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danytar · 30 days

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“My Dragon's Mother” [Prince!Aegon!Targaryen X Pregnant!Wife!Reader]

Warnings: Incest - Erotic lactation - domesticity - pregnancy kink - offensive language

Summary: Aegon is obsessed with his wife during her second pregnancy and he's trying hard to keep his hands to himself after she reach the final stages of pregnancy.

You were reading peacefully in your own chambers sitting in your chair in front of your large mirror. Suddenly you hear the sound of your doors being opened.from the intoxicating scent that invaded the room You knew he was your husband.

You put your book aside on the table in front of you then you looked in the mirror in front of you to see him standing there smiling at you. you smiled back to him.

He get closer and closer, then kneel behind your chair and wrapped his arms around your pregnant belly.

“How does my goddess feeling this morning?” he whispered in your ear.

“There is no fat goddess”. you replied and moved your head slightly to look at his handsome face.

“Fat?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at you with a curious look.. “My goddess carrying my child and says a ridiculous things about herself! ”.

Before you could respond, he tucked his face into the side of your neck his arms were still tight around your belly. You could feel his breath on your neck.

“Some satisfaction?” you chuckled. he smiled softly he started kissing the side of your neck, your jaw, and below your ear. Your sensitive potential.

You felt like you were in heaven your husband's gentle kisses and touches make your body tremble. His hands moved from your belly to your chest and began to feel and squeeze your swollen breasts..

“Aeg- what you're doing?” you replied with a short chuckle.

“Make my own goddess feel relaxed”. His tone was sexy and low. you felt like they were starting to leak..He smiled seductively and nibbled your earlobe slowly. You let out a soft moan when you felt his teeth scratch your skin.

He got up from his place and he was now in front of you and knelt down in front of your chair again. He smiled at you seductively. That smile of his is like a spear that pierced your heart.

He placed his head and hands on your belly “I can't wait to meet you my sweet girl or boy”. He murmured sweetly while you smiled and tangled your fingers in his short silver hair.

You chuckle and said “Oh? is this so? ”. he smiled at you and kissed your belly.

“Tell me, how do you feel while you carrying dragon's child?” he chuckled.

“Hmm Horrible”

“Horrible??”He raised his eyebrows and looked at you.. “Is this a lie, my dear wife?”

You chuckled and nodded. he smiled widely then he rose to kiss your lips softly. Your husband's kisses were usually hot and rough but he was considerate of your pregnancy and its progress that's why he didn't want to cause you things that he would regret later.

You two stayed like that for a while, kissing each other and he caresses your body and your belly in particular.However, suddenly your moments are interrupted by a pair of silverlyheads entering the room.

Aegon pulled away from you to look at the twin.

“Mummy! we had chosen the child egg! ”. They said in sync and ran towards you and their father.

“Eh? Without us? ”Aegon replied to tease them.

“I went with them” Aemond's voice broke through the conversation as he leaned against the door frame.

Aegon looks at his brother with soft smilie “Thank you brother”.

Aemond smiled back and nodded “How are you today, sister?”. he said to you.

“Pretty good Aemond thank you”. you replied with a wide smilie.

“Daddy, uncle aemond helped us to choose the egg. It was golden and shiny It resembles sunfyre scales”. Jaenaera said.

“Oh? Sunfyre scales really? ” Aegon chuckled .

They nodded. While you smiled and said to them, “Then let’s hope the dragon looks like Sunfyre too.”

Aegon looked at you and smiled “Oh? Do you want to replace me with this child?”.

“I didn't say I would replace you, my love”.

“We also chose the baby's name”. The twin interrupt your conversation with your husband.

“Also?!” Aegon can't help but laugh at his children.

“Yes! I will name him Aemon” Jaehaerys replied.

“Hey! We agreed on Viserys like grandfather's name! ”. Jaenaera protest.

“No!”

“Yes! ”

“No! ”

“Oh yes! ”

You chuckled at the sight of the children arguing over their sibling's name. The two were having such a lively argument regarding their sibling's potential name that they were almost shouting when they spoke.

It was quite amusing to just watch them at this moment, they were two adorable children that were having such a small argument over the name of their sibling to be.

But at least it seemed that they were decided upon the idea of having a brother.

“I've already chosen a name ” you chuckled.

Aegon chuckled alongside his wife as she spoke. She had already chosen a name for the child and she seemed satisfied with her decision. It certainly made sense that she had already decided upon a name for their future child herself. He spoke to her now in a soft and caring tone.

“So you have already chosen out a name for our future child, that is great. It is a good thing that you are already so prepared.”

“W-What! but muuuummmmmmyyy! ”

“What did you choose sister?” Aemond replied.

“Aegon”

“Yes sweetheart? ”he replied.

You chuckled..“His name will be Aegon”.

He was indeed correct in his prediction, she did choose his name. He could not resist the urge to smirk as she had chosen his very own name for the unborn child that she carried with her.

He spoke teasingly. "My own name? You really chose Aegon as the child's name?"

You smiled and nodded. Aemond rolled his eyes and sighed wryly “Aegon? really sis? Why isn't Aemond? I can't believe you chose our stupid brother's name”

“Excuse me? Our stupid brother is my husband”you replied to aemond.

Aegon can't help but smilies and hugs from behind and wrapped his arms around your belly again and placed kisses on your neck.

“You two!”Aemond scolds you both and covers children's eyes. you and aegon chuckles while aemond takes your children outside “Come on guys, it looks like your parents are busy”.

After you were left alone Your husband raised the level and started biting your neck and ear.. You groaned lightly. “Ah- aeg! what you think yourself doing? ”.

He smiled slyly then he proceeded to pull down the straps of your silk nightgown to reveal your swollen chest in front of him.

“Aegon! "

He smiled and looked at you.. You knew this evil look very well.

“No! " you checked.

“Oh yes honey”. he replied.

“Aeg! ”.

He quickly pounced your breasts and his mouth began to abuse your nipples.. you can't help but moaned loudly.. “Aeg-”

“I am just enjoying my sweet wife, that is all.”

He spoke back with humor, continuing his licks and bites her swollen breasts. He was enjoying it immensely, he knew she was enjoying it as well given her reactions to him touching her, and he had no intention of stopping at all.

“Little Aegon won't share your breasts with me”.

“Aegon!”.

“This is true, my sweet child, are you listening? Your mother's tits are mine.. all of them.. even.. ”.

“Even what? ”

“This”.

He started sucking on your nipples vigorously, drawing out every drop of milk was there. “AH- You are a big pervert ”. you moaned loudly and you ran your fingers through his hair.

He checked “I know”.

– PART 2

– Taglist ♡ : @callsignwidow @xitsemm @saltytidalwavetyphoon @khaleesihel @credulouskhaleesi

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon headcanons #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon fanfic #aegon the second #tom glynn carney #tom glynn carney x reader #hotd2 #hotd s2 #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon x you

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faexoxoxoxo · 3 months

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My Love Will Never Die...

Pairing: vampire! geto suguru x fem! reader

Summary: your father was a good man, gullible yes, but still good, so when you receive a letter telling you of his imprisonment, you're left with no choice but to make your way to the Lord's castle, hoping you'd convince him to release your father in exchange for the little gold you have to offer. Pity that's not enough for him...

Warnings: 18+, dubconish, smuttt, breeding, blood drinking...

Sharp wind bites at your skin, carrying with it the promise of frost and cold. Your thin cloak barely shields you against the chill, leaving you shuddering. You had nothing in your heart but hope, hope that your father was alive, hope that his captor would show a shred of mercy and agree to set him free in exchange for what little gold you had to offer.

The woods appeared to have a life of their own, some trees reaching tall while others thick and tangled down below, mist growing thicker as you rode deeper and deeper into the forest, causing your sight to fluctuate between clear and blurry. An eternity seemed to pass before the dense trees gave way, fog lessening to reveal a clearing, and there it was at the center.

The castle stood tall, an ominous, imposing presence. Its twisted spires and sharp black points against the sky as if to pierce the heavens themselves. People in your villagers had long whispered tales of the horrors that lurked within the castle's walls, of the elusive Lords and Ladies that called its dark halls their home.

“...eight, nine, ten…”

Step by step, you counted, trying to push away the fear that threatened to consume you. Dismounting from your trusty steed, pulling its lead rope you slowly nearing the castle gates, the sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot, doing little to ease your already tense nerves.

“Welcome Madam, Master Geto has been expecting you.”

One of the guards standing by the gates greeted, seeing your approaching figure, tone calm and respectful as he opened the large gates, and taking the reins of your horse, gesturing to his companion to take you inside the castle grounds.

Following behind the guard, you couldn't shake off the dread creeping into your bones. He was expecting you? Why? How could this Master Geto have been so certain you would come for your father's aid? And the way that guard spoke as though you were a person of great importance, when you were merely the daughter of a poor village healer…

It was usually dark inside, with only a handful of burning torches lighting your way, the sound of your shoes clanking against the dark marble floor echoed through the stately halls. The elegant surroundings only added to your unease, ornate tapestries and massive statues decorating the area, one sculpture in particular standing out amongst the rest, a black dragon with haunting purple eyes, fangs bared, wings spread wide, as though ready to leap from its pedestal and tear you apart. Subconsciously, you draw your cloak closer, wishing to make yourself invisible.

Reaching a set of grand double doors, the guard in front of you halted. He was nervous. You noticed a slight shift in the burly man's demeanour as he knocked on the door once, twice, and no more. Moments of silence followed before a response finally came from the other side.

“Send her in, Makoto”

The voice was deep and commanding, making you feel small despite not having yet seemed the person it belonged to. The guard, Makoto, instantly opened the doors, ushering you inside, before closing the doors behind you with a deafening thud, causing you to flinch, the reaction earning a chuckle from the man sitting in the room.

“Timid little thing, aren't you?”

“I...I…”

You stood for a moment, unsure of how to respond, taking in your surroundings: shelves lined with more books, tomes and scrolls than you could imagine, and him seated beside the fireplace in a leather armchair clad in the finest black robes, the man you could only assume was the Master of the castle, Lord Geto.

He was not what you imagined, not that there was much to imagine with how little anyone knew of him, but you definitely did not anticipate him possessing a face so handsome even the finest craftsmen couldn't sculpt, raven locks loose and inviting as if waiting for someone to run their hands through it.

But it was his eyes, unlike any you'd ever gazed upon in your life, a deep, haunting violet much like the dragon state; they pierced straight into your soul, making your breath hitch.

“Sit.” He gestures to the chair beside him, a soft smile tugging on his lips watching you do as he says.

“L...Lord Geto…” You begin feeling your heartbeat pick up he made you so nervous... How could someone look so perfect and his voice...it was so smooth and soothing like a sirens song...

“Suguru” he looks at you frowning, the smile now gone, as though you gravely offended him. “You just call me Suguru.”

You froze for a second. He wanted you to call him Suguru. Was that his name? Why? Why? So many questions ran through your mind, but you knew now wasn't the time. “As you wish...Suguru.” It sounded so strange his name on your tongue, but seeing his smile return, you continued, “I received your letter. My father... he's old and sick...I'm sorry, I will pay for his wrongdoings...” Taking out the worn-out bag, you show him the few gold coins inside. This was meant to be your dowry, but now the dreams of ever finding a husband, having children, or a home of your own seemed so far …

“Hmm…” he hums as if sympathetic to your case, but his next words crushed any previous hopes you had. “I'm afraid gold won't make up for the damages your father caused.”

