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demon-at-peace · 5 days ago

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DC + DP

Danny helped people. That was what he did. He protected others. That was his job. he ignored the little voice in his head that dreamed of visiting the stars. He did his job well. But it never ended.

"Help us," people screamed at him after they'd shot at him, and he did. They never said thank you. Not one. He helped them nonetheless.

"Help us," the ancients asked him after ignoring his place on the throne for years. After they pretended he wasn't worthy because he was still alive. (at least part of him was.)

"Help us," his friends asked as they applied to colleges. Colleges he'd dreamed of attending, colleges they promised they'd go to together. But he stayed behind, because people needed him.

"help us,' the newly dead begged, uncertain and lost. Just like him, unguided and stuck, wanting to move on. They did, moving forward. Danny remained behind tethered and lost.

"Help us," the GIW begged when the ghosts tried to declare war. Danny did, saving those who cut him open. There was peace once again. Still no one thanked him

"Help us," and Danny did. He helped. he didn't protect, he'd solved all their problems. Now he sheltered them, the little boy who dreamed of the stars stopped dreaming. Some days he'd dream. Not often.

Today was one of the few days, Danny was sitting watching, space was silent, Danny liked that. He was alone with the stars, the stars he'd reached but could never be his. Like something just out of reach on a shelf. Right there, your fingers brushing it but never close enough for you to grab it.

Danny wasn't held back by gravity but by people. By a job he never signed up for. A job he wished he could quit. Couldn't he though? wasn't it just a matter of saying no?

His thoughts were halted by the jerk of a summons. I'll say no this time, he decides. He arrives and waits there's a silence. And suddenly someone bows, others follow suit.

To him. The Ghost Boy. The fake king. The Halfa, a freak of nature. The boy who'd dreamed of the stars.

"High king phantom of the infinite realms," they began. And Danny stares. High King, he'd never been called that before, never with such respect. So he stares, at the man who looks like a wind could blow him over. With a name from the pits of hell and the magic to match it.

"Hellblazer," he whispers the name of rumors. The man startles surprised at being recognized. Danny studies them, he's waiting for them to say it. Demand it as every other has.

"We'd like to negotiate a deal," The hellblazer speaks with such confidence and Danny freezes. This isn't how it goes. This isn't how it works. People don't make deals deals, bargains, agreements, with Danny. They simply make demands of him.

"What do you want?" he asks already bored, waiting for the ridiculous request.

"Well we've tried everything," this time it's a man dressed in complete black who speaks, with a horned cowl, "But we can't defeat them so we were wondering if you could help?" he asks gruffly.

"Who?" he asks quietly.

"Darkside," the name is unfamiliar to Danny but the way the Hellblazer says it. "In return we're willing to offer a soul, or anything else you desire."

Danny stared at them in shock. A deal. They offered a deal, offering a soul for him to defeat a villain they'd tried to defeat,]. They were scared, terrified even. They ddin't tell him to help them. Didn't demand it. He didn't need a soul though.

He didn't need anything, but for once he didn't want to say no. ahe wanted something though. "A home," he speaks first, "A place to stay in this dimension," he specifies just incase.

"Thank you," the Hellblazer breaths, then holds out his hand. "Deal," he offers looking tired and relieved but a bit worried. Danny smiles wearily.

"Deal," he breathes, and magic fills the room, an oath, a binding one. "Guess I'll deal with your problem now?"

"I guess?" the hellblazer smiles and Danny leaves.

John doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do, the king is powerful, it hangs around him, heavy and soft. When he said deal though the room broke. The magic latched onto his and John didn't know what to say. It was gentle, powerful, and terrifying.

He left without a word, simply vanishing, but he was doing what he'd said, and now it was there turn. Guess he was going house shopping? "We need to fulfill our end of the-" he begans only to be interrupted.

"Done," Batman stares out the window in frustration. "It's by Fawcet so we have one hero constantly monitoring them."

"Why you don't trust him?" John asks sarcastically but the bat nods utterly deadpan..

"Besides they have the most heroes besides gotham," he says easily, "Gotham is cursed, and metropolis has too big a population to be risked."

The rest of the league doesn't argue with his logic the they look amused. "Let's just watch the fight," he grumbles seeing their expresions.

they do so without complaint and the fight is.... horrifying. the king is hardly trying, and Darkside is already down. The king stares him down with those toxic green eyes of his and smiles.

when he starts talking though is when John's blood runs cold. his voice is like ice, nothing like the whispery tone he'd taken with them, it's cruel and dark and angry.

"Help you?" he laughs, "why should I?" the king laughs. "I help people, when they ask nicely, I help people who say please and thank you," he scoffs. "Most don't."

There's a crunching of bones that makes John almost hurl. Or he would if he hadn't forgotten to eat lunch again. "Besides you should know already, I don't like killers, so have fun!" they grin as they wave and suddenly darkside is gone, all that is left is destruction. "

"Hello," the king greets them calmly and John shudders at the sight of him.

"We found a home," John says with as much confidence as he can. "Here's the address," the king smiles, it's surprisingly human.

"Thank you!" the king smiles at him as he passed and John remembers his comment about manners.

"You're welcome," he stutters as the king leaves again.

Danny stares at the house with wide eyes, it's large, warm and homey, in a rundown part of the city so he's less likely to be bothered. He smiles softly, until he remembers the fight.

Danny had lost his temper, but the way he said it. "Help me," an order, like he actually expected Danny to listen. Like he expected Danny to just obey. Danny was sick of that, he wanted to live. Wasn't that okay?

He didn't need to obey others, he wore a crown, a mockery of one but it's power was the same even if the title was mocking. He ruled the realms, every detizen had to obey him. He didn't use the power but still... he had the power.

Still he went overboard, he'd thrown him to the realms to be treating, certain that Frostbite would help. He finds a kept on the door, magic practically coating it, metallic and recognizable.

He smiles softly, the hellblazer wasn't who demons painted him out to be.

#John was going to swindle him btw #Danny just got around it because he decided on a house #Bats is hyperventilating #Danny is basically a cinimon roll #John's freaked out that he's so strong #the ancients in this aren't clockwork or frostbite #I imagine there's at least 100 ancients so it's some rando ok?#bitch idk who to put for the villain #so we be going with darkside got it?#just cause he's default at this point #justice league #people pleaser #danny fenton #dp x dc #ghost king danny

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 1 year ago

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Him (Them)

( So I decided 'fuck it' pitch pearl babyyy, I've seen other people do this ship and decided well why the hell not right. Anyways have fun!)

Phantom and his council were finally in the end processes to a peace treaty with Earth,

As years went on from what was once only the USA with their Ecto-Acts got worse. The GIW began opening in other countries without them truly realizing what they were allowing, until the Infinity Realms were at the point of declaring war on all of Earth itself.

The only reason that managed not to happen was because of Phantom finally being able to contact the Justice League and sit them down to have an actual conversation about everything that was going on.

That's where they were right now the world leaders, the 3 founders of the JL , and High King Phantom with his council arguing back and forth the peace treaty.

Phantom turned as one of the men stood up

" And just how are we supposed to truly trust you and yours to not take over or cause harm to our people?"

Others began chiming in, arguing that there was no true guarantee in what Phantom was saying.

Until a voice towards the back called out an idea

" Marriage! To truly unite our worlds in peace King Phantom must marry one of our own!"

Phantom subtly tensed the idea of a loveless marriage to a complete stranger made his core tremble with rage.

He glanced around seeing the looks of the people around him, he saw their greed for his power and status, their point for the marriage would be to control him or at least give them an advantage.

Phantom tuned out the arguing between the JL and the rest.

Thinking of what to say to get out of this situation without risking the treaty.

Snapping back to attention holding back a sharp smirk.

" Gentlemen if what you fear is the safety of your people then do not fret I have protected and saved your people and world since my creation, as for your request of a marriage to unify our world then I have wonderful news for I am already married to one of your people and even have children with him."

Phantom looked at the shocked faces around him, a couple grimacing or frowning at their missed opportunity to have control and access to him by one of their chosen.

A rather stupid man for what else could he be with what he said next.

" Then divorce him and marry someone that we find more suitable!"

Phantom's form distorted around him as he processed what he had just heard.

" Divorce? You wish for me to Divorce my husband, the one who I cherish above all else, the one I have shared my core the very being of myself with. The one who I gave my very being and soul to create our children. The one who is half my being, the one who if not for him we wouldn't be speaking at this moment because it was only his word that kept me from declaring war on your world."

"Make no mistake I do wish for peace between our worlds, many of my people are from this world and would like to continue to stay or visit especially for their loved ones, and I would like that for them without the danger of being hunted and torn apart."

"For if I wished war your planet would not stand a chance for what is a few million of your soldiers compared to my infinite soldiers that only would continue to grow as yours died."

"For him I fought and won against the previous tyrant King for daring to to cause him pain, the very King who only was defeated previously by the combined efforts of the strongest in the Infinite Realms, The very same King I defeated alone."

"So please do continue talking against my husband."

"..."

"What is his name?"

"Danny Fenton."

Just an Idea

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loverstrings · 22 days ago

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Just a night in - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | Platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader | Platonic!Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Post-TFATWS, Bucky and Y/N show up to Sam’s D.C. apartment for a night in with him and Joaquin. Just a quiet night with family, and the kind of peace that still feels a little new.

a.n - guys im alive!! im currently working on the edits for chapter eight and a lil sum extra hehehe so that should be up sometime this weekend or next week. i hope you guys enjoy this, wrote this in the car. so lmk if there are any grammar errors.

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

——

They show up late. Again.

Bucky knocks like he’s not sure he’s welcome, which is stupid, because the second the door swings open, Joaquin beams and immediately hugs Y/N, then pulls Bucky into a back patting, manly slap on the shoulder kind of thing that makes both of them chuckle.

“You’re late,” Sam calls from the kitchen.

“Forty-seven minutes late,” Joaquin adds, grinning. “Not that anyone was counting. Except me. I was absolutely counting.”

Y/N smirks. “There was traffic.”

Sam snorts. “The drive is only ten minutes away.”

“Lot of red lights,” Bucky mutters, deadpan.

Joaquin raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh. And what color were the lights in your hotel room?”

“We don’t have to dignify that with a response,” Y/N says, immediately dignifying it by running a hand through her hair.

And that’s how the night begins.

They sit on Sam’s couch with mismatched mugs, half empty takeout containers, and a charcuterie board that’s been partially devoured. Music hums low from the Bluetooth speaker, a playlist that Joaquin made that none of them brave enough to change.

The conversation winds like it always does. Casual, then serious, then ridiculous again.

They talk about how hot D.C. is. How Brooklyn’s been quieter lately. Y/N wants a cat—a white one, she insists, something soft and bossy. Bucky pretends to protest, but it’s clear he’s already on board.

“What would you name it?” Joaquin asks, lounging sideways across the armchair.

“Something cute,” Y/N says. “Like Pearl. Or, I dunno. Banana.”

“Alpine,” Bucky offers without looking up from his drink.

Joaquin wheezes. “Banana the cat?”

The laughter fades eventually, softening into quieter talk. Joaquin leans back, fiddling with his drink.

“So, what was it like?” he asks. “Working with Steve. And Natasha.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just… weighty.

Bucky sets his cup down. “Steve was all heart. And all conviction. He’d throw himself off anything if he thought it was right.”

Y/N nods. “Nat… she knew things. Always one step ahead. But she made you feel like she saw you. Like, really saw you.”

“I wish I’d met them,” Joaquin says.

“You’d have liked Nat,” Sam says. “She’d have terrified you, but you’d have liked her.”

“What about Steve?” Joaquin asks.

“He’s around,” Sam says, more gently now. “Came back quiet. Keeps out of the spotlight. Mostly helps Wanda when she needs it.”

They all nod—briefly, solemnly.

“Have you seen her?” Joaquin asks Sam.

“Just once. After Westview.”

“Is it true she—”

“It’s true,” Sam says simply. “But she’s trying.”

Y/N’s quiet, jaw ticking. “She deserved a chance to grieve. They never gave her that.”

Eventually the night sways back into lighter things. Movies. Bad mission food. How Buck still can’t make coffee right (“That’s a war crime,” Y/N declares after one sip).

Joaquin starts dozing off, fully asleep halfway through a documentary, feet hanging off the couch at an awkward angle.

Y/N grabs a blanket from the armchair and tosses it over him with a practiced flick of her wrist.

“Mother instincts kicking in?” Bucky murmurs, amused.

She smirks. “He’ll thank me in the morning.”

Bucky chuckles under his breath, watching her walk off toward the kitchen.

She helps clear the dishes while Sam tidies the charcuterie tray.

Then, Y/N leans her hip against the counter. “Hey, Sam?”

He glances over, already expecting something lighthearted. “What, you finally gonna admit Bucky was right about the wine?”

She smiles faintly. “No. I meant… you doing okay?”

He tilts his head. “Tonight? Yeah, it’s good seeing you guys.”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean—being Cap. Being here. In D.C.”

Sam goes quiet for a moment, the weight of the question settling in.

He exhales, drying his hands on a dish towel. “It’s heavier than I thought. Some days…” He pauses, eyes distant for a moment. “Some days I wonder if I’m still earning it. Other days, I feel like I already did. It’s not just the shield. It’s what people see when I hold it. What they expect to see. And what they don’t.”

Y/N doesn’t interrupt. Just watches him, letting the silence stretch as long as he needs.

“You’re doing more than okay,” she says gently. “You’re making them see it. That matters.”

Sam nods once, grateful.

Back in the living room, Bucky’s sitting quietly, rubbing a thumb along a groove in his glass. Y/N returns to him, drops onto the couch, legs over his lap like she’s claiming territory.

He glances over, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Mission status?”

“Report filed,” she replies, mock formal. “Captain’s stable. Morale’s high. Whiskey stocks running low.”

Sam’s voice calls from the kitchen, dry as ever: “You forget to mention your field name, Sparkle Fingers.”

“Excuse you,” Y/N fires back. “It’s Agent Sparkle Fingers.”

“She’s got the pink glowy magic hands,” Sam adds, stepping into view with a grin. “I don’t make the rules.”

“She makes her own,” Bucky mutters, letting his hand rest lightly on her shin.

Y/N shoots Sam a smug look. “Good thing I’m the one writing Bucky’s post mission evaluation.”

Bucky raises a brow. “Am I passing?”

“Hm.” She pretends to consider it, then smirks. “Still under review. Might need another field test.”

He leans back with a soft laugh. “Terrifying.”

“Effective,” she says sweetly.

Sam walks to the bathroom, shaking his head. “God help us if she ever runs the briefing room.”

Y/N shrugs, raising her voice just enough for Sam to hear—but not enough to wake Joaquin. “Admit it, Wilson. You’d miss me if I didn’t.”

They stay like that for a while. Talking about nothing. Letting the night breathe around them.

Eventually Bucky says, “We should come visit more often.”

“Mm,” Y/N agrees, settling her head on his shoulder. “Next time I’ll bring Alpine.”

“We don’t have a cat yet.”

“Not yet,” she says sleepily. “But we will.”

——

keep up with project spindle and some other drabbles! masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel masterlist #marvel #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fluff

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nrilliree · 11 months ago

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"Otto was right from the start, Rhaenyra always intended to murder her brothers if it meant she’d get her hands on the throne."

Yeah… But you know that Rhaenyra now has to kill her brothers because they became traitors to the crown and declared an open civil war? It was TG who had a ready plan to murder Rhaenyra and her entire family, no one from TB came up with a similar idea until TG shed first blood. TG murdered the lords who didn’t betray the crown, crowned a usurper, murdered Rhaenyra’s son (the heir to Driftmark), murdered more lords and their men, tried to kill her, and then burned the entire city. How could Rhaenyra spare their lives now?

Aegon II the Usurper can’t be left alive, because even if they forced the crown on his head, he was still crowned. Even if they forced him to bend the knee now, while he's maimed, there's no guarantee he won't rebel when he's healed. Sentencing him to death for usurpation is the only way out.

