so without much thinking behind it. When it somehow slid effortlessly inside him, Abe's body jolted in shock as the foreign materials merged with his body. The shock spread quickly to all the nerve ends in his body as he felt the delicious, orgasm-inducing, muscle growth happened. His skinny 135 lbs, 6'1 frame developed a network of muscle and sinew only seen in star athlete as his pecs beefed up significantly while the rest of his bony figure also gained massive boost. Biceps and triceps to match his pecs appeared out of nowhere while his ripped upper body now framed by thick shoulders and defined v-liner. The changes continued to both upwards and downwards as his massive upper frame now supported by columns of muscle and a pair of size 14's soles that is encased with distinct stench 24/7, while his face shifted to be more angular and yet radiating warmth as it is important for him to make people's guard down and lure them into the trap. It was a last second final alteration, as the orbs that planted its root within him finally reached his brain and altered him to be the proxy to do their Earthly biddings

Ever since that day, Abe, or Ape as his new gym buddies called him, slowly yet surely worked his way within human society as the perfect infiltrator. He's still human indeed, and he's getting more popular than ever due to his workout and sultry content on the side. But what the naked eyes failed to see is that he's already pushing more than enough orbs to take control of the gym as his real friends now occupied those gymgoers bodies.

In case of him not seeing the potential to convert the people into his friend's vessel, he will turn them instead to become a willing slave that will do anything to his wish, all he need to do is to let them worship his pecs and then squirt out the liquified version of the orbs to mindfuck the subject. It's definitely not a hard thing to do since a lot of people are intrigued by him and the prospect of getting a chance to worship him

#body a day #alien possession #male possession #alien expansion #alien mind control #alien transference #male muscle growth

[crazyheartfighter986]

SOME HEART-"BUFF GUY"-STORY 02

Some "buff guy/heart" - thingie. A quick, little something. What's included? A buff hunk training. What more could you want? 😉

The stud was training all night long, flexing and lifting, groaning and yelling in the gym. Muscles tightened and got bigger with each rep. At the end, his pecs and arms were filled with blood. Pumped to the limit. Right now, he felt like the biggest guy in the world. His third leg agreed.

He looked on in awe and pride as he flexed his arm. A mountain of hard, dense muscle formed. With his other hand, he traced the thick rivers he called "veins". So hot. His dick grew at the thought of getting even bigger.

Next, he started to grope his pecs. Big, round, rock-hard. Flexing them under his hands made his third leg slap against his abs. So much meat. So many striations.

Throb, throb, throb.

His third leg twitched up and down, but he tried to ignore it. Fuck, his legs could be tree trunks. Beef exploding out of every sinew. Quads looking massive. And the calves bulged out like two big hearts.

His heart was running a mile when he grabbed his dick and stroked it.

THUD-THUD-THUD!

Veins throbbed on every corner and the hard mass under his fingers made him even harder.

THUD-THUD-THUD!

Pecs bunch up, arms flex hard, abs tighten. When he stared into the mirrors, his heart skipped a beat. Here was a guy that could pull chicks AND hunks. More veins ran down his sweaty body.

THUD-THUD-THUD!

He grabbed his left nipple, fiddled with it. His pulse went into overdrive. Slamming like a boxer against his ribs. His fingers spread over the thick left pec, trying to catch each beat.

He couldn't hold back.

"BIGGER!", he thought.

He erupted.

And as the stud blew his load, his muscles grew bigger and harder and hotter.

Hair crept over his pecs and abs.

Even his heart became more muscular.

#cardiophile #original writing #short story #cardiophilia #heartbeat #bodybuilder #muscles #18+/21+ #adult stuff #heart

[the-rogue-that-goes-stab]

HORUS Tarrasque

Okay... Fine... I have a HORUS issue

Hey so, if any one is really squimish, might want to skip past this one, it's very... fleshy.

The Tarrasque has 3 main ideas: fleshy guy(TM), being so thicc you block hacking, and referencing Chaos Undivided.

The Tarrasque, named after the infamous DnD monster, is a size 3 lump of cancerous flesh stimulated and controlled with implanted electrical wiring. It's slow and doesn't have a reactor, it doesn't have a Heat Cap (or stress for that matter). As a result, as with every character without a Heat Cap, it takes energy damage when it receives Heat. To make this even more powerful, the Tarrasque has an altered trait based on the Balor's Regeneration. Justified by having a fucked up NEITH printer duplicating it's pilot cells, it has a Fleshy Regeneration that is slowed by taking energy damage and outright stops with burn (and structure loss like Balor). It even gains "armor" from this canonical regeneration; it regenerates so fast, it does so while being shot.

In a similar note, it also is Self Perpetuating.

Despite its "armor" value, the mech itself is Fragile as I don't imagine skin is not as protective as good old Steel. Also it doesn't have windows because if it did, the flesh would grow over it, and then you would have to try to remove it and there would be so much blood, just not worth the effort. Due to being Windowless, it has beefed up sensors with limited range: you can only draw line of sight out to your sensors (8) but it can't be reduced besides reducing your sensor range.