“Then...then what must I do?”

“Perhaps…” There's a glimmer of wickedness in his eyes now as he looks at you. “You could take his place?”

“M...me?” You gasp at his sudden offer “B...but what use could I possibly have...can't you just accept the gold..please…” you pleaded but that only seemed to fuel whatever desire he had of keeping you in place of your father.

“I'm sure we can find something for you to do…” he muses, violet eyes hungrily roaming your body freely, making you squirm in your seat. “Of course I can always have your father hanged for thievery; as you said, he's old, with little ability, no use keeping deadweight alive…”

“No !” You protest, “No, please, I...I'll stay !” There was no way you could stand by and let your father die, not when there was a chance to save him, even if it meant sacrificing yourself…

“Good girl.” Suguru pats your head, his smile widening. You could've sworn you saw a flash of something sharp, fangs? No, that's impossible. Your tired mind was simply playing tricks on you…

~~~

True to his word, Suguru released your father from the dungeons the next morrow. You'd been allowed a brief goodbye before he was sent away, courtesy of the Lord.

After that, you expected to be thrown into the damp cells or at best given a room in the servants quarters; not that there was anything to complain about; these were the terms of your father's life in exchange for you spending yours in captivity. However, to your surprise, you had been given a room in the west wing of the castle, right besides Suguru's.

“You need to stay close to serve me,” he chuckled when asked for the reason. Cold hands patted your head, ruffling your hair in the process. He really seemed to like doing that.

Suguru was a strange captor, never asking you to do harsh tasks; quite the contrary, he was quick to grow agitated whenever you suggested doing anything related to household chores, working in the gardens, cooking meals, or tending to the horses with other servants...

“How many times must I repeat myself? Your only task is serving me.”

But you never want me to do anything! You bite your lips every time, silently screaming in your mind. Serving the Lord was boring. All he asked of you during the day was to sit in his office as he finished the never-ending amount of paperwork on his desk. Occasionally, he'd ask you to fetch him his special wine, and that was it.

Despite his at times odd behaviors, you found Suguru to be charming? others might label you as debauched for finding the man who threatened to kill your father, and now served as your captor attractive, but strangely, you couldn't bring yourself to care, how could anyone be expected to remain impervious when facing someone so...alluring.

To make matters worse, he was so much more than a pretty face. He was gentle and kind; there was the casual teasing and laughing whenever he noticed you getting flustered due to his words, and even that made your heart flip-flop...

It was so easy to get lost in him, but you tried the best to nib the blooming affections at the bud, constantly reminding yourself of the position you had. There was no way Lord Geto Suguru would return your feelings; he was a highborn lord who'd go on to marry a purebred lady of upper-class society. You were a prisoner, lowborn, and insignificant compared to him...

For what felt like a year, you continued living the same daily routine: waking up, getting dressed, drawing Suguru his morning bath, helping him dress, never leaving his side, letting him nuzzle into the crook of your neck. “It calms me,” he claimed, something you never questioned, and as the days went by, you began feeling more and more like a pampered house pet than a prisoner serving their sentence, but then you started to grow homesick missing your father and the garden of herbs you tended to…

~~~

“Suguru” you said one night as you both sat by the fireplace, having finally worked up the courage to ask him, "I...I was thinking, Would it be alright if I visited my father? Not for long, of course, just a few days…I promise I'll return; my village is close by, I just w—”

Suguru's wine glass shattered in his hands, expression growing cold. You flinched at the sound, eyes widening at the sight of blood dripping down his finger. What was happening? You had never seen him react like this before. Sure, there was sternness or chiding whenever you accidentally scalded yourself trying to bake something, but this was completely new... and it terrified you.

“Leave? You wish to leave me?” Suguru rose from the chair, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I thought you'd just need time to accept me,” he whispered, violet eyes glimmering dangerously as he approached you, and you're not sure if you heard him right. Accept him? What did he mean? You swallowed nervously as he inches closer, your back hitting the smooth wall, his arms on your sides trapping you in place.

“Sugure...” You want to beg, to tell him you regret asking to go home, to promise you'll never ask again. But all that comes out is a broken sob as you feel him dig his fingers into your hips to keep you from moving out of his hold.

His eyes softened. "No, no, hush now...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…” hands trailing to your face, gently wiping the tears under your eyes. “Always forget how delicate your kind can be...” he sighs, resting his forehead against yours.

You don’t move. Thoughts whirling as you replayed his words in your head. Your kind, your kind, your kind, your kind. You knew you heard him right; he'd said it, but what did that even mean? Suguru was like you, wasn't he? He was human...

He was cold, too cold, always cold…

He didn't eat, always making some sort of excuse to skip meals…but he loved to drink…the special wine he loved, it was red and smelled metallic like…like…blood …

“Nosferatu.” You mumble knowingly, looking into his violet eye.

