#prison flogging

[whipmaster1980]

Prison Flogging.

[aceofwhump]

Around the World in 80 Days 1x05

[spockvarietyhour]

okay we were still using the cat o' nail tails as part of corporal punishment in 1948.

[unboundprompts]

Pirate Terms and Phrases

-> Pirate Lingo

-> A Pirate's Glossary

Batten Down The Hatches - tie everything down and put stuff away for a coming storm.

Brig - a prison on a ship.

Bring a Spring Upon 'er - turn the ship in a different direction

Broadside - the most vulnerable angle of a ship that runs the length of the boat.

Cutlass - a thick, heavy and rather short sword blade.

Dance with Jack Ketch - to hang; death at the hands of the law (Jack Ketch was a famed English executioner).

Davy Jones's Locker - a mythical place at the bottom of the ocean where drowned sailors are said to go.

Dead Men Tell No Tales - the reason given for leaving no survivors.

Flogging - severe beating of a person.

Gangplank - removable ramp between the pier and ship.

Give No Quarter - show no mercy.

Jack - flag flown at the front of the ship to show nationality.

Jolly Roger - black pirate flag with a white skull and crossbones.

Keelhaul - a punishment where someone is dragged under the ship. They are cut by the planks and barnacles on the bottom of the ship.

Landlubber - an inexperienced or clumsy person who doesn't have any sailing skills.

Letters of Marque - government-issued letters allowing privateers the right to piracy of another ship during wartime.

Man-O-War - a pirate ship that is decked out and prepared for battle.

Maroon - to leave someone stranded on a. deserted island with no supplies, typically a punishment for any crew members who disrespected the captain.

Mutiny - a situation in which the crew chooses a new captain, sometimes by forcibly removing the old one.

No Prey, No Pay - a common pirate law that meant crew members were not paid, but rather received a share of whatever loot was taken.

Old Salt - experienced pirate or sailor.

Pillage - to steal/rob a place using violence.

Powder Monkeys - men that performed the most dangerous work on the ship. They were treated harshly, rarely paid, and were expendable.

Privateer - government-appointed pirates.

Run A Shot Across the Bow - fire a warning shot at another boat's Captain.

Scurvy - a disease caused by Vitamin C Deficiency.

Sea Legs - when a sailor adjusts his balance from riding on a boat for a long time.

Strike Colors - lower a ship's flag to indicate surrender.

Weigh Anchor and Hoist the Mizzen - an order to the crew to pull up the anchor and get the ship sailing.

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[chainedmuscle]

[txttletale]

girl help. I got high and read the cruel and self-centered opinions of the imperial core's middle class, now I feel hopeless about the state of the world where once I was simply apathetic to said middle-classes insignificant understanding of the world and I don't know how to achieve peace of mind

puyi was the last qing emperor of china. as a child he would regularly have his servants flogged and shoot at them with a BB gun. as an adult he continued this cruelty and ran the japanese puppet state of manchukuo, presiding over countless war crimes. when he was imprisoned by the CCP, he was confronted with people he'd hurt: his concubines, the victims of japanese massacres, people who had worked and starved in manchukuo's factories. he realsed what he'd done--overwhelmed with guilt, he considered suicide.

after nine years in prison, he was released. he led an ordinary life as a street sweeper. he was apologetic to waiters in restaurants--they reminded him too much of having servants. he took care to be the last person on the bus. he acted in plays as a hobby. he was happily married to a hospital nurse, who said of her husband: 'When I was having even a slight case of flu, he was so worried I would die, that he refused to sleep at night and sat by my bedside until dawn so he could attend to my needs'

there's no amount of cruelty that cannot be unlearned. there is no level of self-centredness or brutality that cannot be recovered from. the people with these cruel opinions--maybe they'll die like that. but they have within them somebody kind and gentle. the possibility for such a person exists within everybody, without exception. so don't be hopeless when you see cruelty. just steel your heart and tell yourself that not only are there good people--but that cruel people can one day be good. that there is hope for every human being and so there is hope for the world

[curtwilde]

Taliban has announced that women in Afghanistan will be stoned to death in public for adultery.

The Afghan Taliban’s supreme leader, Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada, has issued a disturbing proclamation, vowing to implement brutal punishments against women in public. In a chilling voice message broadcasted on state television, Akhundzada directly addressed Western officials, dismissing concerns about violating women’s rights by stoning them to death.

"You say it’s a violation of women’s rights when we stone them to death," Akhundzada stated. "But we will soon implement the punishment for adultery. We will flog women in public. We will stone them to death in public," he declared, marking his most severe rhetoric since the Taliban seized control of Kabul in August 2021.

These grim statements, purportedly from Akhundzada, who has seldom been seen in public except for a few outdated portraits, emanate from Afghanistan’s state TV, now under Taliban control. Akhundzada is believed to be located in southern Kandahar, the Taliban's stronghold. Despite early assurances of a more moderate regime, the Taliban swiftly reverted to harsh public penalties reminiscent of their previous rule in the late 1990s, including public executions and floggings. The United Nations has vehemently criticised these actions, urging the Taliban to cease such practices.

In his message, Akhundzada asserted that the women's rights advocated by the international community contradicted the Taliban’s strict interpretation of Islamic Sharia law. Akhundzada emphasised resilience among Taliban fighters, urging them to oppose women's rights persistently. "I told the Mujahedin that we tell the Westerners that we fought against you for 20 years and we will fight 20 and even more years against you," he stated.

His remarks have sparked outrage among Afghans, with many calling for increased international pressure on the Taliban.

"The money that they receive from the international community as humanitarian aid is just feeding them against women," lamented Tala, a former civil servant from Kabul.

"As a woman, I don’t feel safe and secure in Afghanistan. Each morning starts with a barrage of notices and orders imposing restrictions and stringent rules on women, stripping away even the smallest joys and extinguishing hope for a brighter future," she added.

"We, the women, are living in prison," Tala emphasised, "And the Taliban are making it smaller for us every passing day."

Taliban authorities have also barred 330,000 girls from returning to secondary school for the third consecutive year. University doors were closed to women in December 2022 and participation in the workforce is heavily restricted.

[aceofwhump]

Around the World in 80 Days 1x05

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns.

Next chapter

When Dr Gaul suggested Coriolanus return to compete his officer training, he was mortified. But she had made a valid point about his presidential future.

A man who served his country was easier to sell than a spoilt rich boy who deserted his post.

She would bring him back for the lavish parties and important ceremonies to shake hands with the right people. They all told him what a fine young man he had become. Following his fathers footsteps, despite his down fall.

He would smile and tell them it was an honor to serve Panem. An honor to fill the shoes of Commander Hoff and restore order to district 12.

Commander Hoff had been killed by rebels. A bomb went off during a hanging, hidden under the floor boards and trigged by flex of the rope. Commander Hoff had been standing directly above it and left district 12 with a dire need for a leader.

Coriolanus had only started to settle back into capital life. Before he was torn from his riches and thrown back into the dirt.

He was still bitter about returning, but his opponent, Augustus Bloom, for the presidential run was highly well known, and a few years older then him. He was a well established business man, and Coriolanus still had a school boy image.

Still, as Dr Gaul reminded him, Augustus had only known the spoils of war. Which made him fine company for dinner, but for a leader of Panem people would be looking for a man who would not shrink in the face of violence. A man who kept the scum of the districts at bay.

When President Ravinstill finally breathed his last breath Panem would be looking for a new leader and Coriolanus wanted to be the only one they turned to. With Dr Gaul's help it was a possible goal.

The first thing he did as commander was out up a electric fence around the district so there was no chance of lucy-grey returning or her covey sneaking out to help her with supplies.

He ruled district 12 with a harsh fist. It was good practice for when he would rule Panem. He experimented with ways to control people. He found that the best way was the hardest.

Fear was a great oppressant but also a great motivator. He had to balance it with small pockets of relent. The tiger won't bite you if you don't pull it's tail.

Keep in line, and the Capital would provide for basic needs. Coriolanus knew first hand what people would turn into when their basic needs were not met. So feed them, clothe them, offer the occasional entertainment to distract them from their miserable existence.

It would keep the majority at bay. And for those who knew better than to be lulled into compliancy, cruelty would be unleased into the district. Food shipments cancelled, mandatory public executions, Peacekeepers given free rein to take what they liked and flog anyone who protested. The people of district 12 would grow to hate rebels.

However, his tyrannical rule left him isolated from his army. The men kept out of Coriolanus way. Even those directly below him offered no familiar way of talking.

Only in his weekly call with Tigress and Grandma'am could he talk about something other than strategy.

He took to walks on sunny days to break up his day between work and sleep. Most of the men in his camp had taken to the district looking for their fun. Coriolanus wasn't invited out.

So he walked around the facility. Weaving through the large buildings and metrically kept gardens.

He was just about to head back to his apartment and settle himself down with documents awaiting approval when he heard quite yelling and whispers coming from the prison windows.

It was located at the far end, hidden between a tall brick wall and link fence.

He pressed himself to the wall.

"here! Here!" he could hear the quiet demands.

A traitor was interfering with Capital business. Coriolanus would make sure this rebel would met a fate worse than those imprisoned.