As for the fact that it's a blob of flesh given shape and movement through wires, it gets a smorgasbord of effects including giving difficulty to tech attacks against itself and to a greater degree it's allies; counting as a Biological character for any negative effects; and having 1/round resistance to self inflicted Energy damage.

Core power wise, the Tarrasque has a protocol that grants 4 armor and has resistances applied before armor until the end of the scene, as you overclock the regeneration to ridiculous levels.

License:

(LL1) Bile Launcher - projectile vomit a corrosive substance on someone with this Auxiliary sized Cannon. On crit, your target gets slogged down with the disgusting bile, becoming Slowed. Inspired by Grandpa Nurlge

(LL1) Quicktwitch Implant - by hijacking both the damage sensors and movement controls, the QTI forces its host to move when damage (1/turn) with an automatic reaction, useful to get around but potentially annoying. Inspired by Slaanesh.

(LL2) frame wow

(LL2) Brutish Maw - an indestructible heavy Melee weapon made from a hungering, fleshy mouth. Its Nip profile is deadly for biologicals and drones but ineffective to the superior armor of mechs (Archaic) however its charged Chomp attack does devastating damage. 1/scene, if this weapon makes a character lose structure, you get to regain 1. Loosely Khorne inspired, as the frame itself is already pretty Khornate.

(LL2) Bioelectric Module - use a full action to throw a bolt of bioelectricity at some fool. Roll 2d6. If you roll a 5+, yippee 1d3 AP energy damage to their face. 11+ 1d6 instead. If you roll doubles, you shock yourself for 1d3 but other effects resolve unless you become destroyed. This is totally not a mechanic rip from 9th edition

(LL3) BE'LAKOR-CLASS NHP - canonically a former water treatment plant NHP turned wrong by people wanting to make a ghost with the power to rip people's blood out of their bodies. While in development to this point, the project went under and the current BE'LAKOR is all that remains. Its blood bending is really low ranged tho so it can only manipulate the fluids of its own mech, creating a fog of coolant (or blood in Tarrasque's case) that stops hacking against characters in Burst 2 unless the attacker is in your sensor range.

(LL3) Sinew Corruption - have flesh burst from some one's hull. If they are unwilling they can resist with a system save. Regardless of whether willing or not they take chip AP kinetic damage and are now biological until the end of your next turn.

I probably will have to tune down the literal hotdog over time but for now it's my loveable, horrific flesh beast. (Oh yeah it's interior is rather... humid and red)

Also last minute inspo stuff, the anti hacking element of Tarrasque and its regeneration kind of add to a "unstoppable" vibe that comes from its namesake.

#lancer #lancer rpg #new stelia #homebrew #horus

[aching-tummies]

Midnight Symphony

Been busy the last few days. Family-friends decided to drop by last-minute and stay over for a weekend (it's summer, people travel). On top of that, I just got off of 3 straight days of working 9-10 hour shifts at work so I'm exhausted...but I’ve been dying to archive the amazing symphony I enjoyed last night.

Anyway...the impromptu guests as well as the busy work schedule and the fact that these guests ended up turning meals into a huge deal (when I was around for them) meant that the last five days have wreaked havok on my stomach.

It started maybe two days before the guests arrived. One of my family members was really nervous about cooking for the guests so they did trial-runs and fine-tuned a specific dish until they got it right...with us eating the results. So...two days of beef something-or-other reheated over and over for dinner and lunch (packed lunch at work too). Beef is alright and I usually love it...but three days in a row was overkill and my poor stomach eventually had trouble with all the fatty sinew-y red-meat causing days worth of digestive issues. The day after the "real thing" with the beef, guests decided it was all about sushi...so I came home from a 10 hour shift to a bunch of raw fish and a boba that had sat in the fridge for half the day, waiting for me to come home 'cuz they all got boba and didn't want to leave me out even though I was at work. And...yeah...due to the long hours and being kept up entertaining our guests and ensuring they had everything in order for a comfortable stay, I was basically running on coffee and cola all day at work...so by the time I came home (late), I was not expecting a full dinner and dairy-packed boba on top of a stomach that was already pretty full-up from cola.

Sushi night was last night and I couldn't sleep because my stomach was gurgling louder than I've ever heard it before. I'm so glad I bought a cheap stethoscope a while back, but honestly, wouldn't have needed it to hear the racket my poor, overworked guts were making. I finished eating around 10PM and entertained the guests until about 1AM--pouring drinks, watching TV, chatting, etc. So it was around 1:30 when I got to bed. The second I laid down, my guts let out a distressed gurgle. I immediately got my stethoscope out and pushed it to my left side, between my navel and my stomach-organ. I could hear my poor digestive system still working hard--hours after the meal. It came in waves, I could hear liquidy gurgles and feel a squirming in my guts...what I assume was a torrent of chyme or whatever being pushed around in my digestive tract. I'd feel something convulsing and then hear the liquidy gurgle as something was squirted into my intestines. And the gurgles snaked around my stomach. If someone wanted to, they could have probably mapped out my intestines just by following the sequence of gurgles that churned through my intestines.