Every little child had been told the tales of his kind. blood sucking creatures of the night who feasted on mankind, vampires, and Suguru was one of them. The revolution was too much; you could feel yourself losing air, and then you fainted in his arms.

~~~

You wake this time in something soft and velvety. Seeing the faintest flicker of candlelight around as you force your eyes to open. your neck hurts, you feel strange, warm, too warm this wasn't your room; it was…

“You're awake.”

His. Your mind replays the events before Suguru wasn't human; he was a monster, something straight out of the scary bedtime stories your grandmama would tell you...

“Don't hurt me !” You try to back away, to break free of his hold, tears streaming down your face. This wasn't how you envisioned your life ending.

No, no, no, no…

“I won't,” he tries to assure, but you can feel his hands tighten around your waist. His cold lips stop against your pulse point as he licks up and down your neck. “You're mine, my fated, I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to…”

Fated? What in the world was that? You open your mouth, wanting to scream for help, but all that comes out is a helpless moan... You feel so week, your body was on fire. You needed something, anything, to make it go away....

“If only you knew how painful it was.” His voice is a drug, intoxicating, but if you take too much, you'll die. Large hands gently rub your thighs, making you shake. “Denying myself of claiming you when I first set eyes on you...so fucking hard, but then you say you want to go back...” he laughs, not the usually warm ones that make your heart flutter. No, this one was cold. Sending shivers down your spine...

“No more waiting”

You let out a squeak as he pushes you into the mattress, moving himself to face you now. Violet eyes shining with hunger, and desire...

“Suguru–” he slams his mouth on yours, fully intending on muffling whatever protests you have. His tongue was rough and cruel as he filled your mouth, only pulling away to rip your dress off, leaving you bare for him, hungry eyes taking in every little detail of your body as he strips himself off his dark robes. Why was he so beautiful ? His face, his toned muscles, his... oh, so big, there's no way that'll fit. You want to run and hide, shrink into nothing so he can't find you...

“my perfect love” he coos lips again on your neck slowly trailing kisses, down to body until he's reached the place you no man has ever seen. you want to squeeze your thighs shut to tell him not to look, but you can't, not with the firm grip he has on you legs...

“This is mine,” he takes a long lick, burying his nose into your wetness, inhaling your smell. “My pussy,” he groans into you, “mine to breed.” His long fingers move now, rubbing against your bundle of nerves as he greedily laps at your juices, this... this was what you needed to stop the burning in your core. You feel yourself shake, hips rocking into Suguru's face, hands making their way to his scalp, pulling him closer. You need it, need more, so close...then you fall over the edge; too much, too much, and he's drinking it all up...

Pulling away, he gives you a mischievous grin showing off his fangs, as he comes back up to kiss your lips so you can taste yourself on his tongue, rocking his hips so you can feel how hard he is, how much you turn him on...

“Please, please, Suguru, please...” You're not sure what you're begging for, mind too foggy to comprehend anything. All your senses consumed by Suguru, his touch, his smell, you want him to make the burning ache go away...

“My sweet love,” he coos, kissing your forehead, hips still rutting into your stomach, “we'll be forever bound after this, as it was always meant to be...” he grins, love drunk eyes focused on you a feral gleam in them, and for a split second, the logical part of your mind returns, but it was too late now...He'd wrapped your legs around his waist one hand holding on to yours and the other moving down to gide himself into your virgin cunt.

You screamed at the foreign feeling, clawing at his back, he was tearing you open, filling your insides, it hurt so bad you didn't want it anymore...

“Shhhh you can take it,” he kisses you again, “my good girl” You feel him move gentle and slow, but the moment he hears you moan, he takes it as a sign to fuck you hard. It makes your head spin. He's so, so deep, you can feel him hitting all the right spots inside, making you see stars...

“Thought about breaking your legs when you said you wanted to leave,” Suguru growls into your neck, his sharp teeth scraping the bruised skin he'd bitten during your unconscious state. “But this is better,” you gasp as his pace becomes more brutal, deeper and deeper, giving you the feeling that the head of his cock would poke through your stomach. “You'll be my good girl from now on, won't you?” he looks at you, the edge of his mouth quirking into a sly smirk as if daring you to challenge him.

“Yes, yes...” you nod, the feeling of his fingers pushing on your already sensitive clit making you cum for the second time, toes curling as you cling on to Suguru, who moans at the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering around him sucking at him harder. "You'll look so perfect swollen with my seed,” his hands holding yours in a painful grip, thrusts growing sloppy and untimed, “Our own family, f–fuck... you'll never think about leaving me...”

No…no…no push him off…push him off

A tiny voice in your heart shrieked, knowing the consequences of what would happen if this beast successfully fucked his child into you. Any chance of escape gone, you'd forever be a prisoner to him…

But it was so hard to act, mind dazed, and vision blurry with fresh tears, tangled into Suguru's arms, whimpering as you felt him fill you up, rope after rope of his thick cum coating your inside, fangs sinking into your neck as you gush around him.

“My pretty love," he purrs, still inside you, “My always and forever.” blood coated lips met yours gentler than before, almost making you melt, thinking maybe just maybe being Suguru's wouldn't be so bad...

A/N - trying to get back into writing longer fics and not just drabbles or headcanons so hope this turned out well...I did a alpha!gojo hc before and vamp!geto now next I'm thinking ghost!Nanami mayhaps...

My ask box is always open if anyone wants to talk (≧ω≦) fr tho come talk to me babes I love to hear from ya'll

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

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nihilnisiluna · 4 months

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The cries of a Dragon

Zhongli was blind when he first saw them, he believed that they were the imposter, that they couldn’t be the creator. Afterall who else would know other than him? The most devoted and loyal to the creator, if he could, he would give them anything that was in his power to do so.

Though all he felt at that moment was shame for what he had done to the god he worshiped. He remembers the pain he felt when he pierced the creator's skin with the spear that was given to him by them and saw the golden blood that splattered around him. The feeling that there was a drop of blood on his face, how he couldn’t breathe right. Knowing full well what he did and was scared to accept that he of all people did that to his beloved creator. Yet, he couldn’t help but want to reach out for them and to feel them against his skin, yearning for it all to be some terrible dream that he can wake up from.

When his hand was just an inch away from his creator's face, he paused and the creator was enveloped in a swirl of gold like sand surrounding them. Though once it was gone, there was no creator as the sand had taken his beloved creator leaving behind his spear. All he could do was release a shaky breath as he dropped to his knees and started to cry at what happened before him. At what he had done.

He stayed at that area, never wanting to leave the area he murder the one he worshiped so dearly. Praying and begging for the heavens and stars to bring his creator.

Yet, it felt like he got no response to his cries. Venti heard from the winds that something terrible happened and that he had to go look at where it all happened. However, the moment he found the cave where the winds were screaming to go, he saw an amber eye staring at him from the dark cave and heard the chilling voice of an old friend. “Go away.”

The look on Zhongli's face was tired and there was no other emotion on his face. Despite the voice telling him to leave, Venti walked in and as soon as he got close to the spear that had its head stuck to the floor. The darkness moved and Venti knew he had to dodge or he’d be dead, but he couldn’t, not when there was a sphere of gold in front of him. This caused the man going to kill him to freeze and stare at what was happening before them. The sphere morphed into a flower and it started to bloom in front of them. At the center of it, was the creator in white robes, they looked as though they were resting.

In an instant, the two archons knelt on a knee before their creator while Venti had his head down. Zhongli couldn’t help but stare at them as he was happy to see that they were back and alive.

Yet, the moment they opened their eyes and looked down at who was before them, they froze in fear when they met eyes with the archon that put a spear in their chest. The only exit was behind the two archons kneeling before them so instead they took a step back. This resulting in Venti trying to talk to the creator, “ Your grace,-”

Only to be cut off by the shaky voice of the creator, “No, stay back.”

Venti glanced up in shock before noticing that Zhongli held his head down in shame and than after a moment Zhongli moved. The creator flinched back and said, “please don’t hurt me again!”

“Please forgive this servant of yours,” Zhongli started and he felt the deathly glare on his back while he was resting both knees on the floor with his head and hands resting close by. “I will prove my serenity to you. Use me as you wish. I will not disobey any of your commands”

It was Venti who convinced the creator to come out of the cave and it was he who they stood close by as the trio walked towards the closest hunt with Zhongli leading them all.

#genshin impact #nihil.writes <3 #sagau #Zhongli #Venti #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin

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daemonwhitedove · 2 months

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𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

The death of Daemon Targaryen never had hurt you more than it should.

Inspired by Ophelia from Hamlet. The end quote is from Song of Achilles.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

"Daemon, where are you going?" You inquire as you watches him readying to soar on dragonback with Dark Sister. Your gaze lifted to meet his, worry etched upon your visage as you observed your beloved. The war still raged, his life at stake.

Daemon turned to face you, unable to utter the truth, he imparted to you a falsehood. "Fret not for me, my love," he reassured, yet noting that your furrowed brow betrayed your unease.

He descended from his dragon, alighting before you on the earth. He clasped your hands firmly in his, bestowing a tender kiss upon them.

Your eyes locked with his. "Where are you going?" You softly inquire once more, voice quivering akin to your heart that throbbed and ached with dread. "You cannot go." It was your intuition that whispered so.

Nevertheless, Daemon sought to reassure you. "I shall return." The prince enfolded you in a kiss, pressing his lips fervently against yours, yearning to cherish the moment with you one last time.

As the kiss parted, he stroked your cheeks, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. "Keep this ring," he murmured, placing the silver ring in your palm.

A look of confusion crossed your visage as you gazed at him.

"Know that you are half of my soul," he whispered to you, and you were a fool to let him depart from your side.

You observed as he ascended Caraxes. The sense of foreboding only intensified as he and Caraxes soared into the heavens, perhaps never to return to you.

When he leapt towards Aemond with Dark Sister, you pondered what thoughts consumed him, his allegiance to Rhaenyra or his love for you?

As his blade pierced through the boy like butter, its edge piercing his remaining eye, was he reminiscing about you?

Did remorse grip him for leaving you bereft and alone?

Every morning you awoke to an empty bed, solitude enveloping you. The news of his demise shook you to the core, unable to contain your tumult of emotions, you wept bitterly.

Days passed, the war for the throne persisted. And you battled against the war of grief and madness threatening to engulf you completely. His remnants provided solace, soothing your tears and calming the sobs that escaped.

Rhaenyra and the others watches as you gradually descended into madness.

You sank to the ground, faltering with each step, observing as the water tenderly kissed the earth, forming a gentle ripple. The God's Eye was where your beloved had met his end with the young prince Aemond.

You prayed for Aemond, envisioning the suffering he must have endured.

Tears streamed down your face as you knelt by the water's edge, feeling the anguish in your heart. How could he forsake you so? He vowed to stay by your side, to live, to love you eternally.

You clutched the ring he had bestowed upon you not long ago.

"I shall return," he pledged as he placed the ring in your hand. The silver caressed your skin. Then he bestowed upon you a kiss, one of fervor and hunger. You could faintly feel his lips against yours, so sweet and intoxicating. He departed with his sword and his dragon as you watched from below, witnessing him slowly recede from your life.

Now you wished you had halted him.

Regardless of the throne's fate, regardless of victory or defeat, you stood resolute. The water beckoned to you, like a siren luring sailors. You dipped your feet into the water, smiling as though sensing his touch against your skin.

Similar to Queen Helaena and Daemon, you submerged into the water. Even as it embraced you tighter and deeper, pulling you further down, you only closed your eyes, gazing at the darkening and blurring sky. You tightened your grip on the ring in your hand. Not it, you could not lose it, not even in death.

Death welcomed you like an old friend, with open arms. You accepted your destiny.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

#hotd daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader angst #house of the dragon