He peaks from behind wall not to see a ill fed man who dreams bigger than his station but a women overcome with compassion.

You're standing up on your tippy toes on the prison cell window. A basket over your elbow while your hand clung to the cell bars to keep you up. You were passing oat squares from your basket to blind hungry hands.

You had an air of vulnerability about you. A doe eyed looked that invited predators. Come eat me you seemed to cry. Coriolanus planned to do exactly that.

he walks over, trending lightly so he made no noise and picked you up by the waist, putting you down on the ground.

You stilled underneath his touch, frozen from fear. You slowly turned to see who's chest was touching your shoulder to see Coriolanus, the Commander of district 12.

You looked like Tigress had during the war. A quite braveness about you shun in your eyes. A willingness to do anything to protect those who you held dear.

Coriolanus had wanted to invite you back to his office where he would offer you a drink, and inquire about you.

But you had taken off before he could part his lips. Ran back to the broken linked corner of the fence and pulled your body along the ground and through the metal. You had dropped your basket at his feet and he kicked it as he ran.

He chased after you, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back towards him.

"Wait!" he implored. Something about you drew him to you.

It could have been his desire to protect Tigress all those years ago. Tigress had looked after him all his life and he had a large debt that he only started to pay back. Part of him held on to the disgust that he had failed her for so many years. You had the same loyalty as her, he could tell. Perhaps you could play a role in healing history.

Or perhaps it was your evident kindness that he wanted to trap like a butterfly. District life here was cold and lonely. He longed to be looked after like he was back home. He was a great and powerful man but with no one dotting on him he felt no better than a lowly peacekeeper. At least they had each other. Commander Snow had no one but his reflection to boast praise upon him.

Maybe it was a mixture of the two.

Your cry out as the sharp metal dug into you as he pulled you back through it. It was enough for him to release you. If you were hurt that's all you would be able to focus on. For all one knows, it might be all he would be able to focus on.

He stood up and watched you flee in the distance until not even a shadow of you could be seen. He committed your image to his memory, picked up your basket and walked to the entrance of the prison where the clueless peacekeepers standing guard greeted him.

He sent two to fix the hole in the fence, and demanded one other to bring him the prisoners facing the west wall one by one.

Hours of interrogation later and Coriolanus gave up hope that one of the prisoners actually knew you.

Some could describe you from what they saw but that was no good to him. He already burned you into his brain.

----------

Instead he issued mandatory vaccines. Sections were given time allotments to avoid overcrowding so he didn't miss you amongst the people and secondly so he knew which part of town you resided in.

It must have been the outer part as it was late afternoon of standing between each line for Coriolanus before he could finally see you in line. He had taken to eaten the rest of the oat bars in the basket after a nightfall of interrogation. Sat at his dinning room table in nothing but his underwear and devoured the small bars.

With acknowledgement that your resources were limited, they were quite good. Even after he was full he kept eating, hating the idea that anyone but him would taste or touch your cooking. You cooked with love he could taste it.

It reminded him of Tigress fried potato. She would always leave the best pieces for him. He imaged you both would be good friend's. Bonding over Coriolanus.

Despite his romanticizing of you last night, he didn't move, choosing to act as if he had forgotten you.

You had not forgotten him. You kept your head down, wore different clothes than yesterday and a scarf covered your hair.

You didn't really have much of a choice. peacekeepers were searching each house and surrounding areas to ensure all members were present. You also needed your vaccine booklet stamped. One missing stamp meant serious trouble.

He tried not to be obvious as he watched you get your vaccine. you moved quicker then the rest, rushing to the back as soon as your book was stamped.

He reached under one of the covered desks to retrieve your basket and followed pursuit.

He followed you as you moved through the people. Several peacekeepers had been instructed to help herd the women Coriolanus followed into a nearby ally way.

You attempted to turn right through the buildings but a Peacekeeper appeared out of thin air. You retracted froward but a looming peacekeeper at the gate squared his body to you.

You took of running to the right were another peacekeeper pushed his way through the crowd to you. You turned back to see Coriolanus walking through parted people. You see the ally and make way for it.

The plan had worked perfectly, and he nodded to the Peacekeeper still making his way through the crowd to say your work is done.

He sees you banging against the gate he had locked, trying to shove it open.

He fiddled with basket under his hand. Rubbing his thumb up and down the threaded wood as he made his way towards you.

You turn around to face him upon hearing his footsteps. You weren't sure if you were backed into a corner or if your body moved itself.

"You forget your basket yesterday" he held it out towards you but you didn't accept it.

"It ain't mine" you reply. You eyes don't even look at it. Keeping them on your shoes.

"So if i was to arrest you until the DNA testing came back on it you wouldn't mind?". He could feel your body tense.

"There ain't no rule that we can't feed em'".

A confession so quickly. Yet you still refuse to look at him.

"There is a rule about associating with rebels".

He steps closer, his shoulders lean forward almost over you.

'i was just feeding. Not associating".

Coriolanus sucks his teeth. He would feel almost disappointed having given the basket back. He would like to keep a piece of you.

"I could hang you for this, or..."

Your eyes flick to his. There was a lightness in them that you weren’t expecting.

“Or we could keep this to ourselves” he leans in close to whisper. You could feel his soft breath on your cheek, “our little secret”.

He swings the basket just outside of your hand. You reach for it but he swings it back.

“It would make us partners in crime” he warns.

He was playing. His eyebrows raised in a playful way and a slight smirk played on his lips.

You didn’t share in this playfulness. Too many of your friends had been killed by peacekeepers to find any of them amusing.

“What do you want from me?” you ask. Your eyes still at his. He saw the same fire for survival as his.

Coriolanus steps back from you allowing some distance.

“I want to help you” he swings the basket into your hand, “will you let me?”

You don’t answer. Just yank the basket away from him and turned to run out back from the ally. Taking the opportunity of him being back from you.

You turn as you wedge yourself back into the steam of people to see Coriolanus watching you as you as you try and disappear.

You knew it wouldn’t be the last time you saw the Commander.

You run home with a peacekeeper tailing you. Or at least when the basket of food appeared on your doorstep the next morning that's what you assumed.

[dark-and-kawaii]

A Cruel Game

Raphael x f!Tav/Reader x Mephistopheles

⋆˙⟡♡ 18+ Dark Content

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: Raphael remained bound by the chains in Cania, his flesh etched with the marks of a whip's assault, his visage swollen with the beatings dealt by a Cornugon that took pleasure in toying with him. The chastisement Mephistopheles imposed upon his offspring was far from concluded; indeed, an archdevil's methods of torment extended well beyond the scope of mere floggings and physical abuse.

⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Dubcon | Noncon | Heavy Angst | Double Penetration

Raphael hung from the chains in Cania, his body marred with lashes from a whip, his face bruised from a Cornugon that enjoyed playing with him. Mephistopheles’ punishment for his son was not over quite yet, no an arch devil was far crueler than mere lashings and beatings.

He could hear the sound of an instant teleportation, and despite the pain, Raphael lifted his head to see whom it was that came to visit… He had figured it would either be Haarlep once more or his dear father, and he was partially right. His father was indeed here to pay him a visit, but what he didn’t expect was finding you trailing behind Mephistopheles, in the nude.

Raphael’s eyes roamed your body, as he did he felt his heartbeat begin to race. There, around your neck was a metal collar, attached to it a long chain that led straight to his fathers hand… Raphael could feel his teeth clench, what was his father doing with you!? His precious little mouse.

Mephistopheles stopped in front of his son, his hand tugging on the collar for you to pick up the pace. He was grinning from ear to ear, his white teeth on full displace, “I can see why you kept this soul all to yourself, son. She makes quite the beautiful pet.”

You came into view, your body just as divine as Raphael remembers it. Your face was flushed, your thighs pressed together, and your nipples were fully erect… Raphael could see something was off about you, your eyes were glazed over, the corner of your mouth had the smallest of sheen from drool. It all made him uneasy.

The Archdevil circled around you, "I've never met a more submissive bitch." His hands trailed over your shoulders, his touch causing you to shiver and emit a soft whine.

Raphael's face contorted in anger. His blood boiled at his father's words and actions. But what infuriated him the most was the fact that you seemed to enjoy his father's touch. The thought of you submitting to someone other than him made his stomach churn. His father must have done something to you.

"She is mine," Raphael growled, pulling at the chains, his muscles straining against his skin.

"Not anymore," Mephistopheles grinned, his fingers gripping your hips. "Ah, but because I'm such a considerate father, I was going to allow you some fun with your little mouse, as you called her."

The archdevil leaned into your back, his hands sliding down the sides of your hips. A low whimper escaped your lips, your body trembling from the stimulation. "Do you miss my son's cock?" Mephistopheles taunted.

"Yes," you nodded eagerly, your thighs rubbing together, your fingers curling, and your bottom lip bitten.

Raphael's body burned, and not in the usual hellish way. Your eyes never left his, but they appeared unfocused, clouded, with dilated pupils.

His father waved his hand, and in an instant, Raphael was chained to the cold prison ground.

"Do you wish to remind my son of what he left behind due to his foolish ambition?" Mephistopheles continued.

In a hushed tone, Raphael seethed, “You disdainful creature! She would would never stoop so lo-“

"Y-Yes," you breathlessly interrupted.