I basically spent from 1:30AM-4:45AM pushing the stethoscope around my belly and triggering wet gurgles and revelling in the sensations as I literally felt digestion happening. The gurgles were ridiculously audible even without the stethoscope (the scope definitely helped, and having the diaphragm pressed deeply into my guts definitely irritated my guts to no end, likely causing more of those distressed gurgles than would have sounded naturally.

#upset stomach #stomach gurgles #stomach noises #digestion #tummy kink #tummy ache #stethoscope tummy

[southern-god1]

I'm 19 and i currently live in Illinois, I consider myself more of a city person and prefer cold weather however growing up i moved around a lot but consider South Carolina my home state.

Can i be considered worthy of southernization?

You stared at the wine glass suspiciously. Was this a trick? The waiter hadn’t carded you, and delivered it without a word, simply saying it was a Southern Vineyards scuppernong wine.

You tentatively took a sip, and found it sweet, nice. You took another sip, and felt very warm, a warmth that was more intense than any alcohol could ever cause. Your body felt warm, and as you took another sip, you felt the heat grow more intense, heating up, making you sweat. But it wasn’t coming from outside, it was emanating from within you, the warmth of the hot Southern Sun filling you, seeping into all the cracks, filling the sinews of your muscles and the marrow of your bones. Your bones popped and snapped as they stretched taller, become stronger to handle your newly muscled but beefy frame. Your muscles swell and expand, a nice layer of beef forming over them too, getting you up to a solid 200 pounds of muscle and beef. Your jaw itches furiously as a nice beard develops.

As your body changes, so did your mind. You became older, having already went to college, going to USC for business, and joining a frat, dominating Yankees. Memories of moving around? No, why would ever move? You were a big ole South Carolina boy. Those were memories of business trips, going around and buying out struggling Yankee companies and installing your Southern frat bros from Alpha Alpha Alpha as the bosses, producing Southern products like beer, bullets, and boots instead of green juice, organic smoothies, and high heels.

Your Yankee employees are paid barely enough to survive, while Southerners get paid tons, especially your frat bros. After all, business (like life) is meant to be a pyramid: Southern studs at the top, puny Yankees at the bottom. You’ll show up at a business and declare that your buying it out effective immediately. There will be no option to leave, and everyone will be taking pay cuts so you can extract more money from the undeserving Yankees. If the owners resist…well, you still have your TF powers (in fact, they’re probably stronger now, since every Southern stud can do basic TFs), and you’ve made good use of them. That whole outfit is made up of TFed Yankees who refused your generous offers: their companies and all their money in exchange for letting them remain human. They obviously didn’t believe you, until you had turned them into your ties, shirts hugging your beefy chest, pants tight against your strong ass, socks and dress shoes on your big feet, watches, belts, everything a strong Southern gentleman like you needs for success.

You paid the check and strode out to your car, ready to go initiate another hostile takeover. You almost hoped the owner tried to resist: you could use a new watch.

Hope you liked it! Figured I’d preserve the city boy stuff by making you into a Southern gentleman business stud. Haven’t done many Southern gentleman TFs, hope it turned out good!

#ask #southernization #southern vineyards

[ask-spidermom]

well I had a dream I was trapped within some strange, labyrinthine location with many other people. there was a creature of crimson sinew that looked like at least three humanoid figures grotesquely fused. worst of all there was this annoying guy (just regular) in the maze that was beefing with me for some reason

#spidermom.txt

[chuck-snowbug]

赤きのこさん付きの、新政コスモス（日本酒）二種飲み比べ（秋櫻 ２０２１ 21CCM-10 木桶36+37号 & 秋櫻 ２０２２ 22CCM-02 木桶17+18号）、牛すじ肉の中国醤油煮を用いた焼きそば、サラミサラダ、各種きのこの炒めものの冷製。

Two Kinds of Aramasa/Cosmos(Japanese Sake) feat. Red Mushroom from Colorful Mushrooms & Yakisoba with Beef Sinew Stew Dinner - April 2023

Previous Post:

https://chuck-snowbug.tumblr.com/post/713612419071655936

#japanese sake #japanese food #yakisoba #noodles #beef sinew

[shimmerbeasts]

@moxxee liked for a Halloween-esque festival in Zaun starter.

"Careful, Yordle. It is still hot. Boss."

With these words, Sevika handed Silco and the small Yordle-esque creature a stick with roasted and sizzling meat each. The Undercity rarely splurged when it came to meat. In fact, most folks were used to eating fish, crabs, the occasional birds, and mussels daily. Sometimes, a Zaunite would manage to sneak in a rat or even a whump into their diet. However, mammalian meat was a rarity in Zaun. Unless you counted the cannibalism, its people practised, even though nobody talked about it.

The only time, where you might find beef or pig meat in Zaun, was during festivals such as this. However, even then, compared to its big sister Piltover, the Undercity had to settle for cheaper quality in its meat, often sinew or fatty and tough to chew. Still, given how rarely most of these men got to taste red or white meat, they welcomed it after their diet of seafood all the more.