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 10: Blame Everyone But Me For This Mess]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Aemond-induced chaos, death and destruction, witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I’ve Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 3 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Aemond!” he roars into the cerulean midday sky, knowing it is useless, that fate has already spoken.

All his life, fate has proven Criston Cole wrong. He once believed he could not rise above being born to a steward in the Dornish Marches. He once feared he would never be permitted to join the Kingsguard. He once felt in his twisting, self-loathing guts that he would never love any woman but Rhaenyra. And Criston once knew—without reservation, without complexity—that Alicent’s eldest son would never amount to anything worthwhile, could never be courageous, self-sacrificial, competent, a true king. Each time, fate had a different ending in store.

All around him, Green soldiers are dying in what will be known to history as the Butcher’s Ball. They are being slit open, disemboweled, crushed beneath the hooves of warhorses, stabbed and clubbed and speared. The Northmen have scorpions with them as well, with massive bolts to bring down dragons; but they are unnecessary. There are no dragons on the battlefield today.

Criston pictures Aemond as a boy, always so sullen, always so dutiful. He read and he wrote and he sparred in the castle courtyard until the blisters on his palms burst and bled and then turned to callouses, knots of dead-nerved scar tissue that grew over his wounds but never cured them. Criston did not just believe in Aemond’s abilities, his honor; he was certain of these things, he carried them as interminably as the lines in his palms. Criston knew Aemond and Vhagar would be the saviors of the Greens in this war. He knew Aemond would be here.

But he’s not. He’s just not, and there’s nothing I can do to bring him.

Cregan Stark is cutting through the Greens’ men. He is not a soldier, he is a force of nature, he is a thunderstorm or a famine or a rogue wave, he is winter coming to rip the trees bare and bury the weak in frostbitten earth. Arrows are loosed by the Northmen’s archers, lethal hissing rain. One hits Criston in the shoulder of his sword arm. Another pierces him through the small of his back, severing his spinal cord and dropping him to his knees.

Through the fray, Cregan sees the Kingmaker. He wants him, he wants Criston’s blood on his blade, his hands, his face; and what the Warden of the North wants, he is never denied.

Alicent, Criston thinks, and he remembers her lying in bed after giving birth to Aegon. She was a girl, just a girl, pale, sick, in terrible and unspoken pain, never the same in body, forever darker in mind, alone in a room full of tapestries of her husband’s house as the court celebrated her newborn son. She knew she had been used. She knew this was her life and always would be, a wheel that goes around and around and crushes the same bones until they stop mending, until the misery and desperation becomes so much a part of you that you could almost forget it’s there. It’s your shadow, it’s your religion, it’s a sigil or a ring.

I suppose now I have something to live for, Alicent had said, and Criston sat on the edge of the bed took her small, cold hand in his own. He raised her knuckles to his lips and answered: I swear to you that I will always protect him. That I will never let him die.

Here in the Riverlands as Cregan Stark descends upon him, Criston looks up again and sunlight spills over his face, warm and kind and golden; but the sky is still empty.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the gardens of Dragonstone, on a bench carved out of gloom-grey basalt, you pull Aegon’s legs into your lap and roll up his loose cotton trousers to inspect them: scars that have knit shut the gashes bones once cut through, muscle mass that is slowly building itself back again, good circulation, able to carry him if only for short, hard-fought distances. You have bled twice since Aemond flew back to the Riverlands to seize Harrenhal. Here under flinty autumn skies and pine trees that sway in brisk wind that smells like saltwater and metal, you think that perhaps the earth is done giving things. This is the time for harvests, not blooms. This is the season of endings, long nights full of cold stars, firelight, reaping.

“Stop,” Aegon says gently. He’s clutching a thick wool blanket around his shoulders. He’s always cold now, pale and shivering. His silvery hair hangs in untamed waves around his face adored with only a single small braid that you weave for him each day. “I don’t want you to do it.”

No; he only wants the maesters to see his weakness, his suffering. “I like taking care of you. It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s how we met, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Now he smiles. “I have no idea what you saw in me.”

“An exemplary cock, mostly. Better than any in my medical books.”

Aegon laughs, a sound you rarely get to hear anymore. Then he is grave again. His hair blows in the gales that roll in off the ocean; his eyes, a tumultuous blue like waves in a storm, are ringed by shadows. “Angel, listen to me.” He places a hand over yours where it rest on a knot of scar tissue just below his kneecap. “If I don’t…” He pauses, and you think as you look at him: He’s nothing but scars now, he’s nothing but pain that is calloused over but never forgotten. “If I’m not here when the war is over, I want you to know that you’ll still be protected. Aemond knows. Larys knows. You are to be provided for. You will reside only where and with whom you choose to.”

“Why wouldn’t you be here?”

Aegon shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We should be realistic.”

“You’ll be here. You have to be.”

Aegon stares into a thicket of rose bushes, blood-red petals and twisted thorns. And he says faintly, like something a strong wind could carry away: “I’ll try.”

“We’re winning, Aemond and Criston and Daeron and the Greens’ armies. They might have won already and we’re just waiting to hear the words. Aemond will end the war and then we’ll all be together again in King’s Landing.”

Aegon gives you a wry smirk as you roll back down the legs of his trousers, concealing his roadmap of harm. “A man like Cregan Stark would not be such a disappointment. He would be able to ride into battle. He would not have compelled you to bloody your own hands. He would not be feeble and deformed.”

“It can’t be anyone but you.”

Overhead, half-shrouded in mist, there is an immense reptilian shadow and a rumbling like the earth splitting in two, cracked and forced apart by eruptions of steam, lava, trapped toxic heat. Gingerly, Aegon returns his boots to the earth, stony and barren. He winces and groans before he can bite it back to hide it from you.

“I’ll go,” you tell Aegon, skimming your fingers through his hair and touching your lips to his temple. His wave-blue eyes are watery, grateful. “Stay here. I’ll bring him to you.”

You hurry through corridors and down spiral staircases, watched by dragons of iron and stone with fire burning in their mouths. And of course, there is more than one reason why you want to greet Aemond by yourself. You don’t know what he will say to you; you don’t know if he’s still angry. But when he strides through the entranceway of the castle to meet you—his hair in one long white-blond braid, his black coat billowing around him in the sharp wind—he is not alone.

There is a woman with him.

“…Aemond?” you say, staring at her: hair like onyx, skin like snow. She grins at you beneath eyes that are pools of ink, dark and glassy and with hardly any whites. You do not believe she intends to unnerve you; still, there is a blade-cold shudder that tumbles down the rungs of your spine.

Aemond replies with pride that is hushed, pure: “This is my wife.”

“Your…?” You cannot look away from her. Her gown is black lace with long, dragging sleeves and a train that curls around her like a dragon’s tail. You can see glimpses of her starlight skin through the fabric, her forearms, her waist, her thigh. Isn’t she cold? You are wearing heavy velvet, pine green like Aegon’s banner, and still the impending winter needles at you. “Who…?”

Lord Larys Strong arrives, his cane tapping on the stone floor. When he sees the woman, he jolts to a halt and gawks. “Alys?”

“Hello, brother.” Her voice is deep, smooth, melodic. She speaks the language of ocean currents, roots in dark fertile soil, the revolving of the stars.

You turn to Larys. “Who is this?”

“A bastard daughter of my father,” Larys answers, slow and disbelieving. “Alys Rivers. She…she was at Harrenhal, last I saw her…years ago…”

“And now she is here with me,” Aemond says. “She is precisely where she belongs.”

Silence fills the room, the world, the space that has opened up between you and Aemond. Wife? Bastard? Harrenhal? At last, you manage shakily: “Aegon is in the gardens. He’s waiting for you.”

“Good,” Aemond says. He wears something you have never seen on him before: not just pride but serenity, consolation, contentment. “There is much to discuss.”

As slate-grey wind whistles through rose thorns and cranberry bushes, you and Larys step out into the gardens with your uninvited guests. Aegon’s eyes snag on Alys, widen, and then dart to you. He mouths: Who the fuck is that? You shrug, bewildered.

Aemond says: “Allow me to present my wife, Lady Alys Rivers of Harrenhal.”

“Your wife?!” Aegon exclaims, like he couldn’t possible have heard correctly. “Your wife?!”

“Yes.” Aemond’s arm snakes around Alys’ waist. She folds into him, palm to his chest, lips to his throat, something creeping and boneless like ivy or mist or smoke. “You’ve had two now. I’ve only just found mine.”

“Rivers,” Aegon echoes incredulously. “A bastard from the Riverlands.”

Larys notes: “One of my father’s natural children.”

“A Strong bastard?!” Aegon cackles and looks to Larys. “Where is Daeron presently? Can he be summoned here? He should see this.”

“It is no jest, Your Grace,” Aemond says calmly. “It is a true pairing of souls.”

“And you were not at liberty to give yours. You have to marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter. That was the deal, that’s why he has pledged his army to us.”

“Daeron can do it.”

“Daeron won’t be old enough to marry for years, and that’s not the point! This is a slight, an egregious slight, to reject a Baratheon noblewoman in favor of a…a…what was she, a serving wench? A wetnurse? What happened to your pathological obsession with self-righteous duty? And why aren’t you and Vhagar with Criston?! Is this what you’ve been doing for the past six weeks while I was trapped here, suffering and useless? You’ve been hiding in the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with your so-called wife? What was so fucking crucial that it kept you from the battlefield—?!”

“She carries my son,” Aemond says.

A gasp spills from you before you can silence it; Lord Larys covers his mouth with one hand. Aegon stares numbly at his brother, not warring with envy or spite but raw astonishment. This is an asset to the Greens, it is a detriment, it lifts a burden from his shoulders, it imperils all of you. “You have no way of knowing what it is yet.”

“I know. We know.”

“And why have you flown to Dragonstone?” Aegon demands. “To torment me with your disobedience, to illustrate so vividly how all that relentless, calculated striving has finally cracked your brain in half—?!”

“No.” Aemond glances to you. “Something has happened. And I wanted to be here in person to deliver the news and…express my condolences.”

“Condolences?” you say, fearful, alarmed.

“Lord Larys will not have received word yet,” Aemond continues. “It has only just transpired. But Alys has seen it.”

Aegon shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. “Seen it…?”

“She sees things. The future, the past. Not every detail, but some of them. She’s seen Mother in the Red Keep, a prisoner but still alive. She’s seen Jaehaera safe and well at Storm’s End. The child has a protector, though Alys isn’t sure who.”

“She’s a witch?” Aegon says flatly. “This bastard Strong woman that you have taken to wife is, among all her other deficiencies, a witch?”

And Alys answers in a voice like the night sky, dark but threaded with glimmers of stars, moonshine, comets: “I am a woman who lives between two worlds. Your Angel is much the same, I think.”

Aegon blinks at her, not entranced or awed but fighting the instinct to flinch away.

“There have been riots in King’s Landing,” Aemond says.

“Yes, obviously. Everyone is aware of that. I think the Wildlings north of the Wall have heard.”

Aemond ignores the jab. “The Master of Coin, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, was travelling through the city in a carriage when…” He trails off, uneasy. He glances at you again. His sole remaining eye—river-blue and without any malice—shimmers with grim compassion.

“What?” you say. “What happened?”

Aemond speaks to Aegon in words you cannot comprehend, swift ageless High Valyrian.

Aegon sighs testily. “Slower. Enunciate.”

Aemond tries again. Aegon repeats a certain word, unable to decipher it. Aemond offers him several others, what you can only assume are synonyms.

Aegon’s face goes even paler, the last of the blood draining out of his cheeks. Then he reaches out a hand to you. “Come here,” he beckons softly.

“Why?”

“Angel, come here now.”

“They killed him, didn’t they?” you ask Aemond. Your voice is trembling, icy, choked. He was an architect of Rhaenyra’s war effort, but he was your father first. He was a beast with blood on his hands, but now you are too. “The common people hate Rhaenyra and they hate my family. So they murdered him.”

Alys says: “They did not just murder him.” And she is not taunting you, though she grins like she might be; she has lost pieces of what it means to be human. She is no longer fluent in anything as trite as sympathy or decorum. Her obsidian eyes gleam, polished, glowing. Her long black hair blows in the wind. There are raven feathers in it, you notice now, and twigs, pine needles, earth, sand, ashes. “They bound and tortured him, they sliced off parts of him to keep as relics, they rode on horseback through the streets swinging his severed head and cock as they celebrated an end to all taxes—”

“Will you shut the fuck up?!” Aegon shouts at her. “Angel, please, come here.”

“Your brother was there too,” Aemond says solemnly.

Yes, of course he would be. He was always Father’s favorite. “Clement,” you whimper, pressing a palm to your chest. Your lungs burn as they drink down chill autumn air that cuts like a blade.

“No,” Aemond says. “The other one.”

“What?” No. No, that can’t be true.

“Not Clement,” Aemond insists. “It was the other brother. The burned man.”

No. No no no. I can’t believe it, I won’t believe it.