Mephistopheles released a soft chuckle. "She is very honest with her body, isn't she, my son?" His fingers creeped down to your bare sex, the tip of a finger playing with your sensitive bud.

You jerked, a loud moan escaping you while your body convulsed. Raphael's eyes hardened more, his arms straining against the chains along with his legs. His father's fingers were not even inside you and already your legs shook. Your body was aflame with lust, and he could only stare as the scene unfolded.

Mephistopheles grabbed the metal collar and pulled you back to him, his fingers still circling your bud. "Look at my son's expression," he breathed. "He's envious, isn't he?” The archdevil kissed your head, “go make him feel at home, pet.”

Releasing his hold on you, you fell onto the ground in front of Raphael, your knees skidding from the hard floor. You crawled forward, the sway of your hips beckoning the archdevil's gaze, "Y-yes!! I'll do anything you want- Mephy…“

Raphael winced at the nickname you gave his own father, but he could see tears brimming at the corners of your eyes…

Without wasting a single moment, you eagerly crawled on top of your former lover, your eyes dazed- almost vacant from what they once truly were. Your tongue flicked out, teasingly licking his chin, savoring the taste you had missed. Your hands roamed up his bare chest, relishing the feel of his chest hair and skin against you. "Raphael," you whined, your fingers curling into fists as you rubbed yourself against his abdomen, feeling his erection pressing against the curve of your ass.

Raphael growled, his cock throbbing. It had been weeks since he last touched you, and the need to bury himself deep inside your warmth consumed him. His hands clenched into tight fists, his desire almost unbearable as he thrusted his hips.

Mephistopheles watched with delight as his son struggled against the chains that bound him. "Ah, it's good to see that you're still a devil at heart," he taunted. "Willingly wanting to rut into this mortal in front of your dear father."

You whimpered, grinding against Raphael, the friction causing your juices to slide down the front of his length. You adjusted your position, aligning yourself with his girth, and slowly impaling yourself, feeling his length stretch your walls deliciously. Your back arched, head thrown back, as a loud, pleasurable cry echoed through the room.

With fervor, you bounced on his cock, your head thrown back and your voice filled with unrestrained pleasure. "Nn’! Feels s’good!"

Mephistopheles watched as you fucked his son, he knew this would eat at Raphael, knew this would be what bruised his pride. It's what the brat gets for being deliberately worthless.

Raphael fought against the chains, his eyes fixated on your bouncing breasts and the expression of pure pleasure on your face. "Y-You'll pay for this, Mephistopheles," he growled.

The arch devil knew what would be the crumbling point. Stripping his clothes the true devil positioned himself behind you, “be a good little mouse and vocalize just how much you want this.”

You stopped bouncing, your hands sprawled over Raphael’s chest while his cock plugged your tight little cunt, “M- Mephy” Taking your hands your chest falls to Raphael’s so you can spread your ass cheeks apart, your eyes pleading for Mephistopheles to ruin you.

“Such a good little lamb you are,” he patted your head just before lining himself up with your tight hole.

Raphael never liked to share what he considered his own, especially when it came to you. Haarlep was the only one allowed to bed you, and even then, Raphael had to be there to indulge in your arousal. He furrowed his brow and scrunched his nose, a clear sign of his displeasure, “Do not dare-“

Mephistopheles laughed at his son's reaction. "Are you asking me, your own father, to deny such a pretty and desperate plea? It seems like the human side of you is getting the better of you after all. Let me remind you of our devilish nature, my cambion."

With a forceful thrust, Mephistopheles buried his length deep into your tight ass. The sensation was overwhelming, causing you to scream out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Tears cascaded down the corners of your eyes as they slid down your cheeks, while a trail of saliva dripped from the corner of your lips. The arch devil fucked you relentlessly, as if trying to fuck right through you.

Raphael's teeth clenched, his hands shaking violently with rage as his body writhed beneath you, desperately trying to break free from the chains that bound him.

Mephistopheles thrusts inside you, each snap of his hips becoming harder and more brutal, not giving you a moment to adjust.

Haarlep, you thought… Raphael… Your eyes squinted at a memory… Your heart skipping at the vision of Raphael smiling down at you, praising you…

A guttural moan escaped your lips as you found yourself visualizing being sandwiched between both Haarlep and Raphael… Their thick lengths penetrating your body, driving you to the edge of pleasure.

It was all coming back to you…

Your nails raked across Raphael's chest, leaving deep, bloody scratches in their wake. Despite the facade of pleasure moments ago, you were in agony. The pain in your ass overshadowed any pleasure you could derive from the situation. Tears streamed down your face, mingling with the fresh blood drawn from your true lover's chest.

You leaned up, your consciousness flickered like a faint candle in the wind, surfacing from the depths of your ensnared mind. Your vision cleared just enough to take in the horror of what was truly happening, your body a marionette to another's will. As your gaze, heavy with the weight of an unspeakable grief, found Raphael’s, “R-Raphael- I-I’m Sorry…-“ the sight of his face, twisted not in anger, but a haunting visage of sorrow, eyes glistening with the sheen of unshed tears.

Raphael, knowing you better than anyone, could see through this trickery. He recognized that you were under some sort of spell, and the real you was desperately fighting against it, trying to come to.

Raphael observed the expression of pure ecstasy returning to your face, your tongue hanging out to the side of your mouth. He couldn't bear to witness you being used and abused between them, your once vibrant spirit reduced to a mere plaything for his father's sadistic pleasure. It tore at his heart.

A sob escaped your throat as the arch devil continued to slam his cock into your ass while you bounced on Raphael's cock. Each forceful thrust caused your body to shake, your hips meeting his thighs with a loud, rhythmic slap.

It didn't take long for the two devils to reach their climax. Mephistopheles was the first to succumb, his cock spasming as he released himself deep inside your ass. His cum oozed out, coating the walls of your tight passage, dribbling onto Raphael's balls.

Raphael followed suit, his body trembling with a mix of pleasure and despair. He watched as Mephistopheles asserted his dominance over you, his cruel actions tearing at the remnants of Raphael's shattered pride. Still, his cock pulsated and twitched, shooting rope after rope of cum. His seed spilling out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.

The familiar sensation of Raphael's release snapped your mind back into reality. It wasn't Mephistopheles' name you called out, but rather, "Raphael!" You moaned his name, a pure sound escaping you as you came down from your high.

Your body shook and collapsed onto Raphael's, seeking solace in his embrace. "R-Raphael... Raphael... i- I’m- s-so sor-f-forgive- me... R-Raphael," you sobbed into his chest, your former self regaining consciousness as the spell Mephistopheles had placed on you came to an end.

Raphael fell silent, his heart sinking to the depths of his stomach. He blamed himself entirely for once. If only he hadn't been so careless, you wouldn't have ended up in his father's clutches.

The arch devil chuckled, running his fingers down the side of your cheek in a seemingly gentle manner. "There, there. You did such a good job, little soul," he said, his tone deceivingly tender.

Instead of leaning into Mephistopheles' touch, you sought comfort in Raphael, burying your head into his chest. Your sobs continued, the sound of your pain filling the room.

Mephistopheles took notice of the way his son looked down at you, cradled on his chest, “It appears that your mother's blood runs through your veins more deeply than my own," Mephistopheles sneered, "How precious."

The arch devil withdrew from your presence, creating a portal with a swift motion of his wrist. As the portal materialized, "Enjoy the remainder of your time together," he taunted, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. And with that final proclamation, the arch devil vanished into the portal, leaving you and Raphael alone to face the aftermath of his cruel game.

[ltwilliammowett]

Naval Slang

Here is a small collection of slang that is just too short for its own posts.

Anchor or to get one's ass to an- to sit down.

Ant' bollock on the beach - something is extremely hard to locate.

At loose ends - there is little to do. The ends of ropes at sea were easily untangled and formed loose ends. So if there was little to do, the captain could instruct the crew to check the ropes for loose ends and repair them.

Beam ends - When the ship is almost at the beam ends, it means that it is capsizing and in danger of sinking, with the deck beams almost perpendicular to the sea surface. Today it means - to be in a hopeless situation.

Bite the bullet - Men who were flogged with the lovely cat were often given a piece of leather and later a bullet to bite on so they would stop screaming in pain. If he did, he was scornfully called a nightingale.

Boom and Mizzen- Cockney rhyming slang for prison.

Brace of Shakes - I'll be with you in a brace of shakes, literally means I'll be with you before the sail has time to shake twice, in other words I'll be with you almost immediately.

Bread hook - finger

Colours tied to the mast - Give up ? Forget it, this one will be fought to the bitter end.

Cranky- She's hard to sail and unstable. The modern version means awkward, eccentric or hard to understand - often used in connection with women.

Deck Cargo - Breasts

(I'm going to) deck (you) - I'll punch you so hard in the face that you'll see the deck up close. But since such acts were forbidden at sea, they waited until the opponents were in port and could settle it there.

Donkey Wallopers - Royal Navy slang for members of mounted cavalry regiments.

Don't spoil the Ship for a ha'porth of tar - To half-finish a job by not filling the planks properly with hot tar when lapping. Ships will leak if too little tar is applied, so a little extra effort is well worth it.

Goose without gravy - a flogging without blood.