"Thank you, Sevika."

Silco took the roasted skewer from her hands. The two Zaunites were donning the traditional elements of the festival: Nails and canine teeth painted scarlet while the remaining teeth donned a different colour. For Silco, it was black. Sevika had picked an unsavoury-looking yellow. His deputy's metal arm was covered in scribbles of blood. No doubt, Jinx had been allowed to decorate the arm, solely for the purpose of this festival. Silco himself had added some blood splatters to one of his sides, however, he had not gone as overboard as others did tonight.

The loud bangs of firecrackers and small rockets disrupted the chilly night once every while. Fires crackled in some of the bins. The thick smoke hounded the streets and once every while, a V coil hit some wet metal unexpectedly, setting a cascade of sparks up into the air. Swaying crowds trotted around in the dim light and little groups gathered around storytellers, who illustrated horrifying tales of monsters and men with broad sweeps of their hands. Some people queued up for a skewer or some punch. Children were running around between them, laughing loudly, and chasing each other with a dead fish head in hand.

Silco swallowed a mouthful of meat and looked down at Moxxie. "How are you holding up, Moxxie? Nothing too loud for you?", he inquired.

#moxxee #rp: skewers and fire in bins #break you or forge you into something greater: silco interaction #Default Verse[Silco] #things changed since you left: queue

[ruiniel]

No Might nor Mercy

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Sauron, Amarië

Relationship: Amarië/Sauron (past)

Rating: M / 18+

Count: 3.5k

Summary: This is an older piece I rewrote and resurrected. Starring Amarië of the Vanyar and Sauron being an utter creep. Very AU. Very headcanon. Please heed the tags.

After his storming of Tol Sirion, Sauron watches the prisoners being dragged into Angband.

Additional tags: Angst, Psychological Torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Depictions of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cruelty, Crack Relationship, What Ruiniel writes when they're off her pills, Past Relationship, Horror, Choking, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angband, Torture, POV Alternating which I'm too m e h to fix up, Older fic, Darkfic, Finrod's usually got beef with Sauron why not her, My only excuse is I labeled/tagged this as well as I could don't @ m e , Actually no excuse you should know this by now, My Sauron differs from fic to fic, But he'll always be cruel :/, Imprisonment

Also on AO3

He watched the incoming tide of prisoners, heaps of sinew and bone, fodder swallowed by the Great Gate. He watched, an unmovable monolith looming over the world from atop the tallest mountains of waste. His sight discerned all from his place upon the highest of the three peaks amid the crimson fumes rising in angry gusts, threading viciously through his unbound hair.

He smiled. For the recent victory upon their foe which he'd so triumphantly directed. For the hopelessness lining the faces of those fallen to his rule. Those who had opposed his will, his allegiance, the spawns and willing servants of the scourges stumbling from the cowardly West. Where once they laid honors at his feet and sought his counsel, now their hallowed lips would curl in disgust, their serene faces strained in revulsion at the mere mention of his name.

Good. All fools to never know the taste of true, endless freedom, and that they should witness the might of it here, as they drew their last breath, seemed only fitting. And he would enjoy it. Clawed fist clenching, he delightedly recalled the uplifting melody of their wails, the odes of their shrieks. He would watch, feed on the breaking of their spirits into crumbling stardust until naught but the husk remained - for that was of most use to him here.

All these roiling thoughts were chief in his mind as smoldering eyes followed the prisoners being marched through the gates, forced up the pyramid of stairs leading to their fates. Some would be put to work in the smithies, others would be fodder for beasts. Most would undergo the process of being turned, efficiently devised by his Master, and perfected by him.

Putrid winds retched their dissonant tunes, sending russet strands astray. Black robes coiling around his tense frame like snakes, he watched until the last of the prisoners trudged inside before making his descent, intent on being there to savor the fresh scent of agony and disbelief. 

Agony that was once his own, caused by an endless yearning for more. One They had opposed and banned for its discordance, as they did his Master. One that clove his spirit when the Maia was still a young and hopeful servant. And how he secretly wallowed in the depths of his own nameless desire, hidden from all so They would not see. So They would not sense the seed of it growing and taking hold, shearing and dividing him. And so Melkor found him, fed him power and determination.

The abyss of his mind dreaded to remember those days, when the light of the Trees bared the innermost recesses of spirits for all to witness. It had been the hardest toil to hide his goals, but now he was free of it, free of the vicious delving once bleeding him dry of all he came to deem true and worthy.

Brow knit, he reached the lower levels and paced through the great tunnel. His eyes flashed at the fresh murmurs of misery, so known to him by now. The air burned, unbearably hot for anyone not of this place. It flared from the blast furnaces and smithies to the sharp spires of the smoke-choked towers. His measured stride took him to the slave quarters, where gaolers were whipping their quarry into an array of coarse holes barred in iron.

Melkor was keeping to his own devices, pursuing the Secondborn awakened by the will of the One. His lip twitched in disgust. More fodder. But for now, Angband was left for his lieutenant to mind, which in truth, bore little difference to the usual way of things. 