Aemond the Kinslayer can't be allowed to live, because he not only murdered the son of the rightful heir, but he also murdered an entire city with his own hands. (And then he'll murder more.) Aemond, who tried to kill his own brother, should be allowed to live?

Daeron. Rhaenyra doesn't know that, but we do - a little war psychopath 2.0 who will murder an entire city in revenge. Even if she doesn't, she must assume that after murdering his older brothers, Daeron will be a threat. The only way out of peace is to sentence him to death.

Why would Rhaenyra be guided by… what, really? Mercy? Towards whom? People who stole from her, who threatened her life, who murdered her loved ones and slaughtered entire cities in the name of getting their hands on her throne?

TG had a chance at life and they had a chance at peace. If Alicent hadn't sent her sons to war (where she later abandoned them…) no one would have passed sentence on them.

Yes, Rhaenyra will die in the end. But Aegon, Aemond, Daeron and even Helaena will die as well. Because Alicent and Otto sent them to a war that didn't have to be.

#house of the dragon #team black #anti team green #anti team green stans #pro team black #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #anti alicent hightower #asoiaf #anti aemond targaryen

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hisfavegirl · 4 months ago

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HOTD Characters when you posted something that angered them on instagram.

a/n : with their revenge.

Aegon :

Aegon wasn’t just jealous—he was seething.

He hadn’t been paying much attention to his phone, probably nursing a drink or sprawled out on his bed in boredom, when his notifications started going off. Dozens of messages, tags, and mentions, all leading back to one thing.

Your post.

The second he saw it, his entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone so tightly he nearly cracked the screen.

You were practically naked. The lighting was teasing, the pose deliberate—bare skin, just barely covered, revealing far too much. His mouth went dry, his jaw locked, and his pulse spiked with something dark and possessive.

And then, the comments.

“I think I just died and went to heaven.”

“No way you’re single posting this.”

“You’re actually cruel for this.”

“Let me take you out, I’ll treat you better than he ever could.”

Aegon snapped.

His tongue pressed hard against his cheek, his breathing slow and measured—forced control. Every part of him burned. The thought of other men looking at you like this, imagining things they had no right to—it made his vision blur with rage.

Did you want this? Were you trying to make him lose it? Because if so, congratulations. It worked.

His hands were shaking as he opened your messages.

Aegon: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Aegon: Take it down. NOW.

Seconds passed. No response.

His jaw ticked, his heart pounding. He could already see you smirking at your phone, enjoying this.

Aegon: Do you think this is funny? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate asshole on the internet drool over you?

Another moment of silence.

And then—

Aegon: Fine. You don’t want to listen? Then I’m coming to you.

He didn’t care where you were, who you were with. This wasn’t going to be solved over text. If you thought you could push him, make him jealous, tease him like this—

You were about to find out exactly what jealous Aegon Targaryen really looked like.

Aegon Revenge :

THE INTERNET WAS NOT READY.

People had barely survived your last stunt.

And then—

He ended them.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, ornate mirror reflecting everything.

You—completely bare, wrapped in Aegon’s arms, your back pressed flush against his chest. His grip on your thighs, fingers digging in as he held you up, your body rocking against him.

And then—

Him.

Silver hair messy, sweat dripping down his bare chest. His lips bruised, parted, his eyes half-lidded—but focused. Locked on the mirror. On you. On himself.

He didn’t even turn off the sound.

Your whimpers. His low groans. The sound of skin against skin.

And then—his voice. Rough. Arrogant. Possessive.

“Let them watch. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

“You’ll never be me. You’ll never have her.”

THE INTERNET? DESTROYED.

The guys:

“What the actual fuck?”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse.”

“Delete this right now, Aegon, I’m not joking.”

“BLOCKED. REPORTED. SOBBING.”

“She was supposed to be ours. OURS, YOU BASTARD.”

“First, she posts that picture, now THIS? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

“Aegon. BRO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.”

“This wasn’t just a flex. This was a declaration of war.”

“Bro didn’t even try to be subtle. Just straight-up ruined us.”

“I WAS LIVING A PEACEFUL LIFE, AEGON.”

“I can’t even be mad. He won. He fucking won.”

The Girls:

“This is the most disrespectful thing I have ever seen, and I need more.”

“The mirror. The hand placement. The fucking arrogance. I’m unwell.”

“HOW DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS LIFE.”

“He knows he’s that guy, and he’s making sure we do too.”

“Aegon is actually dangerous because why is this so hot??”

“This should be illegal. In every country. And yet I can’t look away.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was smirking, watching the absolute chaos in the comments, lazily scrolling, completely unbothered.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cope. She’s screaming my name, not yours.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aemond :

Aemond rarely paid attention to social media. It was a distraction, a meaningless void filled with people desperate for attention. But when his phone buzzed relentlessly—notifications flooding in, people tagging him, sending him something over and over—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

Your post.

His entire body went rigid. His grip on the phone tightened, fingers twitching against the screen as his eye locked onto the image.

You were practically naked.

The dim lighting barely concealed you, your pose deliberate, teasing, calculated. It left just enough to the imagination while making it painfully obvious what you wanted people to see.

And judging by the comments, it was working.

“You’re actually a goddess.”

“This is illegal. It has to be.”

“I need a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe my whole life.”

“If he doesn’t wife you after this, I will.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His chest burned with something vicious, a white-hot fury that spread through his veins like wildfire.

Who the fuck did these men think they were? Speaking like this—like they even had the right to look at you, let alone imagine more.

His breathing was slow, controlled, forced—because if he let himself fully feel this, he’d break something.

He opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could even think.

Aemond: Take it down.

No response.

His teeth ground together, his patience already paper-thin. He could feel you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Aemond: Now.

Still nothing.

A dangerous heat flickered behind his eye. His grip on the phone was dangerous now, his mind already racing with possibilities.

Aemond: You think this is a game? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate bastard in the world stare at what’s mine?

His lips curled into a sneer as he refreshed your post, seeing the numbers climb—more likes, more comments, more eyes on you.

Fine. If you wanted attention, he was about to give it to you.

Aemond: You’re going to regret this.

And before he even gave you a chance to answer, he sent one last message.

Aemond: I’m coming to you. Right now.

You wanted to test him? To push him to the edge? You were about to see exactly what happened when Aemond Targaryen is jealous.

Aemond revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Destroyed.

Aemond had been quiet lately. Too quiet.

People should have known he was plotting.

And then—

He dropped the video.

Dark sheets. Low lighting. Your body sprawled against his bed, wrists tied above your head, satin bindings digging into your skin.

And then—

His hand.

Slow. Intentional. Inside your cunt.

Aemond wasn’t even looking at the camera—his gaze was locked on you. Sharp. Unrelenting. His lips curled into something dangerous as he watched you struggle beneath him.

And then—his voice. Low. Rough. Possessive.

“They can watch. But they’ll never touch.”

And the caption?

“Don’t bother fantasizing. She’s already ruined for anyone else.”

The Internet? Utterly Incinerated.

The Guys:

“I can’t keep doing this, bro.”

“AEMOND. THIS WAS NOT NECESSARY.”

“This wasn’t even a flex. This was pure domination.”

“I was a happy man. Now I’m in hell.”

“He could have just hinted at it. But no. He had to prove it.”

“What the actual fuck is this??”

“I just dropped to my knees in Walmart.”

“I need time to process. Maybe a lifetime.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS???”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse to accept this reality.”

“This is actually a hate crime"

The Girls:

“The hand placement. The bindings. I actually feel pain.”

“Aemond Targaryen is actually disrespectful for this.”

“I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or book a one-way flight to his bed.”

“The way he’s just watching her struggle—I am NOT OKAY.”

“WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT??”

“I hate her. I love her. I want to be her.”

“The fact that he tied her up and still made sure to show off?? I need a moment.”

Meanwhile, Aemond?

Unbothered. Probably sipping wine, watching men suffer, knowing no one could ever take you from him.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cry harder. She’s not leaving my bed.”

With that—

The internet was officially annihilated.

Jace :

Jace wasn’t the type to obsess over social media. He didn’t scroll mindlessly or waste time checking comments. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when his notifications were flooded with messages, tags, and people sending him something over and over—he knew something was up.

Then he saw it.

And everything else faded.

You. Practically naked. The lighting was soft, shadows barely concealing you. The way you posed, the way your skin was on full display—every inch of the picture was deliberate.

And the comments?

“Holy fucking shit.”

“No way in hell Jace is letting this slide.”

“You’re actually unreal.”

“If you ever need someone to treat you better… just say the word, baby.”

Jace’s jaw locked. His grip on the phone tightened so hard his knuckles went white.

His chest burned—jealousy, rage, something dark and possessive twisting deep in his gut. Did you want this attention? Were you enjoying the way these men spoke to you, the way they looked at you? Did you forget who you belonged to?

His vision blurred as he opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could think.

Jace: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His knee bounced, jaw ticking as he refreshed your page, watching the numbers climb. More likes. More comments. More eyes on you.

Jace: Don’t make me repeat myself.

Still nothing.

His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek, his blood boiling. He knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing him. Pushing him.

Jace: You think this is funny? Letting every desperate asshole in the world think they have a chance?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message.

Jace: Fine. You don’t want to listen? I’m coming to you.

Because if you thought you could make him jealous, make him furious, and just get away with it?

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Jace Velaryon snapped.

Jace Revenge :

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

People were still recovering from the last time you posted something that had them spiraling—

And then he ruined lives all over again.

A video.

Low, moody lighting. The golden glow of a bedside lamp casting soft shadows over your bare back, your skin flushed, the smooth curve of your spine on full display.

And then—

His hand.

Fingers twisting in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the slope of your neck, the sharp inhale that followed.

His other hand—out of frame, but you could feel it.

The video was silent, except for the sound of breathing—his and yours, deep, uneven, filled with undeniable tension.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The Internet? SHATTERED.

The Guys:

“Jace, bro. What the fuck.”

“This is personal. I feel personally attacked.”

“Nah. This is war.”

"BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNFOLLOWED.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m logging out forever.”

“This is actually illegal. I’m calling the police.”

“Jace, be honest… was this necessary? Was it??”

“I just threw my phone across the room. I can’t look at this.”

“Bro really said ‘you thought you had a chance?’ and ended us all.”

“At least let me heal from the last post first, damn.”

The Girls:

“That hand placement? That possessiveness? Yeah, I’m in pain.”

“Jace Velaryon is the standard. I’m sorry.”

“The hand in the hair. The bare back. The silence. Yeah, I’m not okay.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER?”

“The way he’s handling her like that… this is too much.”

“I will never get over this. Ever.”

“Who gave him the right to post something like this?”

Meanwhile, Jace?

Completely unbothered. Probably smirking, watching the chaos unfold, scrolling through the absolute meltdown happening in his comments.

And just to ruin them further, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Don’t be jealous. She’s right where she belongs.”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Daemon :

Daemon wasn’t a man who checked social media often. He didn’t care for it. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something, tagging him, warning him—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

And the world around him went silent.

It was you. Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing just enough to make the image dangerous. The way you posed—deliberate, taunting, meant to provoke.

And the comments?

“I need a moment. Or a lifetime.”

“She’s actually unreal.”

“Daemon’s done for. There’s no way he’s letting this slide.”

“If he won’t treat you right, just know my DMs are open, .”

His fingers curled around his phone, grip tightening until the device creaked.

His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and controlled—because if he let himself fully feel this, if he let the jealousy and rage take hold, he would break something.

Or someone.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they drooled over you?

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he opened your messages.

Daemon: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his lips pressing into a thin line. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Daemon: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. He didn’t need to guess what you were doing—smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

He sent one last message.

Daemon: I hope you had your fun. Because I’m coming to you. And when I get there, you’re going to regret making me jealous.

If you thought you could tease him, taunt him, make him seethe like this and get away with it—

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Daemon Targaryen snapped.

Daemon Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely breathing after the last time you pulled a stunt—

And then, he ended them.

A video.

Steam curled in the dimly lit bathroom, water cascading down your bare skin. Your body, glistening under the soft glow, was pressed firmly against the fogged-up glass.

And then—

Daemon.

His hand, wrapped around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His body, completely covering yours, silver hair damp, clinging to his skin.

He wasn’t looking at the camera—he was looking at you.

His lips ghosted along your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as his voice—low, smug, downright sinful—rumbled against your ear:

“Go on, love. Tell them how badly you want me.”

And the caption?

"Try harder. She’s not going anywhere."

The Internet? Decimated.

The Guys:

“THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.”

“I am NOT okay. This is NOT okay.”

“You didn’t just flex. You obliterated us.”

“Daemon, bro, was this NECESSARY???”

“The way he claimed her, I—no, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just say you hate us and go.”

“I actually felt physical pain watching this.”

“Daemon, bro. This was unnecessary.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN FLEXING—HE’S JUST OWNING US.”

“This man has no mercy. ZERO.”

“I would literally sell my soul to trade places with him.”

The Girls:

“I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like that… I need to go outside.”

“Hands behind her back??? IN THE SHOWER??? I am ACTUALLY in pain.”

“That hand placement… I’m unwell.”

“You’re telling me she gets to live this life for FREE?”

“Daemon is disrespectful for this and I love it.”

“The way he’s handling her… yeah, I’m done.”

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I will never recover.”

Meanwhile, Daemon?

He was grinning, scrolling through the utter destruction he left in his wake, watching the internet collectively lose its mind.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Tell me again how you had a chance?”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Luke :

Luke was never the jealous type. He was sweet, easygoing—never the one to start fights, never the one to lose his temper.

But when he saw your post?

That soft, kindhearted boy? Gone.

His breath caught in his throat as his grip tightened around his phone, fingers pressing into the edges so hard the plastic nearly cracked. His jaw clenched, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, your gaze sultry, teasing—like you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments.

“This is my Roman Empire.”

“Imagine waking up next to her every morning.”

“Luke is too soft for this, he ain’t doing what needs to be done.”

“If Luke won’t handle her, I will.”

“She doesn’t belong to just one man. She’s for us.”

His vision blurred with rage. Us? The fuck do they mean, us? Did they really think they had a chance? That they could talk about you like this?

He immediately opened your messages, his breathing sharp, his fingers moving fast.

Luke: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared. He refreshed the post—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up.

Luke: I’m serious.

Still nothing.

His patience? Gone. His normally warm, easygoing demeanor? Shattered.

You thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were pushing him, testing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Luke: Keep playing, love. But when I see you, don’t bother acting innocent. You wanted my attention? You’ve got it.

And Luke Velaryon?

He never let things slide.

Luke Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely breathing after your last post, still clawing their way back to sanity—

And then Luke decided to ruin lives.

A video.

Dim lighting, tangled sheets, the heavy sound of breathing filling the air. The camera was shaky, intimate—Luke wasn’t filming for them, he was filming for himself.

And then—

Your voice.

A broken, breathless moan of his name, soft, needy, wrecked.

And in the background?

Luke.

Smirking.

The angle barely caught him—just a glimpse of his sweat-slicked skin, the possessive grip of his hands on your waist. His voice, low, teasing, barely above a whisper:

“Louder, love. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

"I don’t hear them laughing now."

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

The Guys:

“Nah. This ain’t right.”

“Luke, bro, please, have some mercy.”

“I can’t breathe. I actually can’t breathe.”

“I was having a good day.”

“I need everyone to stop what they’re doing and just process this.”

“He knew what he was doing. And I hate him for it.”

The Girls:

“I am actually going to scream.”

“Luke Velaryon is disrespectful.”

“She is so lucky and I hate it here.”

“I need what she has. IMMEDIATELY.”

“He really had to flex like this? On today of all days?”

Meanwhile, Luke?

He was grinning, scrolling through the absolute carnage in his comments, watching men and women completely unravel.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Jealous? You should be.”

