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#lion king kin
kincalling · 2 months
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Hi, Nuka from the lion king franchise here! Looking for anyone from source, I'm not gonna request specific people bc there doesn't seem to be many of us around anyways
Bodily 20, so keep that in mind!
Interact w/ this and I'll reach out from my main blog! I'm hoping to build up a small community of us, can't wait to talk!
🃏
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citizenoftmrrwlnd · 1 year
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self care for : simba (the lion king) with soft items, candy, and scented items requested by @i-walk-on-the-wild-side
x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x
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cyber-therian · 20 days
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you are of my family but your flesh is not mine; though i yearn to share the blood.
but when i call myself by your name my bones rattle “no”.
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furretsden · 7 months
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Simba {The Lion King} fashion kit with no further specification for anon
Hoodie | Pants | Shirt | Slippers | Lanyard | Pin
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"But it was not your fault but mine / And it was your heart on the line / I really fucked it up this time / Didn't I, my dear?"
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jestiamy · 10 months
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being someone who does kin stuff means just occasionally realizing that I kin a random character from a specific media and having to accept that no that's never going to be really relevant quite literally ever and that yeah I'm going to forget this in ten minutes and just not ever remember unless it comes up again some time down the line
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reincarnival · 1 year
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Simba Fashion kit for @its-a-lion-thing!
Crochet hat / Silk Scarf / Black Tank top / Yellow T-shirt / Cat paw socks / Paw Fingerless gloves / Pants
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fruity-ringtail · 2 years
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Heyyyyy peeps! New kinblog because why not. I'm the awesome King Julien and I'm totally up for chatting or sharing memories with any other Madagascar, PoM or AHKJ kins! I'm 18 so preferably no one under 16 but otherwise feel free to like this or msg me!!
I'm especially looking for Maurice and any of the penguins or my peoples from my Kingdom.
I do also kin Alex the Lion! So if you're Marty pleeeease msg me too!! I miss you so much ahhh
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nezerra · 4 months
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Немного балуемся своеобразным составлением кинлиста. А почему бы и да.
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scadaddletime · 5 months
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Full kinlist in reference to that one post
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valeskafics · 2 months
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"Life Is For The Living" - Viserys Targaryen III x Baratheon!Reader
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a/n: from an anon request for vizzy 3! hope y'all enjoy 🩷
Summary: Viserys takes back what is his, with fire and blood. And along the way, he finds a queen.
Word Count: 2,500 Words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, dubcon at first, chasing, murder oops, mentions of incest, mentions of parental neglect, fingering, oral f receiving, loss of virginity, p in v sex
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
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When your mother hands you a vial and sends you, Myrcella, and Tommen down to the crypts, you know what has happened. You don’t have to ask.
The House of the Dragon has returned to take back what is theirs with fire and blood.
She kisses your forehead and tells you that Uncle Jaime will come to fetch you when this is all over. But your normally confident, fearless mother seems so terrified. So very unlike herself. You wonder if Uncle Jaime will really be coming to get you at all. You go to your younger brother, Joffrey, embracing him tightly. Joffrey’s body shakes, much as it did when he was a child and would come to sleep in your chambers after a bad dream.
That’s what this all is, isn’t it? A bad dream?
You press a kiss to his forehead, much as your mother did to you, before grabbing Myrcella and Tommen by the hand and racing down to the crypts. You hide them deep in the catacombs, resolving yourself to protect them with your life should it come down to that. You pull the blade your father gave you for your tenth nameday from your bodice, twirling it in your hands, taking a few practice jabs, readying yourself for a fight to death.
“Ours is the fury, little princess,” he’d told you, “You aren’t just a stag. You’re also a lion. You have the best of both of us.”
You are no fool. You know that you were the only trueborn child of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. Though you never mentioned anything, you knew it. And so did Joffrey. You knew of your mother’s forbidden relationship with her twin, your beloved Uncle Jaime. Though it is a vile thing to lay with one’s kin, you’ve grown up seeing how your father’s neglect has slowly broken her heart, chipping away at whatever love she may have once had for him.
You cannot bring yourself to hate her for what she’s done. Only pity her.
The rumors had been brewing since well before your father’s death of the survival of Prince Viserys, living across the Narrow Sea in Pentos, biding their time until he could come back and reclaim what was his. His father’s throne. Your father was swayed by his Lord Hand not to harm the Targaryen heirs, Viserys and his younger sister, but now, with the dragon at your doorstep, breathing fire and leaving nothing but smoke and ash in his wake, you curse House Stark. You curse Lord Eddard.
You curse your father, you curse your mother, your uncles. All of them, fools.
Viserys enters the crypt, his gaze locking on you, lips curling up into a predatory smile. You duck behind a pillar, your heart pounding in your chest. In the split second that you saw the silver-haired man, you hate that you noticed how handsome he is. You feel like a fool as you take off running deeper into the crypts.
For his part, Viserys finds the whole thing quite amusing. The way you scamper off like a little mouse. He’s taken what he wants. His birthright. And he’s slain the bastard king. Now, he’s come to claim something else.
The true heir to House Baratheon. The only one who can solidify his claim to the throne.
You’re quite beautiful, he muses, stalking after you. Almost ethereal, really, your long dark hair trailing after you as you try to run from him, your gown clinging to the curves of your body. He thinks how, in another world, the two of you may have been betrothed from childhood. How you may have grown to love him, shared your first kiss with him before the two of you were to be bed. But he doesn’t have time for that sort of fantasizing. No, he must catch his little stag queen. 
He hears your footsteps echoing in the stone corridors and chuckles to himself. Viserys imagines all the depraved things he could do to you here in this crypt when he inevitably catches you. Your legs will not serve you forever. You will tire eventually. You have no escape, no horse to ride away on.
You call out in desperation, “Mother? Uncle Jaime?”
Viserys cannot help but laugh at the fact that you think someone is coming to save you. He follows the sound of your voice, your sweet scent, gaining on you with every step. He swears he can even hear the pounding of your heart, your soft, frantic breaths sending his blood rushing.
As he draws nearer, he hears you whimper, the sound making his cock twitch in his breeches as he imagines what other sounds he could draw from those pretty lips.
“Please, my father is dead, and I’m sure you’ve killed Joffrey. My little brother and sister are no threat to you-” 
You gasp when he steps into your view. Viserys walks toward you slowly, toward his little stag lady caught in a trap. Each step is measured, purposeful. He wants to savor this moment. This is what it means to take what you want, with fire and blood. He grabs you by the throat, pressing you against the wall, his face so very close to yours.
“Please, King Viserys,” you say in an attempt to appeal to his vanity, your breath leaving you in sharp gasps, “I will go to Pentos with Myrcella and Tommen and we will live in exile. We will not challenge your claim-”
“How frightened you look, little doe,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep, sending a shiver through you, “So delicate. So fragile.”