Grass combers - seamen with an agricultural background.

Hit the deck - When a swivel gun or cannon was to be fired at close range, sailors would dive onto the deck to avoid being hit.

[celtic-crossbow]

Series Masterlist

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Chapter 6

Warnings: Allusions to abuse, Reader’s poor mental health

It was nearly dusk when the three of you finally reached the prison gates. You had awoken a few hours earlier but remained quiet, only taking breaks when the men did. You didn’t want to bother them, especially Daryl, with anything trivial. Everything already seemed so fragile. 

Your first experience with a walker had been terrifying. You didn’t know what you had been expecting but seeing a rotting human face beneath the water’s surface just as its slimy fingers had wrapped around your ankle was not it. You had been so scared that you hadn’t had the sense of mind to watch it being handled. 

Now, still cradled in Daryl’s arms, you had a front row seat. There were several of the dead shuffling around the gates, making sounds that had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Rick was carefully circling Daryl, making sure none of the corpses managed to get too close while the gate slid open. You assumed the archer didn’t set you down because you were unable to defend yourself. You did feel mighty safe where you were. 

Once the gate was closed and locked, your legs were lowered until your feet touched the ground. There were a few people there, and every eye was on you. Absently, you took a step back and placed yourself just behind Daryl’s shoulder. 

“Who’s this?” A woman with shorn silver hair asked. Her hand was on the handle of a knife on her belt, but her expression was kind. 

“This is Y/N.” Rick supplied, hugging a young boy against his side. The action made the large hat on the kid’s head tilt, and he gave a look of annoyance as he corrected it. “Daryl did some… bargaining at one of the places we visited so she was allowed to leave.”

“Allowed?” The kid asked, watching you with a curious expression. 

“S’a long story.” Daryl huffed, beginning the trek up toward the main building with you right on his heels. There were people in the tower you passed, mere silhouettes in the dimming light, but Daryl waved after a man’s voice called out in greeting. Aside from that, the outside was void of people. 

The archer opened a large metal door and held it, letting you pass through before following. There was no one just inside but you could hear conversations and movement further ahead. You didn’t seem to be heading for that though. You were guided up a small set of stairs to someone’s living area. Considering Daryl pulled off his vest and draped it over the railing, you surmised it was likely his. 

“Wait here. M’a see where Rick wants ta put ya.” 

You sat down on the mattress, pulling your knees to your chest. “Could I… I’d like to stay with you.”

“Ain’t gon’ happen.” He replied instantly. There was no bite but sounded resolute. 

“Please?” You pressed, hugging your legs tighter. “I don’t want to be with strangers.”

“Lady, I am a stranger!” Daryl yelled, jabbing a finger into his own chest. His shoulders fell when you flinched almost violently, reining in his exasperation with a deep breath. 

“Yes, but… you paid for me. Bought me, fair and square.” You wiped angrily at your eyes, cursing yourself for not holding your composure in front of him. This was not what you were taught. Big Jazz would have flogged you. It was clear to you that you continued to push your luck with Daryl. Eventually, his intentions would be made clear. Maybe he just liked to play with his food first. “That means that you’re the closest thing to…family that I have.”

That made something in his chest hurt. “That’s why ya need ta be with them.”

“But—”

“Ain’t nothin’ else ta say. Wait here.” He snapped, turning his back on you before you watched him disappear down the stairs. 

You sat in the corner of the cell assigned to you, knees pulled to your chest, making yourself as small as possible. It reminded you so much of your cage in the back of Big Jazz’s club. This one at least had a bed, but without a customer in it, it felt wrong to use it. 

Even more confounding was that the cell door had been left open and a sheet hanged in the open space. “For privacy” the woman called Carol had told you.  She had brought you fresh clothes, guessing your size and worrying once she saw you again that they might swallow you whole. They laid in a neat, folded pile on the mattress. A bowl of warm stew was offered but you had turned your head, too nauseated from the anxiety clawing at your gut to even think of eating. 

Carol had offered to help you settle in, even suggesting she brush your hair. You had just stared at her, confused at her kindness when you knew she was above you in every way. The girls at the club would never offer such consideration. Some had been nice enough, but given your ‘history,’ they mostly chose to use you as a scapegoat when things would go wrong for them. 

Carol had been fully dressed, from her shirt and camisole to her booted feet. It was a wonder Daryl let her get away with that. That led to the thought that maybe Daryl wasn’t actually the man in charge. You’d have to tread carefully if that was the case. Any of the men could be leading and you couldn’t slip up like you had so many times in front of the archer. 

“Y/N?” Carol called from behind the curtain. “May I come in?” You pulled your legs impossibly closer and didn’t answer. “If you don’t answer, I’m going to assume it’s okay for me to come in.” She added in a no nonsense tone. Fear churned in your belly, so unsure of this new place and its inhabitants. You felt as though you were walking on eggshells already and no one seemed to be giving you any real direction. “Coming in.” The sheet lifted and Carol ducked below it, looking to the bed first before eventually spotting you in the corner. “Now, what on earth are you doing over there?”

She crouched to your level but didn’t advance any closer. “Did you not want to get changed? I only wanted to wash the clothes you have and return them to Daryl but that can wait until tomorrow if you’re more comfortable.”

Your fingernails were digging into the sides of your legs, your face drifting lower and lower behind your knees to hide from her. She seemed kind, but looks could be deceiving in the world you lived in now. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Carol shifted to sit on the floor, cross-legged. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to be sweetly picking you apart, analyzing you with a calmness that made you even more uncomfortable. “Alright.” She finally said as she climbed to her feet. “When you’re feeling more settled in, we can talk. I think you might find we have a lot in common.” 

Taking two steps, she paused. She pursed her lips and picked up the pile of clothing. You thought she meant to take items back but she simply placed them on the small table across from the bed. With slow, deliberate movements, she turned down the blanket and fluffed the pillow. “Goodnight.” She smiled that soft smile and lifted the blanket, letting it fall behind her. 

You waited what you thought might have been at least a couple of hours, well after the prison had gone quiet. With practiced silence, you snatched the blanket from the bed and pulled the sheet aside. No one seemed to be awake. Your bare feet hardly made a sound while padding across the ledge and down the stairs. You couldn’t stay in that cell a moment longer. Consequences be damned. 

Daryl opened the door to the cellblock with seasoned care. The sun was barely up. Most everyone would still be asleep. He had caught a couple of hours after Carol had come to collect you, then he took the night watch to have some time outside to just think. His head had been a mess ever since you came tumbling into his life. Well, technically, he had put you there. 

He didn’t regret it. You deserved to be free but you were now in a world where therapy and support groups didn’t exist. He had brought you to a prison full of traumatized people, hoping someone could help you get your head on straight. Hope. Did he really hope for anything anymore? It hadn’t really got him anywhere. 

Still, he hoped you would settle in with the people there. He hoped you had found some sort of comfort with a small meal and an actual bed. He hoped you had slept well your first night. For someone who didn’t dare to hope, he was sure throwing a lot out there for you. 

He didn’t even realize he had stopped to stare down toward the cells during his thoughts of you. Ready to slap himself, he scrubbed a hand over his face and then through his hair. Carol would have come to him if there had been any problems. The archer shook his head and continued toward his perch, ready to forego breakfast and get some actual sleep. If his brain would just shut the fuck up. 

He climbed the stairs as quietly as possible, even as he heard the tell tale sounds of others beginning their day. They could all do without him for a few hours. Maybe if you were informed he was sleeping, you’d feel compelled to stay closer to the cells and not wander into his personal space. 

Once again, hope had failed him. As he brought both boots down onto the metal floor of his perch, his shoulders slumped and he let his head drop back with a sound that could only be described as a frustrated groan. 

You were there, curled up on a blanket below the foot of his mattress. Sound asleep. 

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Five

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I appreciate your support as this story progresses. Make sure to check every two weeks for an update! Honestly, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have continued this story because it's just so messed up, but even so, thank you once again.

Chapter Warnings: Larys Strong jump scare

"Let me out of here!" You screamed, pounding on the guest chamber doors. "What is wrong with you, people? You have no reason to keep me here!"

Ma must have been worried to death by now, scowering across Kings Landing and pulling any strings she could. How had you been so stupid? So immature to follow a strange man that could put you in chains if he so wished. Ma was right. She had always been right about everything, and you were too caught up in your selfish desires to see it.

Aegon was a sick and twisted man. A vile, wretched, disgusting creature to ever be blessed by The Mother. You slammed your fists into the solid wooden doors as you felt pain radiate up your arms, willing them to burst open. You refused to sit ideally and become Aegon's plaything. You slept in a room next to the women who were, seeing what men like him do.

You were unashamed by the tears that streaked your cheeks, the snot that ran down your lip, and the back of your throat. Anyone being kept as a High-Born prisoner would feel the same way.

You couldn't wrap your mind around it-- around everything that had happened in the past days. Your absent father coming to pay you a visit, the heated argument with Ma, Aegon whisking you away for a night of fun and debauchery.

Nothing made sense. You were the daughter of a dead whore and a loafer, raised by a brothel madam on the streets of Flea Bottom. The Targaryen madness people gossiped about must be true; Aegon was proof of it.