With that—

The internet was officially deceased.

Margor :

Maegor didn’t do social media. He barely tolerated its existence. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something with messages that ranged from “Bro, you need to handle this” to “LMAO, she’s testing you”—he finally checked.

And his blood boiled.

It was you.

Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing every dangerous curve, your expression taunting—as if you knew exactly what you were doing. As if you wanted to drive men insane.

And the comments.

“This is a religious experience.”

“If Maegor won’t handle you, I will.”

“She’s too stunning to be owned by just one man.”

“She belongs to the people now.”

“Maegor is somewhere flipping tables right now.”

His grip tightened around his phone, fingers curling so hard the device nearly cracked. His chest heaved as he breathed through his nose, his jaw locked so tight it ached.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they lusted after you?

He opened your messages, his anger controlled—for now.

Maegor : The fuck you thinking?

Maegor: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his patience already threadbare. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Maegor: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision darkened at the edges, his rage sinking deep into his bones. He could already see you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

His next message was short.

Maegor: I hope you enjoyed your little show. Because when I get to you, you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you make me jealous.

And when Maegor Targaryen snapped—

There was no escaping him.

Maegor Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Obliterated.

No one was prepared. No one even had time to brace themselves.

Because Maegor Targaryen?

He didn’t just post—he declared war.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, gilded mirror reflecting the carnage behind it. Your body—wrecked, ruined, utterly claimed—pressed against the cold glass, your bare skin glistening with sweat.

And then—

Him.

Towering over you, still inside you, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly there would be bruises—his bruises.

He didn’t even bother hiding his face.

Silver hair wild, lips parted, gaze locked on the mirror, watching himself own you in every way imaginable.

And then—his voice. Low, dark, dangerous.

“Let them watch.”

And the caption?

"You’ll never be me."

The Internet? Dead on Arrival.

The Guys:

“I have never been more jealous of a man in my entire life.”

“Maegor, please, have some HUMAN DECENCY.”

“This wasn’t a flex. This was a public execution.”

“I was happy. I was living my life. And now? I have to deal with this.”

“He’s not even trying to be humble. He’s just taunting us.”

“You know what? I’m logging off. I can’t do this today.”

The Girls:

“I’m actually feral right now.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like she’s nothing—I need a moment.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL, MAEGOR.”

“I can’t even hate. She’s living my dream.”

“This is the hottest thing I have ever seen. And I hate that I will never recover from it.”

Meanwhile, Maegor?

He wasn’t even looking at his phone. He had better things to do.

But when he finally did check?

He smirked. Slowly. Lazily. Completely unapologetic.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a single comment under his own post:

“Stay jealous. She’s not leaving my bed anytime soon.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aegon I :

Aegon wasn’t the jealous type—at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was easygoing, laid-back, the type to laugh things off.

But then he saw your post.

And something inside him snapped.

His phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he stared at the screen. His chest rose and fell, breathing suddenly too shallow as his jaw tightened—so tight it ached.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, lips slightly parted like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you wanted people to look.

And the comments—

“This is actually life-changing.”

“No way Aegon lets her get away with this LMAO.”

“She’s unreal. Divine. Untouchable.”

“If Aegon won’t claim her, I will.”

“Bro, she’s for the people now.”

His grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. The people? The fucking people? Did they think this was a game? That they could just—talk about you like that?

He opened your messages, fingers moving with an urgency that wasn’t entirely controlled.

Aegon: Take it down.

No response.

His jaw clenched harder. He refreshed the post. More likes. More thirsty comments from pathetic little nobodies who clearly didn’t understand their place.

Aegon: I’m not asking.

Still nothing.

His tongue swiped over his teeth as a low growl built in his throat. Oh, you thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were playing with him. Pushing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Aegon: I hope you got all the attention you wanted, baby. Because when I see you, the only thing you’ll be worrying about is how long I plan to keep you in my bed.

And Aegon Targaryen?

He never made empty threats.

Aegon I Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely recovering from the last time you decided to ruin their lives—

And then, he destroyed them.

A video.

Low lighting. The soft rustling of silk sheets. Your body glowing, tangled in his bed, looking like sin incarnate—your breath uneven, lips parted, skin flushed.

And then—

His hand.

Large, firm, resting possessively on your breast, fingers slightly digging in, making it painfully clear that you were his.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was him.

Aegon, half-lidded cocky smirk, his other hand holding the camera, his cock still inside you, his grip lazy, casual—like he had all the time in the world.

And then, his voice—low, smug, devastating:

“Yeah… go ahead. Say something now.”

And the caption?

"Don’t act like you wouldn’t trade places."

The Internet? Absolutely Unhinged.

The Guys:

“Aegon, bro. Please. Have some compassion.”

“This is actually cruel.”

“I hate him so much but I respect it.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE HUMBLE ABOUT IT.”

“I was having a good day. Now I have to rethink my whole life.”

“This wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to hurt us.”

The Girls:

“She’s so lucky and I hate her.”

"Not even gonna lie, this ruined my entire day.”

“The way he’s just sitting there like a smug little bastard—yeah, I’m sick.”

“Aegon is the biggest menace to ever exist.”

“I have never known true jealousy until this moment.”

“She’s living the dream. I can’t even be mad.”

“HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S DOING AND IT’S DISRESPECTFUL.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was laughing, scrolling through the absolute devastation in his comments, watching men spiral into despair and women descend into chaos.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Keep crying. She’s still moaning my name.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Rhaenyra :

Rhaenyra wasn’t one to obsess over social media, but when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept tagging her, sending her messages, practically warning her—she knew something was up.

And then she saw it.

Her stomach dropped. Her grip on the phone tightened.

It was you.

Draped in soft lighting, skin bare and glowing, your pose deliberate—calculated to tease, to tempt, to drive people insane. It left just enough to the imagination, while making it clear you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments?

“I can’t believe we’re witnessing perfection in real time.”

“This is actually dangerous.”

“If Rhaenyra doesn’t kill someone over this, I’ll be shocked.”

“No way she’s letting this slide.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

Rhaenyra’s nails dug into her palm as she gritted her teeth. A sharp flare of jealousy surged through her—hot and possessive, a burning anger she rarely felt this intensely.

Because who were they to talk about you like this? To look at you like you weren’t hers?

Did you want this attention? Did you enjoy knowing people were drooling over you, imagining things they had no right to even think about?

She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to breathe before she opened your messages.

Rhaenyra: Take it down. Now.

No response.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she refreshed your post. More likes. More comments. More pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Rhaenyra: I will not ask again.

Still nothing.

She could see you smirking at your phone, relishing in this, testing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short, sharp, final.

Rhaenyra: I’m coming to you.

If you thought she would just sit back, let you taunt her, let you make her jealous like this—

You were gravely mistaken.

Rhaenyra Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Rhaenyra ended them all with one photo.

A single image that sent the entire world into ruins.

It was you.

In her bed.

Soft lighting, silk sheets tangled around your body. Your head tilted back into the pillow, lips slightly parted, the glow of your skin dangerous in the dim light. And then—her hand. Resting on your thigh, fingers glistening with your release sprawled in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. She wasn’t just touching you. She was claiming you.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The internet lost its mind.

Guys and girls alike descended into madness:

The Guys:

“I am actually about to throw up.”

“Rhaenyra, PLEASE, LET’S TALK ABOUT THIS.”

“Bro, how am I supposed to recover from this??”

“This isn’t fair. This is violence.”

“We lost. We fucking lost.”

The Girls:

“I’m happy for her but also devastated for me.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME IN ANOTHER LIFE.”

“Do I congratulate them or do I cry? Or both?”

“Rhaenyra, what was the reason? WHAT WAS THE REASON??”

“I’m choosing to live in denial.”

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra? She was smirking at her phone, watching the despair unfold. She knew exactly what she was doing—dropping the photo, sitting back, and enjoying the chaos.

And just to truly bury everyone, she left a single comment under her own post:

“You can stop dreaming now.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Alicent :

Alicent never cared much for social media. She found it shallow, a place for desperate attention-seekers, a distraction from real matters. But when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when messages kept coming in, some filled with concern, others with amusement—she knew something was wrong.

And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

It was you.

Practically naked.

The lighting was soft, intimate—dangerous. The way you posed, the way your bare skin was on display, your confidence radiating off the screen… It was deliberate. It was a taunt.

And the comments—the flood of people thirsting over you, speaking as if they had a right to look at you like this, as if they could ever touch you—

“Mother of the gods, I need a moment.”

“Alicent is somewhere seething right now.”

“You’re actually unreal. Perfection.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

“How does it feel to be the most desired person alive???”

Alicent’s grip on her phone was so tight, her knuckles turned white. A slow, hot wave of jealousy coiled in her chest—sharp, possessive, furious.

Did you enjoy this? The way people devoured you with their eyes? Did you want them to look at you, to desire you?

Her jaw locked as she opened your messages, her fingers moving with icy precision.

Alicent: Take it down. Now.

No response.

She refreshed the page. More likes. More disgusting, pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Alicent: I will not repeat myself.

Still nothing.

Her nails dug into her palm, her patience snapping thread by thread. She knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing her. Pushing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short. Final.

Alicent: If you think this little stunt is going to go unpunished, you are gravely mistaken.

If you thought she would sit back and allow you to tease her, to make her jealous, to tempt her patience—

You were about to deeply regret it.

Alicent Revenge :

The internet broke.

People were just recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Alicent ended them all in one swift, merciless stroke.

A single photo.

Dim lighting, silk sheets slightly messy, shadows stretching across warm skin. You—in her bed. Head tilted back, lips slightly parted, hair yanked firmly in Alicent’s grip. The way her fingers curled into your strands—possessive, unrelenting, a silent but undeniable claim.

And the caption?

“Mine. And I don’t share.”

The internet descended into absolute chaos.

The Guys:

“I need a support group. This is actually painful.”

“Bro, I can’t compete with this.”

“Alicent did not have to flex this hard.”

“I swear I was fine five seconds ago.”

“The grip she has—on the hair, on the situation, on my emotions—I can’t take this.”

The Girls:

“Happy for them but also screaming inside.”

“This could have been me in another timeline.”

“Alicent said know your place, and I guess I will.”

“Do I cry? Do I throw my phone? Do I respect it? All of the above?”

“I was coping until she posted this. Now I’m just suffering.”

Meanwhile, Alicent? She was satisfied. Watching the world crumble, notifications exploding with people’s rage, jealousy, and despair.

And to truly finish them off, she left a single comment under her own post:

“Go ahead and cry. It changes nothing.”

And with that—

The internet was officially six feet under.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

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anneapocalypse · 9 months ago

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I'll be interested to see what further developments happen in the patches with Alexandria, but so far I think Wuk Lamat is handling the situation very delicately, and very smartly.

Alexandria is, undeniably, an invading force in Xak Tural. It's a foreign nation that has moved onto Turali land and claimed that land and its people under its own sovereignty, with the intent to harvest a resource from it at the direct expense of its people. This is, obviously, wrong, and needs an answer.

Wuk Lamat as the Vow of Resolve has, with the help of her allies, already achieved something pretty significant and challenging here: she has defeated the invading government (Sphene and Zoraal Ja) without directly declaring war on Alexandria's people (most of whom probably had little to no say in the invasion). Her diplomacy during her initial introduction to Alexandria has probably gone a long way here; she has not given the people any more reason than absolutely necessary to believe she is a threat to them.

Declaring the very young Gulool Ja Alexandria's new king feels undeniably weird in more ways than one, but I think that politically it's probably the smartest thing Wuk Lamat could have done.

Her goal, as it's always been, is to maintain peace for her people. A good number of her people are now directly entangled with Alexandria. A rebellion against Tuliyollal rule by the Alexandrians is a direct threat to her people, particularly the ones living in Heritage Found. Even with Sphene gone, Alexandria is still possessed of substantial military power and weapons technology that could conceivably be commandeered either by existing military personnel (because even an army of robots requires some level of manpower to maintain) or by a civilian militia were one to arise. Bottom line: even with the head cut off, Alexandria still poses a threat to the safety and sovereignty of Tuliyollal. And even if the Dawnservants could be reasonably certain their own forces could overpower the Alexandrians--which they conceivably could based on sheer numbers--there would still be a bunch of their own people caught in the crossfire.

Furthermore, the defeat of Sphene and the shutting down of Living Memory means that the end of regulators and spare souls is coming. (The new raid series suggests too that the Warrior of Light may have a hand in ending the use of souls.) This is going to be highly disruptive to the Alexandrian way of life, and probably really fucking scary to a people who have become reliant on this technology. There are bound to be objections. While it's unclear to me at this time how many people knew what Sphene was actually doing, it's not inconceivable that more could find out, and that someone might seek to put her plans in motion once again in order to preserve the soul economy.

This is, in short, a pretty precarious situation politically, and a lesser Dawnservant would already be looking at a city teetering on the edge of revolt.

So, how do we convince the Alexandrians we aren't a threat to them in the short term, while we figure out how we're going to handle this in the long term?

Well, a good first step is probably to give them their king. Alexandria is, at least in name, a monarchy. By the rules of that system, Gulool Ja is a rightful heir to the throne. By allowing him to claim that birthright, you make a show of respecting Alexandrian "sovereignty." You also declare him family--he's your nephew, after all. Now you have a familial connection, the stuff of which royal alliances are made. And of course, the new king is just a child. He's going to need advisors, a regent, and a lot of guidance. You can have a hand in that.

Sure, the Alexandrians are going to notice your influence over their ruler and might still have feelings about that. It's not a perfect solution. But by the same token, snatching their one living heir away from them and openly declaring them under your rule now is probably going to go over a lot worse.

Like I think the game kind of downplays this being a calculated choice, especially since Wuk Lamat doesn't come across as a calculating person. But if we were to observe this scenario in any other fantasy setting... that's how you install a puppet king. I don't especially like to use that term in this case, because I think Wuk Lamat genuinely cares about her nephew and isn't simply using him to maintain power. Nonetheless, it is an undeniably political move, and one that benefits Tuliyollal.

It's likely the Alexandrian people are here to stay--thanks to the dimensional compression, they're in the unique situation where the land they live on is both theirs and not theirs, and that is a problem, but forced relocation also isn't a great solution.

Judging by Wuk Lamat's goals, ethos and the example of her father, I think her hope is probably to bring Alexandria under the banner of Tuliyollal without having to shed blood for it, not least the blood of her own people who would be caught in the crossfire. She understands now that sometimes there's no more room for diplomacy and you have to fight your enemies head on, but if there's a chance she can do this peacefully, through diplomacy, then she's going to try, because that's who she is. She also probably understands that most Alexandrians had no choice in this, and a show of good faith might go a long way toward earning their trust as they adapt to the loss of their queen and the changes that will inevitably follow.

It's a bad situation without a doubt, and one that's already been very destructive to the people of Xak Tural. Gulool Ja Ja sought to unite rather than to conquer. I think Wuk Lamat's hope is to do the same, for the practical purpose of limiting further damage as much as possible.

#afk by the aetheryte #dawntrail #dawntrail spoilers #wuk lamat #ffxiv meta #ffxiv alexandria #this has been in my drafts for a while #i love fantasy politics #i think this is a cleverer move than it might at first appear #take it with a grain of salt as we have no idea what will happen in the patches!

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rosemaryblossomworld · 1 year ago

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Think I need someone older

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚡 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 18+, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗...), 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚜

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙾! 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 (𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗), 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍!

Few people were unaware of Aemond Targaryen's obsession with his older half-sister. He identified her every breath and word as a blessing from the gods.

Alicent was not against uniting with the Blacks, she herself had proposed marriage! But she didn't want her son to marry a woman twice his age. She loved him and offered various daughters from different houses that matched his age. But Aemond gave the invited guest a bored look every time.

Y/n Targaryen was the king's eldest daughter, he loved and praised her. She was a woman of intelligence, she gave up the throne and married a lord, it was said that they loved each other, which was very rare in their time. But alas, the man died in the war, leaving a young wife and three children.