You swallow thickly as he moves to trace your lips with his finger, asking, “Is my mother dead? My brother and uncles?”
“Yes,” Viserys says calmly, moving to grab your wrists, pinning them above your head, his violet gaze boring into you, seeing through to your very soul, “The Lannisters are slain for what they did to my good sister, my niece and nephew. Only you and the little prince and princess remain.”
A tear slips down your cheek, and Viserys barely resists the urge to moan at the sight of your watery eyes, “Are you going to kill us too?”
“No.” He sees the way you try to turn from him, moving to grip your jaw between his fingers, firmly but not enough to be painful, “You will not go into exile. Your brother will be sent to be fostered in the Eyrie. Your sister to Dorne.”
“And myself?”
“You, my princess,” Viserys murmurs, his breath hot as it fans across your lips, “Are to become my queen.”
The fear that had taken you over is quickly replaced by rage.
“Ours is the fury”, Viserys recalls being House Baratheon’s words. And you certainly are furious.
“I’d die before being your queen,” you hiss, glaring up at him.
Viserys smiles mockingly, a burning desire deep within him to make you submit to him, “So stubborn. You’ll need a strong hand to guide you, won’t you, little doe?”
You scoff, glowering up at him, “You’re just as mad as your father if you believe that will be you. I will not be tamed. Ever.”
He chuckles, stroking your cheek, “Oh, sweet girl. I do not seek to tame you. I seek to break you. I will make you fully and completely mine,” Viserys murmurs, “I will be a strong hand to guide you, to make you a queen. But also a soft hand, to caress that sweet face, to warm you in my bed.”
“I would fling myself into Blackwater Bay before allowing the man who murdered my family to warm my bed,” you snarl.
And he just grins at you, watching as you seethe. You see Myrcella and Tommen being escorted out of the crypts, though they are being treated with care. You glare up at the man who seeks to make you his wife, your chest heaving as you try to control your anger. Your ferocity, it seems, endears you to him all the more. The thought makes you sick.
“I’m afraid the decision is not yours to make, sweetling,” he taunts as one of his men tosses you over their shoulder, hauling you off as if you’re a mere sack of potatoes rather than a princess, “Give her to the maids. Have her made presentable for our wedding. I want her dressed in red.”
Your shrieks of protest echo through the crypt’s halls as you are carried off to be made ready for what is meant to be the most important day of your life.
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The wedding passes with little pomp and circumstance. After all, Viserys’ forces are busy taking control of the city. There isn’t enough time to round up the nobility to witness your nuptials. Only Viserys’ sister, your own surviving siblings, and Khal Drogo bear witness to your marriage as the septon declares you man and wife. You scowl as he leads you to the chambers that once belonged to your mother and father, the ones your mother stopped sleeping in so many years ago. When she realized your father loved a ghost more than he could ever love her.
A wave of resentment hits you. You know your mother cared for Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen more than you. Perhaps because they were borne of a union with a man she truly loved. You know that when she looked at you, she did not see her daughter. She saw Robert’s. And while your heart aches at her death - and Joffrey’s - your grief is not so overpowering as it should be.
Viserys enters the room, seeing you standing there, candles lit all around you, bathing the room in their golden glow, illuminating your body, covered only by a thin shift, your dark hair falling to the small of your back. You hold your head high as you glare at him. And something grows in him. Something he’s never felt before. He walks to you, taking you in his arms.
“Is this the part where I am meant to bow, husband?” You snark, spitting the last word with as much vitriol as you can muster.
And he just stares at you, moving to cup your face in his hands. You are so small compared to him, so delicate. And yet so strong.
“No. You are my queen. You bow to no one, sweet wife.”
You try to slap his hand away, “If you think for one second I’ll allow you to touch me-”
He thinks about punishing you, but his lust wins over his anger, hand reaching for you again as he tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling you close. He is a king, ready to claim his queen. You whine quietly at the tug at your scalp, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You don’t quite understand why the slight sting feels so pleasurable.
Why your body is suddenly overcome by the desire to be close to him. To let him take you.
He tugs at the laces of your shift, smirking as your bare body is revealed to him. You freeze in place, feeling his hands moving to caress the soft flesh of your breasts, whimpering as he pinches at your nipples, feeling them pebble beneath his fingers. He steps back to stare at you, with all the hunger of a dragon about to devour its prey. Your breath catches at the way he looks at you, his hands moving to cup your breasts once again, squeezing as he lets out a quiet groan of your name.
Viserys kisses you, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that has you gasping for air. Heat coils in your belly as he pushes you down onto the bed, removing his tunic and breeches, revealing his lithe frame to you, your eyes trailing along his chest to his stomach, all the way to his cock. You stare up at him, and Viserys notices something in your eyes that gives him pause.
Fear.
You’re a maiden.
He moves to caress your hair, wrapping an arm around your back and pulls you into a more gentle, tender kiss. You hesitate in kissing him back for a moment, but then you wrap your arms around him, melting into his embrace. Viserys’ hand moves to the apex between your thighs, stroking your cunt, feeling you shiver around him as he prepares you for what’s to come. He gazes into your eyes as he pushes one finger inside you, slowly, groaning as he feels you squeeze around him. He crooks it in a come hither motion and slowly begins pumping his finger in and out of you, his thumb rubbing against your swollen pearl, making you gasp. Your eyes flutter shut and Viserys is utterly transfixed by the expression on your face, the way your hips slightly cant up, meeting his motions, pleasure curling in your stomach as you chase your peak, spilling yourself around his fingers.
You look at him confused as he moves to push your thighs apart, gasping when he buries his tongue deep inside your cunt, moaning against you, the vibration from his voice against your sensitive flesh driving you mad. The noises he makes, the feeling of him fucking you with his tongue, caressing your wet folds with the muscle, it all feels like too much and yet not enough at all. Viserys moves to pinch at your pearl, smirking against you when you whine, your hips bucking as you get closer and closer to your second climax. You all but scream his name when you finally come, allowing him to taste your arousal in earnest, a smirk spreading across his face.
“You taste divine, my queen,” he murmurs, crawling back up over you, pressing his lips to yours, “See for yourself.”
You almost feel ashamed at the wanton way you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue, but you realize there is nothing to be ashamed of. And you relax into the kiss, feeling him running his cock along your aching cunt, the tip rubbing against your pearl.
“You don’t wish for me to use my mouth?”
Viserys shakes his head, smiling at you coyly, “No. There will be plenty of time for that. Tonight is a special night for you. When I take your maidenhead. I wish for this to be about you.”
You wonder, as he joins your bodies, the slight sting making you wince, if he is to be like this, how you’re meant to keep yourself from falling in love with him. How to keep yourself from falling in love with the man who killed your mother, your uncles, your brother.
But as he moves against you, his cock hard and heavy as he fills you, hips rutting against yours at an easy, languid pace, you realize that you don’t care.
Life is for the living.
And you intend on living a very long life as his queen.