The fight refused to die out, kicking at the doors as your sore arms shook. Your leathered foot nearly collided with a man as the doors opened, his cane stopping you. You were stunned, not expecting to have your freedom given to you so soon, but that hope did not last long as they locked behind your guest.

"Who are you," you questioned the limp man heatedly, ready to throw hands at any moment.

"Forgive me, my lady," he bowed, his body leaning onto his intricate stick. "I am Lord Larys of House Strong," he answered politely as if he were speaking to royalty.

"You say that as if it means something to me," you quipped. Lord Strong walked further into your prison chambers, tired from standing so long and resting on a plush armchair. He smiled as he sat, inviting you to the one opposite him, but your feet stood planted, arms crossed.

"I do not expect it to, my lady. Being the younger, unimportant brother of House Strong is not a trait many people consider to be remarkable." He spoke in riddles as if he knew something you didn't and was proud of it, disdain hidden within his messages.

"You are Ser Harwin 'Breakbones' brother," you said more for yourself than anything.

"Yes, my late brother," he answered, bowing his head in respect. He showed all the proper body language of someone in mourning, but you could not hear a whisper of sadness. You tilted your head, stepping closer to him but leaving enough room away from his cane if need be.

"Ah yes," you smiled mirthfully, squinting your eyes as you studied him. "Your sudden inheritance of Harrenhal must have come as quite a shock. Your poor family finally meeting the Stranger. But how fortunate for you, I suppose."

If it were any other circumstance, speaking to a Lord as this would end with a flogging, perhaps a missing tongue, to ensure you never made the same mistake again. But this was nothing of the ordinary.

He chuckled sarcastically, shifting his cane as he shook his head. Lord Larys was not a man to be trusted. He embodied everything your fellow common folk poked fun at during the drinking hour. He had a pompous attitude, like he knew more than everyone around him, with elegant dark clothing and short, well-trimmed hair. The only difference was that he did not seem one for gossip and parties. You assumed it was because of his deformity, nobles not wanting to be around such a "cripple."

Lord Larys didn't need a sword or army to conquer his enemies. He only need a few moments within the conversation background, a few slips of secrets into one's ear to cause chaos. That was what made him dangerous.

"I enjoy your sense of humor," he laughed, looking underneath his lashes at you, "it reminds me greatly of someone I know. Perhaps you will meet him soon." He laughed again, a joke you were not in on.

"Speak plainly, Lord Strong; I tire of your games."

Oh, you so greatly reminded him of that certain someone.

He hummed, slouching back into the chair and lifting his lousy leg to cross over the other. "I know your stay here in the Red Keep is not voluntary," he began, and you rolled your eyes. "I wanted to be the first to speak with you. Become a sort of confidant, my lady."

"I have no need to align myself with you. You have nothing of value," you quipped, pacing to sit in the chair across from him. The man was intelligent. He could read body language like a traditional Westerosi book, writing notes in the margin of his mind for later,

"Then, let me be the first to water our newly planted friendship," Lord Larys grinned, looking away for a moment as he thought of his next word carefully. "You wish to know why you are being kept here, yes?" You refused to answer, only scowling at his smug figure.

"They believe you are the bastard child of Prince Daemon Targaryen," said plainly. You threw your head back in a laugh as your hands went to your beating chest.

"You wish to start our friendship with a lie? Men are truly unbelievable." You shook your head as your mind returned to the King's eldest son. "Did Aegon put you up to this?" You asked suddenly, not finding the humor in this anymore.

"Of course not, my lady. Do you genuinely believe I would lie to you? I, a man at a significant disadvantage, am begging for the allyship of a Princess. As a young girl being thrown into a den of vipers, surely you would want a knife to cut off the heads?"

"Not when the very hand who gave it to me was one of them. The hilt laced with poison." Lord Larys stood, using his cane for support as he slowly made his way over to you, his lips in a tight purse.

"I do hope you consider my offer. It would be advantageous for us both to become allies, not enemies."

His words hung in the thick air, an ominous feeling sinking into your stomach as he left the room, the door latching behind him. He only left you more confused, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you tried the door one more time.

You were the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, his firstborn, his bastard with black hair and brown eyes, the child of a dead whore, a member of House Targaryen.

You were a dragon born of fire and blood.

***

You should have been running around the marketplace this time of day, stealing until your pockets bulged with fruits as the City Watchmen struggled to keep up with you, but instead, you sat in the great armchair inside a gilded cage, staring out of the pane-glass windows.

You never imagined yourself as someone who would miss the foul stench of small folk in high summer, but here you sat, your chin resting on your hand as your nose was filled with the sick smells of amber and ash. To those who were not trapped in the palace, they would welcome the scents, but you, it only made your head hurt.

You needed to return home and find some way to escape these impenetrable stone walls, chisel teeth, and nails if necessary, but what would happen once you returned home? You were still in Kings Landing, where they could easily find you. Perhaps Essos or the North, where you could find your mother's family? They still had jurisdiction over the areas, but if you were far enough away...

The doors burst open without warning, a guard in armor you had not seen before marching into your elegant cell. He bowed his head, raising an arm across his breastplate as he announced your small gaggle of handmaids' arrival, leaving without another word.

You stared at them blankly, partially because you were still upset about being confined to this room and partly because you had no idea what to say. They saw you as royalty and not some common girl, treating you with respect someone of your raised status was not accustomed to.

"My name is Sara, your grace," she curtsied. Her voice matched her appearance. Seemingly around your age, with fair skin and pale blue eyes that starkly contrasted against her brown hair, a slight tremble in her hands. Their arms were full of extravagant dresses.

You still sat, blinking at them with no expression as Sara shifted the heavy gowns from one limb to the other. You were still determining what she wanted as the lack of conversation became awkward.

"May I sit your dresses on the bed, my lady," she asked quietly. You felt pity. What had this girl experienced to become so... small?

"Will they fit?" You decided to say, finally leaving your seat.

"I pray so," Sara said, seeming to be the pack's leader. A red-haired girl smiled slightly and looked at the thick pile they had carried through the many floors of the Red Keep.

High fashion was gaudy. You ran your fingertips over the fabrics, feeling an array of cotton, wool, and silk of every color imaginable. You sorted through the piles out of curiosity and not because you wanted to see the fruits of the Targaryen's coin. It must have been Aegon's doing, getting you so many dresses.

Indeed they would not look through the wardrobes of the royal family for just a bastard. You could feel Sara's eyes on your back, taking note of the white streak in your hair as you grimaced at a hideous red dress.

One dress, thank the Seven, was not entirely terrible. You made no move to indicate you liked the creamy bronzed gown, its enchanting tan designs glimmering in the candlelight, its sleeves cut halfway down the arm, and wrists flowing with an accent of fabric.

It was alright, you thought, moving the other heavy materials away.

"Beautiful choice, your grace," a girl who had yet to speak complimented, grabbing it and quickly taking you behind a decorated partition as the others hurried out of the room. She grabbed the laces of your dress, untieing them without a second thought. You gasped, raising onto the tips of your toes as you attempted to gather purchase.

"My Gods what in the Hell do you eat? You are stronger than half the Kings army!" You nearly fell backward as she yanked the threads out of their holes.

"My apologies, your grace. I did not mean to hurt you," she said in a rushed tone, dragging your dirty clothes to the floor. "We have a bath drawn for you, and I do not want the water to get chill."

You heard the several other maids return, their footfalls sounding shuffled as a loud 'thump' vibrated the floor. You peeked around the partition as the redhead attempted to comb through your knotted hair, the brass teeth catching on one.

Once nearly half of your dark hair was pulled from your scalp and you naked as a babe, she ushered you to a round wooden tub, vapors rising above the water. With your mouth agape, she removed your dirty smock, and two other women helped you in. You could have laid there for hours, inhaling the relaxing smell of Clarey Sage and Lavender as they scrubbed the sweat and oil from your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, another person also enjoyed your bath, observing how the woman rinsed your hair. Aegon wished it was him kneeling beside the tub, watching the water drip down your neck and into the pool, rubbing oils over your delicate breasts. He watched from the crack in a secret passageway as they helped you, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your damp body. He sipped at a goblet he brought with him, the cool Arbor Red sliding down his throat. Not even his favorite drink could quench his thirst as he watched you ready.

Your handmaid ushered you to a vanity, rich mahogany with intricate designs carved into the wood. One brushed your damp hair, as the others laid out some cosmetics. A fine white powder dusted onto your face with a puff to get rid of any shine, crushed rose petals mixed with animal fat to create a balm, and a subtle rouge on your cheeks.

You had not realized how much effort went into becoming presentable with nobility. The most you had ever done was do a washing once a week with the other ladies of the house. Your face felt heavy as if they had rubbed soot onto your skin, but what you saw in the mirror looked as if nothing had changed. Though you had a light flesh-toned powder, redder cheeks, and stained lips, you still looked like you. Your natural features enhanced, and you felt like a... royal. Like you truly were born of Targaryen descent.

"Why am I dressing like this, Sara?" You asked, eyes downcast as a blonde servant braided your hair, staring at your white streak of hair.

"You will meet Prince Daemon soon, and he will escort you to dinner." You turned to face Sara as she compared different pieces of jewelry. The blonde yanked your head back in place as she continued.