As she walked the halls of the castle, she greeted every servant. She knew every servant by name. She was not afraid of dirty work, once some people from the court saw how the first princess helped the laundress to collect the laundry, which fell in the mud, that day it rained heavily.

Aemond had followed her around like a duckling following his mother since he was young. She defended him from the attacks of the bastard Strongs, told them off and reported to the mother of the family.

"I will marry you, sister!" shouted the boy in a burst of ebullience.

"Oh, my prince, but I will be old by then," the eldest princess laughed, stroking the prince's ruffled hair.

"I will love you always. I don't care about age!" said Aemond just as reverently.

The princess laughed at him, not taking him seriously. After all, he was not the first boy to declare his love to her. She knew that soon he would forget about her and marry a girl his own age.

Sitting at the family table, Y/n felt his intense gaze devouring every inch of her body. Aemond had grown up. And grown into a fine young man. Returning to King's Landing, the eldest princess had hoped that Aemond had married a lady from another house. But the young prince remained lonely and was clearly waiting for something, or rather someone.

From her close servants, Y/n learned that all the women his mother had suggested, he had rejected. And kept asking to send the marriage proposal to her. But the Queen refused because of the age difference. And Y/n supported her.

The first princess was not much affected by age, sometimes thought to be only twenty and five. Because of that, there were rumors of a curse, a witch, etc. But Y/n was not a young lady. And she thought it was ridiculous for her to marry a second time. She had children who were the same age as Aemond!

The princess watched her family who were talking amongst themselves, laughing and having fun. Y/n smiled, realizing that this was the only peaceful moment after all these years.

She shifted her gaze again to Aemond, who continued to stare at her. The woman stiffened but smiled, then turned her back to her eldest son, who distracted her with a question.

"Oh, Your Grace, we meant to make a little announcement," the queen said quietly but loudly, the table fell silent.

"Right, wife, thank you for reminding me," Viserys exhaled heavily.

"What kind of announcement is this?" laughed Rhaenyra nervously.

"I realized that almost all of my children and grandchildren have found a mate, it is very important to me. Today I wanted to announce that my son Aemond is also getting married," muttered the king.

"Oh that is wonderful news," Y/n pressed her palm to her chest and turned to the prince, she smiled affectionately at him. Viserys was unable to continue his monologue.

"Let me do this, my love," Alicent spoke softly.

"Please," the man exhaled tiredly.

"We've found him the perfect match. We have been discussing this with the King for years," Alicent turned her attention to the first princess, "We have decided that, you, Y/n Targaryen will be perfect for my son," Alicent smiled affectionately again, excitement and fear frozen in her eyes. This decision was much harder for her to make than many thought.

The table fell silent. Rhaenyra looked at her sister with fear, the latter looked at the girl as well, then shifted her gaze to Daemon, who frowned.

"Your Majesty...do you understand the risk?" y/n's voice trembled.

"We understood, but lately many families have refused to accept a marriage proposal. So we decided to choose someone from a close circle," the Queen smiled nervously.

"I am not young. Aemond would be suited for a girl his age," for the first time in her life, the princess wanted to escape this room and run away to her chambers.

"We know..." Alicent pressed her lips together.

"I'm not sure I can give birth because of my age," the woman's brain was tossing ideas of retreat to her, but all those ideas ran into a high and solid wall.

"We've talked about this. If it doesn't work out, Aemond said it doesn't matter to him and he's willing to be the father of your children," Alicent exhaled convulsively.

"But..." the older princess wanted to continue.

"Y/n!" came the squeaky voice of the king.

"Father!" shrieked the girl similarly.

"This decision is not negotiable! I want happiness for you," Viserys coughed.

"I'm sorry," y/n got up from the table and hurried away so as not to cause a scene.

The next day the woman did not come out until the evening. Throughout the day she had been visited by her children and her younger sister, who was in shock and angry at her father's decision.

It was cool in the garden, the woman wrapped herself in her silk robe, she nodded to the knight who stood guard in the garden and went deep inside.

"It's dangerous for such a beautiful woman to walk at night without knights," a voice sounded somewhere to her left, Y/n turned around.

"Aemond..." the princess squirmed.

"Sister, I haven't seen you all day," the young man stepped closer.

"I wasn't feeling well today and decided to rest," y/n walked forward.

"Is it because of the news?" asked the obvious thing Aemond.

"Yes! How could they? They condemned you to live with an old woman who can't give you anything!" the princess exploded and turned to the young man again.

"Don't talk about yourself like that!" raised his voice to the prince, frowning.

"But it is true! You weren't looking hard enough, perhaps you would have found the one and only!" y/n wanted to scream, but she realized she would wake up the entire castle.

"I found my one and only long ago...and no one can compare to her," whispered Aemond and moved even closer to the woman who was standing with her back to him.

"Why then..." the princess turned to him, and saw that very look in his eyes.

"I told you sister, I will find any way that we can be together,"

"No...Aemond...you don't realize what you are condemning yourself to,"

"I don't want a baby, I just want you!"

"Aemond...do you hear me! I'm an old widow who could die at any moment!"

The prince doesn't hold back and reaches out his hand to the woman's neck, squeezing it but allowing her to breathe.

"Don't you dare! If you die, I will follow you," Aemond looked into the girl's eyes with fury.

"You fool!" she whispered.

"I'm a fool! I love you so much and you can't understand that," the young man moved closer to the princess's face and then slowly began to lead her towards the tree, keeping her throat down.

He hid them behind bushes and other trees. Aemond pressed his whole body against his lover. Then he nestled his lips to hers. His kiss was inept and rough, he pressed hard on the girl's lips, making it impossible to move them. Unable to hold back, Y/n bit Aemond's lip, the prince pulled back. He exhaled heavily. Even the bite of his beloved was a blessing to him.

He let go of her neck, sliding down and lifting her robe and night dress.

"Wait!" the princess startled.

Aemond piled his entire body on top of the woman again, preventing her from moving. He snuck further in, touching her womanhood. She sighed convulsively.

"No underwear?" grinned the prince, embarrassing the woman.

He ran his index finger along the Y/n's folds, again pulling a sigh from her lips. Then again and again until the her juices began to show. He teased the pearl, squeezing it between his fingers and pulling it away.

Y/N grasped the man's shoulders and nipped at the spot between his shoulder and neck, holding back a moan.

Aemond continued to slide and pull away from the woman's bead.

"Aemond," sobbed the princess, she felt herself surrendering under the onslaught of these beautiful sensations.

"What is it my queen?" the prince asked and smirked "Tell me. What do you want?"

"Inside...touch inside. I want to feel you inside," the girl breathed heavily, grasping at his black leather tunic.

AEmond slowly slipped two fingers into the woman's womb. This time the Princess didn't hold back a moan. She hadn't felt these feelings in a long time, she hadn't touched herself and she hadn't brought anyone into her bedroom since her husband's death. But now...Aemond made her remember these sensations.

The prince sped up his movements, wet and squelching sounds echoed through the garden, speeding up every second.

This sound excited Y/N even more, she began to squeeze the young man's fingers, no longer holding back her moans. If anyone saw them, they would think the prince was having fun with a Silk Street prostitute.

Y/N threw her right leg over Aemond's thigh, pressing her closer to him. She could feel the bump against her thigh. The princess reached her hands out to the guy's face, guiding him to her face, she connected with him in a kiss, schooling him.

The woman's legs began to tremble, Aemond noticed it, so he put his free arm around her waist, holding her.

"Aemond, I'm about to..." the princess gasped, she was short of breath.

"C'mon, I'm here, let it go," the young man whispered caressingly into her ear, and the girl let go.

A groan caught in her throat, her legs shook, and the walls enveloped Aemond's fingers, squeezing them convulsively. The prince waited for a while, then stuck his fingers out. Y/N thought he would say goodbye to her now, or escort her out, but he knelt down, spreading the legs wider. He nestled his lips against the woman's nub, sucking and drinking all of the girl's juices. The princess sighed sharply, not expecting this.

"Wait! Fool! There...There...It's all sensitive in there! No!" the woman tried to move away or push the prince's face away, but Aemond pressed down harder and harder.

The prince drove his tongue back and forth, circling the lovely pearl, and then went further, thrusting his tongue inside.

Y/n was thrashing in an agony of pleasure, she was in pain and pleasure, she wanted to run away but at the same time press the prince's face closer. She could feel Aemond moving his tongue, it was a delightful feeling. The prince was touching all her sensitive spots. Involuntarily, the princess began to move her hips, enjoying herself. Aemond groaned as he felt his lover's involvement. Y/n felt the pleasure forming into a tight lump again, and then that lump unleashed. The girl let out a sound, it resembled both a cry and a scream.

Aemond drank all that poured out of his woman's womb, licking the inside of her thigh gently. He rose from his knees, holding the woman who was piling on top of him due to her orgasm, unable to keep herself on her feet.

"I love you, sister! You are everything to me. And you will be mine..."

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #x reader

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paracosm-draw · 1 month ago

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It was so hard to choose which 'kiss prompt' to pick! 😭 These are so good for Obikin.

Sooo, this one was picked with the roll of my dragon die. 😁 It's amazing.

"The kiss that happens mid-argument, furious and messy, teeth and heat and unsaid apologies."

Though it'll be amazing because you baffle and amaze me with how much emotion you can fit into something so short. ❤️❤️❤️

Oh hey, I'm finally back with the answer to that prompt ! Better late than never, right ? 😬

Here we go with some angry kisses happening mid-argument ! Thank you so much for sending it ! 💕

(Also, I need to see that super cool dice ??)

“You cared more about her than you care about me.”

The words cut through the heat of the night, sharp and distant ; not a question. A statement. An accusation. The first words Anakin deigns to speak to him in a little more than a week. Obi-Wan finds himself both relieved and incredibly confused.

Anakin has been avoiding him for days. Dismissing calls, cancelling dinners, carefully timing the minutes he had to spend in his company during council meetings in order to slip away as soon as decency allowed, avoiding their quarters as well as the common spaces in which they were likely to cross paths. Shutting down their bond entirely. He’s never been subtle. But Obi-Wan wasn’t used to subtlety. He was used to bursts of anger, he was used to shouting and heated arguments, he was used to tears and overflowing emotions. He was used to Anakin wearing his heart on his sleeve. He wasn’t used to silence. He wasn’t used to Anakin pulling away from his orbit, taking his warmth with him, leaving him dwelling in cold indifference and even colder bedsheets.

Anakin was angry.

Anakin is angry.

But this time, Obi-Wan has no clue about the reason for his ire, and the words thrown in the tense silence between them like a declaration of war only add to his confusion.

“Who’s her ?” He asks, compelling himself to stay calm and composed, not too pressing, not too desperate. Not to show Anakin he would drink any of his words like a thirsty man just to never have to endure his silence again.

Anakin snaps his head to him. He’s standing on the balcony of their quarters, streaks of neon lights and shadows moving across his features and the taut line of his body at the rhythm of the Coruscanti night. The sharp contrast makes his eyes and cheeks look even more hollow, pupils dark like thick ink. Obi-Wan knows that look, even though it’s never been aimed at him before. It’s a look of betrayal and hurt, of fury and grief, piercing a hole through his chest, through his soul and squeezing tight around his heart. Whatever his fault, Anakin isn't there to show mercy on him.

The boy’s shoulders tense, clenched jaw working for a second before he spits his answer.

��Satine.”

Obi-Wan blinks once. Twice. Turns the name in his mind again and again until it makes sense. It doesn’t.

“You were ready to leave the Order for her.”

Ah.

So Anakin had to find out. From someone else. While they were away from each other. Not that it ever was a secret Obi-Wan intentionally wanted to keep from him, but he had learned in time that all truths weren’t good to tell to Anakin. Especially when they tended to toy with the precarious balance that was his psyche, already jeopardized by the cruel machinery of war and the clinging ghosts of his childhood.

“Anakin-”

“Is it true ?” Anakin interrupts him, turning around to face him completely, tall shadow cutting in the moving lights behind him.

“Who told you that ?” Obi-Wan asks, always the negotiator. Stalling, ordering his thoughts, answering questions with others questions. He’s already tired of the conversation to come. He’s been tired for a long time, now.

“It doesn’t matter.” Anakin growls, sweeping aside his burgeoning attempts at a peaceful talk by taking a step forward, cornering him against the transparisteel separating the living room from the balcony. “Is it true ?”

Obi-Wan knows what he’s doing, for he’s seen him adopting the same strategy over and over again in the ten years they spent side by side. It’s not the first time they played this game and it will not be the last, so it is all too easy to enter into the dance, to match Anakin step for step, to give ground when he’s pressing on him, only to win it back a beat later. It’s a play he knows by heart. A performance he’s tired of giving.

He remains silent, crossing his arms against his chest. This is a test. Anakin already knows the answer to his question ; he wants to probe Obi-Wan's honesty, wants to challenge the fragile base of trust setting up their relationship. He wants a reason to tear it down and blame it on Obi-Wan. Not because he is angry, but because he is afraid. What Obi-Wan sees behind the intimidating demeanor and the burning eyes is the same nine years old kid who was craving for love and reassurance, the insecure teenager with an abandonment wound so deep he preferred to push people away before they left him.

“It is true.” He says, because Anakin still deserves the truth. “Though I was very young, younger than you are now and foolish enough not to think about the consequences of my actions-”

“You loved her.” Anakin interrupts him, words spilling like the thought offends him and disgusts him at the same time, spoken directly against his face.

Obi-Wan didn’t notice when he got this close, and when himself gave ground to retreat back, until his back presses against the bay window. He has to raise his head to look him in the eyes now, a detail that makes his heart go soft and beat faster at the same time. When did he get so tall ? When did he grow from that scared, sweet child to that scared, brilliant and dangerous man ? From that sparkle to that burning meteor ? And when did the love shifted, from simple, selfless and innocent to all-consuming, passionate and infinitely more complicated ?

Anakin’s hands settle on the transparisteel behind Obi-Wan, brushing along his shoulders. He’s all Obi-Wan can see, all Obi-Wan can smell and touch if he just moved an inch closer. He stays still, breathing in the thick scent of Anakin’s leather and the salt of his sweat still clinging to his skin after a day of training. If he had no self-control he would press his open mouth to the place where his neck joins his jaw and lick at the salt there. He would adorn Anakin’s throat with the mark of his teeth and suck bruises around the golden expense of his neck until he forgets about the war, about Satine and about the dark beast lurking around in the shadows of his mind. If he had no self-control he would use that trick he already abused to quiet the voices inside Anakin’s head. If he had no self-control he would pretend that they would be fine after that.

“I did.” He says. “I loved her. A long time ago.”

Anakin draws in a sharp breath, almost the same as when Obi-Wan punches him in the guts with the hilt of his lightsaber during practice. The thick wall of his anger waggers for a second, revealing uncertainty and hurt behind the cracks. When he speaks, his voice lacks the venom coating it a minute ago. It’s raw and shaking and embedded with unshed tears.

“You loved her and you were ready to leave the Order for her, to give up your whole life for her.”

“I was young and passionate, Anakin. She-”

Leather creaks near Obi-Wan’s ear as Anakin closes his gloved hands into fists. His eyes are sparkling like wet charcoal in the dark. His jaw is trembling, his whole body strung like a bowstring.

“You say you love me and still you can’t seem to do half of the things you would have done for her. You say you love me but what proof do I have of that ? I’m like a dog who has to make do with the crumbs you feed me.”

Old guilt sinks a little deeper in Obi-Wan’s guts. A feeling he knows well, which appeared one day when he caught himself looking a bit too long at the shiny drops of sweat rolling down Anakin’s spine and pooling into the dips of his lower back and wondering what it tasted like. She’s been with him ever since. Guilt. Every time he looked, every time he wanted. Every time he loved and felt like not loving enough, not loving the right way. Every time Anakin asked for something he couldn’t give him. Every time he asked for more, and then even more. Obi-Wan knows he wants more, knows he needs more. More than this life of secrecy and deception. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer him more. He realizes then, that this is not about Satine at all, this is about him. About them.