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marthawrites · 2 months
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Red Lions and Hidden Dragons
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Unnamed male character x Lannister!fem reader & Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!fem reader
Word count: 2.9k+
About: Close kin to Jason and Tyland Lannister, you arrive to King's Landing with a party of fellow lions to celebrate the birth of Prince Maelor Targaryen. You weren't expecting to catch Prince Aemond's eye, but once you do, neither of you can forget it.
Includes: SMUT. This is porn with plot to set it up. Featuring lust at first sight, allusions to obsession (from reader and aemond), voyeurism, unprotected vaginal sex, male masturbation, allusions to exhibitionism, stalking, male receiving oral sex, reader receiving oral sex, minor degradation, vaginal fingering, and somnophilia
Note: Hello lovely reader! This might be one of the filthiest things I've written. Double warning: This fic is heavy on the voyeurism and Aemond is a creep. If you do not like that then do not read this. Reader is a Lannister and is implied to have blonde hair. Everything else is up to you! Reader's lover is implied to have ginger hair. Everything else about him is up to you. As always, I hope you enjoy this (filth)!
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Golden sunlight warmed your honey curls as they cascaded down your back in gentle waves. Following close behind was a guard armored in the colors of House Lannister. A woman walked beside you who also donned your House's colors in a more practical attire–sword not included. “Is it everything you wanted it to be?” She asked you with bright curiosity as her gaze swept over the Red Keep's gardens. 
Spring's blooms weighed heavily in the air and if it weren't for a forgiving breeze all of those fragrances would be unbearable. Your nose tickled with an edge of a sneeze you could never quite expel. “It's absolutely lovely,” you replied with a happy sigh, leaning into your friend and lady-in-waiting. “Although… if I don’t go inside soon my eyes will be pinker than a pig’s bottom and leakier than a cracked chalice.”
She laughed. “I can bring supper up to your chamber if needed. Sneezing on any one in the royal family could be punishable by death!” She gasped with feigned severity.
You rolled your eyes. “The only one I’m worried about sneezing on is Princess Helaena. With her little Maelor only being just born the last thing she–and he–needs is extra germs.”
You and your family, closely related to King Viserys’ Master of Ships, Tyland Lannister, had only arrived this morning. It had been a long trip. Jason Lannister, Tyland’s elder twin, sent a party of lions to King’s Landing to celebrate the little princeling's birth. “Perhaps you will catch the eye of a lord–or Prince–while you’re there,” he had whispered to you with a wink upon your departure.
Politicking had never been your strong suit. Would it truly be so wrong to marry someone for happiness instead of glory, lands, and wealth? You thought not, but the rest of your family thought yes. 
“If the Princess even attends a public dinner,” she answered slyly.
With a light-hearted shrug you looked over your shoulder and asked the knight, “Ser? Do you remember the way back to the Great Hall?”
“I do, Lady Lannister. Ready to return?”
“We are.”
Once inside the Red Keep you immediately felt better. No more tickly nose, or itchy eyes, or scratchy ears. You arrived back just in time, too! Judging by the collection of people and their plates, supper had been served only a short time ago. You and your lady found a seat where you could. Nodding a polite greeting to Tyland, you sat and fixed a plate. While politicking wasn’t one of your strong suits, people watching was. 
You ate, and you watched. 
Who observed the watcher?
Smearing creamy butter on a still warm roll, you tried to keep tabs on the conversations around you. Truthfully, it was half a bore. Sooner than later it all jumbled to indistinct murmurings. Paying half attention at best, and once you finished all the savory flavors of meats and potatoes, you helped yourself to fruit for a sweet palate cleanser. Wonderfully ripened berries and crisp grapes took over your senses. On one particular juicy bite–when you barely covered your mouth in time to catch a dribble of springtime strawberry juice–a blush rose to your cheeks as your gaze swept over the crowd to see if anyone witnessed your etiquette mishap.
A few seats down, and across the table, the glint of a single violet eye danced with your mishap.
Aemond Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen. Your napkin nearly slipped from your fingers as you realized he watched, and saw, and didn’t turn away from your guilty gaze. His one seeing eye trailed from your chin, down the front of your bodice, and back up to your face. The combination of his perfectly neutral facade and naturally bowed mouth made him impossible to read. But the glint in his eye? You swore it gave away his amusement. Perhaps even something more.
The blush in your cheeks dispersed–spreading and lowering–and with a delicate curve of your mouth you gave the King’s second silver-haired son an entirely different look. With extra care, now, you bit into a plump grape, daring to hold his gaze. Your heart hammered with anticipation and excitment and part of you wondered if he could see the pulsepoint in your neck thumping.
He squinted at you; so slight you might have missed it.
Desire roared in your belly.
-
It was nearly the end of the hour of ghosts when Aemond made his way to the library on silent feet. The castle was quiet except for a few guards and servants carrying out night shift duties. He paid them little mind as he walked with a small stack of books tucked beneath his arm. Sleep eluded him. Even reading did little to settle his mind. He thought, with a hint of hopefulness, that a walk might allow him to finally relax. 
A slight squeak of door hinges was the only sound announcing his arrival. It seemed no matter how many times it was oiled it always squeaked. Most of the time it didn’t matter much. But, on late nights like this, it made Aemond feel as if he interrupted something holy. Sacred. 
He’d always been a studious boy–so much so that it followed him into adulthood. Perhaps that is why he felt a pang of guilt upon midnight arrivals; he found as much solace in this place as he did the training yard. Sometimes he had half a mind to bring a pillow and blanket here to sleep in one of the chairs, the floor, or, more comfortably, a settee.
Quietly, out of habit, he walked between the rows of books, tomes, and scrolls, and placed each piece of borrowed literature in its place. Before he truly heard anything, the fine hairs along his neck stood. His pupil widened to take in the dark. A little voice in his head told him to stay quiet and look.
A phantom? He hadn’t felt the fright of ghost stories for a long, long time. 
But, no, it wasn’t a thing of nightmares lurking in darkened corners of this peaceful place that caught his attention. It was someone. And, judging by the sounds that perked the fine muscles behind his ears, it was more than one person.
Soft sounds made their way to Aemond’s ears as he stalked on silent feet. Heavy breathing. An inward hiss of breath. A muffled voice–low and sultry–sent his cock stirring to life in his pants. And then, right at the peak of a barely contained moan, a giggle.
Staying to the shadows Aemond peered around a bookshelf and what he saw knocked the wind out of his lungs. A woman–not just any woman, but you–straddled over the lap of a man with your skirts bunched up around your waist. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, its legs thumping against the rug-covered floor with the force in which you rode him–in which he bucked up into you. Aemond saw why you giggled and a hot rush of blood flew up to his head and down to his cock alike. Your breasts were free from your crimson supper gown and they bounced as you fucked whosever cock it was that you were riding. One of the man’s hands squeezed a mound of your soft, perfect tits, letting it bounce against his palm as his mouth sucked your other nipple. 