“Angel,” Aegon pleads, still reaching for you.

“Everett,” Alys says, dreamy, not knowing how cruel it feels, like splinters of glass beneath your skin instead of arteries and muscle, like shattered bones. “He was not difficult for them to catch. He could not run.”

Your words escape in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t believe you.”

Alys offers her hands. They are long, lithe, white like a skeleton’s. “Would you like to see?”

“No.”

“I can show you. Then you will trust what I say.”

“Alys, my love,” Aemond warns.

“No, you’re a liar,” you snarl at her. “You’re not a witch, you’re not some prophet, you’re just a liar and I don’t believe you—!”

And before you can flee she’s crossed the space between you, she’s gripped your wrist with those slender claw-like fingers, she’s pouring her magic into you like poison down a prisoner’s throat. The vision surges into your skull and fills it, sight and sound and scent: Everett screaming as he is dragged from the carriage, the hoard ripping at his clothes and his eyes, dull kitchen knives pulled from pockets, the coppery ether of blood in the air. You can feel the feverish heat of the crowd. You can feel their boiling-over animal rage. You can feel everything, but you can’t stop it.

Beyond the grisly mirage, you can hear yourself shrieking, muffled and distant; and you can hear someone else bellowing for Alys to let you go. Her hand is yanked off of your wrist and you are abruptly back in the gardens of Dragonstone surrounded by indomitable flora that warps and tangles and endures. You are kneeling on the cobblestones, tears flooding from your eyes. Aegon is on the ground with you, his arms circling around your waist. He is calling Alys a bitch, a monster, a demon. He is threatening to feed her to his dragon.

“Forgive me,” Alys says to you, peering down with a vague sort of regret etching lines into her brow. “I did not intend to cause any distress. I only meant to help you understand.”

Aegon seethes at Aemond: “Take your witch back to Harrenhal.”

“No,” you protest; and Aegon studies you, puzzled, as you gaze up at Alys, this half-human phantom that dwells between realms, something like a dark mirror image of an angel. “What else have you seen?” Tell me Aegon lives. Tell me the Greens win and we have a chance at a better world one day. Tell me this was all worth it.

“She has seen Daemon and Caraxes meeting me at the Gods Eye,” Aemond says. “She has seen me taking flight to join them in battle.”

Aegon is stunned. “When?”

“Soon. Three days from now.”

You sob, thinking of Everett; and Autumn too, wherever she is, who will reappear when the war is over searching for home but forever unable to find it. Aegon holds you and you pull yourself into him, arms slung around his neck. His silver hair brushes your face; his scarred right cheek is rough against yours. When you breathe in violent hitches, you inhale rose oil and wine and salt and warmth and misery, you taste the war that built him and now has returned to claim the debt.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s fault,” Aegon whispers, fierce and merciless. “We will kill Daemon and Cregan Stark. We will retake King’s Landing and capture Rhaenyra. And I swear to you that she will burn.”

Aemond is saying: “Do we have permission to stay the night or not? We’ve traveled a long way. My wife is tired, and so is Vhagar. Another flight so soon would tax her.”

“You can swim,” Aegon pitches back.

Lord Larys Strong—ever servile, ever composed—clears his throat, both hands resting on the handle of his cane. “Would anyone care for some soft-shelled crabs?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mist hangs heavy over the castle the next morning, a cool metallic grey like steel; the sun is muted, only a wisp of itself, a memory that is swiftly fading. Alys Rivers stands in the surf fetching seashells and stones that she plinks into a basket. Locks of her long, wild hair dip into the roiling water and emerge sopping and heavy, sticking to her ink-black gown. Aegon is curled up with Sunfyre at the edge of the beach. The dragon breathes with rattling, labored heaves and Aegon pets his golden face, wishing the beast’s wings to knit themselves back together and his own legs to be strong again, murmuring to Sunfyre in some clumsy patchwork of High Valyrian and the Common Tongue to assure him that he’s served his king well.

You and Aemond walk down the windswept beach together, your boots sinking in wet sand and leaving imprints like bruises on flesh. Your gown is a deep, vibrant red like the sigil of the newly decimated House Celtigar; Aemond’s hair is wavy and damp and blows loose in the breeze. You are reminded of the night you shared with him six weeks ago, though you don’t want to be. Neither of you have mentioned that indiscretion. You believe you have silently agreed to forget it. You ask the prince regent: “How many people do you think you’ve burned in the Riverlands?”

“Why do you care? They’re not you. They’re not me.”

“Perhaps each life we take robs something from us as well. It carves a piece of the soul away and leaves it less than it was before.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“I am less than I once was,” you explain. “Acts of love feel like violence, violence is mistaken for love. Things that horrified me a year ago are now what give me solace when I dream of them. Vengeance, slaughter, fire and blood. Aegon grows more bitter, more ruthless. And so do you.”

“We will have the luxury of reforming ourselves when the war is won and Aegon is the undisputed king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“If there’s any part of us that remembers who we were supposed to be.”

“I remember exactly who you were.” Aemond grins. “Fawning over Aegon, weaving braids into his hair. Scurrying around with your bandages and vinegar and honey. Always seeking to take his pain away. Always waging your own little war against the agony of mankind.”

“That feels like a different person,” you say, peering out over the ocean.

“We will build monuments to those we’ve lost,” Aemond promises. “Jaehaerys, Maelor, Otto. Your brother and my sister. You say you dream of fire and blood? I often find myself dreaming of Helaena.”

You turn to him, startled. And you recall the warnings her ghost gave Aegon before Baela and Moondancer arrived on Dragonstone: Don’t fall, don’t fall. “Does she say anything?”

“She keeps telling me I’ll lose my left eye.” Aemond smiles wistfully. “And I answer: Helaena, that’s happened already. But when I try to comfort her, when I try to embrace her, she turns away from me and says it’s too late. That I’ve ruined myself.” He walks with his hands linked behind his back, his face thoughtful but not brooding. “I still miss her,” he says. “And I still feel responsible. But things are easier now.”

You follow his eyeline to where Alys is plucking a starfish from the frothing waves and placing it in her basket. And doesn’t it make some strange bit of sense that Aemond’s match would be someone rare, bizarre, gifted in ways that are in equal parts mesmerizing and fearsome? “I’m glad you found someone who eases your burdens.”

“She has suffered tremendously. She knows what it is to be unloved and overlooked. She had to reinvent herself, just like I did. She had to shed her skin and step into a new one that she stitched together herself.”

“Perpetual Resurrection,” you say softly.

“Perpetual Resurrection,” Aemond agrees.

Now Alys is trekking up the beach to join you, her soaked hair whipping in the wind and her basket slung over one arm. From where he sits with Sunfyre, Aegon watches her with narrowed, disapproving eyes. “This belongs to the king,” Alys says to you, opening her hand. In her palm rests the ring of gold wings and jade eyes. “You should return it to him. He does not like me.”

You gasp and take the ring that you last saw before Aegon fell from the sky and shattered his legs, his spirit. “How did you find this?”

“It spoke to me. I spoke to it.” She smiles, more like a leer, though she does not mean it to be. Her eyes—onyx, jet, black moonstone—are bright with amusement. “See? You do not understand. Sometimes it is best not to ask.”

You slip the ring onto one of your fingers for safekeeping until you deliver it to Aegon. From the stone staircase that leads up to the castle’s main entrance, Larys waves Aemond over to him. Aemond kisses the woman he calls his wife farewell—a deep, burning kiss—and then departs. You say to Alys: “How did you become…like this?”

“I surrendered to it. Anyone can, if your life is hell and you are willing to burn it down to the foundations. You go deep into the swamp and then it goes into you. It grows through your skin and into your veins. It tangles up with you, vines climbing your ribcage and spine like ivy on a trellis. It changes you. It makes you greater than you were before. The victim becomes the victor. The weak turn watchful and wise.” She is gazing at where Aemond stands with Larys, exchanging theories and plots. Aemond shakes his head at something Larys says. “I always knew he would find me. The man whose fractured pieces fit with mine. Yet each time I thought I glimpsed him only to realize he wasn’t the one, I would think: How long must I wait? I have buried so many children. Will I ever have more? Will he come to me before it is too late? Is it too late already? But no, he flew to Harrenhal just as my hopes were giving out like a dry well. And Aemond was worth every second, minute, month, year. He was worth the beatings and the contempt, the rapes and the blood. He was worth all of it.”

Alys reaches out to touch your cheek and you recoil; but she is not giving you a revelation this time. She is merely tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a fond, maternal smile. There are mottled plumes of violet and indigo on the side of her throat, you notice only now. Alys catches you staring.

“Aemond can be rough, domineering,” she says with a sly smirk. “You know how he is.”

You know how he is. You know how he is. Horror strikes you like lightning; you imagine what other visions she has swimming in her changed blood. “It was a mistake. Aegon must never learn of it.”

“Of course not. That would kill him.” And you are gutted by a blade of cool serrated treason. Alys does not appear to be aware of it. “If I can ever be of service, please do not hesitate to summon me. I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.”

“A door? Which door?”

“Any door.”

You contemplate her. “Why would you believe that you owe me loyalty?”

“Because of Aemond,” Alys says simply, without any trace of resentment. “You mean something to him. So you mean something to me.”

He doesn’t crave me anymore. He has his own prize now. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“I never am.” Then Alys glides off to rejoin her husband.

Hours later as you are helping Aegon into bed—he must be carried up and down the castle steps by his guards in a litter, something he considers mortifying—you weave a new braid for him and then pour him a cup of milk of the poppy when his glazed eyes keep listing to the glass bottle of pearlescent relief, deadened nerves, liquid dreams. You crawl into bed beside him, curl up against his scarred chest, listen to the slowing thud of his heartbeat as his arms enfold you and draw you in ever-closer. His dragon ring glints on his hand, returned to its rightful place.

“Your legs?” you ask, kissing the gnarled scar tissue that has grown over his collarbones like climbing roses, like ivy. He can’t really feel your touch there, that’s not why you do it. You do it to show that you aren’t repulsed by his wounds and could never be, could never think of any part of him as something less than wondrous.

“That’s most of it,” Aegon murmurs drowsily. “I’ve started getting this ache in my back too. It won’t go away.”

“What?” You bolt upright in bed. “Show me where.”

He gestures: the curve of his spine, just above his hips. Panicked, you begin pressing lightly over where his kidneys are.

“Here? Aegon? Does that hurt?”

But now he’s realized how frantic you are, how upset. “Oh, no, never mind,” he says, clutching his pillow and feigning being too tired to speak on the subject for even a moment longer. He yawns dramatically. “It’s just a sprained muscle, I think. You know I’m always crawling around now like some kind of vermin. It’s nothing serious. It will heal in time.”

“Aegon—”

“I’m alright.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to him, buries his face in your hair, nuzzles and sighs contently as he whispers: “Shh. I’m alright. Stay, stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You left him!” you hear Aegon yelling from his rooms, and you drop the book you had been reading in the castle library, an anthology of illnesses of the body, the mind, the soul. You sprint through the shadowy corridors towards the noise, the hem of your sapphire gown fluttering around your ankles. You are always dressed in jewel tones these days. You are anything but neutral.

In Aegon’s bedchamber, Larys has pressed himself to one stone wall like he wishes to disappear. Alys is observing with her strange, impassive, void-dark eyes. Aemond is being berated. He does not appear resentful or defiant; no, he is paralyzed. He is haunted, he is damned.

“You left him!” Aegon screams again, and hurls a full wine cup that strikes Aemond in the chest, spewing red through the air like blood spurting from slit veins. The king is standing, but with great effort; he is scrabbling through the drawers of his bedside table for things to throw at his brother. Yet the glass bottle of milk of the poppy remains untouched. “You abandoned him, you betrayed him, you fucking murdered him!”

“Aegon, what’s going on—?!”

“Almost a week ago, Cregan Stark’s army met Criston’s in the Riverlands,” he tells you. He is panting, red-faced, furious as he recounts Lord Larys Strong’s words, the news the Master of Whisperers only now received from one of his innumerable informants.

You stare at Aemond, horrified, already knowing what this means. “And Aemond wasn’t there.”

“He was at Harrenhal!” Aegon roars, tossing one of your medical books at Aemond, a volume on herbology. It strikes the prince in the nose, and blood gushes from his nostrils; ruby droplets freckle his hair. Aemond makes no attempt to defend himself. He is in shock, he is mourning. “He was fucking his witch while our men were being butchered!”

“Criston, he’s…he’s…?”

“He was slain in battle,” Larys informs you quietly.

Aegon staggers to his brother, shoves him roughly, receives no retaliation. “He was the closest thing you had to a father, he worshiped you, he loved you, and you left him to fend for himself after I told you over and over again that you and Vhagar needed to stay with him, and now he’s gone!” There are tears on Aegon’s face, crystalline tracks that bleed down his cheeks and jaw and throat. “You killed him, you killed him!”