“I do love you, my darling.” He murmurs, reaching out to gently cup one of Anakin’s cheeks. “More than you realize.”

Anakin almost bares his teeth at that.

“Prove it.” He snarls, pressing Obi-Wan a little bit more into the window.

When Obi-Wan leans forward, Anakin meets him in the middle in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. They collide into each other, teeth clashing against lips in a mix of pain and pleasure. Obi-Wan’s head hits the transparisteel hard enough to make him see black dots for a second. Anakin is all over him, his mouth coating his own with the sweet metallic taste of spit and blood, tongue curling up against his, seeking his approval to possess him completely. He trapped his waist in the solid clutch of his hands, durasteel already pressing a mark on the pale skin under layers of tunics. Obi-Wan can do nothing but hold on to him like a raft in a storm. The hand on Anakin’s cheek moves to the back of his neck as the other one grabs a fistful of fabric at his chest. He can barely breathe between Anakin’s assaults on his mouth, on his throat, with the weight of him - almost painful - pressing his ribs against the hard glass. He moans when Anakin sinks his teeth into the soft flesh under his jaw.

“Would you leave the Order for me?” Anakin whispers, breath hot against his skin, raising goosebumps down to his chest.

Obi-Wan uses the truce to take a breath, urging oxygen back into his brain in order to think about his answer.

“This is not what I want for you.” He rasps, clears his throat and fails again. “For any of us.”

“This isn’t my question.” Anakin growls.

Obi-Wan feels his teeth grazing above his pulse point, and then a sharp jolt of pain erupts at the exact same place, making him howl and push Anakin away. Or try, at least. It only makes the boy cling harder, lips pressing frantically against the wound he caused, lapping at the crimson droplets rolling down Obi-Wan’s neck.

“You’re an animal.” Obi-Wan groans, swallowing thickly as the pain slowly subsides into a dull ache under Anakin’s care.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Anakin whimpers softly. He looks contrite but Obi-Wan knows he’s not at all. He knows Anakin adores leaving all sorts of marks on him for others to see. He takes what he can. Crumbs.

Obi-Wan sighs and looks at him. Really looks at him, passed the facade. At the vulnerability widening his eyes, at the way he holds his breath awaiting for his answer, at his hands softening in his body, embracing rather than holding in place, clinging to him as if he was his whole world. And maybe he is. How could he ever leave him ?

“Yes.” He whispers. “I would.”

#thanks for the ask #kiss prompts #obikin fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin x obi wan #obikin #obi wan x anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfiction #star wars #my writing

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drgnmnts · 11 months ago

Text

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

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Chapter 2 - A Fair Exchange

Word count: 3.1K (sorry)

Laena Velaryon was dead.

The details of her passing brought tears to Daenys’ eyes: burned alive by her dragon as an act of mercy, following complications during her baby's delivery. Daenys recalled Laena from a visit to King’s Landing a few years prior; she remembered feeling jealous of how lovingly Laena treated her daughters— the kindness in her eyes when she looked at them, the honey in her voice as she called their names.

It was decided that they would all depart for Driftmark right away— Daenys, Aegon, and Helaena on their dragons, while the rest sailed to the island. She would never admit it to them, but Daenys loved flying with her siblings, especially with Aegon: he was insufferable on land, always drowning in his cups and picking on the weak, but while riding Sunfyre he turned into someone high-spirited and lively. It was the only time Daenys felt truly close to her eldest brother. As they both circled around Dreamfyre, trying to playfully disrupt Helaena’s imperturbability, Daenys was able to catch sight of Rhaenyra’s family, coming from Dragonstone opposite to them: her half-sister on the beautiful Syrax, hatched from one of Silverwing’s eggs when it was placed in Rhaenyra’s cradle as a babe; Jacaerys on his young dragon Vermax; and Lucerys on Arrax. Seasmoke was nowhere to be found, and Daenys guessed Ser Laenor was probably already at Driftmark, sick with grief. The fear of ever losing one of her siblings haunted her thoughts for the rest of the journey.

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High Tide was damp and dark, but there was something about the Sea Snake’s castle that Daenys found enthralling. The marble of its walls looked like mother-of-pearl in the afternoon sun, and its halls were as beautiful as they were unsettling, crowded with bronze statues covered in corals and sea sediments that reminded every visitor of the Velaryons’ deep connection with the sea.

The families were gathered at the low cliff by Blackwater Bay, the one which Daenys assumed was intended for ritualistic purposes. She could make out the coffin containing Lady Laena’s remains by the edge of the cliff, the narrow box carved to resemble the woman’s appearance. After Vaemond Velaryon’s speech about the thickness of their blood—an odd choice since it had little to do with Lady Laena’s legacy—the guests moved to a small plateau where, as per tradition, they were to wait for the tide to carry the casket further out to sea.

Standing by her brothers, Daenys noticed Rhaenyra speaking to her eldest son, which reminded her of the abrupt and rather suspicious death of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong only a couple days prior. If the rumors were true, which Daenys was certain they were, perhaps Jacaerys was sad. Just as Baela and Rhaena had lost their mother, Jace and Luke had lost their father. Daenys wondered if someone had offered their condolences to the boys in any way, but quickly discarded the thought.

“We have nothing in common,” Aegon declared as he observed Helaena with a furrowed brow and a cup of wine in his hand.

“Have you ever tried to at least show her any regard for her interests?” Daenys asked him, squinting up at him against the sun.

“What interests, exactly? Bugs and riddles?” he inquired, making a face. “She’s just so… odd.”

“She’s our sister,” Aemond intervened.

“You marry her, then,” replied Aegon.

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.”

“If only,” Aegon scoffed. “We can exchange, if you want. You marry her, and I’ll marry this one,” he added, pointing at Daenys with a nod of his head. “At least I know she wouldn't bother me, since she spends more time in the sky than at home.”

“I would rather have my dragon chew me up,” Daenys deadpanned, Aemond chuckling next to her.

After a grimace and a long sip of wine, Aegon intercepted a cup-bearer. “We actually do have one thing in common,” he said, giving his siblings a look as he took another cup, “we both fancy creatures with very long legs.”

Daenys gagged at her brother’s comment, to which he replied by smacking her on the back of her head.

“Aegon!” she protested, hitting him back as he laughed, but the sibling squabble was quickly brought to an end by Queen Alicent’s reprimand.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she whispered, her eyes on Daenys.

“He started it!” the girl tried to excuse herself, and this time her mother believed her, swiftly sending Aegon away from the group to take his mischief elsewhere, out of everyone’s sight.

“I’ve told you many times, Daenys, you must not fall into your brother’s provocations,” Alicent warned, fixing her daughter’s hair where Aegon had hit her. “Why don’t you go speak with the girls? I am sure they could use a kind word from someone their age.”

Daenys nodded, eager to comply with her mother’s instructions, and immediately made way to where Baela and Rhaena were sitting. The twins offered her a sad smile as she approached them, making room for her on the wooden bench.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Daenys spoke.

“Did you know that my dragon was born from one of Vhagar’s eggs?”

At the mention of their mother’s dragon, both girls smiled as they nodded.

“I’ve always wondered if dragons can… sense who their mother is. Silverwing does have her occasional spat at Sunfyre, but I believe that is just because he’s Aegon’s,” she said, making the girls chuckle.

“It would be nice to see Silverwing interact with Vhagar, but she is too sad now…” said Rhaena, looking down.

“And without a rider…” added Baela.

“Then you should claim her,” Daenys quickly resolved, grabbing Rhaena’s hand. “Wouldn’t it be nice to ride your mother’s dragon?”

Rhaena smiled timidly, and Baela spoke what her sister was thinking.

“She still waits for her egg to hatch. I’ve told her many times to just let it go, but… she keeps her faith.”

Daenys nodded, understanding. “It’s a rare gift, bonding with the dragon given to you at birth. I can see why you would want to hold on to it.”

Rhaena thanked her kindly, finding comfort in the princess’ sympathetic words. Before she could speak further about the topic, the three of them noticed Jacaerys standing next to them. He seemed unsure, hesitant, probably having been sent to speak to the girls by his mother, just like Alicent had sent Daenys.

Daenys found it difficult to meet his gaze, for the brown in his eyes told a story of treason and deception. Yet, she felt inexplicably drawn to them, as if Jace were some creature from a bedtime story rather than just a boy.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, looking at his feet. His shoes were dirty, covered in ash from riding his dragon. Queen Alicent would never allow her children to walk around in unkempt clothes.

“Thank you, Jace,” said Baela, smiling warmly at him.

The boy was clearly not a wordsmith, unable to elaborate on his condolences any further. Instead, he just stood there, holding Rhaena’s hand, until Princess Rhaenys came to comfort her granddaughters, allowing him to slip away.

Giving them their privacy to mourn their loss, Daenys quietly followed Jace to a nearby firepit, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows between them. She couldn't explain the impulse that led her to speak.

“I was sorry to hear about Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin,” she uttered, keeping her gaze fixed on the flickering fire to avoid his eyes. “They were kind.”

The princess could feel Jacaerys’ eyes on her, perhaps filled with confusion, or gratitude, or distrust. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to know.

As Jace poised to speak, Daenys simply turned around, retracing her steps to her mother’s side without uttering another word.

Queen Alicent stood tall, engaged in a quiet conversation with Ser Criston Cole, her sworn protector. Daenys held a fondness for Ser Criston; he had taught her archery and the nuances of horseriding, despite her insistence that mastering the latter was second nature to her as a dragonrider. He was ever-present, a stalwart guardian always ready to assist, escort, teach and protect.

Her mother acknowledged her presence by concluding her conversation with Cole, and turned her gaze to Daenys with expectation.

“The girls feel better, I think,” she informed. “We talked about dragons.”

“Of course you did,” Ser Criston quipped, eliciting a smile from Daenys.

“Good girl,” her mother approved, gently stroking Daenys’ hair. The brief display of affection quickened Daenys’ heartbeat, leaving her to ponder if this was Alicent’s way of apologizing for the incident the other day.

“Perhaps I could show them Silverwing up close tomorrow, if Uncle Daemon allows it. I gather they would like it.”

Alicent breathed a sigh and nodded at her daughter’s suggestion

“You can ask him later, should he be willing to talk.”

“Yes, he must be terribly upset…” Daenys concurred with solemnity, missing Ser Criston’s glance at her mother upon the mention of Daemon’s grief for Lady Laena.

The crowd parted to make way for King Viserys. It was growing late, and the ceremony was becoming too long for him to remain outside. Viserys had his good and bad days, and on the latter, Daenys often wondered how she would feel if he were to pass away. Would she feel grief, or sadness? Would tears come as easily to her as they did now for Baela and Rhaena, mourning the loss of their beloved mother?

Daenys bowed her head as her father walked past her.

“I’m going to bed, Aemma,” he announced.

The confusion was nothing new. Daenys had lost count of how many times her father had mistakenly referred to her by Rhaenyra’s name, especially since his illness had begun to deteriorate not only his body, but his mind as well.

“Shall I see after Queen Alicent, Your Grace?” Ser Harrold asked, attempting to gently remind the king of his wife’s name, but Daenys knew the damage had already been done.

As Viserys retreated inside, Daenys squeezed her mother’s hand. Queen Alicent, momentarily paralyzed by her husband’s error, met her daughter’s gaze, finding within it a look of the purest sympathy. For a fleeting moment, it seemed she might embrace Daenys, but instead, Alicent let go of the girl’s gentle grip on her hand.

“Go with your sister,” she ordered coldly, and walked away from Daenys, Ser Criston following closely behind his queen.

_______________________________________________

It was well past the hour of the Owl when Helaena woke her sister with a gentle shake on the shoulder, Daenys making a great effort to open her eyes as she had been deep in her sleep just mere seconds before.

“Something’s happened,” Helaena announced, her tone filled with anguish, prompting Daenys to sit up immediately.

“Are you hurt?” Daenys asked, reaching for her sister's arm to check for injuries despite the dimness in the chamber.

“Not me,” the girl reassured, already getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she questioned, still confused and groggy from sleep.

Pausing in her steps, Helaena turned to her sister. “Will you come with me? I’m afraid to go alone,” she pleaded, looking once more like the youngest of the two instead of the other way around.

Unable to deny her sister, Daenys threw back the bed covers and joined Helaena by the door, both of them barefoot and clad in their sleeping gowns.

Slowly opening the door, Daenys's heart sank as she saw several guards rushing down the corridor, confirming her sister’s premonition.

Now filled with curiosity and a strange fear, the girl followed them quietly with Helaena right behind her, fist clutching Daenys’ robe. Together, they arrived at the room of the Driftwood Throne, where chaos reigned.

The boys were there: Aegon, Jace, and Luke, and so was Ser Criston, Ser Harrold, and the King. Baela and Rhaena stood aside, embracing each other. Sitting on a chair, Aemond sniffled, their mother at his side while a maester examined his bloody face. Heart shrunk in anguish at the sight of his injury, Daenys took a few steps closer, gasping in horror as she realized that her dear brother was missing one eye.

“Wh- How did this happen?” she was able to ask, wincing as she watched the maester finish stitching the boy’s flesh.

“I claimed Vhagar,” Aemond answered, and Daenys thought she saw a hint of satisfaction in the curl of his lip, despite the pain.

Before she could even begin to question how he had gotten his injury, Ser Criston effortlessly wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the horrid scene.

“Baela, Rhaena!” called Princess Rhaenys, descending a nearby staircase with Lord Corlys close behind. “What happened?”

Almost simultaneously, Rhaenyra hurried into the room with Daemon, rushing to check on her sons, who sported bloody noses and scratches on their cheeks.

Upon the Princess' inquiry into her sons' injuries, accusations flew from both sides of the dispute while Aegon, Daenys, and Helaena watched with a mix of doubt and curiosity. Only after the King commanded silence did the protests from both parties cease.

“Aemond,” he called, visibly exhausted as he approached the boy, using his cane for support. “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Alicent questioned on behalf of her son. “Your son has been maimed; her son is responsible.”

“It was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra defended, further infuriating Alicent.

“Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son,” she declared, and the image of the knife cutting through her brother’s face made Daenys’ stomach turn.

“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them,” Rhaenyra stated firmly. “The legitimacy of my sons’ births was put loudly to question.”

“What?” questioned the King. It was still a mystery to Daenys how her father could be so short-sighted when it came to his grandchildren’s parentage.

“He called us bastards,” Jace interjected, and Daenys was once again unable to meet his eyes, fearing he might accuse her of all the times she had participated in her brother’s mistreatment of the Velaryon boys.

“Aemond,” Viserys called once more, bending slightly to meet his son’s gaze. “Look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

Daenys felt her mother tense next to her as she waited with bated breath for her son to answer the question, knowing full well she had been the one to share the truth of the matter with all her children.

She had nothing to worry about, however, as Aemond’s loyalty to their mother was unwavering.

“It was Aegon,” he lied, and it even caught their eldest brother by surprise, as Viserys quickly advanced towards him demanding he confess where he had heard the accusations.

“We know, Father. Everyone knows,” Aegon replied, eyes still fixed forward. “Just look at them.”

The silence that befell the room felt asphixiating, broken only by Viserys’ comandment for harmony between the younglings.

Otto Hightower, who had been observing from afar until then, approached the King and whispered something in his ear. Viserys nodded, glancing briefly at Daenys before clearing his throat to speak again.

"I believe this is an opportune moment to announce the decision the Hand and I have reached, in hopes this endless strife may finally cease," he addressed those gathered.

"Father," Rhaenyra interrupted, briefly meeting Daenys' eyes, leaving her more confused than before. "Do you think now is the best time to tell her? After tonight's events?"