Stepping further back into the shadows, Aemond, as discreetly as he could, moved a few books upon the shelf so he could watch between the newly formed gap. He had the best–truly the best–sight of you. Your cheeks were colored so prettily, lips parted in the epitome of bliss, and your eyelids fluttered as you ground down against him. Aemond saw your hand push through and squeeze your lover’s ginger hair as he nipped and suckled over your peaked nipples.
“Think anyone will show up here?” You asked, rolling your hips against him in a gloriously wonderful grind. 
If Aemond were any further away he wouldn't be able to hear you. His ears were perked right to you, however, and he heard your voice–all raspy with pleasure. He palmed at his cock over his pants, the bulge prominent and uncomfortable in its confides.
“If you keep being loud I bet someone will,” he teased before kissing you. He gripped your hips firmly with both hands and began to coax you up and down on him again. Before you could break away from the kiss those same soft sounds from before filled the air. This time they were louder, sharper, both of you chasing pleasure to climax. “Can't believe you wanted me to fuck you here tonight. Of all places in this big castle. Shit–Gods, yes, keep bouncing like that. Keep fucking bouncing like that.” 
You barely held your moans back and the little ones that slipped free had Aemond palming at himself firmer. Your moans, and slapping skin, and bouncing tits had the prince dizzy with desire. 
How in the actual Hells was this happening?
He nearly spent in his pants when climax washed over you. You were so lovey, and so perfect, and so greedy with your need it made Aemond want to tie your lover up and fuck you right there too. 
You could take it. He knew you could. You'd be debauched enough to take two men and still claw at them for more.
Your lover's seed covered your belly in a splattered mess and Aemond nearly groaned out loud.
He'd lingered too long. He shouldn't have even stayed like he did–should have left as soon as he realized what was happening. But that didn't stop him then and it didn't stop him now as he lingered behind for an extra moment, watching you fix your clothes back into place.
The edge of your desire was finally sated. For now, at least. With a satisfied sigh you smiled and tilted your head, looking down at your lover while he whispered something to you. You laughed and rolled your eyes. 
That's when you saw him. What? No… it couldn't be! The shadow of the prince just there! Just behind that book shelf. 
Aemond side stepped and ducked slightly. Shit shit shit. But it was too late.
“I think I saw someone,” you gasped with an excited warble to your tone. 
Whatever else you said, or whatever your reaction might have been, would remain a mystery. That's all Aemond heard before slipping out of the main doorway–the door's squeak the only evidence that anyone else had been in the library.
-
As much as Aemond wanted to see you during the morning meal, he didn't want to risk it. Would you squirm in your seat beneath his gaze, or would he beneath yours? 
Once finished, he exerted himself in the training yard–the image of your blissed out face and bouncing tits still seared onto his mind.
Fuck.
How long were you visiting the Red Keep? Surely Aemond would go mad before long.
After training and before lunch, the prince found himself loitering along a balcony that faced the gardens. It was a quiet spot, one not often frequented, and it served as a perfect place for him to relax and collect his thoughts after training. It proved to be an uneventful rest until a glimmer of golden hair and red breezy gown caught his attention from below.
You.
He stared, watching like a hawk from above. You were on the arm of the same man from last night. Based on his attire Aemond recognized him to be one of the Lannister servants.
Pathetic. The man was a servant. Not a husband, or betrothed, or even someone worth your name. You were a loose wanton thing. Licentious. Aemond watched you drag your male servant off the main pathway until you were out of sight. 
And then, on a jolt of lust filled curiosity, he grabbed a nearby spyglass and looked for you again.
A few minutes passed before he saw you through the reflective lens. And when he did the front of his pants immediately became tighter.
Hidden amongst the garden's layout you and your secret lover kissed and touched and pressed together. He saw your mouths move with words he wished he could hear. You were light and playful and eager. Fuck–so eager.
Aemond watched as you sunk down to your knees and pulled his cock out. You took it in your mouth over and over, again and again, like you’d wanted nothing more than to have him in your throat.
Did you enjoy this more, you pretty little whore? Or did your red headed lover?
Aemond's need screamed for friction–for anything–but he remained painfully hard and untouched  as he watched, not wanting to miss a single second. 
Time ticked by so slowly, so quickly, and before long Aemond saw you swallow, smiling up at your lover as he tucked his spent, softening cock back into his pants. You turned your head, then, looking along the balconies, and Aemond barely had time to step out of sight.
You saw his silver hair and the reflective glare of his spyglass in the late morning sun.
The prince wasn’t half as sly as he thought.
You barely spoke to Viserys’ second-son–barely knew him–yet it did little to stifle the lust drowning your blood.
-
Two days had passed before Aemond caught you for a third time. Duties kept him busy and he wasn’t able to stalk around the castle after you.
The first time he stumbled across you had been a complete accident. So had the second time. Well… mostly. If he hadn’t caught sight of you entering the gardens he wouldn’t have begun spying on you from the balcony. 
The third time, however? He hoped for it.
Might have even prayed for it.
Watching from within the safety of a slim corridor behind the room’s main wall, Aemond peeked through a series of small holes specifically made for spying; servants and their incessant prying. You were sitting in a chair with your legs draped over each arm. Your male servant knelt between your spread legs and feasted on your cunt. His soft groans and slurps, combined with all of your sweet gasps and moans, made the sounds of Aemond freely stroking his cock nearly non-existent. 
It was too much. Too fucking much.
You were too perfect. Putting on a show for him and everything. He knew you liked being watched. Why else would you be taunting him, luring him, snaring him in your lewd traps time and time again?
The man slipped his fingers into you while staying on your clit, and the way you tugged at his hair sent Aemond biting down on his lip.
“So sexy like this,” the ginger’s raspy voice rumbled up at you. “So sweet and tight.”
You sighed and giggled, turning his face back against you. “I'm not done. Keep going,” you said, sultry.
He did and you lost yourself.
But before you could finish he asked, “shall I wear an eyepatch next time? Lean into your little fantasy with the prince?”
“Gods, yes.”
He worked you with fingers and tongue again, pushing you to the edge of pleasure. “Say his name. No one is around to hear. The one eyed prince here, right now, eating your sweet cunt.”
You squeezed both hands in his hair and came undone; a tiny, shuddered, “Aemond..!” escaped your lips at the peak of your climax. 
Aemond's cock pulsed mightily in the choke of his hand; streaks of his seed dripped down the finished wooden wall. He had to have you. 
-
It was the hour of the owl when Aemond prowled into your chamber. You looked peaceful sleeping, so pretty. 
He stood at the side of your bed, head tilted slightly as he looked down at you replaying all the visions of you in his head over again. The backs of his fingers traced along the slope of your face; silken. He dipped lower, sliding down the curve of your neck and across your exposed collarbone. You didn't yet stir and so he slid lower. The swell of your breasts were wonderfully soft beneath your thin shift; nipples peaked beneath. 