Reaching the bottom of the stone stairs he stood at ease, observing the beings he had grown to abhor. Lithe and weakened by the harsh march, they were being crushed into the recesses of long lines of caves hewn into the wide underground space. Pleasure rushed through him as he watched them being beaten, whipped, branded. The orc, once their brethren, could see no further than the nether of their corroded spirits; ones he and his master had so irreparably twisted into oblivion that nothing but pain and chaos could appease the hungry fire driving them.

The pale one waited, reveling in the anguish suffusing the air. His desire flared with the lengthening intensity of it all, music higher and of more transcending power to his senses than even the first Music he witnessed in times immemorial; forgotten but for sparse, stubborn fragments lingering against his better efforts like deeply embedded shards.

It had been too easy. His tactical prowess proved itself yet again through the swift, brutal storming of Tol Sirion. He bore down upon them with his werewolves, dispersing all wills and throwing their meager display of courage to the wind. Now it was subdued to his will, and the western pass of the river Sirion belonged to his master; as the world itself would, ere the end, but more fool the victor lazing on the trimmings of success. There was yet more work to be done, much more to be woven and with much care.

His vision narrowed upon the wearied prisoners. Most of the creatures were imprisoned now, drawing into one another in their ragged states. All-seeing eyes straying over anguished, stricken faces, he was about to turn away.

But found he could not. 

What he saw, swallowed his initial intent. Brow furrowing further and on strange impulse, his thunderous steps drew closer to the pens. 

Two orc were blocking most of his view, seemingly intent on laying thorny whips upon the object of his interest. Surroundings dimmed around him as the lieutenant came to stand behind his minions. 

"Out of my way," he ordered lowly in Black Speech, glaring down at them with his hands clasped behind his back. He did not raise his voice, he did not need to.

The soldiers grunted, startled by the sudden presence of their master and swiftly stood aside.

What was revealed to him caused an odd spike of awareness, a stir within concealed recesses. What he saw, made his insides boil as his mind strayed to a buried, long abandoned existence.

She knelt, weeping with her head bowed, arms wrapped around herself. Her long, golden hair billowed down her shoulders to her ankles, its shine marred by blood and dirt. Her garment was tattered, and bruises bloomed on her arms and legs, feet bare and covered in sweltering wounds. The cloth upon her had been torn just as his servants were preparing to whip her into subservience.

A deep, sordid ire filled with the knowledge of memory burst through his mind, and threatened to suffocate. Unwilling, yet he could not look away. In remembrance his face turned terrible, memories past flickering behind his eyes.

Sensing the momentary lapse in abuse from the orc, with her last remaining strength the Elf woman raised her gaze to look upon his face, and he was left staring into deep blue depths.

"...Mairon?" she whispered disbelievingly, both sorrowful and lost, and at the fear in her eyes his fury flared higher than the flames of the Valaraukar.

She ought to be afraid. His lips quivered at the name he'd not heard for what seemed like an eternity. He uttered the following word infused with resentment, giving voice to a language he had not used, had refused to use ever since his plunge into the depths of knowledge and exile. He did not wish to say it, to burn his lips on the loathsome sounds. And yet, he did. His voice came as a whispered threat, a chill of ages past. 

"Amarië."

The Elf gaped at him towering over her, observing her with that heinous, flaming gaze. Eyes once reflecting goodness and mirth, now sunken and shadowed with malice, void of life as all knew it.

Once, she had watched him. The mightiest among the Maiar of the One he had been, so imbued with His greatness that all revered him and sought him wherever he went. Nothing less than perfection ever came of his hands, and all he touched turned to gold to the fascination of all. She had always admired his love of order in all things, and how he permitted no wastefulness in his endeavors. Ever-bright, searing light shone through his eyes and there was none more cherished in the house of Aulë.

And he had watched her. In the forgotten realm, there were none more majestic than the Valar. But when Amarië saw him, reveling in his stunning russet glory, the movements of Eä seemed to cease, the circles of the world slowed and nothing kept her adrift but his eyes.

They would often meet at the base of the Trees and she would listen to his plans and tales of what had been, and what was to come. And he would linger on her features when she spoke, and his fair face would be ever smiling when they were together.

But then, as with all things that ever were and ever will be, change was wont to happen. As all beings, even those of divine nature are capable of many degrees of error and failing. Gradually, he ceased searching for her. It was the first time she had known pain then, when the Elf looked upon his face and saw a sliver of shadow, foreign and deep, slithering beneath his once peaceful features. With great sorrow she learned his heart was turned and fear had gripped her, and she fled.

She fled, and he did not follow. Amarië said nothing of it to the others, and later she blamed herself for her cowardice. Perhaps it could all have been different. But what use was there for regret? The brilliant Maia had gone to follow another master, one opposed to the very life which thrummed in Eä, waging war upon Creation. Why he did so, she could not fathom, but he had done deeds that haunted her ever after upon hearing them, and her grief increased tenfold when thoughts strayed to how gentle and kind his former self had once been. How the Elf had felt him so near, so powerful and animated in all that he achieved.