Daenys looked up at her mother in search for an answer, but the woman’s eyes were fixed on her husband, wide in panic as if she already knew what was coming.

“What is the meaning of this, Viserys?” she dared to ask.

The King held his wife’s gaze, unbothered by her tone. “After conversing this afternoon with Princess Rhaenyra about the future of House Targaryen and House Velaryon, we have decided that my daughter, Daenys, shall marry her son, Jacaerys, when they’ve both reached the appropriate age.”

As soon as those words left her father’s mouth, Daenys’ face, which had been tinted a soft shade of pink from the adrenaline of such an unfortunate night, turned pale as if she had suddenly transformed into a corpse. She opened her mouth, but the torrent of words piling up on the tip of her tongue failed to come out, as she felt an unfamiliar tingle at the tips of her fingers.

“No,” Alicent disagreed immediately, shaking her head as she firmly grabbed her daughter’s wrist, keeping her close. “No, you may do as you please when I’m dead, but I will not have my children taken from me anymore; you’ve already sent Daeron away, such thing will not happen again.”

“The decision is final, Alicent,” said Ser Otto, not a trace of fatherly love in the way he looked at her. “I understand your discontent, but this is for the good of the realm.”

“This proceeding is at an end,” the King declared, already turning towards the corridor connecting the throne room with the apartments. “The Princess Daenys shall part for Dragonstone on the morrow, accompanying her sister and her family, and remain there until they decide to return to King’s Landing. Is that understood?”

No one dared to utter a word. The crackling flames emanating from the fireplace felt suffocating instead of comforting, and Daenys’ eyesight became blurry as the tingling sensation from her fingers spread up to her head.

The events that followed happened too quickly: Alicent rushed to grab Aegon the Conqueror’s blade from Viserys’ belt, wielding it as she charged at Rhaenyra, who was quick to stop her before she could harm her. Screams and commands surrounded the scene, chaos reigning once again.

“You’ve gone too far,” Rhaenyra accused, arms keeping Alicent —and the blade— as far away from her as possible.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me?” the Queen cried. “And now, not happy with having taken my poor son’s eye, you wish to rip my daughter from me? She’s mine, Rhaenyra, mine!”

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. The kingdom, the family, the law: you don’t care about those things, only yourself…” Rhaenyra affirmed, her voice wavering with the effort of keeping Alicent away. “But now they see you as you are…”

The sound of Valyrian steel cutting flesh silenced the room immediately. The women separated, and everyone, included Alicent, watched in consternation as blood slid down the Princess’ arm.

The silence was broken by Daenys’ small voice.

“Mummy?” she called, before collapsing onto the cold stone floor.

_______________________________________________

Just some quality time with family, what could go wrong?

The time jump is coming, just bear with me!

Also, Daenys being a little devil on every single dragon-less Targaryen's shoulder whispering to them to 👏 just 👏 claim 👏 one 👏.

If you liked this, let me know in any way! :)

Series Taglist: @void21, @burningwitchobject

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x oc #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd #knuckles bruised (like violets)

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chanaleah · 11 months ago

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So this is a great example of a fundamental misunderstanding of history!

In 1948, the land that is now Israel/Palestine was controlled by the British Empire. It wasn't owned by either Jews or Arabs in its entirety, and additionally there had not been an independent state in the land since the Jewish Kingdom of Judah was conquered by the Roman Empire in 63 CE.

Secondly, the pre-State of Israel agreed to a UN partition partition plan in 1947 that guaranteed an Arab state and Jewish state in the borders shown on the map below:

On May 14, the State Of Israel declared independence within the borders shown in blue on the map. Rather than accepting an Arab state and a Jewish state, the armies of surrounding Arab states, including Jordan, Egypt, Syria, Iraq, attacked the nascent State Of Israel with the intention to destroy it in favor of an Arab state in the entirety of the former British Mandate of Palestine.

Before it was attacked, the State Of Israel had no intention to fight the Arab states or hurt the Arabs living in the borders of Israel. This is shown clearly in Israel's Declaration of Independence.

WE APPEAL — in the very midst of the onslaught launched against us now for months — to the Arab inhabitants of the State of Israel to preserve peace and participate in the upbuilding of the State on the basis of full and equal citizenship and due representation in all its provisional and permanent institutions. WE EXTEND our hand to all neighboring states and their peoples in an offer of peace and good neighborliness, and appeal to them to establish bonds of cooperation and mutual help with the sovereign Jewish people settled in its own land. The State of Israel is prepared to do its share in a common effort for the advancement of the entire Middle East.

Direct quotes from Israel's Declaration Of Independence.

However, during the 1948 War* the majority Palestinians living in Israel fled out of fear or were kicked out. Similarly, all of the Jews living in Judea & Samaria/the West Bank were kicked out by the Jordanian army.

Massacres were committed by both sides during the war, including the Deir Yassin massacre, in which many Palestinians were killed by right-wing Zionist militias and the Gush Etzion massacre in which many Jews were killed by the Jordanian army.

Both Palestinians and Jews had to flee/were kicked out of places in which they had resided for centuries - some examples being Lydda/Lod (for Palestinians) the Old City of Jerusalem, specifically the Jewish quarter which was later looted by the Jordanian army (for Jews).

Israel ended up winning the war -- and winning more territory than had originally been given to them. This was what the map looked like after the Armistice Agreement at the end of the 1948 war:

At the end of the war, Egypt occupied Gaza and Jordan occupied Judea & Samaria/the West Bank. There was no Palestinian state.

During and in the aftermath of the 1948 War, 700,000 Palestinians became refugees from Israel, and between 17,000 and 40,000 Jews became refugees from Judea & Samaria/the West Bank and Gaza, and about 1 million Jews became refugees from the rest of the SWANA region.

This post is in no way an exhaustive or authoritative history, but it shows clearly the history of the 1948 War is much more complicated than "forcefully took that land from them".

If you would like me to make a post about history pre-1948 I can do that as well.

*I chose to call this war the 1948 war so as to be impartial as possible. Other names used include the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, Israel's War Of Independence, and the 1948 Palestine War.

Keep reading below the cut for sources.

SOURCES:

#jumblr #jewish #chana talks #judaism #am yisrael chai #israel #i stand with israel #antisemitism #i/p #i/p conflict #jordan #egypt #gaza #palestine

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inheartofwinter · 1 year ago

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Drarry Fic Rec List: Us Vs The World

The list I want to show you to day is one I especially adore: fics with strong vibe of "us against the world". They could be good, they could be bad, they could save the world, they could destroy it, they could simply go on with their lives. No matter what, they will always have each other.

- Hell & Other Places (M; 2,5k) by @tepre

OR: 9 times Draco said ‘I love you’ and 1 time he didn’t.

Draco & Harry are sent to investigate a haunted Bed & Breakfast.

- Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis (E; 49999) by @vukovich

Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.

But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame?

Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less.

Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy.

God save the Ministry.

- Basement Level 9 (M; 2k) by @fw00shy

Draco was behind the bomb that blew up Level 10, though they didn't talk about it.

- Stay with Me 'Til Morning (R; 8,4k) by Lucilla Darkate

In a once upon a time world, white magic would triumph over black, good would carry the day, evil would be vanquished, the valiant would stand and be true, and always, always, true love would end with a happily ever after.

- Purple Words (E; 67k) by FangirlWolfie

“High five me.”

James immediately put Harry down and gave him a high five.

Huh?

Oh.

- In Grey Worsted (M; 2,8k) by literaryspell

Harry's only chance at happiness is slipping away, one piece at a time. He isn’t about to give up, though.

- Ever Fixed Mark (T; 1,1k) by @shealwaysreads

In which Harry decides to burn the world, and Draco watches on with adoration.

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken

Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

- Dead Ends (E; 18,8k) by @toxik-angel & @melcarrianna

Head Auror Harry Potter is the best at his job. Head Auror Harry Potter always saves the day.

But someone has been picking off ex-Death Eaters one by one. Someone has been abducting Harry's friends right out of their homes. Someone is fucking the Minister for Magic.

The Minister for Magic and Head Auror are both very concerned about it.

- Because Potter Is Allergic to Poppies (M; 41,1k) by Lomonaaeren

Auror Harry Potter is in hospital being treated for a curse when someone tries to kill him. Obviously it is up to bored, trapped Apprentice Healer Draco, who was only admitted to the Healer Program in the first place to do the menial work, to find out who did it. Because then they will promote him. No, it’s for no other reason, thanks.

- Toujours pur (T; 21k) by Veralynn

"Malfoy would never confess truth to an enemy, and we’re enemies to him. That’s way I made a plan.”

“A rat,” Harry said.

“Exactly. Someone I can trust one hundred per cent about You-Know-Who. Someone who knows well Malfoy and his past. That makes you the perfect candidate.”

- REVOLVEVLOVER (E; 46,3k) by @firethesound & zeitgeistic

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.

It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

Career Choices: Harry: Hit Wizard; Draco: Anti-Government Extremist

- Who we are in the shadows (E; 99,7k) by @quicksilvermaid

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise?

Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself.

What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

- Draco Malfoy and the Heart of Slytherin (T; 34,9k) by sabershadowkat

At the heart of every Slytherin.

- The Boy and the Sleeping Prince (E; 26,7k) by @phoenix-acid & @writcraft

Harry is miserable and tired of being an Auror, coasting through life until he’s forced to make some changes. Spurred on by his passion for drawing and working with best-selling author Draco Malfoy, Harry develops a charm which gives children a magical, interactive reading experience. But when it’s time to test the spell, the two men find themselves trapped in a nightmarish fairy tale world. Can they escape unscathed, or is Draco right in his assertions that there is no such thing as a happily ever after?

Career Choices: Harry: Illustrator; Draco: Writer

- When Death Comes Calling (T; 2,6k) by @mystickitten42

It’s All Hallows’ Eve and as Harry investigates a string of seemingly related deaths, there’s one he hopes to prevent.

He looks over Harry’s shoulder and Harry turns too. They both see it, the dark translucent figure making its way to shore.

~ Or ~

Getting together in the face of Death. Literally.

- Servile (E; 68,5k) by calrissian18

“I would love anything you gifted me, My Lord, but this,” silver eyes, the same shade as the dragon that marked Harry's arm, glinted in his direction under the Death Eater’s hood, “is exquisite.”

- The Corruption Sequence series (E; 94,2k) by beren

Harry Potter is captured by Voldemort and the Dark Lord has plans for him that involve the essence of many different dark creatures. What Voldemort cannot know is that the presence of Draco Malfoy will affect the outcome of his plots and change everything.

- More Powerful Then Experience (M; 89,7k) by flightinflame

Harry's life changes when he is three, when his parents are murdered and the Dark Lord takes him to raise as his own.

Draco's life changes when he is six, when he finds himself given to a strange green-eyed boy who speaks Parseltongue and casts impossible magic.

Remus's life changes three years later, when a chance meeting proves to him that somehow James and Lily's son is still alive.

- The Gryffindor Prince (G; 6,3k) by @mfingenius

“Do not come near us again, evil Slytherins!” he exclaims, pointing his wand towards them again. Pansy and Blaise look more amused than anything, really, but they hold up their hands in surrender.

“Alright,” Pansy says, agreeably enough, a smirk on her face. “But Potter, Draco’s a Slytherin, like us. He’ll have to come back eventually.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, and, a moment later, he is throwing Draco over his shoulder, arm tight across the back of his thighs so he won’t fall, and Draco yelps.

Have fun reading!

#drarry #drarry fics #drarry fic rec #drarry rec list #my rec list #us vs the world vibe #hpdm #hpdm fanfic #harry potter x draco malfoy

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gingerteafairy · 6 months ago

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tear collection (kai anderson x reader)

Your tears fall, Kai gathers them all.

tags n warnings: trauma, bullying past, manipulation, sub!reader, slut shaming, dacryphilia, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, porn w plot, slut shaming,use of his divine ruler title, red flag bye. word count: 5.3k. masterlist

Monday. 5 PM.

You stand in front of a door that feels larger than life. Once, this place was your sanctuary, a haven for your love of books. Then it became a cage, suffused with whispers, ridicule, and three years of relentless bullying. You never fully understood why you were singled out, but you knew enough to swear never to return.

And yet, here you are. Blue jeans, an overly formal black coat you regret wearing, and nerves tied in knots. The invitation email had promised change: new members, a new leader, a fresh start. But doubt lingers as you stare at the heavy wooden door, questioning every life decision that brought you here.

“Ah, you came,” a voice pierces through your spiraling thoughts—low, magnetic, and strangely commanding.

You turn, startled, to see him. Kai Anderson. His dyed blue hair is tied back loosely, and his piercing eyes scan you like he’s already figured out your life story. There’s something both disarming and unnerving about his presence, a calm chaos simmering just beneath the surface. His lips curled into a faint smirk as he said your name.

“Uh, yeah,” you stammer, unable to hold his gaze for long.

He gestures toward the door. “Well, are we going in, or are you going to stand there contemplating the meaning of life?”

You hesitate, then take a deep breath and follow him. The door creaks open, revealing the familiar space—bookshelves reaching for the ceiling, soft cushions scattered on the floor, and a mismatched collection of chairs. But something feels different, charged, like the air itself has been altered by his presence.

Kai strides to the center of the room, claiming a seat with an authority that no one questions. The others—four or five people, all oddly quiet—watch him with a mix of reverence and wariness.

“Alright,” Kai begins, his voice sharp but enticing. “Let’s skip the small talk. This group isn’t about pretending to be something we’re not. It’s about truth. Raw, unfiltered truth. If you can’t handle that, the door’s right there.”

No one moves.

“Good,” he continues, leaning back in his chair. “Today, we’re diving into the mind of Tolstoy. War and Peace. Who wants to start?”

A tall, pale guy raises his hand hesitantly. “I made an essay about the male characters.”

Kai nods, taking the handwritten pages without a word. As he skims them, his eyes narrow in concentration. “This is good,” he says finally, his tone neutral. “But next time, don’t hold back. You’re smarter than this, Hemingway.”

The guy—Harrison—flushes but nods.

“Great job, Harrison. You’re our resident genius, after all,” a curly-haired woman teases, earning an exaggerated eye roll from him.

Kai’s smirk deepens. “Enough. Let’s get back to the point. Beverly, what have you got?”

Beverly, with nervous energy, stands and presents a detailed drawing of 19th-century St. Petersburg. Kai studies it intently, his expression unreadable.

“It’s good,” he says finally, his tone softer than before. “But tell me—why’d you choose this scene?”

Beverly falters, then answers, “It felt... alive. Like I could step into it.”

Kai nods approvingly. “That’s what art should do. Nice work.”

As the meeting progresses, Kai outlines the group’s next focus: philosophy. He holds up a copy of Sophie’s World.

“This book will challenge you,” he declares. “If you’re ready to think for yourselves, that is.”

Your heart skips. Sophie’s World. Your favorite book. Before you can second-guess yourself, you raise your hand.

Kai’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if sizing you up. “You’ve read it?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice steadier than expected.

“Excellent,” he says simply. “Then you’ll lead the discussion next time.”

Your stomach flips. Lead the discussion? But before you can protest, he moves on, his attention already elsewhere. As the meeting concludes, the others disperse, murmuring about travel plans for a literary conference Kai has planned. You linger, torn between intrigue and unease, until Kai approaches.

“How was your first day?” he asks, his voice low but direct.

“Different,” you admit cautiously. “Safer.”

His lips twitch into a faint, almost mocking smile. “Safe isn’t the word I’d use. But don’t worry—I won’t let anyone mess with you. Not here.”

The promise feels both comforting and unsettling, his intensity wrapping around you like a storm cloud. You look up at him, trying to read the man behind the enigmatic smile, but all you find is mystery.

“I appreciate that,” you say softly. “It means a lot.”

Kai rests a firm hand on your shoulder, his presence both comforting and disconcerting. “You’ve endured more than most people could handle,” he says, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of authority. “That takes strength. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. If something’s wrong—anything—come to me. Do you understand?”