You teased him even in slumber.
He gently squeezed the mound–testing the suppleness of your body–and reveled in the sensation. With curious delight he pinched the bud and smirked when a small sound hummed between your lips. He did it again. Harder. Your nipples pebbled tighter and saliva built in Aemond's mouth.
That made you stir. Your eyelids trembled over your eyes as if you'd startle awake.
Aemond's hand sunk beneath your blanket and whispered up your smooth thigh. Within the span of a few breaths he found the waist of your smallclothes and tugged the ribbons open. His heartbeat thundered. He couldn’t help it. He had to know. Grazing his fingers lower, still, he ghosted over that delicate space between your thighs. You were warm through the thin cloth of your smallclothes. Insanity threatened to take him over.
Again, you stirred. And this time your eyes fluttered open. Those pretty pools widened and for a moment you couldn’t tell if you were still dreaming, or if this was truly happening.
Prince Aemond. In your room. How did he get in? You’d lusted for him since arriving. Now, here he was; perhaps the Gods indeed answered prayers.
“Shh,” he hushed, fingers lifting to his lips to shush you further; a smirk visible at the corners of his mouth. “Why pretend when you can have the real thing, lady Lannister?”
-
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥
To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!
Masterlist
Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @aemondtarqaryens @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel
Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @aemonddtargaryen @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui
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budbuddnbuddy · 3 months
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Little obey me headcanons (pt4)
(Pt5)
A/N: This probably like the second longest series of writing I’ve done fanfic wise. Lol anyway same stuff is here. Headcaons and world building, maybe once I get everything done with the masterlist I’ll show you guys my MC’s (yes I have 2 MC’s in the same verse) but I’m still not sure. Let me know what y’all think. Happy new year!!!
Everyone is super nosy about your life in the human world, some are more obvious and pushy then others but regardless they still want to know about every detail of your life, what kind of job do you have? What’s your family like? Do you live in acountryside or in City? Where’s your workplace? What’s your address? What’s your full legal name? What’s your blood type? Do you own any pets! Tell them all about it.
The Devildom and the Celestial realm have small populations. Devildom:50 million+ Celestial realm:45 million+ mainly because lots of people would rather not have kids because it would probably get in the way of what they were doing in their lives currently however it’s not uncommon to see families out and about. Nobles are the main ones who have families in the devildom.
Do you think that like a week after Diavolo was born his father did that lion king thing that Royal family does whenever they have another kid? Just basically raising him up for everyone to see? 💀
As I’ve said before Mammon has a great ass, you can’t help but grab it anytime you can, just coming up behind him and grabbing his cheek. It mainly happens in your room, both of y’all are laying in your bed with him on top of you resting his head on your chest and you’ll just unconsciously reach down and give it a squeeze. He used to loudly whine about it but he secretly loves it lmao.
When it comes to relationships and Virginity, I feel like I have a pretty decent grasp on who’s had what and who hasn’t.
Relationship+Experience: Lucifer Mammon Asmodeus Barbatos Solomon
Relationship+Virgin: Beelzebub Satan
No Relationship+ Experience: Belphegor only like twice though cuz I fucking hate him [affectionate]
Neither: Leviathan, Diavolo
Diavolo kin’s Pops from regular show unironically.
If you ever heard about the Mariko Aoki phenomenon good but if not it’s basically the need to take a crap in bookstores however if you leave before you do then the feeling goes away. Whenever you go into Satan’s room you automatically get the urge to take a shit, you haven’t told him about it the confused look on his face is too funny. 💀
Speaking of Poop. If any of the brothers can’t get into the bathrooms available on their floor/rooms they’ll come down to your room and ask if they can use your bathroom which you used to be fine with AT FIRST however you eventually banned them from coming into your bathroom because Beel took a massive shit in your toilet and it stunk up your bathroom for DAYS and Lemme tell ya, handling demon shits from GROWN ASS MEN are not for the weak.
“Phew…Thanks for letting me use your bathroom, MC.”
“No problem Beel I-“ *Turns into fucking dust*
Okay that’s not what happened but you did pass out. Beelzebub did say sorry and bought you a cupcake as compensation so I guess it’s okay for now, still not allowed to use your bathroom though.
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sotwk · 9 months
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Food and Agriculture in Thranduil's Kingdom
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It's unfortunate that Thorin's Company was welcomed as dinner guests in Rivendell but imprisoned as invaders in Mirkwood. Had Thorin just shown King Thranduil just a little bit more respect, they could have been fed a whole lot better by the Silvans. And there would most definitely have been meat!
While the Rivendell elves seem to lean vegetarian, and Lothlorien's culinary specialty is the "one bite" lembas, the elves of Greenwood know more than a thing or two about indulgent feasting. These elves consider themselves permanent residents of their land, and with that outlook comes an attitude of celebrating Middle-earth's bounties.
The Silvans of the Woodland Realm have always been fond of feasting, merry-making, and community and family traditions centered around food. Furthermore, they are ruled by a King and royal family who whole-heartedly support this culture, participate in it themselves, and encourage trade that allows the realm to access food from other lands.
When it comes to food, the Greenwood elves are actually more alike Dwarves and Hobbits than they are the lofty High Elves.
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Below the cut are SotWK headcanons regarding Food and Agriculture in the Woodland Realm:
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Food, Cuisine, and Agriculture in the Woodland Realm
Prior to the establishment of the Woodland Realm and in the early reign of King Oropher (c. SA 700), the Silvan Elves populating Greenwood lived in smaller communities spread throughout the vast forest, but predominantly in the southwest, closer to their kin in Lorinand. Limited subsistence farming was practiced by a few, but by far most food at this time was obtained through hunting and gathering. The rich and bountiful Greenwood had always provided more than enough resources for its dwellers.
GATHERING
Greenwood Elves happily spend most of their immortal lives within Eryn Galen and the lands of Rhovanion, so they are accustomed to living off solely what the forest produces, and their diet is influenced largely by it.
The most commonly foraged edibles are:
Nuts: hazelnut, pecan, walnut, hickory, beechnut, chestnut
Fruit: plum, apple, grape, persimmon
Berries: mulberry, blackberry, currant, elderberry, raspberry
Wild garlic and ramps
Fungi: mushrooms and truffles of many varieties
Eggs: from various wild birds
Herbs and Spices: fennel, corn mint, dandelions, ground elder, pigweed, cicely, sorrel, hogweed, stinging nettle, watercress, wild carrot, rowan, wood avens, sneezewort
Maple: sourced for sugar and syrup
There are also hundreds of plant species native only to Greenwood and Rhovanion that are valued for their uses in healing. However, the Silvan herbalists of Greenwood are usually the only ones able to effectively extract the curative properties of these plants, indicating a connection between Elves and homeland may be necessary for the healing to work.