Now a warped memory stood before her, clad in his fair form, his burnished hair a flowing river of fire, taller than Amarië ever remembered him. Eyes of golden red mercilessly bored into hers. His fair form still, yet a fathomless shadow enveloped him, and he reveled in its potency. His light had long been extinguished. His ominous presence engulfed her, striking daggers of fear by the cruelty of his mien.

An eternity passed with the silence as she cowered on her bruised knees, tortured by fatigue, gaze locked with his. Amarië lowered her eyes, unable to look upon what he'd become. 

She flinched when sooted, clawed fingers tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his stare. His touch was withering, cold. A deathly cold seeping through her, wringing a gasp at the painful tear it wreaked within.

He kept her locked in the depths of his flaring gaze, but the Elf could not guess as to what lay beyond it. Then, eyes never leaving hers, the lieutenant of Angband spoke two words to his servants in Black Speech.

"Bring her." 

He sharply turned away and the Elf was forced to her feet, dragged through the pyramid of roughly hewn stairs within the rotting bowels of Angband. Her body trembled at the slimy touch of the orc, at the sights within this place. The cries and blood-curdling moans, the all-consuming heat, the sickening, biting fumes. Her kin, torn and ragged and hurting.

Meanwhile, as he strode towards their destination, the Maia pondered. Hated recollections kindled, he bitterly recalled her face, once upon a time. Eagerly absorbing him and his words, always reluctant to leave his side. Something terrible irked him, thrashed through his normally well adjusted and calculating mind. 

What had possessed her to leave Valinor for the darkness and tumult of Beleriand? Last he knew of her, she had taken to that righteous Noldo fool, who followed his kin in exile. 

Ah.

He grinned. What to do with her now? Why had he not left her there, and told the wretches to burn the sign of Angband into her back?

Curiosity. That was why. It was peculiar indeed. And there was her fëa, pure and luscious prey to his thirst, a delight as he breathed her fear. He would enjoy breaking her, throwing her to the winds of Thangorodrim. She once ran, disgusted by what he had discovered of his truth. Well, she could not run now. Now, she was his; in a manner of speaking.

They reached his abode, a place hewn into the terrace of the middle peak of debris crowning the fortress. It was dark but for the dread twilight reaching through the windowless open space to one side, where Dorthonion and Anfauglith loomed in the distance. He paced towards a roughly carved seat of sorts while they threw the Elf inside, and the heavy metal doors rang shut behind them. Now they were alone; she was alone.

A brief, sudden movement flashed before her eyes, and Amarië unwittingly took a step back. 

The apparition wove itself around his throne, its naked form splayed above her master. It had the body of a youthful woman, but its skin was of a bruised, greenish shade, its hair of midnight. Great webbed wings spread like hunger as it eyed the newcomer with a keen, snakelike glare.

"What have you brought us?" it hissed, baring long, needle-point fangs.

"Thuringwethil, away," he snarled with a sharp tilt of his head.

The creature started, frowned and threw the frightened Elf a baleful look, but bowed and receded into the shadows from whence it came.

Vaguely Amarië wondered whether there was any sort of mercy left in him to grant her a quick death, but when the Elf saw his face any hope of the sort withered like the ashes of a spent pyre.

"Step forward," he bade, his gaze elsewhere. It was not a request.

The Elf shifted closer on her wounded feet, heart crushing her ribs in bloodied stutters. As Amarië came to stand before him she prayed to the One, to any who would hear. 

"You came for him, here?" His long fingers drummed a sickening echo against the stone armrest, his smile an awful, despicable thing. He spoke her language to perfection as he always had, and it killed her inside.

"Y-yes," the Elf choked. "In Tol Sirion."

"Quaint," the Maia offered. "And utterly foolish." Fingers tapped, tapped, tapped their maddening rhythm. "How."

"I was allowed… special dispensation, and," she shivered and coughed as fumes grew thick in the air between them, "p-provided passage, a vessel…with others..."

A line twitched in his jaw, and vileness coated his voice. "And he was not there," he concluded. The Maia looked down at his lap, appearing thoughtful.

Amarië shook her head, hoping for this to pass soon, over and done with, for peace to rain upon her once this trial was complete. But his following words left her breathless, and her hope crumbled into dust.

"Undress."

She looked to him pleadingly, arms wrapped around herself. Amarië knew not what she had anticipated of him, but it was not this. Her voice came faint and shaking with despair. "P-please."

His gaze snapped upward. He leaned forward in his seat with narrowed eyes, and the stone edges cracked beneath his grip on either side. "Do it," he hissed in Vanyarin, though it seared his tongue to speak it. "Or I will have her do it for you," he jerked his chin towards the glow of eyes gleaming like blades in the nethers.

The vampire emerged anew, robed in shadows, nearing the willowy prisoner. It grasped her and brought its face into hers even as the Elf drew away with a broken whimper. Its nostrils flared, and its lips curled as it breathed the foreign scent. "Fearful blood," the vampire crooned in Black Speech. The Elf gasped when it trapped her shoulders, roughly yanking her hair back to expose the thrumming lifebeat at her neck.