You nod, words failing you under the weight of his intense gaze.

“Good,” he says, his lips curling into a faint, almost wolfish smile. “Now, about the trip. Will you join us? We need you there. I need you there.”

“I’ll think about it,” you reply cautiously, the doubt lingering in your tone despite yourself.

Kai leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re safe now. With me. Whatever decision you make, I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time in years, you entertain the thought that his words might be true.

“I’ll think about it,”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Here,” he says, holding it toward you. “My number. Call or text me anytime—day or night. No hesitation.”

You type the number into your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you save it under his name.

“We meet every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday,” Kai continues, his tone growing lighter, almost casual. “Be there. You’re part of this now.”

By the time you’re home, the weight of everything is still pressing on your chest, but a decision begins to crystallize in your mind. Maybe this trip is the first step toward reclaiming your life. Kai's words, though sharp and commanding, carried a conviction that felt solid—unshakeable. Maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different.

The next day arrived, and to your surprise, you found yourself striking up a connection with two members of the group—Ally and Winter. Their warmth and kindness is a stark contrast to the rest of the group’s hardened edges. They asked about your story, how you ended up there, and seemed genuinely interested. Their easy laughter and acceptance were disarming, and for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of belonging.

But even as you laughed with them, your eyes kept drifting toward Kai. He stood at the front of the room, commanding attention without effort, his voice steady, words sharp and deliberate. He spoke of loyalty, trust, and a brighter future with a fervor that ignited something in everyone present. His presence was magnetic, and every subtle gesture seemed calculated to draw you in—the way he brushed his hand through his blue hair or tilted his head slightly as he listened. The way he narrowed his eyes and relaxed when you spoke the most insignificant comment.

It was then that you noticed his hands—more specifically, the absence of a wedding ring. Was he single? Did he want to be? You felt an ember of hope spark within you, one that you immediately tried to extinguish.

You cursed yourself for it. This was supposed to be a fresh start—a chance to rebuild, to let go of old patterns and distractions. But Kai… there was something about him that made it nearly impossible to look away. You just wanted the same fingers he flicked the pages so deep that he's knuckles could fuck you just right. Like only Kai Anderson would provide.

And as you watched him meet your gaze from across the room, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips, you couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew.

The day of the trip arrived faster than you’d expected. You packed your things carefully, boarding the bus early to secure a seat near the middle. Ally and Winter sat a few rows ahead, laughing softly, completely absorbed in each other. To maintain your solitude, you placed your backpack on the seat beside you, an unspoken barrier to anyone who might attempt to join you.

As the bus rumbled to life, Kai began moving down the aisle, his sharp eyes scanning the group. When he reached your seat, he stopped, his gaze lingering on you. “Comfortable?” he asked, resting a hand on the back of your seat, his voice low and measured.

“Yes, thank you,” you replied, startled by his sudden proximity.

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t look comfortable. Something on your mind?”

“No, it’s fine,” you sat quickly, trying to steady your voice.

Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. “You know,” he said softly, almost conspiratorially, “it’s okay to feel uneasy. But remember, you’re here for a reason. And so am I.”

Before you could respond, he straightened and moved on, leaving you with a mix of unease and curiosity.

The trip unfolded smoothly. You were assigned to share a hotel room with Ally and Winter, their easy humor and affection making the unfamiliar setting more bearable.

The presentation at the school was a success—Beverly took charge with her natural charisma, while Ally impressed the audience with her insights. You watched from the sidelines, clapping when appropriate, but a sense of detachment lingered. Even as others celebrated, you felt like an outsider, still unsure of your place within the group.

On the way back to the hotel, the bus buzzed with laughter and conversation about the day’s accomplishments. You sat quietly, staring at your hands, your thoughts weighed down by doubts and memories you couldn’t quite shake.

Kai noticed. As the group disembarked and began heading inside, he fell into step beside you, his hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets. “You’ve been quiet,” he remarked, his tone calm but probing.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It’s nothing,”

Kai stopped walking, turning to face you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “It’s not nothing,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Tell me.”

“It’s just… people,” you admitted after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Being around them. It’s hard to let go of… everything.”

Kai stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Listen to me,” he ordered softly, his hands resting firmly on your shoulders. “Whatever happened before, it doesn’t matter now. This group—I—will protect you. No one will hurt you again. You’re here because you’re strong, even if you don’t see it yet. Do you understand?”

The sincerity in Kai's voice broke something inside you. The walls you’d so carefully built cracked, and the tears came before you could stop them.

“I was so scared,” you choked out, the words spilling freely now. “I’m still scared. Every time I think about it, it’s like I’m back there. I get so anxious, so nervous...I cry all the time and I don't even know why. I developed depression, panic attacks. All the fucking shit.”

Kai stepped forward without hesitation, pulling you into an embrace that was firm and almost possessive. His arms wrapped around you tightly, grounding you in the present. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. “Let it out. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. His shirt smelled faintly of cologne and something earthy, the scent oddly comforting.

He rested his chin lightly on your head, his fingers running gently through your hair. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly, his voice carrying a dangerous kind of warmth. “You’re mine to protect now, and I’ll do anything to keep you safe. My little angel.”

You stiffened slightly at the term, unsure how to respond. “I’m not used to this,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I don’t even know how to handle it.”

Kai leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his hands gripping your shoulders with a calculated tenderness. “Then start getting used to it,” he lit, his gaze intense and unwavering, almost fatherly. “You’re strong, smarter than most people here, and whether you see it or not, you’re special. You deserve more than the scraps life’s thrown at you.”

“Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling with confusion. “Why are you doing this for me?”

Kai’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. His hands moved to gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in a motion that was both soothing and deliberate, almost like his life depended on your tears being collected only by him “Because I see potential in you. You belong here—with me. I don’t just let anyone in, you know. You’ve earned this.”

You felt your heart race as his words sank in. His unwavering focus was overwhelming, and yet, part of you didn’t want to look away, as he was inside your soul.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he continued, his voice softening slightly. “You’ve already proven you’re more than capable. I admire that.”

You managed a weak laugh, brushing at your damp cheeks. “I’m just… me. I don’t think I’m anything special.”

Kai’s gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he muttered firmly. “You’re more than you know. And I’ll make sure you see it, too.”

The air between you shifted, thick with an unspoken tension. His hands lingered on your face, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back up to meet your gaze.

“Kai…” you started, unsure of what you were even trying to say.

You couldn’t help but glance at his lips, and you knew he noticed. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in closer, his movements calculated yet unhurried. All he did was control. His nose brushing against yours, eyes focused as a silent question remained in the atmosphere. Your breath hitched, but you managed to nod, the air inexistent. Permission conceded, but he knew before even you were aware of that.

Kai’s smile deepened, his gaze locking onto yours as if he was daring you to look away. Slowly, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both gentle and possessive. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss slightly. It was better than you imagined. It was perfect, passionate, Kai.

You gripped his jacket instinctively, your mind spinning as you surrendered to the moment. The kiss was charged, filled with a quiet intensity that made it impossible to think of anything else.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his eyes searched your face, reading your reaction. A flicker of something softer crossed his expression—a rare glimpse of vulnerability.

But just as quickly, it was gone. He smirked faintly, his thumb brushing over your jawline. “See?” he said, gently. “You’re stronger than you think. You’re meant for more than just surviving.”

He stepped back slightly, leaving you breathless and unsure of how to respond. You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to comfort or control. Perhaps they were both.

Eventually, you forced your legs to move, retreating to your own room where the girls were already chatting about the day. You barely heard them as you sank onto your bed, your mind racing.

“Hey, are you okay? Saw you talking to Kai and got worried,” Ally added, concerned.

“Yeah, I just… need to sleep,” you replied sadly, turning your face to the wall.

Flabbergasted, you touched your lips, feeling the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth despite the whirlwind of emotions. What had just happened?

The way back on the bus felt like torture. Kai’s eyes lingered on you too often, yet every time you met his gaze, he turned away, as if the weight of the previous night hung between you like an unspoken secret.

To distract yourself, you talked more with Winter. She was incredibly kind, the type of person who made you feel at ease. Most of the trip, he gushed about her girlfriend, his tone light and affectionate, which made you giggle at the lovergirl. Still, the conversation only made your heart tremble more—how could you sit here, laughing with Kai’s sister, knowing you’d kissed him the night before? That you wanted more than this.

By the time you returned to the book club room, exhaustion and unease had taken over. You collapsed onto the soft, red-carpeted floor of the room, feeling nauseous from the trip. Ally and Winter stayed behind for a while, hovering with concern. Harrison even stopped by to hand you some medicine, Beverly surprised with a snack he bought.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Ally asked as she stood by the door.

You nodded weakly. “Thanks, Ally. I just need to rest a bit.”

One by one, they all left, leaving you alone in the quiet room. The warmth of the carpet under your cheek and the hum of the air conditioner lulled you into a restless sleep. You didn’t even notice when the door opened again, the faint creak blending into your dreams. It wasn’t until you felt a hand lightly touch your shoulder that you stirred awake.

“Hey…” A familiar voice broke through the haze. “Feeling better?”

You blinked groggily, your vision focusing on Kai, who was crouched beside you, his face etched with worry as he caressed your hair lovingly.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “… kind of,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed your lingering fatigue.

His presence sent a jolt through you. The memory of his lips on yours the night before flashed vividly in your mind, and your eyes instinctively darted to his mouth.

He noticed, quickly ran a hand through his hair, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before vanishing. “We, uh…” He cleared his throat, his voice unusually hesitant. “We need to talk about… about last night.”

The air in the room grew impossibly still. Your heart pounded in your chest as his words hung between you. You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Kai shifted, moving to sit on the carpet next to you. His hands rested casually on his knees, though his posture was tense. His dark eyes bore into yours with a mix of intensity and something else you couldn’t place.

He started, his tone measured but low. “I don’t usually do that. I shouldn’t have. You’re…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t fair.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, his fingers steady yet commanding.

“I don’t want you to feel confused or cornered,” he continued, his voice softening slightly. “I’d never hurt you. That’s not my style. But last night… that was on me. I pushed too far. I need meditation to control myself.”

His words were sincere, but they felt like a storm brewing inside you. You clenched your hands together, unsure of how to respond.

“I didn’t feel unsafe,” you add finally, your voice steady but quiet. “I—” You hesitated, the confession trembling on your lips. “I… wanted it.”

Kai’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his usual composed mask returned. A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips, but this time, it felt like it held a darker edge.

“You wanted it,” he repeated. He leaned closer, his gaze never wavering. “Interesting.”

You nodded, your cheeks heating under his intense gaze. “I didn’t want to say this, but… I’m attracted to you, Kai,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I'm sorry.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, the tension between you felt electric. But then he chuckled softly, a dry, almost bitter laugh as he stood abruptly. “That’s… complicated,” he said, pacing a few steps away. “You’re here to find yourself, to rebuild, not to—” He stopped mid-sentence, his back turned to you.

“Not to what?” you pressed, rising to your feet despite the lingering dizziness.

He turned back to you sharply, his eyes blazing with conflict. “Not to get tangled up in… this,” he said, gesturing between the two of you, his voice firm but laced with something unspoken.

You stared at him, your emotions swirling uncontrollably. “You mean… whatever we are?”

His eyes searched yours, his desire evident. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Who cares about what we are, labels are for the weak.” he admitted. “But I do know this—you mean more to me than you think. I want you, and it's not in a professional way, just I wanna fucking kiss you on this carpet.”

His words left you breathless, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the weight of his confession settling over the room. His curse echoing in his mind, it went off the lips of the most cultured man you’ve ever met.

“I don't care about it,” you said softly. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Kai closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. “Neither do I,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Fuck, I really don't.’

The room felt charged again, but this time, he didn’t linger. Kai’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. His gaze searched yours, not for permission—he’d already asked in his own way. He took a step closer and cupped your head to catch your lips in a rough kiss.

You corresponded, anchoring your body on his, kneeling on the carpet while he bent, devoured your lips carnally, biting as he wrapped your hair on his hands like a messy ponytail, pulling it to show your neck for his teeth to mark the sensitive skin.

“You know how much I wanted to feel you?” He groaned on your ear, biting your earlobe as he squeezed your hip. “I had to jerk off after our little kiss, thinking about your pretty mouth on my cock.”

He whispered his lewd confession while his hand snaked from your hip to your throat, digging his fingers making you gulp for air. “Yeah, I imagined you choking on my cock while doing it, just like this.”

“Kai…” you mewl, his hand instantly moving from your throat to get your oxygen back while it moved to the back of your neck.

“m sorry, my dear.” He whispered with a dangerous sweet voice on the crook of your neck, kissing gently as an apology carried in his strong words. “I forgot how fragile you are. I'll take proper care of you, you want that?”

“Uh-huh” you cooed, looking at him with narrow eyes filled with desire. You wanted more, infinitely more. You wanted those fat fingers dug in your ass reddened by his slaps. Raw, like your desire for him. “Please”

Instead, he kissed you gently, his tongue catching yours in a slow soft dance, interrupted only by him passing your shirt over your head. Coming back while he unclips your bra, letting it sit somewhere on the floor. Irritated by his delicacy on your breast, you break the kiss to add.

“I'm not a porcelain doll, Kai. I want it—”

“Shhh” he shushed with his fingertip with a mocking chuckle that made you feel self-conscious.“You really think you can handle it? Please, my darling. You were a cry baby all the trip. I had to look after you all the time like your daddy, I had to ask my sister to be your friend so I had another eye on you. You just can’t help yourself.”

Embarrassment took care of you with his note. A cry baby, that's what you were and always will be. Taking all his time and attention to you. “I'm sorry if I bothered. I didn't mean it…”

“No, my dear. You didn't bother me.” he interrupted again, pecking your lips. “I love to spoil you. Such a good girl following my instructions. So beautiful and obedient coming with swollen doe eyes and a heart in your hands.”

“Beautiful?” You echoed, furrowing your eyebrows.

He proceeds, pecking your forehead. “Lay, my dear. I'll show you my admiration for you.”

All you could do was nod, your voice caught in your throat, the tears threatening to fall over again. You lay on your back, watching him spread your legs to fit himself as he reached your face again to kiss your tears, humming when he stuck his tongue savoring the salty liquid. A fire flicking on the edge of loving care and primitive lust.

Finally, you managed to whisper, “Thank you… for seeing me.”

“How could I not see? You're so pretty when you cry.” He breathed.

He leaned again, the kiss deepening as his hand slid to cradle the back of your neck, the other unbuttoned your jeans, getting you rid of the fabric by tossing on the floor. His forefinger touched the wet patch in your panties, grinning when you swallowed to hold the urge to cry, so pathetically opened for him. So easy for the only man who took care of you.

“You wont call me daddy, this shit if fucking weird.” he inquired, peeling off the fabric to move in your glasting folds. “You’ll call me your divine ruler and take everything like a good girl, okay?”

“Okay…” You replied, receiving a harsh slap on your left thigh, ripping a dying squeak out of you.

“I didn't hear it.” He mocked, caressing your red mark as he bit your jaw so hard that his teeth remarked as your answer.

“Okay, divine ruler.” you breathed, nodding and gulping.

“Yes…yes…that's it.” He smiled, lifting his face to kiss your eyes. “Now, could you tell your ruler how much you wanna be spoiled?”

“Yes, ruler.” You replied, the tears flowing between happiness and shame for your masochism, sinfully wet. “Please, take care of me.”

“That's my girl.” His thumb brushed away a stray tear, his touch was tender even on your clit stimulated by small circles, chuckling when you shivered. “So worked up, already? Cute.”

Kai leaves your needy bud to reach his belt buckle, giving enough space to his cock to sprung out of his dark jeans, pumping himself a few times before placing his tip, stretching you perfectly with resistance, because, well… he was painfully thicker than any other partner. You arch your back crying out again. “Ruler, it's too much.”