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Art from Fantasy Flight Games
HUNTING
Greenwood Elves are expert hunters and trackers, with unparalleled mastery within their forest and the lands that surround its borders. With careful consideration and instinctual knowledge of the forest ecosystem, they select their prey according to what's most populous, and rotate as necessary to balance out conservation levels.
Among the animals they hunt regularly for meat consumption are rabbit, squirrel, duck, turkey, quail, weasel, racoon, boar, deer, wild oxen, and elk. On rare or special occasions, they hunt less common game such as lion and bear. They also obtain fish and freshwater mussels, clams, and snails from the Forest River and various streams.
It is illegal in Greenwood to hunt or kill specific animals that are declared a protected species, including the King's Elk (the breed of Thranduil's war elk), the silverwolf, and all species of eagle or falcon.
Any fauna or fauna may also be temporarily decreed off-limits for hunting or gathering, by order of the Elvenking and his council.
Any animal taken in as an elf's pet or familiar may also not be killed, so long as it has been properly tamed and does not pose a risk to others.
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Throughout the Second Age, the Woodland Realm's population steadily increased under the wise rule of King Oropher and his court. As the communities and villages that made up the kingdom grew larger and more numerous, the practice of agriculture became more widespread to bolster the realm's food supply.
In the Woodland Realm, farming would always remain secondary to hunting and gathering due to the preference of Silvans for wild game and native vegetation. Farmed products serve primarily to enhance cuisine, supplement large feasts, provide reserves in case of war or famine, and as goods for trade with other realms.
FARMING and LIVESTOCK
Tracts of community farmlands were gradually cultivated in the arable fields between Greenwood's western borders (near the capital of Amon Lanc) and the Anduin River.
In order of output, the food crops most commonly grown are: wheat, barley, oats, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, lettuce, peppers, and peas.
Fiber crops grown for cloth, paper, and rope include: flax, hemp, and cotton.
Domesticated animals are raised in small numbers solely for their by-products and not their meat. In order of importance, livestock that are raised are:
Sheep: source of wool and milk
Chickens: source of eggs
Cows: source of milk and for birthing calves
Animals raised for labor include:
Horses: highly valued and raised exclusively for transport and mounted cavalry
Oxen: used as beasts of burden (large-scale/community work)
Donkeys: used as beasts of burden (small-scale/family work)
When Prince Thranduil built his own palace of Bar Lasgalen just south of the Old Forest Road (which would later become the new capital upon his ascension to the throne), he helped the Silvans residing in the valleys of the Emyn Duir to initiate small-scale agriculture, which encouraged further migration into that area and northward towards the Grey Mountains.
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Elvish historians refer to the first millennium of the Third Age as the "Golden Age of the Woodland Realm". During these years, the kingdom enjoyed an unbroken peace under a wise King and Queen who also had five sons actively involved in the governance of the realm.
Departing from his father's more isolationist leanings, Thranduil encouraged trade with realms across Middle-earth. It included all the races except for Hobbits, since the Shire did not yet exist prior to the darkening of Greenwood.
Sadly, most trade came to a stop by the end of the Third Age, with the exception of the nearby Dale, due to the struggles with Dol Guldur. However, after Erebor was reestablished by King Thorin, trade gradually resumed with the Dwarves. After the War of the Ring and the Cleansing of Dol Guldur, Eryn Lasgalen once again thrived with renewed relations with their trade partners--finally including the Shire!
AGRICULTURAL TRADE
The Woodland Realm's three most valuable exported agricultural products are:
Rare spices
Mushrooms and truffles
Medicinal herbs (extremely valuable but highly controlled to prevent misuse)
Imported goods are considered luxuries and not necessities, and are brought in seasonally for community feasts and celebrations (of which there are many). Everything is meant for the consumption of all the kingdom's citizens, regardless of status; there is never anything reserved as "special" for the royals or nobles.
The top agricultural imports, usually from realms/communities of Men, are:
Wine
Textiles (silk, cotton)
Seafood
Sugar
Cheeses
ARTISAN COOKS and BAKERS
Exposure to outside realms and cultures also resulted in an expansion of the culinary arts within Thranduil's kingdom. Cooking and baking became full-blown, respected and sought-after professions instead of tasks done within individual households. With the King's support, talented Elves were sent to other realms to learn their culinary practices; chefs from other kingdoms were invited to Greenwood as royal guests to do the same.
A few culinary feats and innovations the Woodland Elves became known for:
Use of offal (innards) in recipes that actually taste fantastic, thanks to seasonings and skilled cookery
Using literally every single part of a butchered animal with zero waste
Aphrodisiacs in common food recipes, using plant ingredients (partly responsible for their marriage and birth rates and large families)
Salted game meat (jerky) that is highly nourishing and excellent for travel; essentially a meat version of lembas
The use of whipped egg whites to make essentially a type of meringue--which opened up an entire category of desserts that became staples at feasts
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Bonus Fun Headcanons! (as a thank you for reading this far)
Mealtimes in Thranduil's Family
No one can beat Ada in drinking contests, ever; it has been attempted hundreds of times--usually with Dorwinion wine--and Thranduil has never been dethroned by his sons.
The King and every single one of the Princes are all heavy eaters, and everyone, including the Queen, eats meat.
While they all observe formal manners at the table, the Princes can get rowdy when not in the presence of their mother--especially when there's drinking involved. (Not quite as bad as Thorin's Company, but close.)
Breakfast: Taken individually in their own rooms, according to each one's schedule/leisure
Lunch: The most commonly skipped meal; usually taken "on the go", and oftentimes with people outside of the family (e.g. business lunches, lunch with friends)
Dinner: The family meal. Everyone is expected to sit down and eat dinner with the rest of the family, unless traveling or there is a prior commitment that takes precedence.
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Random Fun Food Facts with the Thranduilions
The Princes regularly compete to see who can eat the most exotic/"disgusting" food items. Turhir remains champion at this (able and willing to eat literally everything), with Legolas frequently trying (and constantly failing) to unseat him.
They have also competed to see who can eat the riskiest (aka poisonous) food items. Arvellas has somehow proven to be the most impervious to natural poisons, much to Gelir's frustration.
Legolas can go the longest without eating food, but no one really cares to try to beat his record.
Mirion is the heaviest eater, but is also the fastest, and because he has flawless table manners no one really notices.
Gelir can find truffles just using his sense of smell--yes, like a truffle pig. He has successfully trained other similarly gifted Elves to do the same.
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For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist
Tolkien Headcanon tag list: @quickslvxr @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @klytemnestra13 @creativity-of-death @heilith @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @lathalea @tamurilofrivendell @jordie-your-local-halfling @ladyk8tie @scyllas-revenge @asianbutnotjapanese @conversacomsmaug @lemonivall @ratsys @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @entishramblings @stormchaser819 @freshalmondpandadonut
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aurasjournal · 7 months
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The Bereaved Dunes
Summary:
In the Bereaved Dunes, where shadows weep, A tale of love and sorrow, bound to keep. Elia, my sun, in your memory I tread, Through sands of despair, where tears are shed. I should've taken you far away, my dear, To Dorne's warm embrace, where skies are clear. But fate had other plans, a cruel twist of hand, In the Bereaved Dunes, where sorrows expand.