“The Stark men?” you ask Larys, not wanting to know but needing to.

“Moderate losses. Now headed south towards Daeron and the Hightower army.”

“You fucking traitor,” Aegon hisses, sobbing, beating his palms against Aemond’s chest again. “Your whole life all you’ve wanted was responsibility and the second someone gives it to you, you throw it away! Why can’t I be the one with a body that works?! Why can’t my dragon be whole again?!”

And at last Aemond finds his voice. It is brittle and almost too hushed to hear. “I’ll make this right. When I defeat Daemon and Caraxes at the Gods Eye, it will be over.”

“It’s already over for Criston!” Aegon explodes. “It’s over for Helaena and Jaehaerys and Maelor, it’s over for Otto and Everett, it’s over for Sunfyre, we keep losing people and it’s all your fault! You started this war and you’re too much of a goddamn coward to end it!”

“He will end it,” Alys says in that deep placid voice like dusk, dawn, midnight.

“Don’t try that bullshit with me! I don’t want to hear about your delusions, I want him to do his goddamn job! I want him to act like the hero he’s been begging to be seen as since he was five years old! You know why no one wants to write books about him or carve his face into statues? Because he doesn’t fucking deserve it!”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond whispers, his mouth trembling.

“You should be!” Aegon hemorrhages, and then collapses to the floor, moaning with his face in his hands.

You go to him, try to soothe him, grab the wine cup from the floor and fill it with milk of the poppy, tilt it against Aegon’s lips. He gulps the numbness down with helpless, hated need. Aemond and Alys flee for the doorway.

Aegon says, suddenly more calm: “Aemond, wait.”

The prince regent stills and turns back, listening. Aegon, with great difficulty, begins to say something in High Valyrian. Aemond cuts him off. “No, that won’t happen—”

“Please,” Aegon rasps. “Listen to me.” Then he continues. And as he speaks, Aemond’s eye fills with tears, a glistening like ice over lakes in the winter, like gemstones in a crown. You look between them, searching for any clues you can read.

“I understand,” Aemond says at last.

“Good. Now get out.”

Aemond wipes his face with his sleeve and then disappears from the room. You tell Aegon as you rise to your feet: “I’ll be right back.”

Aemond is moving quickly; you don’t catch up with him until he’s passed through the castle entranceway. Down by the ocean waves beneath a blood-red sunset, Vhagar is already landing, leaving cataclysmic imprints in the sand with her claws, trenches and impact craters. From the edge of the beach, Sunfyre watches with dull, wounded interest. Alys is halfway down the staircase. Aemond stops when he hears your footsteps, waiting under the rising full moon and materializing constellations.

You demand: “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.”

“He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain. He doesn’t understand—”

“Aemond, what did he say?”

The prince regent sighs and looks at you. “He said he doesn’t think he’s going to get better this time.”

I can’t believe that. I can’t survive that. “Why did you have to do it?” Your voice splinters; your throat burns. “He’s right that you started this war. You’re the reason Rhaenyra will never negotiate. You’re the one who made this horror inevitable. Why did you have to kill Luke?”

The dusk is radiant on Aemond’s face like firelight. It is a long time before he speaks. “I never intended to.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “What?”

“I never gave Vhagar the order. She went after Arrax. I tried to stop her.”

It wasn’t murder. It was an accident. And you think of all the times people have told Aemond that everything that’s happened is his fault, and how he has never disagreed with them. “Who knows?”

“You. Alys.”

“No one else?”

“Who would believe me?” Aemond smiles faintly, profoundly sad. “And even if they did, would that make me so much more noble than a kinslayer? A Targaryen who can’t control his own dragon? A man who is reckless, ineffective, unworthy?”

Here in air the color of flames and gore, you tell him, perhaps more kindly than he deserves: “You’re worthy, Aemond.”

“I will end this. I will meet Daemon and Caraxes in battle. Alys saw it.”

“Did she see you win?”

“Are you worried about me?” Aemond teases, grinning crookedly. And he does something that he hasn’t tried in a long time. He swipes for your forearm and you snatch it out of the way just before his fingers can close around it, just before he can catch you. Aemond chuckles. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll win the war for the Greens. We will return to King’s Landing, we will rebuild, Aegon will heal. He will live for a long, long time.”

“Yes,” you say, wanting so desperately to believe it.

“You know,” Aemond adds as it occurs to him. “If the king does happen to predecease you, in ten years or twenty or thirty…and you find yourself unincumbered…Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. Alys would always be first, but…”

“No, Aemond.”

“Fine,” he says, agreeably enough. He smiles down at you. “I will come back to let you know when it’s done. Then I will fly south to join Daeron in annihilating Cregan Stark’s army. And then we’ll all go home.”

Yes, yes, let that be true. “Good luck,” you tell him, soft like a whisper.

“I don’t need it.”

Aemond descends the staircase, climbs up the rope ladder into Vhagar’s saddle, takes flight with Alys into the late-autumn dusk; and you watch them vanish into the crimson horizon until the sky is empty.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

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drivergemini · 2 years

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i got a goth gf (and she’s hotter than hell) :: e.m.

summary: eddie munson is head over heels for the new girl. how could he not be when she was even more metal than him?

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, swears, goth kid bullying, non supernatural au

word count: 736

eddie munson was a man of many many words. he would ramble on and on about how much he loved dungeons and dragons and how much he hated hawkins. he would never shut up.

that is until a figure strutted through the hawkins high school cafeteria. dressed in a skirt that was pulled up a little too high and a leather jacket over her black tank top. and her boots. jesus christ those black leather boots. they were higher than her kneecaps with an at least 5 inch heel.

hellfire had never seen this man so quiet. his mouth just hung open in absolute awe as his eyes followed her heavily teased black hair.

“hellooooooo,” dustin snapped his fingers in front of eddie’s face. “earth to dipshit. hellooooooo?” eddie snapped out of his trance and looked at the younger boy. “eddie you look like a creep starring at that girl.”

“girl? what girl?” mike said turning his head looking for the source of eddie’s silence. he sees the girl sporting heavily black eyeliner and turns around with wide eyes. “wow eddie you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

he snapped his head towards the freshman boy. “shut up wheeler. what do you know about girls. that right there is an angel from heaven.”

“more like a demon from hell,” mike muttered under his breath.

over the course of a week, she became eddie’s new fixation. he would scramble to lunch to spill the new information he found everyday.

“her name is y/n and she’s a transfer from connecticut.”

“she’s was in an all girl punk band called overgrown graveyard.”

“her parents own starcourt industries.”

this caught the lunch table’s attention. eddie raised an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair. each boy just looked at him with blank expressions.

dustin was the first to speak. “no way in hell you’re going to get a girl like that. no matter how much it looks like KISS threw up on her.”

“oh yeah? watch me henderson.”

it took another week for eddie to be able to find a perfect opportunity to talk to y/n. but when it came, it was perfect.

he honestly thought he was hallucinating. he roamed through the halls of hawkins high before his hellfire meeting started. he could hear a familiar notes coming out of an electric guitar. he listened hard and followed the sound like a bloodhound.

when he reached the band room, he could hear it much clearer. he peeked in through the classroom door window and saw y/n sitting on an amp playing twisted sister. he could hear her soft humming of ‘we’re not gonna take it’ between every riff break.

this was his moment. this was his time. he knocked softy on the wooden door. her head shot up with a confused expression on her face. eddie saw this as a sign to open the door. “twisted sister right?” he scratched the back of his head.

“eddie munson right?” y/n shoots blankly back. he could see very clearly that she has two nose rings on each side and an eyebrow piercing on her left.

“uh yeah. you’re y/n. how did you- do you know who i am?” this was not how he imagined this going.

“eddie munson. 20 year old senior. hellfire clubs founder. and hawkins high school’s outcast freak.” she paused for a moment. “oh and a certified stalker.”

eddie’s breathe caught in his throat. shit he was busted.

her straight face turned into a wide grin. she bursted with laughter at the sight of his eyes go wide. “i was joking! loosen up a little buddy.”

he let out a huge sigh. “so you know i’ve been watching you?” hearing those words come out of his mouth made him realize that maybe he was a bit of a creep.

“yes and if you were a slightly better stalker, you’d know i’ve been asking about you too.” her face was so calm and collected, eddie’s was hot and flushed. he felt like a warm tomato.

he looked at the watch on his wrist. “oh shoot i have to go to my hellfire meeting. do you want to maybe- i don’t know- hang out tonight?”

“sure let me give you my address. come over anytime.” y/n pulled out a notebook and ripped out a page. she scribbled down her address and eddie gentely grabbed it from her hands. as he ran towards the drama room, he looked down at the paper. after her address was a tiny little scribble of a heart.

he has never wanted to leave a meeting more than he did that day. he sprinted to his van, double checking to see if he still had the piece of paper in his pocket.

as he approached your front door, he started to pause. maybe he should’ve bought you flowers or maybe took you out to dinner. too late now he was already involuntarily knocking. he waited about 30 seconds before the front door swung open. “hi i’m looking for y/n?” the girl in front of him furrowed her eyebrows. eddie studdied her face for a few seconds. “oh shit y/n.”

“i don’t know whether to be offended or not,” she laughed a little and gestured him inside. “you caught me as i was cleaning my face so i don’t blame you.” he noticed the smudged out left over mascara under her eyes and the lack of face piercings. “wait here in the living room and i’ll be right back.”

eddie looked around her living room in amazement. it was themed all white and had a crystal chandelier overhead illuminating the room.

“how long have you been starring at the ceiling for?” eddie turns his head and sees y/n standing at the bottom of the stairs. her face completely bare but her piercings back in. all eddie could focus on was her aerosmith shirt.

“your house is massive.” y/n plopped herself down on the couch and motioned eddie to sit with her. he tried his best to not sit too close to her.

“so i heard you’re also in a band?” eddie’s ears perked up slightly. “i was too back in connecticut. i played electric guitar.”

“so do i! my band is called corroded coffin. you should come to one of our shows sometime.” eddie could feel his body untense, this was nice. “i heard you play a little earlier, you’re pretty amazing.”

she shot up and made a motion indicating him to wait. she got up and picked up a beautiful, all black electric guitar from the corner. she plugged it into an amp and turned it on. “could you play for me? it’s only fair because you heard me play earlier.”

eddie’s eyes grow wide, which is something that he did often now. “i- i mean i guess why not?” he grabbed the guitar that he was handed. a little smaller than he was used to but not an issue. as he started playing he felt the beautiful vibration of the strings under his fingers. he looked up and abruptly stopped. y/n sat starring at him with her mouth hung open.

“why did you stop?” she questioned with a confused look on her face.

“you’re just so...” was he going for is? this was really now or never. he was leaning towards never. “beautiful.” oh wow i guess he chose now. y/n could feel her face start to get warm.

“i think you’re beautiful eddie munson.” y/n let out a laugh to relieve the tension.

“let me take you on a date. a real date. i know this great 24 hour diner, we can go now if you’d be down.” he was feeling very bold tonight.

their night ended up in a diner sharing the same side of the booth. sharing a milkshake. and maybe sharing a couple of kisses but that’s for them to tell.

eddie was the first at lunch the next day. he waited for the rest of the group to trickle in as he sat with his feet propped up.

“you look like you have something to say?” lucas questioned looking around at his peers. the rest of the boys nodded their heads in agreement.

“well gentlemen.” eddie stood up and raised his hands in the air before slamming them down. “i got a goth girlfriend. and she’s hotter than hell.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson just needed a goth girlfriend #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things one shot

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dragonprincess18 · 7 months

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Another amazing manga redraw for The Dragon That Will Pierce The Heavens (again by the awesome AinemsWork at artists&clients), this time of that iconic moment outside the Tower of Justice in Enies Lobby! Hope you all like this one, too!

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zwolfgames · 4 months

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Yandere Platonic MHA x Child!reader (aftermath)

Part one of this post.

(Warnings: Baby-ing, malicious quirk use, yandere, kidnapping, short epilogue)

(3rd person POV)

You know how life used to suck?

It sucks even more now.

You felt like an infant. These people just kept.... baby-ing you. Sure you were eight but this was ridiculous!

You survived years out on the street alone and now they had the audacity to baby you. Riduculous.

Actually, speaking of your age... You weren't eight... technically you were ten. But they had.... rejuvenated you... forcefully.