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until Sara mentioned the prospect of food, your stomach suddenly feeling its emptiness. But once you processed you were going to see your father, the man Madam had kept you from all your life, nausea replaced it. You were glad you had not eaten today.

"It is nothing to worry about, my lady," the blonde said. You looked at her through the mirror, unconvinced. "My name is Caldia. I have served the Targaryens for many years now, and if I have learned one thing, it's that if Her Highness Princess Rhaenyra tells the Prince to do something, he will listen."

You weren't sure what that meant but didn't question her, nervously biting your red lip as she pinned the braids to your head.

Aegon wanted a better view of you, but he could only if he made himself known. His imagination was crazy with thoughts of what you looked like. What dress did you choose? Was it the color green? What hairstyle did you wear? Was your jewelry the pointed star of the Seven?

It was odd for him to be wondering such things. He never much cared for religion, let alone women's fashion; he was more focused on what lay underneath. He took another sip from his cup, a few dribbles spilling down his chin.

Caldia put her hands on your shoulders and gave you an encouraging smile as Sare put a silver bracelet on your wrist. "I am frightened," you confessed as you stood, wrapping your arms around your torso.

The four women, now yours to command, exchanged nervous glances. They knew about as much as you and could offer no words of comfort. Not one to let people suffer, Sara grabbed your hand and leaned close to your ear.

"Madam has eyes everywhere. Just give her time," she whispered. You wanted to gasp but held it back, not wanting to make any other girls suspicious.

Eyes were everywhere in the Red Keep.

***

Two Kingsguard stood stiff at their post outside Prince Daemon's chambers, watching you with expectant eyes, breathing deeply. The bodice of your borrowed dress constricted your chest, frying your nerves. You pulled a piece of loose skin with your teeth, feeling the soft trickle of blood into your mouth as you gave the men a curt nod.

The doors opened with a loud clang of metal and a groan of wood, revealing what seemed to be a dark empty room lit only by a fire out of view. They did not announce your arrival. There was no need. The Rogue Prince was expecting you as his chamber doors shut.

You walked further in, your leather shoes tapping on the hard floor, as you saw a lithe man standing at the hearth. It was Prince Daemon; there was no one else it could be as you heard him sigh and lean against the fireplace. You were moments away from meeting your father, to a man you only knew by name. Neither of you spoke, you observing the stranger and him watching the flames.

"They say I am your daughter," you spoke with a small amount of courage. "That you are my father. But how can they claim a man who I have never met be called my father?" Though they were calm, there was a hint of malice behind your words.

You heard him snicker as he turned to you, a smirk on his face, still leaning on the hearth.

"Come," he said, inviting you to watch the dancing orange flames contained by metal. "Who is your mother?"

"My mother is dead." Daemon pursed his lips, shifting. "But her name was Elaina Black." The hole that she left still bleeds, even years later.

"How did she die," he asked, eyes never leaving their spot.

"In childbirth. A few weeks after I was born."

You couldn't read his emotions, his face blank but contemplative. A man this quiet did not fit the title of Rogue Prince.

"Come," Daemon said again, leaving his spot and going to a small table with a metal box. He flipped the latch, revealing a deep blue velvet lining, a necklace, and a matching pair of earrings. The onyx-colored jewels reflected like a lake, a midnight pool encased in steel.

You were speechless. This was the first time you had received a gift such as this. Your mouth hung open as word failed. Daemon motioned you to turn so he could clasp the necklace, the black crystals contrasting your soft, creamy dress.

"What is it," you questioned, gently stroking the fine accessories, still trying to remember your manners.

You could form no thoughts, no words other than what was expected of you. "It is zīrtys perzys, Dragon Glass, gathered from the mines of your home, Dragonstone. And Valyrian steel, some lasts of its kind."

'Your home'

"Thank you, Prince Daemon. This gift..." you struggled to form a sentence. "Is the greatest gift I have ever received." You spun, doing an awkward mix of a bow and curtsy. The jewelry was extravagant like all royal fashion was, yet tasteful, even if it didn't match your attire.

"No need for that. You are a Targaryen; we bow to no man except the King," he proclaimed, briskly walking to the exit.

You stood there confused. That was it? No questions or apologies for abandoning you?

"That is it, then," you exclaimed before you could catch it. "No apologies for the years of believing my father did not love me enough to visit? To raise me as any good man should?" Prince Daemon turned around, standing in a defensive but relaxed stance as you stormed over to him. "No condolences for the loss of a mother? For the loss of a family?"

"You have been brought to me now. That is all that matters."

Your face scrunched up in confusion, gesturing your hands in a stop motion and shaking your head. High-Borns were really that emotionally stunted.

"That is not all that matters, Prince Daemon. Do you have no concerns about how your child was raised? If I am even your child," you added, done with the treatment you have received from these Targaryen men. If this was how they all acted, you wanted no part.

"I am your father, and you are my bastard. This discussion is finished," he declared, finally letting some anger slip through his facade.

"Why," you yelled, going closer to him, "how do you know? How do you know?"

"Because I have always known! I have always known that there were bastards of mine running around Flea Bottom!" He charged towards you, grabbing you by your biceps with the strength of ten men, shaking you as a vein popped from his forehead. "You are the only one who has lived long enough to claim the title publicly!"

You settled, fear replacing anger at the implication.

"You... You murdered your own children?" Daemon said nothing, his face red as he stared. 

It all made sense now. Why Ma did what she did, why she hid you from everyone, why your entire life was spent smothered into her bosom, it wasn't simply her being overprotective. She was saving you from death, from the man who gave you an extravagant present, from the man who went from being aloof to screaming, from the man who stood right in front of you.

Your father could not be as vile as him. You wanted the hands of this filicidal maniac gone.

You grimaced, mustering all the saliva you could and spitting it on the Rogue Prince's cheek. Why would he hesitate with you if he already called so many of his kin?

He let go, and you scrambled out of the way, not wanting to face his wrath.

Instead of being met with the sharp blade of Dark Sister, you heard a laugh. A genuine and honest laugh.

Daemon had a pleased look on his pale face, the same look Lord Strong gave you hours earlier but smug. He knew what to say to boil your dragon blood because you were the same as all of the true Targaryens.

"You're a mad man!" You shouted, looking frightened.

"You are my child," he declared, sauntering over to clap a hand on your shoulder. "Enough with this fun. Let us eat. I have gown rather hungry." 

You had a sense of Deja Vu before the wide entrance of the dining hall, only this time, you were not alone. Next to you was your supposed father. You chewed on your lip nervously, pulling the thin scab that covered your marks from earlier. 

So many things were left unanswered you had no idea where to begin.

Your mother was a prostitute; how could he be sure? How did he not know she was pregnant? That is not an easy thing to hide. How many brothers and sisters did you potentially have, was Daemon the monster Ma believed him to be, and who was watching you now, ready to report back to her?

"This is unnerving," you decided to say, not brave enough to voice your questions yet. He snorted, his eyebrows raising for a moment before he shifted his weight and took your arm in his.

"It is unnecessary, but is that not all customs to those unaware?" You mimicked his expressions but turned your gaze down, retaking your lip between your teeth. "Stop that," he chided as a father would, and you obeyed. You couldn't help it; the feeling came as an instinct. 

Two guards opened the doors, and another from inside the dining room announced your presence to the family that sat upon the great table. As you walked arm-in-arm with Daemon, you became even more ridged than the crown's sworn protectors. 

Master List of Series

Sorry for the no smut in this chapter. Quite dull, actually, but we have to lay the ground before the real action can happen, baby. Also, this is the dress the MC is wearing, and the necklace and earrings Daemon gave her. :)

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[pursuitseternal]

Dream “In the Monster’s Shadow:” nsfw update for Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart

Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 2.5K dream smut

Summary: In her cell that is a far cry from a cell, Shadowheart finds relief from her isolation in sleep. Memories of their past… dark and twisted indulgent dreams of desires that can’t be… it’s a reprieve, until she wakes. And she’s not alone.

CW: smutty books, memories from “act 1,” dark dreams of indulging her suppressed desires, male receiving oral, inappropriate use of Detect Thoughs while sleeping, voyeurism if you squint… cliffhanger of sorts.

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 3…

🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤

Slowly. Time passed so slowly. For all his threats of earning her keep, luxuries seemed to just appear before she even needed them. A feather bed… a screen to bathe behind… and clothes. Clothes so soft, silks and velvets and woven material she had never before seen or touched.

All of it skin tight or flowing and glowing in rich jewel tones.

All of it sensuous.

Save for the fact he never gave her any small clothes, no underwear or lacing to bind her breasts. But, as she laid in her bed, wrapped in a gown so soft she felt naked, about to open a new book that apparated on her end table… she didn’t know if she could call herself a prisoner.

She wouldn’t call this torture.

Except for the lingering ghost of that feeling of warm and wet licking up the back of her thigh. She shivered as her hand stayed on the crimson cover of that book. Whatever this was, it wasn’t maltreatment. It wasn’t the soulless torment of a deranged villain.

A monster, yes. Still that. With his glittering fangs and taste for blood and tongue to feed…

She shivered again, ignoring the slick that gathered unwantedly at the memory of that warm wet trail up her leg. Shadowheart had no idea how long it had been since then. Truly the cruelest part of all this was the deprivation of sun and time. No windows meant no marking the days before she would see him again.