A/N: I've often wondered, 'How did Oberyn receive the news of Elia's death? How did his mind grapple with such a profound tragedy?' This curiosity served as my inspiration for writing this piece. It is crucial to delve into the pivotal event that laid the foundation for all of his subsequent actions. This prologue marks the genesis of my upcoming series, 'Whispers of Vendetta,' wherein Elia's death remains canon (and I made use of some famous lines from ASOIAF books), though I've allowed myself creative freedom in depicting Oberyn's reaction and the events that follow. Big thanks to my sweet, sweet friend @palioom for her unwavering support <3 I hope this piece meets your liking xoxo
Rating: M
CW: angst; canon character death (Elia Martell); grief/mourning; sibling loss; brief description of death/injury
WC: 1.6K
Read on AO3 • moodboard
283 AC
"We cannot simply remain still… spineless, awaiting news of her safety and that of her children!" Oberyn's voice rang out, filled with fervor, as he directed his words at his elder brother.
Doran, vexed by his brother's persistence, hissed back in retort, "I've entrusted four of our most skilled soldiers with her protection, Oberyn! They will ensure her safety. Cease your incessant hovering!"
Oberyn's eyes bore into Doran's, smoldering with anger and worry, "They had better return with her unharmed, or I shall part their heads from their bodies myself!"
Twelve agonizing hours passed without any word of Elia. Silence hung heavy in the air, and Oberyn's unease deepened. He understood that the Dornish princess was not their highest priority, knowing that no one would make her safety their concern—not even her husband, the father of her children.
Her husband, that fucking bastard.
I should have spirited her and her two children away to Dorne the moment she sent for me. The instant he crowned that Stark girl as the queen of love and beauty, forsaking his own wife. I should have sensed the despair in her ever-saddened eyes. She sat there, abased and broken, her belly swollen with his child. Those smudged words in her letter, likely stained by her tears, should have served as reason enough to bring her back to Dorne, where she truly belonged among her people and her land.
Elia was no viper; she was more akin to a dove—gentle, serene, fragile yet resplendent, graceful, and generous to a fault. She was too generous for the rapacious beasts that surrounded her. Here in Dorne, she walked among vipers, none of them would ever harm her. In King's Landing, she had found herself surrounded by dragons and lions… who had torn her asunder, both figuratively and literally.
Every hour drifted by like a languid stream, sowing a tempest of dread deep within Oberyn's core. Why does no one share in my fear? Neither her kin, nor our people dwelling here. Why does the world remain unperturbed? Am I truly the only one who understands the depth of their malice? Their hatred for us? For her?
Oberyn paced his brother's solar ceaselessly, a restless specter, his sword ever-present at his side, primed for any declaration. Doran, seated nearby, muttered words beneath his breath, prayers? curses? who knows; their nature concealed in the shroud of his quiet contemplation.
Suddenly, the reverberation of frantic footfalls pierced the air, accompanied by the panting of a disheveled soldier. "My... My Princes, Your Highness," the soldier stammered, his voice trembling as tears welled up in his eyes. Words eluded him, his courage shattered. "They have… they've killed the King... they've taken the Princess's life... and her children's." Oberyn lunged forward, seizing the young man by the throat, his rage ignited like wildfire, "I will sever your vile tongue if such words pass your lips again!" he hissed, fury coursing through every fiber of his being. How dare he utter such blasphemy?
Doran shouted at him, a frantic plea to prevent his brother from inflicting harm. Oberyn's grip on the soldier's neck tightened, threatening to snap it in half, "how dare you speak her name with such lies!" Oberyn's face was but a hair's breadth away from the man's.
"Oberyn!" Doran's voice boomed louder now, snapping his brother from the abyss of his wrath.
Reluctantly, Oberyn released the man, who fell to his knees, coughing and gasping, muttering apologies amidst his tears, "I apologize, my prince... I apologize... I apologize," he babbled frantically, his form trembling.
Oberyn stood frozen in place, the world around him becoming a cacophony of muffled sounds. Blood surged in his ears and pounded in his head, rendering his limbs feeble and numb. The frantic movements of those around him and his older brother's inquiries and orders blurred into obscurity, leaving only the sensation of his own scalding skin, burning him alive. He longed to rip his garments from his body, to tear his flesh asunder, as the air grew oppressively thick and sweltering, suffocating him as if he were submerged beneath water. The tingling sensation in his fingertips and the throbbing pain in his right eye pierced his consciousness. It was as though he were aflame from within, feeling the molten flow of his blood beneath his searing skin.
Their shared life flashed before his eyes in an instant. He remembered her fragility, how he cradled her in his arms and heart. Those days when he pushed her wheelchair with gusto, eliciting laughter from her. She was a year his senior, yet her fragility and ailment demanded his physical protection. In turn, she fortified his spirit, offering solace in a world that sought to alter him. He visited her chamber daily, sharing tales of their parents and elder sibling, and she listened, offering comfort and understanding. He was her bastion, and she was his serenity. He was her army, and she was his peace. They were inseparable, and the notion of existence without one another seemed unfathomable.
The sun no longer bathed Dorne in its usual warmth on the day her remains returned to their homeland. That Dornish sun, once radiant, now dawned upon a lifetime burdened by sorrow. She had been his sun, his compass… and he, the unwavering sunflower, had turned to follow her every step. But now, he stood alone, adrift in a sea of grief and rage.
The maesters had begged him to avert his gaze, especially from her visage—or what remained of it, to be precise. They wished to preserve her memory, to shield the image of her serenity from the abhorrent tragedy she had endured. Oberyn, however, bore the weight of her demise squarely upon his own shoulders. He harbored the belief that it was his heedlessness, his momentary acquiescence to his brother’s commands, that had led to her tragic end. And as penance, he needed to engrave the gruesome sight of her shattered skull and broken mandible to his brain, so that the searing memory might forever scar his psyche.
He craved the pain, the unrelenting thirst for vengeance, for it was this anguish that would serve as a relentless reminder. He needed her tragic fate etched into the very fiber of his being, so that if ever a trace of empathy for these monsters dared to creep into his thoughts, the vivid memory of what they had stolen from him—the essence of his sweet Elia—would rip through his soul, leaving him wounded, but resolute in his pursuit of justice.
The absence of a sibling is an ineffable experience… alexithymic; one that defies the boundaries of expression. You see, a person's existence in this world is akin to that of a tree; the parents, the grandparents, and all the ancestors serve as the unwavering stem, the robust trunk that grounds and anchors one's very being. Your children, they are the intricate roots, extensions of your essence that traverse the world, existing as a continuation of you, and you, in turn, live life through them. But siblings... they are the branches.