A kid, one you had become friends with. A nice girl named Eri. Had been trained to use her powers not too long ago, and what did she do with them? (More like, what she was forced to do with them.) She used her quirk to make you younger, wind your body back two years. Now, you were eight, still.

For the rest, nothing had really changed. Class 1A had gotten clingier. I mean, it's impossible to deny affection forever. A hug was nice yes... but not on practically every moment of the day!

They were a clingy bunch. Aizawa was no diffrent. You were starting to fear he was delusional enough to actually think he was your dad.

But all good things must come to an end.

It was a regular thuesday, you were disguised with a wig and were out on a stroll with Aizawa and some students. To the mall!

Oh great heavens! How delightfull!

Is what you would say if you gave a f-

I mean. Look, yes they were buying you stuff but you had... everything. You didn't need the newest copy of some dragon toy. You had a shelve of them.

As you get shown the whole toy store you spot a figure outside. A hooded man staring straight at you.

A red glint came from under his hood. Perhaps his eye. You raised and eyebrow at him and he waved before leaving.

'Creepy...' You defined it and moved your gaze back at the random colorfull toy they were showing you (shoving in your face).

You tought it had been just another uneventfull day, and that you'd be stuck right back into your room. Door locked, window locked.

But no!

Surpise, surprise!

The lights went out! What an event.

Such rang your sarcastic toughts. That is untill a hand clasped over your mouth and silenced you. Perhaps a gloved hand...?

You weren't sure. But maybe that wasn't your biggest issue of the moment.

The person holding you began to push you away from Aizawa and his classmates.

You didn't know what was happening but hey, something new!

You walked infront of the random person as they pushed you away, trough the panicked crowd in the mall.

You got taken outside and straight into a portal.

Wow, never knew kidnapping was so easy. The criminal probably didn't know it either, perhaps he expected you to struggle but you just walked along.

You arrived in a bar-like room, some people in weird outfits stared you down.

The man holding you firmly sat you down on a chair and tied you to it with a rope. You deadpann and look unfazed. Its not like this was your first time getting restrained.

Not to mention. You used to be a street kid.

"What's your name kiddo?" The hooded man said in a raspy tone as he crouched down in front of you and took his hood off, revealing light blue messy hair and piercing red eyes.

"Why do you look like that?" You ask the man without an ounce of hesitation. What could you say? You've been living with Bakugou for two years. Not to mention class 1-A had let you say whatever the hell you wanted with no reprecussions.

The red eyed man looked taken aback as another weirdo in the back snickers.

"Who. Are. You." He said firmly, his eyebrows creasing. Oh, he was getting serious.

"Y/N." You answer simply. No certain expression on your face. Just plain cold indiffrence.

Perhaps not what this man was expecting from child.

"Well Y/N. You're a hostage of the league of villains now. We will use you against the heroes-"

"Yes, I've figured that out already." You interupt him and he looks ready to strangle you.

"Well I'm Shigaraki-"

"I don't care." You deadpann at him. Gaze unintrested as you stare Shigaraki down.

"Can you shut up-"

"No." You say in a heartbeat. Were you challenging him on purpose. Yes.

You wanted some action. Hate. Something other then that suffocating adoration class 1-A had for you.

And it seems you would get what you wanted.

Untill the crusty man began laughing.

Hysterically even. Full on villain laugh.

"You have some balls kid. I'll give you that. Now why are you so calm huh?" He cocks his head mockingly.

"You wouldn't understand." You sigh and look off to the side.

"Oh but I do. They've kept you prisoner. We know it all. Those puny heros love you." He continues laughing, practically in your face. You were counting his teeth.

"So now. We will use you against them. And don't worry, as long as you stay nice and obedient in your little chair, no harm will come to you." He explains and pats your head in a mocking way.

"Okay." You shrug and don't react any other way. Shigaraki stops his movement and just stares at you in tought.

"Just okay?" He blinks and kneels down to your level.

"Just okay." You nod and the villain is speechless for a moment. That is before he laughs again.

Yea, this was a start to a new page in your life!

You felt new and less trapped, even while being tied to a chair!

So just like that, your stay with the LOV began. You got to know the members. Shigaraki, Kurogiri, Toga, Dabi, Spinner, Twice.

All weird people. But you weren't treated like a toddler anymore so you'd take it.

They could laugh at your attitude. And even if you were the hostage here, they still let you do a lot.

You scraped you knee on the floor once, and instead of being treated like you were on the verge of dying, Toga smacked a bandage on it and pat your head.

It was paradise. Life was great. Finally.

Just relax, do stupid things, eat ice-cream past 8 pm. No bedtime!

A true childs dream.

Did they sometimes come back bloody? Yes. But that was not your concern and you liked it that way.

Who cares that they wete villains? Atleast they treated you with respect. You told them of your street days and they related!

They had been alone too. Outcast.

It's like finding some sort of group of friends.

Tough after a while you noticed that Shigaraki stopped calling the heroes to notify them of their deal.

They'd come get you, and the villains could ambush them.

But... it seems that plan was discarded.

Altough this place didn't feel as suffocating, you were beginning to realise that just like before. You'd get stuck.

Did you prefer this place? Perhaps you did. Villains weren't as cuddley. With exception for Toga...

But It's not like you could actually do something about it.

You were still a hostage. And thats what they called you. Tough you noticed how they slipped up sometimes and called you kid instead.

Or other familial names.

Okay... so perhaps you were getting stuck indeed...

That all changed the day a knock at the door was heard. 'Pizza delivery'. It said.

No, you know what it was.

Heroes. They stormed in and flung their attacks.

Twice grabbed you and ran out, leaving clones of both you and him behind.

It was no use as you were chased by a feral looking Aizawa.

'Its like an extreme version of tag' You told yourself in your mind.

Twice gets pelted to the floor and you get picked up by Aizawa as he runs off.

He gets stopped aswell. Dabi close on his tail.

Blue fire licked at your feet as it hit Aizawa in the back. You fell and rolled a bit further. Getting up like the big brave kid you were.

You sprint away. No way were you dealing with this.

As you ran, Aizawa attacked Dabi relentlessly. Seeing red as he yelled at Dabi for almost hurting you.

What a pathetic display. Off all the things heroes and villains could dight over, they chose a kid.

But whatever. You ran, out of the LOV, away from everyone.

This would be it.

Freedom.

It was all yours!

Ignoring the yelling in the distance you zoomed trough the alleys and streets.

Just get away from them. Thats all you were focussing on.

Maybe you'd end up homeless on the street again. But you didn't care.

You'd be free.

You were free...

You did it.

For now.

I know Y/N is a bit out of character compared to the last one but it is because of their 2 years of living with class 1-A!

Ok bye now have a nice day/night!

#yandere #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #oneshots #yandere oneshot #anime #yandere mha #mha #Aizawa #bnha

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hxroic-wxlls · 6 months

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“ If you’d like, I could ask my queen if she’d be willing to give you any fashion advice… No offense, but that overly tacky bright outfit of yours is an eyesore. “

“ Wow, thanks… “ Totally not like he made it himself, or anything… Everyone in Kamina City said it looked cool, though.

#{the queen’s dragon: ic}#{Pierce the heavens: ic}#{crack}#{muse ramblings}#{Pierce the honkai: crossover event}

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guoman · 10 days

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youtube

I don't think anyone's tled the lyric's to this performance yet and it's a shame: between the stage design, her singing, and her lyrics, it's all incredibly beautiful.

It's adapted from a longer version of lyrics written by Duan Xinghua, where it's shortened and changed so that the song is in the perspective of one character, the narrator.

The best translation I can muster for this performance is "Heaven's Will", and it alternates between the perspectives of Mulan and Sun Wukong, and, to a certain extent, herself, in a short narrative of fighting against fate. That sort of romance for freedom finds itself deeply lodged into Chinese mythos, but one that's hard to translate. I'm by no means an expert, but I've done my best below.

Chen Lijun is a Yue opera performer at the Baihua Yue Opera Troupe, and went viral last year with her performance as Jia Ting (in dark blue) in their New Dragon Gate Inn last year, as well as her ship with Li Yunxia (in red). You can watch it with subs (much better than what I've cobbled together below) here.

[general] heaven's will precedes man's fate

[mulan] worried brows peering to the bitter cold outside the window a brush wanting to paint another layer of red over the lips a daughter's mirror reflection ponders for a few moments I will myself to stand on the battlefield in my father's stead

[sun wukong] between heaven and earth I was born smashing past stones and turning over clouds summersaulting straight to the heavens piercing the heavens and shattering the realms

[mulan] how can a woman earn meritorious service? [sun wukong] how can a demon transform into a god? [general] a general's cry shakes mountains and rivers my fate is for me not for the heavens to determine not for the heavens to determine

#my works

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vrachis · 11 months

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cw : omegaverse , mentions of rut/heat , crying , overstimulation , marking , knotting , womb tattoo , half dragon! reader

-the first time you got a whiff of bronya's mint snow scent, you felt yourself on the brink of insanity and losing your self control.

-since you were half dragon, your senses were more responsive to the scent of an omega in heat spreading in the air.

-you didn't know who it belonged to, yet you unknowingly followed the path leading to the bearer of the scent.

-now you find yourself in a narrow alley, where in the midst of the fog, you find a figure, slumped in the corner in the shadows.

-you take a closer look, making sure to take careful steps forward to avoid scaring the omega.

-the smell gets overwhelmingly stronger, the icy scent being the drive of your senses. you now can see the omega in proper view, and you were shocked to find out who it was.

-it was none other than the daughter of the supreme guardian, bronya rand.

-you look on in awe with your mouth ajar, and you gulp before stepping even closer.

-she seemed to notice your presence, and you hear her let out a small whimper, before backing away a little.

-you gave a surprise look, and you could clearly see that she was crying, hot tears pouring from her eyes.

"hey, don't be afraid. i only noticed you because of your scent."

-she doesn't give a response, yet only curls up and gives you a snarl.

-you didn't know what else to do, so you approach her even more, until you were crouching in front of her, staring right into her eyes.

-she gave you a slightly frightened look, until she realized what you were.

"a-an alpha?-"

-you nod to her, and reach your hand out to caress her head, lightly petting her.

-giving a small smile, you then stand up and offer her a hand to get up.

"let me help you. you don't have to worry completely about the others noticing your scent, trust me. i promise to help you, would like that?"

-and ever since then, you've become the alpha bronya always relied on to help her with her heats.

-but now, it was entirely different. it wasn't her who needed helping now, it was you. you were in rut.

-you currently sat down on the couch, a hand rubbing your temples as you waited on in frustration for bronya to appear at some point.

-your scent was already spreading and becoming so wild in the air, yet how could she not notice?

-letting out a growl, you got up and went downstairs to the dining table, where you grabbed bronya from the kitchen, not allowing her to even finish the question she was gonna ask you.

-with barely any time to register, she yelps loudly when you toss her down on the couch, and when you rip her bottoms apart.

-her arms flail and shove at you to push you away to no avail, and her eyes go wide and water when you start rubbing harshly at her sensitive nub.

"ough, w-wait please!-"

-slick immediately starts to produce and leak out her cunt, successfully making her wet in no time.

-with a few slaps to her sopping cunt, you make work of your pants, hastily pulling them down to reveal your leaking member.

-veins erect and tip throbbing, your cock was enough to intimidate brony at the first glance.

-you grab and position it at her pussy, and you swear you hear her sob when you get your tip in.

-oh holy heavens, she swore she would've broke in half just by your tip protruding her entrance.

-not even halfway in, and she starts crying already. you look down at her pathetic state, and straighten yourself to give yourself better angle.

-with just a few inches left, you thrust your way in, letting the remainder of your dick slam inside her with ease. thanks to the wetness of her cunt, you were able to slide in easily.

-her loud scream pierces your ears and she pants heavily, letting out incoherent moans.

-you were able to make a few words from what she was babbling, like "too big", "can't take it".

-but you knew those were just excuses.

-your vigor and roughness drove both of you to an insane extent, rutting against one another like wild animals.

-bronya was the first to cum multiple times, of course. how could she not when you've gotten her this sensitive?

-you press your mouth against her ear, panting yet able to let out a few words.

"gonna cum soon. gonna knot you so many times and you will bear my mark."