"Enough!" he growled, fist striking into stone. "You," his eyes bore onto the vampire, "Begone."

A shadow shifted as swift as a gust of wind and Amarië found herself alone once more. With him.

The lord of wolves observed her blankly for yet some time before rising from his seat, slowly making his way to her with a languorous, predatory gait. Amarië faced him, steadfast and unwavering, though fatigue had weakened her past a point of endurance.

"I am waiting," he muttered once more in her tongue, black boots sleeking over adamant floors as he circled her. "And as all know, it is most unwise to keep me waiting," the dread captain of Morgoth added in silk dripping poison, his bloodlust rising steadily at the sight of her. They were all such weaklings, the Children. 

Grimacing in distress and with trembling fingers, Amarië might have done as he asked, if not for the sliver of dignity left to her, the same that kept her alive through that hellish, grueling march.

The Maia watched her shaking hands freeze in the motion of unlacing her filthy, torn robes, but not before exposing small, tense shoulders.

"No." Faint, barely croaked, but steady. 

He raised an eyebrow, stopping before her with a metallic hiss of his boots. "...No?" His voice dripped perilous kindness again. Perfect, bloodless lips revealed straight, pearly teeth.

The Elf blinked at him through reddened eyes swollen with fatigue. She merely shook her head. "Mairon, I beg you... once, we have been so… so close..." 

"Dare not use that name again!" the pale one rebutted, the smile falling, eyes hard on her, and the flames in them seemed to burn away at his face. 

For one heartstopping breath, the Elf thought she saw a skinless horror. The shadows roiling about him weakened her resolve. She gasped as unseen claws clutched at her throat, crumpled on herself at the sting in her protesting, burning lungs; through her swimming vision she barely saw him, and her chest heaved for air. 

Blankly he watched as she choked on his power. "I know what your kind call me now," the Maia spat, the flames receding, and a rictus cut his face as he fed on the crest of that delectable anguish. "A long forgotten word and ashes for memories will not be your talisman. There is no escape, Amarië." And there would not be.

She hunched her shoulders forward, knees weakening, gasping for pitiful little breaths even as the deathgrip on her windpipe suddenly eased and her body slumped forward; the Elf sank to her knees, thin hands clasped together in supplication. "Please, please send me… send me to Mandos. Please. A last...a last kindness. Once. It is all I ask."

The words had been feeble, but he heard them well enough. "Send you to…" the rictus drowned in fellfire. Kindness?

Kindness?

How dare she ask such a thing of him? How dare she presume to merit such grace, or that he'd be willing to grant it? Freedom for them was an unknown concept here, and the Maia was determined to keep it that way. 

Wrath changed his face, and leaden fright tumbled down her innards, clogging her veins, trapping her limbs. He looked a true creature of the void, hideous and bound in hate, no matter the translucent fairness of his features and the sheen of his liquid copper hair, now snapping around his neck and face with the harsh winds roaring from the wastes without. The ground was hard and unforgiving on her knees, and the Elf shivered despite the heat rising from the lower levels of the fortress.

"Unfortunately for you," Sauron spoke, a veneer of calm shrouding his countenance as he gazed to the ravaged lands beyond, "the rights to your own person have been forfeit, until such time as I deem suitable," he drawled in a mockery of regret.

His words were hollow to her ears, his face bored, and with wretched clarity Amarië then recalled how his voice had sounded once - nothing like this. And no sooner did his utterance gain meaning than she lifted her weary head, only to see him retake his seat, lounging as if deep in thought. The Elf flinched when sharply he struck the armrest twice. 

The doors burst open, revealing a burly orc standing to attention.

"Wait!" Amarië tried, her eyes beseeching, desperation hurling words in a fast stream past her dry lips. "What will you do? Where will you take me?" She failed to struggle against the heavy talons, and so slumped in the orc's grip as one depleted.

He watched her strife with cool indifference, then averted his gaze to the ashen plains. At one curt motion of his hand Amarië was roughly dragged away, and the great doors groaned shut. Gone was the sight of her, the whimpering and the scent of her fear. Relieved, the Maia watched the arid barrenness yawning before him for a long while.

 "Oh, Amarië," Sauron spoke, his blazing eyes dimmed to embers, lingering on the vast emptiness that stretched ahead. "There is so much for you to see here." 