To lose a sibling is to lose a part of yourself, a limb perhaps, one that may not kill you but certainly inflicts the agony of phantom pain. It lingers, this spectral ache, an ever-present reminder that punctuates your happiest moments, like a persistent thorn in your side, incessantly prodding you to remember what you have forfeited. It leaves behind a lingering melancholy, not potent enough to suffocate you to death, yet substantial enough to hinder the prospect of living life to its fullest.
But how does one even go about living life in the semblance of normalcy?
For a sibling is more than a mere bearer of shared genes; they are witnesses to your enduring connection with stubborn parents, companions in the labyrinthine maze of childhood, fellow travelers through the terrain of trauma. They are the ones who have beheld every facet of your being, every iteration of your existence.
In the years that followed, he embarked on a ceaseless flight, fleeing from her shadow, from the haunting memory of their love. Her name, once a melody on his tongue, now tasted acrid, too laden with pain to be cherished or recollected. His heart, once a sanctuary of devotion, was now filled with a venomous brew of hatred, anger, and an insatiable thirst for retribution. He yearned to hunt down every man across the Seven Kingdoms, to rend their flesh from bone with his own bare hands. Yet, deep within, he nurtured a more profound loathing—for himself, for his own frailty and cowardice.
Her death had sapped his strength, of that he was certain. He could no longer gaze upon the sun without wincing, nor could he behold the graceful palm trees that adorned every corner of Dorne without feeling his gut wrenching, as though it were on the verge of rupture. Even the taste of figs, her favored fruit, had become an agony to bear. And when he cast his eyes upon his own brother, he could not help but wish it had been he who suffered such a wretched fate, rather than his sweet Elia.
On bended knee, he knelt beside her sandstone tomb, on the eve of his departure from Dorne, where he would spend the impending years in solitude, far removed from the land they had once shared. Whispering amidst tears that welled in his eyes and his aching heart, And unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, you must rest, my Sun.
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bonpocalypse · 7 months
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can you please tell me your headcanons for the nationalities of the twst boys pretty pretty please 🥺 also any other headcanons you have!!!
I love love love nationality headcanons, they're so fun to think of!! A reminder that these are my headcanons, I'm not here to start arguments. If anything does come across as offensive/innapropriate please let me know! I'll gladly fix it :)
For the most part, I based the Twst Character's nationalities off of where their stories take place (I'm not all that skilled in headcanons, apologies!!)
Alright, going in dorm order here:
Heartslabyul
Riddle Rosehearts: Icelandic/Britsh
I have him as Icelandic purely because of LeafSheep's "Begin at the Beginning," the King Said!! Nordic Heartslabyul has my heart. and ofc since Heartslabyul is based on Alice in Wonderland, he's half-British in my headcanons
Ace Trappola: British
Alice in Wonderland :)
I don't have much to say about Ace, I kinda don't think about him all that much
Deuce Spade: Irish
In coming up with nationality headcanons, I wanted to explore more areas in the British Isles for the Heartslabyul students and eventually decided on Deuce being Irish! I had more reasonings but its 5 am and I cannot think for the love of me.
Cater Diamond: American with English/German heritage
I see myself in Cater. He's one of my highest kins, so he's 100% from West Coast USA. It also makes a lot of sense he'd be American looking at how similar some nations in the Twisted Wonderland universe are to nations in our own world! Pyroxene is really similar to the United States from what I've researched, and Cater's valley accent in the English version of the game really hits the mark :)
As for his heritage, he's English because of Alice in Wonderland and German because I feel it fits him very well
Trey Clover: British
I don't think about Trey often enough sorry :(((
I love him though he's so silly
Savanaclaw
Leona Kingscholar: Kenyan
The Lion King takes place in the Kenya area, and so I put him there!
Jack Howl: American with Kenyan/French heritage
Another Pyroxien!
Kenyan because Savanaclaw was based on the Lion King and that's set in Kenya
French because I have a sneaking suspicion Jack is based on the wolves from Beauty and the Beast
Ruggie: South African
Ruggie was hard to find a headcanon for, but I eventually just took someone else's headcanon that said he is South African
Octavinelle
Azul Ashengrotto: Italian/French/Danish
All come from where the Little Mermaid is set in both the movie form and the Hans Christian Andersen form. The movie itself was set in the Mediterranean Sea, and I headcanon Azul's family to be from around the Nice, France area of the Mediterranean
Danish comes into play from the original source material for The Little Mermaid and the fact that the Coral Sea in Twst gets cold. Also to note, the Coral Sea on the map of Twisted Wonderland is close to the coast of the Queendom of Roses, which is pretty far north!
Jade and Floyd Leech: Danish
Putting these two together because twins
Pretty much the same reasonings as Azul, the book's settings and the Coral Sea :)
Scarabia
Kalim Al-Asim: Saudi Arabian
I'm going to be so honest, I don't think about Scarabia like... at all. So for Kalim, I'm going straight out of where Aladdin is supposed to be set
That also came as a problem, because the movie has a habit of mashing Middle Eastern cultures together. Though I did find that the movie takes place in the Arabian Desert which narrows where Aladdin was filmed to a myriad of countries, one of which is Saudi Arabia
I decided to go with Saudi Arabia since a majority of the desert does reside within that country.
Jamil Viper: Saudi Arabian/South Asian
Same thing as for my headcanons with Kalim, and I got the South Asian headcanon from a mutual on TikTok
Pomefiore
Vil Schoenheit: American with German heritage
Hollywood star here, folks!
German heritage because of Snow White's setting :)
Epel Felmier: Finnish
Ok for this headcanon I went off of the Harveston event
(hey future Bon edit here when its not 5 am and running off of no sleep)
Rook Hunt: Australian
This headcanon is for shits and giggles
It's a running joke between me and my friend that Rook is not French and is faking the accent to sound more "beautiful"
I don't know why we chose Australia specifically but it came to fruition
He can't speak proper French he's literally calling Vil the King of Fish
Ignihyde
Idia and Ortho Shroud: Greek
Hercules is set in Greece!
Diasomnia
Malleus Draconia: French
For Diasomnia I went off of movie settings once again, and Sleeping Beauty is heavily implied to be set in France!
I really feel like I should explain more but that's really most of my headcanons for them, where their movies are set
Silver: French
Silver is tough to pin down since we don't know if he's even originally from the Briar Valley, but I went with French as well
Sebek Zigvolt: French/German
(Bon please please please come back to this)
Lilia Vanrouge: French
I actually have so many nationality headcanons on this dude its not even funny
I imagine him as French, Romanian, and Dutch
And for funnies:
Royal Sword (and Rollo) (excluding the dwarves)
Neige LeBlanche: American with German/Finnish Heritage
Che'nya: British/Russian
Rollo Flamm: French
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