And if she didn’t just start to hate the fact that each tingle of magic as something appeared made her excited.

Hoping it was him again.

She sighed, lounging on her stomach to spare the still lingering bruises on her ass and backs of her legs. Opening the cover, she read the title… A Pleasurable Deal… and a neat script flourished beneath it:

A little something to pass the time… Quite informative, I hope it arouses your curiosity, Princess.

Sensual regards,

Your Master, Astarion

Shadowheart slammed the cover, face screwed tightly in disgust.

Her head was swimming. Probably tired, body aching and hot and sore and uncomfortable. Yes, probably tired.

Curiosity niggled at her mind, however, as she scanned the worn pages of that book. Maybe, just a peek to distract before sleep overcame her.

Somewhere towards the front, she slid a finger in and squinted in a bit of fear.

“Oh, fucks sake…” she whispered to herself. “It’s illustrated…”

One eye squinted as she… examined… the picture— a very voluptuous woman grinding on… a saddle, a man fully erect with a riding crop in hand making her…

Her cheeks grew hotter than sacred flame as she slammed the book shut and tossed it across the cell. A groan, she tried to tuck herself in, sleep tugging her under.

Even if that image was burned in her mind almost as deep as the burning in her belly…

Sleep was restless… a miasma of memory and desire and want. The visions of her cell melted to the Goblin Camp… to being flogged by Astarion, his sweet silken voice purring his praises of how well she takes the pain for him. His good girl… the sting of the beating instantly sending a gush of arousal down her bare thighs. The ghost of his warm, wet tongue lapping up every drip that seeped down over and over and over again.

Her vision went dark, more of a midnight blue, beams of moonlight pierced its shadows beneath the coverage of the glade. Somewhere near the Emerald Grove, the sounds of the Tieflings’ celebration in the distance, her mind thrummed with the recognition. Voices wafted from the treeline as she crept in the grey shade. Unseen. Unobserved. Even as she could see them…

His pale sculpted body, formed just right to make her salivate. Every ridge and rise of his stomach and chest covered in moonlight, his skin like pearl as he crossed towards her.

Always… her.

“…I’ve been waiting…” he purred in the moonlight, looking as delicious as ever.

She had been waiting too, and she would have to keep waiting, perhaps forever. For even as she watched them strip and kiss and couple, all to her disapproval, she knew sooner or later one of them would prove false.

It was the way of the world. Wasn’t it?

But watching them… it was beautiful, stealing her breath. The way his elven body bent and danced and undulated. The way he controlled every clench of his ass and every push of his knees to spread her wider. His voice was sex itself, little purrs of pleasure and little growls of ecstacy as he fed from her neck.

Slut, she grumbled disapprovingly. Giving him everything all at once… pfft.

For a moment, she was sure her lungs would burst and her heart had stopped. Swallowing a noise in her throat as she forced herself to leave as silently as she had approached.

They wouldn’t notice anyway. But as she watched… as the memory overwhelmed her, she felt every motion she observed, every brush of his hands, every piercing pain of his fangs in her skin, every pounding fuck between her legs.

Her dream swirled… the memories of that night from the past faded to darkness and canvas and the faint smell of camp. Colored fabric stretched around as she stood inside. A body at her feet.

Pale. Unmoving. Bloodless. Dead. His love.

At last she was done, her heart twisted. Only a matter of time.

That's what you get for being his, she chided and sneered in her dreams.

His… the one who stood panting naked over her, licking his bloodied fingers of one hand, the other pumping slowly over his rock-hard cock. “I knew you would come…” he purred into her swirling senses. “Seems I’ve been satisfied in one way… but left aching in others.”

“I…” she heard her voice from a distance, as if she floated, observing this vision unfold. Punishment for her arousal and jealousy… all those things she should let go of. All those things that came rushing back to choke her when it came to the vampire.

“You came here to help, didn’t you?” his voice challenged her, confident. Stirring. His bare feet stepped over her corpse, and he closed in on her.

Cutting her off from that slit of night behind the entrance.

Leaving her nowhere to go.

Nothing else to do but glance between how he sucked his fingers clean, how he pleasured himself as she watched. “It won’t take long to… heal me, little cleric. You’ll only need a taste… and think, you won’t even need to use your precious spells,” that fucking, rakish, left brow of his quirked, crimson eyes narrowing, “you wouldn’t even need to use your hands, if you wish….”

Even Shadowheart’s dream-body shivered under that crimson gaze… unmoving.

“Come now,” he purred, bringing his cold, damp hand, wet with spittle, to brush across her gaping lips.”You can’t keep your eyes of me. You groan the loudest when you have to heal her night after night once I’m through with taking my fill. You won’t have to worry about that any longer…. Even now, your breath catches as the sheer size of me.” His thumb slipped into her mouth, the slight tang of blood from his mouth touching her own tongue.

It should have been repulsive. Should have disgusted her. But she only closed her mouth and sucked on that digit, letting his thumbnail score against the roof of her mouth.

His mouth brushed her ear, voice a rolling hum that ran down her spine. “I’ve been told I’m quite the sight from one’s knees… I’m sure you would enjoy the view…”

Gods, if she didn’t drop so hard her kneecaps cracked.

Eyes fluttered shut, tongue lolling hungrily, she attended to him. Why not… it was only her dream after all… and godsdammit if she hadn’t been left burning for days now. Salty, sticky, bitter—the soft head of his cock swept into her mouth. Those early drips of seed made her mouth water. She kept her eyes closed, better that way, even as she could feel his groans of pleasure from above her, feel the ripples of his thighs as he thrust slowly into her wet warmth. His fingers pressed into the crown of her head, keeping her from pulling too far back, his other grip still held firmly at the base of his cock.

As if he meant to control every little swirl of submission he drew from her mouth.

And submit she did, her stomach knotted tight, relishing the way he would use her… to find his relief and his pleasure and healing all at once. To give what she could.

Let him take as he saw fit. Her own touch pressed on the joint of his hips, fingertips tracing that alluring v of belly. She stopped breathing to feel his skin so warm… to suddenly realize there was a pulse down his shaft as he fucked between her lips.

“What a good little princess….” He purred, fingers digging hard into her scalp as he picked up his pace. Thrust after thrust slid on her tongue and gagged down the back of her throat. “Not so lonely and burning anymore, are you? Not so jealous now that you have my full attention…”

Her hand braced on his stomach, her own strength nothing compared to his. Not any longer.

She opened her eyes, unable to tilt her head. Unable to look up into his face high above her.

Not until he let her slide to the very tip of his cock. Not completely off, but eased enough for her to cast a glance up the planes of his pale body, to meet his glowing red gaze.

Magic stung her skin, metallic tingles filling her nose, carried on her every breath filled with the sweet musk of his arousal.

But she still felt the tug of her dreams. This couldn’t be real…. Just her mind. So she doubled down, nearly swallowing his cock whole, lips almost pressing against his pelvis. Her throat closed, his breath catching in delight and surprise. A little tickling chuckle in the back of her throat, where that twitching head clogged her mouth. She spread her lips. Just a little, just a slight bite as she dragged her teeth all… the way… down.

His pained hiss was music to her ears, the punishing pull of his fingers against her scalp made her nearly come herself.

He grunted. Pure, uncontrolled tremors spilled down his shaft as it thickened, as it twitched. Hips hitched, thrusts randomly deep and shallow as he panted out of breath. A guttural noise, and she tasted him shooting over her tongue. Swallowing, she kept her lips locked around that thick shaft. Even as his hand tried to pry her off. Even as her tongue lapped the last dregs of his cum until it dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

With a deep gasp, her eyes opened, her mouth was thick and sticky with sleep. Jolting awake, the world turned on its axis. Her skin was hot, her folds slick from her dream. She started to lift her head from the comforting warmth of her bed….

Only to see the sideways sight of his body standing at her bedside. He wasn’t even looking at her face, his eyes trained on her body sprawled beneath her sheets. His nostrils flared with every breath, gloved hands gripping into his elbows, arms folded over his chest.

Astarion turned his head, her face the last thing he settled on as he scanned her. “Pleasant dreams, little cleric?”

Gods, she could smell him still in her nose. Her tongue was thick in her mouth as if she could still swallow down the remnants of his bitter cum.

“Pleasant given the circumstances…” she groaned, sitting up and sliding away from where he crept at her bedside. “Being your prisoner after all… your own nastily little slave…”

He shrugged so coolly, even as his brows furrowed as she called herself his slave. “Well… if that’s how you see this arrangement, I’m not sure I can convince you otherwise, at least,” he grinned and leaned forward, “not yet.”

Something heavy settled right on her lap, his gloved hand setting that red bound book back on her body. “I hope you kept up with your studies… they were most enlightening, I trust.”

“I found it rather two-dimensional and uninspired, to be frank, Astarion…”

“Master,” he corrected with a snarl. “And I’m sorry if it was uninspired, perhaps your dreams filled with memories and hopes were better… I trust they didn’t… suck as much.”