-and that's what you really did : as soon as you had your knot, you slid into her, and she locked her legs around your waist, letting you finish inside her with thick spurts, as you bit down harshly on her neck.

-the process repeated on so many times, but you didn't care. you were both too lost in the pleasure that you lost count of how many times you both came.

-by the time you felt the primal urges go away, you sat there, blearily yet proudly looking down at the mark above bronya's womb.

my gosh, you sure felt another wave of excitement come over you when you saw the fancy sign coupled with the signature marks of yours.

that mark of yours, sure was satisfying to your eyes.

#vrachis #kein’s thirsts.#honkai: star rail #kein’s drabbles.#sub hsr #dom! reader #honkai drabbles #honkai smut #sub honkai star rail #bronya rand smut #bronya rand x reader #sub bronya #sub bronya rand #honkai x reader

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operator-report · 1 month

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do you have any ideas about the undersiders music tastes. your other posts are so beautiful and true

aaah i'm so glad you liked my silly music posts! after some thought this is what i've landed on for the undersiders: taylor: in my heart taylor's mom did this to her, which is why taylor has a better-than-average teen girl knowledge of blondie, neil young, and the police. i think taylor's taste is a mix of dad rock and alt-pop rock hits. she likes the strokes and arctic monkeys. maybe a little mgmt. after her mom dies she stops listening to music that reminds her of her mom, so much less 70s/80s rock, but i don't think she switches to sadder music or anything like that, i think her taste just skews more contemporary after that. after the bullying started she tried out heavy metal really early on because she figured angry music might help her vent but it wasn't her thing. taylor does not listen to radiohead but she's the undersider who would like it the best i think. karma police is a taylor song send tweet

brian: there's a post out there somewhere that talks about brian listening to imagine dragons and that is SO real to me. he listens to imagine dragons. he listens to "tough" guy music that sounds like it could be in car commercials. he also listens to dudes rock music he hears at the gym. brian and taylor both like to match their music to their workouts and they have an immensely geeky conversation about matching bpm at one point. taylor matches it to her running brian matches it to boxing they are in nerd-jock heaven

lisa: she's a tricky one, because the music industry is one that both values authenticity and yet is extremely manufactured. i think that means that lisa finds music in which rich musicians make music about how hard their life is immensely grating. i think sarah livsey's taste was influenced by her brother, and much like how taylor does not listen to music that reminds her of her mom, lisa does not listen to music that sarah used to like. another smugbug yuri of absence moment if you ask me. anyway all that means that lisa listens to three kinds of music: downtempo instrumental electronic, classical, and We Are Up Partying In The Club Tonight Ooh Girl Oh Yeah. i think she finds, e.g., pitbull and eurotrance endearing. if you ask lisa what her favorite kind of music is she'll say something obnoxious like IDM or some shit just to see what the reaction is

rachel: i looked up "do dogs listen to music" and google says they will listen to classical sometimes, so! there you go. if worm took place a little later i think taylor could have introduced limited doses of lofi hip hop study beats to rachel and she would be ok with that too but also like. why listen to music when she could be outside listening to her dogs

aisha: the undersider with the best taste! we know that early worm aisha is a bona fide scene teen, and i think she consequently likes blink-182, pierce the veil, 3oh!3, cobra starship, and maybe a little bring me the horizon. in later worm aisha's taste gets less pop, like deftones, odd future, etc. she's a supervillain who would actually listen to madvillainy. aisha is also probably the only undersider who actively seeks to cultivate her own music taste! a good chunk of the undersiders have trauma that separate them from their interests and/or feelings, but aisha is an undersider who i think is both self aware and also true to herself, as well as being genuinely interested in art!

alec: speaking of undersiders who have a difficult time developing a defined music taste due to being cut off from a strong sense of self. alec in early worm is too depressed/apathetic to seek out music for himself, he'd rather be playing video games or watching movies. which is a shame because disassociating to music is one of the depressed activities of all time! alas alec's vision of a person with Taste is like. cherie. rip. however, aisha completely turns his life around into a guy who likes...................... soulja boy

there you go! tried to keep this period typical and also didn't include bands we know for sure didn't exist on earth bet (such as mcr). however i am very sad aisha and alec didn't get to listen to 100 gecs together. can you imagine. i can imagine and that's why i have a beautiful aishalec amv set to doritos and fritos in my mind

#parahumans #the undersiders

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a-blind-bat · 1 month

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GhostLights Event: Blind Date With a Prompt - @dcxdp-ghostlights

and With the Stars as Our Witness

Edit: I forgot the prompts…

Prompts: Fanasty AU | Gala

*~*~*~*~*~*

Danny wasn’t a fan of these galas. He felt suffocated being in a room with so many people. Royals, legends, and the wealthy all gathered in one place for a celebration. The bustling of conversation along with the low buzz of music coming from a band in the corner mixed together to create one sound that bangs at Danny’s ears.

Sam had dragged him and Tucker along with her. She was forced to attend on account of her parent’s wishes and she would be damned if she had to suffer through it alone. Only seventeen minutes into the party, though, Sam got trapped in a conversation with some earl and Tucker was showing off some of his inventions to potential patrons, leaving Danny to try and entertain himself. Irony is a funny little thing. So here he is, awkwardly standing in a corner and trying to drown out his boredom with extremely expensive wine.

He should’ve made up an excuse, acted like there was a life-threatening emergency to attend to. He would rather be fighting a dragon over experiencing this party for a second longer. Even if it was a Wayne Gala, which was always praised to the high heavens, he found the party to not live up to the legend. The head of the house, Bruce Wayne, was easy to spot. He was always crowded around various wealthy participants, all laughing and chatting their heads off. He did not envy Ser Bruce, seeing as he had to interact with so many people. Even watching the crowd made him tired. The longing warmth of his bed filled his mind as he absentmindedly swirled the red wine around in the glass.

A sharp sound of metal repeatedly hitting glass pierces his ears, and he looks up from the pool of red to see an old man dressed in a black suit befitting those in wealthy circles. He was standing on the stairs and tapping a spoon against a wine glass. The crowd quiets down to a murmur as the old man clears his throat.

“I welcome everyone to our humble estate, we are gathered here to celebrate our newest addition to the Wayne linage. "

Right, the whole reason anyone was even here in the first place. The Wayne family had gained another child. Not through birth, but through adoption. Bruce Wayne was famous for picking unfortunate children off the streets of Gotham and adopting them into his luxurious life. This was his fifth…sixth kid? Danny had lost count. The rich really could afford everything.

“Chosen by Ser Bruce Himself, we welcome Duke Thomas,”

A roar of applause filled the ballroom as a person Danny presumed was Duke came walking down the stairs. Danny didn’t know what the new kid looked like. He was expecting another black-haired, blue-eyed, perfect prince archetype, seeing as the rest of the ones that were adopted were similar. But Duke was different.

The whole crowd was quiet except for the band, who played music to accompany Duke’s descent down to the ground floor. His smile was bright and blinding, and Danny could swear there was this light surrounding him, emitting off of him and surrounding him like the wings of an angel. He was dressed in yellow, gold, and black, his outfit befitting one of a prince. Halfway down, Duke’s gaze met Danny’s. The other boy's eyes turned from brown to golden and Danny had this urge to run towards Duke, to hold him and get to know him. It wasn’t a feeling he had ever felt before; it was terrifying.

Duke looked away as he finally reached the ballroom floor. The surrounding guests rushed to greet him and present their own gifts. No doubt a way to buy themselves into the good graces of Duke and Bruce. The old man coughed to gain the attention of the guests once again.

“I know you're all excited to get to know him, and what better way to get to know someone than with a dance!”

The party erupts into a roar as the band starts to play a sweet and romantic melody. Duke is immediately swept into the chaos as the dance floor becomes filled with waltzing couples. Before Danny could think, his feet were carrying him to the dance floor, his eyes fixated on Duke Thomas, who was currently enrolled in a dance with a nice young lady in a peach-pink dress.

As soon as Danny stepped into the dancing crowd, he got pulled into the arms of a young woman in a beautiful red gown. They twirl around a bit and he loses his Duke in the crowd. He looks across the ballroom floor for him as he dances around, eyes darting from one person to the next. He finally spots Duke with a different lady. This one is wearing a glimmering dark green gown, her smile big as they dance around. Duke looks around above the head of the woman and his eyes soften once they meet Danny’s. Duke twirls the lady around with one hand and lets her go, twirling her right into the arms of another lady as he bows to her. Danny lets go of the woman in his arms and bows to her, walking off towards Duke. Duke gets swept up into another dance with a nice gentleman in a fancy blue outfit adorned with jewels. They twirl and twirl before the gentleman spins Duke around with one hand. Once the spin ends, they both bow, leaving Danny an opportunity to finally dance with Duke. Danny felt various tingles shoot up through his arms as his hands interlocked with Duke’s. It was exhilarating. He had never felt this way with anyone before. It was even more strange as he had never seen Duke Thomas before.

Now that Danny is closer, he can get a good look at Duke. Duke’s a little shorter than he expected, maybe an inch or two below Danny. Beauty marks sparsely cover his face and a small scar across his left brow. His brown eyes were no longer brightly golden, but Danny could see tiny gold specks floating around in his dark brown eyes. He was beautiful, and Danny could feel his heart race. His cheeks felt hot and yet he felt as if he was completely at peace.

“Do you ever not stare?” Duke asks, a smile accompanying his question.

Danny laughs. “Don’t act like you weren’t looking for me as well.”

“It’s quite hard to look away from someone who’s glowing green. "

Danny steps back a bit too far and steps on someone’s foot. He quickly apologizes and leans in close to Duke.

“I glow?”

“Do you not know? Your eyes, they shimmer this toxic green sometimes. I was inclined to think you were magic. "

Everyone knows magic users don't receive warm welcomes in the kingdom of Gotham. So being accused of being magic was a big deal. While magic users may not get burned at the stake, there’s still prejudice and if they find out Danny can do magic-.

“I can feel your panic. No need to worry.” Duke’s eyes turn into a shiny golden. “I’m magic as well,”

“Is that why I was so drawn to you?”

“Perhaps, seems like magic souls seek each other out. "

“I just realized you don't know my name. They call me Danny.”

“‘Danny’? I like it, I think it fits you, I’m Duke, you already know that but I still like to introduce myself. "

“It's nice to meet you, Duke. "

They waltz together for what seems like forever. Until Duke speaks up again.

“Do you like stars, Danny?”

“I like the stars, yes,”

“Then I have something to show you if you’ll be so kind as to let me”

Danny nods and Duke slips them both away from the party. He leads the other boy to a balcony, out of immediate sight of the rest of the partygoers. The yellow light of the ballroom pours out onto the balcony, clashing with the dark of the night. The night sky is littered with shimmering stars, the light cast from the bright stars shining down on Duke makes him look like he’s in a romantic painting.

“I rarely like these big parties. When I get overwhelmed, I tend to sneak out here. I thought maybe you would like it. The stars always looked lovely up here. "

Danny loved it, the stars dancing around in the sky. Glowing so bright, so far, yet so close. He looked back at Duke, the stars twinkling in his eyes alongside the golden specks. Duke was lovely.

“You glow as well,”

Duke’s attention switched back to Danny, one eyebrow raised and a worried expression on his face. He looked down at himself, trying to find this glow Danny was talking about.

“I don’t think anyone else can see it. "

“We see in each other what others can not, sounds like a poem to me. "

“You like poems?”

“Sometimes,”

Silence filled the air again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was nice. Danny acknowledged how strange his feelings towards Duke were. They had only just met, not even spending an hour together, and yet he was so drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. It was intoxicating and so free to be in the presence of someone he had never seen before tonight.

“Do you feel it too?”

Duke doesn’t even have to explain. Danny knows what he means. The magnetic pull drew him closer and closer. The glow in Duke’s eyes shows a part of him that no one else knows. The comfort and peace he feels just being near each other. He had never felt anything like this before. It scared him and he wanted to dive headfirst into this feeling. To know more about the magic boy next to him.

"Was afraid you didn't,"

Duke smiled at his answer, and Danny was no longer in a hurry to get home. His bed could wait. And if they shared a kiss that night, the stars would not tell.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Come find me on AO3!

#Ghostlight-prompt-event #Ghostlights #deadlights

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