#sauron x amarie #sort of #sauron #amarie #silmarillion fanfiction #ruiniel:fanfiction

[wolvencode]

WOO DOHWAN CIS MAN HE&HIM / according to local gossip , DONGHOON CHWE  has been seen wandering the night court for  one hundred and thirty four years. i’ve been told from court spies that the one hundred thirty four year old is rather solitary but also honourable. the lord is the talk of the town and has often been associated with a cape of thick fur, the steady beating of hooves, hearth-forged steel . let’s hope they can survive this impending war. ( FOX / HE/HIM / EST / NONE )

THEY WERE BORN, a duo furled in the elder’s velvet wings—a chord struck, the chwe twins destined inseparable. the boy was donghoon, though rarely ever regarded as such, hoon took preference amongst those who need not refer to him by the styles he was gilded with in the night court. 

it was clear by his third month that his wings were damaged—atrophied, uncooperative limbs that were unsuited for flight. they were bound, then, while he was still a nymph. his mother takes him out on horseback, high into the mountains, where he could bury his small face in the dirt and weep until it was mud.

a blade. swift through sinew, untying the muscles and bone that held his weak wings, and in small plots the flesh is laid to rest. 

it was not a loss. hoon could not mourn for something he had never had, and fae of the day court made quick work of the wounds so that they wept no more.

the eldest son was due to inherit the high lordship, leaving the younger siblings to sprawl into their own places outside of the court. a fiercely competent fighter from the beginning, hoon found his place in the city watch in his adolescence, but chose instead to spend half the year illyria, training and roaming from war-band to war-band. 

bloodshed was inevitable, and though he was no tyrant, he found his place on the battlefield. he cultivated an immense pack of night wilds direwolves while living in illyria that he brought back to lunis in the warmer months. traipsing back into the city on horseback, trailed by wolves, combined with a pronounced dislike for courtlife gave him a reputation that was unshakeable.

connections. 

- night court so obviously.,.,. there are connections there :D - has travelled across vessir as a messenger, envoy and a combatant. beef to be had EVERYWHERE really. -is still flanked by 30-40 feral hogs direwolves and has resting bitch face but hes actually. not mean. just. constipated :D -deeply devoted to his family so if u have beef with the night court (understandable) u will also have beef with him and he will stare u down. -gihyuns older brother. twin moment.

#calamityintro #fuck this shit #will revise as needed #or not #willing to go off of vibes #or establish something i do NOT mind :3

[nvrcmplt]

Tzvult can not bring himself to eat anything with a string-y meat sinew / texture. It's not possible after witnessing the aftermath of his Kingdom's ruin. Heavy meats like beef, lamb and venision are his main go toos. Chicken is hit and miss, he tends to enjoy thigh meat than breast or wing from them.

#« ( Tzvult ) » HC.

[btransplant]

Ten horror movie subgenres as snack foods.

Horror movies and junk food go together like Doctor Frankenstein and malpractice suits. With that in mind, here's a list of ten different horror genres, and which junk food they correspond to.

1. Slashers

Slashers are just like potato chips. Sure, you can get them with all sorts of flavors. But they pretty much all have the same basic "recipe" underneath. Someone might try to innovate a "low-fat" variety, or bake them instead of fry them, but ultimately it's just an old-fashioned standard. Nothing wrong with that. If it isn't broke, don't fix it.

2. Vampire films

Vampire films are totally rye chips. You can pretend you're classy while you're consuming these. And they pair well with cheese. But at the end of the day, you're still just snacking.

3. Found footage

Just like pretzels, they come in several shapes, sizes, and even flavors. But much like the slasher film, they all more-or-less follow the same formula. And they leave some people feeling irrationally salty. Ignore them, and just enjoy your pretzels.

4. Anthology horror

Anthology horror is party mix, of one variety or another. Call it Munchies, Chex Mix, trail mix, or something else. It's perfect for when you can't decide what you want, so you just grab "a little bit of everything." Some people might say there's too much of one element and not enough of others. That's when you just grab a different mix and see what ratio it has to offer.

5. Kaiju films

They're loud and crunchy. They come in several identifiable (and unidentifiable) critter shapes. Occasionally you'll even find one that's two animals fused together. And they're super-fun. No question about it. These are animal crackers.

6. Horror / comedy

Did somebody get chocolate in the peanut butter, or peanut butter in the chocolate? That's the question from that peanut butter cup commercial. And while people might argue that they can always seem to taste one more than the other, that doesn't stop this from being an amazing combination.

7. Hillbilly horror

These are meaty, spicy regional favorite. They're probably full of gristle, sinew and other gross tissues. You get a feeling that consuming them might be a bit bad for you. Yeah. They're beef jerky. If that's what you enjoy, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. "Snap into it!"

8. Folk horror

While the packaging or the flavoring might be modern, some version of these tales has been around forever - just like the tortilla chip. They're a modern spin on an old formula. It's a mixture of new and old that'll have to reaching into the bag for another handful.

9. Splatter / splatterpunk / torture porn

Preheat your toaster oven to 450. You're going to get burned at least once. You'll probably get red all over you. It's even going to hurt after you've finished it all. Somebody might even chide you for not having something "better for you," but that just means one thing: More pizza rolls for you.

10. Body horror

These used to be something normal. But then they underwent a transformation. While they're still somewhat recognizable, they've been changed in such a way that they'll never go back to their old forms. This could involve chemicals, some form of cutting, or both. And often, jars of strange liquids are involved. That's right. I'm talking about pickles.

If you've enjoyed this trip to the horror section and the snack aisle, let me know. There are definitely more subgenres and more snacks to choose from. I may get to those later.

#horror #horror films #horror movies #snacks #snack foods #horror genres #horror subgenres