Shadowheart shook her head. Of course, that sting of magic in her head. “You detected my thoughts in my sleep…”

“How else might I learn what you think of me, since you’re still just so cold, withholding… when I know you can care so deeply and hard.” He tilted his head, flashing those hungry eyes on her, “And when I say you care deeply and hard… I don’t mean care as much as I mean… suck…”

Her cheeks burned hot. Flaming as her face twisted in a look of disgust and defiance and wrath. “Never you mind what you saw, what you probably manipulated me to see.”

He shrugged again, “What kind of rogue would I be if I didn’t take advantage of an opportunity, Princess.” He rolled his shoulders, hands tugging that supple raven leather gloves that encased his hands. “Now, we will have to test your studies.” With a wave of his hands that made the ruffles of his eccentric shirt flutter, and the book flew open to that page… that illustrated page… with the saddle and the crop and the look of ecstasy plastered on the woman’s face when that riding crop met her ass.

“I hope our little adventure in your dreams has left you eager for something more… real… Maybe you'll even tell me exactly why you’re here.” He tugged her blankets from off her bed as she scrambled to pull her knees to her chest. “Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll tell your master just how much you want me…”

“Never,” she hissed.

“Have it your way… I find the hard way to be more satisfying at any rate,” he purred. Snapping his fingers, magic flooded the cell, surging over her skin. When the pain settled, Shadowheart froze, even as she was pulled to her feet by that wave of arcane power.

That strange saddle sat empty, awaiting its rider. Just like the book. And before she could let the anticipation swallow her whole as she looked at it, she heard the testing snap of leather on leather.

The crack of the riding crop in his hand as it made contact with the palm of his other.

He kept his eyes on how his hands bent and assessed the little weapon in his grip. His voice was far too smooth, too silken for the way his hands clutched hard and threatening. “Brace yourself, darling, we are just getting started…”

[kaicheri]

home alone.

sub!beomgyu

warnings: anxious sulky gyu has a mini tantrum, mommy kink (reader is addressed as mommy), choking kink, fleshlight toy [masturbation (m. solo)], begging, gyu imagines reader riding him

wc: 1.4k

———

“I‘ll be good, mommy, I promise!” Beomgyu said as he waved bye, and a promise he even pinkie-sweared on. “Please be safe!”

He didn’t expect you to be out for this long. There wasn’t even much on your grocery list, and it’s almost 9. You’ve never been out this late, especially so close to his bedtime—why, just, why would you leave him all alone in the cold living room? He’d been resting his head on the couch cushion and drawing shapes into the window for a while now, waiting for you so obediently.

The curly haired boy didn’t know when he became so moody, so insecure, so…scared. Maybe you’d abandoned him. You’ve probably grown tired of his antics and ran away. He knew it was bound to happen at some point. Maybe you escaped to be with someone better, someone capable of taking care of you, instead of lounging around in the living room all day. Every bad thought he’s ever feared was trying to claw its way out.

So he retreated back to his room like a lost puppy, pout and all, flinging himself onto the bed and cursing. He wasn’t allowed to curse though, but you weren’t around, so whatever, right? Fuck this, fuck everything, and fuck—he might just curse you too, but maybe…maybe that’s too much. Ugh, Beomgyu just wants to throw a fit, but who would be there to see it? There’d be no point.

Still, he was angry. He needed to rebel—disobey somehow—break his good boy streak so that you could come home and take care of him, make you realize what a bad mommy you’ve been for leaving him all alone like this.

By now, you would’ve been wrapping up dinner, watching a movie, maybe, but most importantly, helping him out with his evening neediness (touching him and making him feel all special.)

Then you’d bathe together, pick out matching sleepwear, and cuddle to sleep. But everything’s way off schedule, and Beomgyu finds himself kicking his feet into the mattress like a sensitive school girl and whining against the sheets.

Until he spots a naughty little box, poking out from just under his bed, tempting him.

“No, c-can’t,” Beomgyu shakes his head, “Mommy says I…can’t…”

You surprised him with it at a recent birthday, strictly telling him it’s off-limits, and can only be opened if mommy says so.

He sniffles and reaches down anyway.

“Hmph, well…mommy doesn’t have to know. This stays between you and me, good ol’ box, okay? You’ll be good for me, right?”

It’s wrapped in pink. No one would ever know it had the dirtiest things inside.

He rips the lid open with sudden eagerness and an open smile—not caring if the box had anything to say back, but instead, for all the good it held in front of him.

The vibrator, cock ring, flogs, tube of sweet-whatever-flavored lube, puppy ears…(he gulps, blushing) It had definitely been a while.

But there was one special toy waiting for him the most: the precious, pink fleshlight.

In no way could it ever resemble your own pussy, but it gave him the tightness and comfort that he craved so much for. He needed it now.

In seconds, Beomgyu’s already drooling into it, sitting upright against the bed frame and nudging the box away gently with his foot. Shame, if you were here beside him, he wouldn’t have needed to go this far. Wouldn’t have even thought about it.

His room is dimly lit with his Peter Pan lamp and allows him every last bit of privacy. He rubs his lower stomach as a soothing gesture to relax himself and blushes, before letting his hand slip under the soft waistband.

It’s like he hasn’t seen his cock in ages when he pulls it out. It’s just as pretty as he remembers. Having a sex drive that’s too high and a mommy like you who doesn’t let him touch himself without permission, it’s hard to blame him. The pretty, pink thing stays prisoner in these cotton cells most of the day.

“Mmn…” Beomgyu bites his lip, before staring lazily into the spit-filled toy. He nods to himself with simple satisfaction. “Should be enough,” he says, as if he could somehow calculate.

But it doesn’t matter, because the moment he slides it on himself, he cries out loud and realizes he should’ve been more careful. He has such a sensitive cock, you know.

“Hmph, m-mommy…please…” he whines some more, “p-please help me…”

There’s already tears in his eyes when he starts, slowly, but his grip falters. Ugh, why does he have to have such weak, pretty hands? They’re too delicate to be doing something like this.

Beomgyu’s whimpering loudly and his bulbous tip goes all the way, so he keeps it there momentarily to catch a breath. Anymore and he would’ve given out.

“N-no, just not…use-used to it, th-that’s all…” he swallows and tries again.

The self-reassurance almost seems useless as he slowly lifts the toy and slides it back down, having these labored breaths for no reason. It’s so warm and so tight—oh, so, so good—it feels like he’s being overstimulated already.

What’s worse is that he can’t stop thinking about you no matter how frustrated it makes him. He’s just so hopelessly infatuated and horny. He needs to be inside of you now—no, he needs to teach you a lesson, needs to make you sorry for making him this way.

But as his mouth droops open and vision blurs, it feels like you’re riding him, such a soft and warm pussy swallowing all of his cock, calling him pretty and squeezing his neck at the same time. The pressure builds up slow though, so he doesn’t get hurt.

Fuck, how he loves being choked. So stupid. He’ll take everything you give him. He’ll let you use him like he’s nothing. Poor boy.

“I…love it…love it s-so much…” He’s melting into the bed, eyes fluttering softly. There’s a whimper and a pout before he whines even more, “mmm..want m-mommy so bad…p-please..”

He didn’t want to be so loud for you, or at all, for that matter. He didn’t want to admit that he’s this dumb and desperate. But you’re bouncing on him even faster somehow—it’s just too much at once—he doesn’t want to hurt you, or hit the wrong spot-

But if you felt that way, you would’ve stopped by now—fuck, he’s so close—you know your limits, you know everything, because you’re his mommy, and mommy knows best, right?

Beomgyu’s hips are fucking into the toy as he grips it with both hands, so good that he can’t let go. But there has to be some kind of support—“th-that’s…ughh, y-you’re so warm, mommy”— so his fingers dig into the sheets under him, legs are squirming, thighs are sweating-

“O-oh, m’please mommy, please!” he hiccups, “Need it so bad- can-can I? Let me c-cum, please…been a good boy-”

Here he is squeezing his eyes shut and trying to hold it in a little more when you wouldn’t respond. “M-mommy! I-“

There’s a sharp gasp. His sweaty fingers are tight and tense, thighs are shaking, hips are erratic. Even when his mouth is wide open and his teary eyes are rolling back, no other sound fills the room but the squelching and wetness of his toy, and the warmth of his cum filling it up.

Regret washes over him as he bucks his hips into the toy a few last times, emptying out the last few drops. You’d kill him if you saw him like this, getting off like he doesn’t care. What about mommy’s permission? No, that hits him too late.

The bed rocks against the wall just a little bit. Beomgyu would have to apologize to the neighbors somehow, for he was too desperate to cum inside something that resembled too much like your cunt. He promises, yes, he promises he’ll say sorry to them, and to you too—for being such a bad boy, for doubting you and cursing, for fucking and wasting his cum on a toy, all without your permission—please, he’s so sorry-

“Honey, I’m home! Sorry, the usual store was running low so I had to go to another…where are you, baby? Mommy’s here now, mommy’s-“

He’s fallen asleep and left the lights on, laying on his side so peacefully…(you sigh) with a fleshlight hanging just on the edge of his wet, softening cock, and drool pooling out of his mouth.

You’d have to think about what to do with him later, but for now? You’ll just run him a warm bath. The poor boy needs it, you know? Give him some calm before the storm.

———

author’s note: hey y’all!! Happy reading and I hope you enjoy! :D

[aceofwhump]

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