“Just relax for your master, hm?” he groaned, kissing your forehead, sustained by his palms on each side of your head on the carpet. “fuck, you're so tight, princess. You know how much I thought about you crying on my cock while I'm stretching your pussy? ”

He went deep inside you enough to feel your cervix or even your core. You sob under him with more and more crying, that only made him push even harder inside you. You became a mess, moaning on his cock ripping your walls, shutting your eyes to get more of this painfully pleasure sensation. “It's so good, so good. More, please.”

He kisses you, chuckling with your hiccups and whiny moans. “God, princess. You're so spoiled, begging for my cock. A man gives you enough attention and you let him stretch you? What comes next…fuck…begging my cum to cure your fucking depression? Is that what you want?”

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.” you squeak, your mind and body losing all its ability, surrendered by pleasure.

“uhm… so polite. You're so beautiful, so delicious with this tight pussy” He praised, caressing your thighs as his cock strokes in a faster rhythm.

You scream, taking your thighs in your hands to get open for him, to get more pleasure, more pain, more him. Rolling your eyes back when he rocks your sweet spot, mumbling kittenish. “cum inside me, please.”

“Fuck, don't ask like this, almost came.” he grunts, his veiny cock being wrapped carefully by your needy velvety walls.

“Uhm…Don't ask what? To fill your princess?” You teased, squeezing his cock, a pretty squelching sound coming out that made him slap your ass. “God… like this.”

“I can't believe it. My baby likes to feel pain.” He noticed, feeling you clench your walls on his cock by his talk.

“Yes, yes, yes- hmmmm, fuck,” you screamed, giggling when he tapped your cheeks, closing your eyes to catch more of the pleasure of your cheeks burning and rough stimuli in your cunt.

“Open your fucking eyes.” He ordered, slapping your face again as he gripped on your throat. “You wasted my precious time” another slap, releasing your neck to slap your tits multiple times. “Pretending to be a fragile girl when you were just a slut?”

“Right there, I'm so close, Kai.” you whined, you were sure that at this point anyone could hear and you loved this. Somehow you wanted to be seen, people watching all the marks, reds and hickeys he planted on you, claiming you his.

“What? My princess is gonna cum? That's what you want? Cum in the fucking carpet of your book club?” he cooed, slapping your thigh when you closed your eyes, squeezing your face when you opened it. “Keep looking at me, God, I wish your mates could see the cunt you are.”

“yes-i wanna cum here. Please, let me cum.”

“Cum on my cock, crying like the fucking cry baby you are. Hmmm, so pretty, need to fill your pussy” he groans, spanking your ass, moaning by the sensation of your velvety walls clenching him. The slapping sounds, music in the room.

“m gonna cum m gonna cum” you scream, coming undone on his cock while he continually fucks you sloppy.

“Yeah, just like this.” He teased, rubbing your pearl as you toss and turn under him desperately.

“No, please. Too much…No, I can't- I can't take it, no-” You begged, trembling, interrupted by the same two fingers he got on your clit, inserted in your mouth.

“You'll fucking take it” he hisses, increasing his path. “Just shut up as i…fuck…fuck you right. And you're gonna cum again, you hear me?”

He commanded before taking his fingers soaked in your drool to rub your pearl again. You nod aggressively, purring, crying and shivering as you feel the wave again, like your whole body obeyed every single order of Kai.

“fuck I'm cumming.” he groans, fucking your pussy with his seed deposited deep on your cervix. After one more deep thrust, digging the last strand of his cum, he grinned, touching your foreheads together. He panted before pushing it back, laying by your side, the carpet drowning in fluids, pushing back his jeans.

“Kai.” You call, turning to face him. “I'm sorry.” The silence that followed was heavy, but when Kai finally spoke, his words were deliberate, his tone unwavering.

“I am the one who needs to apologize,” he said firmly, turning to face you fully.

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his voice, your heart pounding in your chest. “Why would you want to?” you whispered, your words barely audible.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer “My actions, I didn't treat you like you deserve. Shit, I fucked you on the carpet of the book club room, didn't even take you home.”

You hesitated before the words spilled out, unbidden and raw. “You do take care of me, more than I deserve.”

“Don't you ever say that again ” He commanded in a frown, softening his eyes as hugging your still naked figure. “You deserve much more. All the good things in the world. I'll work to make sure you get all of that.”

“Okay…” you grinned as a happiness unknown by you filled the void inside your soul.

“I won't let anyone make you cry again. Even if I had to kill one of them.” He promised, lifting his pinky, smiling when you interlaced yours on his. “And if you need to cry, just cry on my cock. Pleasure tears are the one I allow and i'll make a collection of them. "

@plutism divider

#kai anderson x y/n #kai anderson x you #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you #ahs #ahs cult #winter anderson

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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The New York Times once dubbed the Princeton professor Robert George, who has guided Republican elites for decades, “the reigning brain of the Christian right.” Last year, he issued a stark warning to his ideological allies. “Each time we think the horrific virus of anti-Semitism has been extirpated, it reappears,” he wrote in May 2023. “A plea to my fellow Catholics—especially Catholic young people: Stay a million miles from this evil. Do not let it infect your thinking.” When I spoke with George that summer, he likened his sense of foreboding to that of Heinrich Heine, the 19th-century German poet who prophesied the rise of Nazism in 1834.

Some 15 months later, the conservative commentator Tucker Carlson welcomed a man named Darryl Cooper onto his web-based show and introduced him to millions of followers as “the best and most honest popular historian in the United States.” The two proceeded to discuss how Adolf Hitler might have gotten a bad rap and why British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was “the chief villain of the Second World War.”

Hitler tried “to broadcast a call for peace directly to the British people” and wanted to “work with the other powers to reach an acceptable solution to the Jewish problem,” Cooper elaborated in a social-media post. “He was ignored.” Why the Jews should have been considered a “problem” in the first place—and what a satisfactory “solution” to their inconvenient existence might be—was not addressed.

Some Republican politicians spoke out against Carlson’s conversation with Cooper, and many historians, including conservative ones, debunked its Holocaust revisionism. But Carlson is no fringe figure. His show ranks as one of the top podcasts in the United States; videos of its episodes rack up millions of views. He has the ear of Donald Trump and spoke during prime time at the 2024 Republican National Convention. His anti-Jewish provocations are not a personal idiosyncrasy but the latest expression of an insurgent force on the American right—one that began to swell when Trump first declared his candidacy for president and that has come to challenge the identity of the conservative movement itself.

Anti-Semitism has always existed on the political extremes, but it began to migrate into the mainstream of the Republican coalition during the Trump administration. At first, the prejudice took the guise of protest.

In 2019, hecklers pursued the Republican congressman Dan Crenshaw—a popular former Navy SEAL from Texas—across a tour of college campuses, posing leading questions to him about Jews and Israel, and insinuating that the Jewish state was behind the 9/11 attacks. The activists called themselves “Groypers” and were led by a young white supremacist named Nick Fuentes, an internet personality who had defended racial segregation, denied the Holocaust, and participated in the 2017 rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, where marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us.”

The slogan referred to a far-right fantasy known as the “Great Replacement,” according to which Jews are plotting to flood the country with Black and brown migrants in order to displace the white race. That belief animated Robert Bowers, who perpetrated the largest massacre of Jews on American soil at a Pittsburgh synagogue in 2018 after sharing rants about the Great Replacement on social media. The Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the gunman wrote in his final post, “likes to bring invaders in that kill our people … Screw your optics, I’m going in.”

Less than three years later, Carlson sanitized that same conspiracy theory on his top-rated cable-news show. “They’re trying to change the population of the United States,” the Fox host declared, “and they hate it when you say that because it’s true, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.” Like many before him, Carlson maintained plausible deniability by affirming an anti-Semitic accusation without explicitly naming Jews as culprits. He could rely on members of his audience to fill in the blanks.

Carlson and Fuentes weren’t the only ones who recognized the rising appeal of anti-Semitism on the right. On January 6, 2021, an influencer named Elijah Schaffer joined thousands of Trump supporters storming the U.S. Capitol, posting live from House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office. Eighteen months later, Schaffer publicly polled his hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers: “Do you believe Jews disproportionately control the world institutions, banks, & are waging war on white, western society?” Social-media polls are not scientific, so the fact that more than 70 percent of respondents said some version of “yes” matters less than the fact that 94,000 people participated in the survey. Schaffer correctly gauged that this subject was something that his audience wanted to discuss, and certainly not something that would hurt his career.

With little fanfare, the tide had turned in favor of those advancing anti-Semitic arguments. In 2019, Fuentes and his faction were disrupting Republican politicians like Crenshaw. By 2022, Fuentes was shaking hands onstage with Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene and dining with Trump at Mar-a-Lago. In 2019, the Groyper activists were picketing events held by Turning Point USA, the conservative youth organization founded by the activist Charlie Kirk. By 2024, Turning Point was employing—and periodically firing and denouncing—anti-Semitic influencers who appeared at conventions run by Fuentes. “The Zionist Jews controlling our planet are all pedophiles who have no regard for the sanctity of human life and purity,” one of the organization’s ambassadors posted before she was dismissed.

In 2020, Carlson’s lead writer, Blake Neff, was compelled to resign after he was exposed as a regular contributor to a racist internet forum. Today, he produces Kirk’s podcast and recently reported alongside him at the Republican National Convention. “Why does Turning Point USA keep pushing anti-Semitism?” asked Erick Erickson, the longtime conservative radio host and activist, last October. The answer: Because that’s what a growing portion of the audience wants.

“When I began my career in 2017,” Fuentes wrote in May 2023, “I was considered radioactive in the American Right for my White Identitarian, race realist, ‘Jewish aware,’ counter-Zionist, authoritarian, traditional Catholic views … In 2023, on almost every count, our previously radioactive views are pounding on the door of the political mainstream.” Fuentes is a congenital liar, but a year after this triumphalist pronouncement, his basic point is hard to dispute. Little by little, the extreme has become mainstream—especially since October 7.

Last December, Tucker Carlson joined the popular anti-establishment podcast Breaking Points to discuss the Gaza conflict and accused a prominent Jewish political personality of disloyalty to the nation. “They don’t care about the country at all,” he told the host, “but I do … because I’m from here, my family’s been here hundreds of years, I plan to stay here. Like, I’m shocked by how little they care about the country, including the person you mentioned. And I can’t imagine how someone like that could get an audience of people who claim to care about America, because he doesn’t, obviously.”

The twist: “He” was not some far-left activist who had called America an irredeemably racist regime. Carlson was referring to Ben Shapiro, arguably the most visible Jewish conservative in America, and insinuating that despite his decades of paeans to American exceptionalism, Shapiro was a foreign implant secretly serving Israeli interests. The podcast host did not object to Carlson’s remarks.

The war in Gaza has placed Jews and their role in American politics under a microscope. Much has been written about how the conflict has divided the left and led to a spike in anti-Semitism in progressive spaces, but less attention has been paid to the similar shake-up on the right, where events in the Middle East have forced previously subterranean tensions to the surface. Today, the Republican Party’s establishment says that it stands with Israel and against anti-Semitism, but that stance is under attack by a new wave of insurgents with a very different agenda.

Since October 7, in addition to slurring Shapiro, Carlson has hosted a parade of anti-Jewish guests on his show. One was Candace Owens, the far-right podcaster known for her defenses of another anti-Jewish agitator, Kanye “Ye” West. Owens had already clashed with her employer—the conservative outlet The Daily Wire, co-founded by Shapiro—over her seeming indifference to anti-Semitism. But after the Hamas assault, she began making explicit what had previously been implicit—including liking a social-media post that accused a rabbi of being “drunk on Christian blood,” a reference to the medieval blood libel. The Daily Wire severed ties with her soon after. But this did not remotely curb her appeal.

Today, Owens can be found fulminating on her YouTube channel (2.4 million subscribers) or X feed (5.6 million followers) about how a devil-worshipping Jewish cult controls the world, and how Israel was complicit in the 9/11 attacks and killed President John F. Kennedy. Owens has also jumped aboard the Reich-Rehabilitation Express. “What is it about Hitler? Why is he the most evil?” she asked in July. “The first thing people would say is: ‘Well, an ethnic cleansing almost took place.’ And now I offer back: ‘You mean like we actually did to the Germans.’”

“Many Americans are learning that WW2 history is not as black and white as we were taught and some details were purposefully omitted from our textbooks,” she wrote after Carlson’s Holocaust conversation came under fire. The post received 15,000 likes.

Donald Trump’s entry into Republican politics intensified several forces that have contributed to the rise of anti-Semitism on the American right. One was populism, which pits the common people against a corrupt elite. Populists play on discontents that reflect genuine failures of the establishment, but their approach also readily maps onto the ancient anti-Semitic canard that clandestine string-pulling Jews are the source of society’s problems. Once people become convinced that the world is oppressed by an invisible hand, they often conclude that the hand belongs to an invisible Jew.

Another such force is isolationism, or the desire to extricate the United States from foreign entanglements, following decades of debacles in the Middle East. But like the original America First Committee, which sought to keep the country out of World War II, today’s isolationists often conceive of Jews as either rootless cosmopolitans undermining national cohesion or dual loyalists subverting the national interest in service of their own. In this regard, the Tucker Carlsons of 2024 resemble the reactionary activists of the 1930s, such as the aviator Charles Lindbergh, who infamously accused Jewish leaders of acting “for reasons which are not American,” and warned of “their large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.”

Populism and isolationism have legitimate expressions, but preventing them from descending into anti-Semitism requires leaders willing to restrain their movement’s worst instincts. Today’s right has fewer by the day. Trump fundamentally refuses to repudiate anyone who supports him, and by devolving power from traditional Republican elites and institutions to a diffuse array of online influencers, the former president has ensured that no one is in a position to corral the right’s excesses, even if someone wanted to.

As one conservative columnist put it to me in August 2023, “What you’re actually worried about is not Trump being Hitler. What you’re worried about is Trump incentivizing anti-Semites,” to the point where “a generation from now, you’ve got Karl Lueger,” the anti-Jewish mayor of Vienna who inspired Hitler, “and two generations from now, you do have something like that.” The accelerant that is social-media discourse, together with a war that brings Jews to the center of political attention, could shorten that timeline.

For now, the biggest obstacle to anti-Semitism’s ascent on the right is the Republican rank and file’s general commitment to Israel, which causes them to recoil when people like Owens rant about how the Jewish state is run by a cabal of satanic pedophiles. Even conservatives like Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance, a neo-isolationist who opposes foreign aid to Ukraine, are careful to affirm their continued support for Israel, in deference to the party base.

But this residual Zionism shields only Israeli Jews from abuse, not American ones—and it certainly does not protect the large majority of American Jews who vote for Democrats. This is why Trump suffers no consequences in his own coalition when he rails against “liberal Jews” who “voted to destroy America.” But such vilification won’t end there. As hard-core anti-Israel activists who have engaged in anti-Semitism against American Jews have demonstrated, most people who hate one swath of the world’s Jews eventually turn on the rest. “If I don’t win this election,” Trump said last week, “the Jewish people would have a lot to do with a loss.”

More than populism and isolationism, the force that unites the right’s anti-Semites and explains why they have been slowly winning the war for the future of conservatism is conspiracism. To see its power in practice, one need only examine the social-media posts of Elon Musk, which serve as a window into the mindset of the insurgent right and its receptivity to anti-Semitism.

Over the past year, the world’s richest man has repeatedly shared anti-Jewish propaganda on X, only to walk it back following criticism from more traditional conservative quarters. In November, Musk affirmed the Great Replacement theory, replying to a white nationalist who expressed it with these words: “You have said the actual truth.” After a furious backlash, the magnate recanted, saying, “It might be literally the worst and dumbest post I’ve ever done.” Musk subsequently met with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and accompanied Ben Shapiro on a trip to Auschwitz, but the lesson didn’t quite take. Earlier this month, he shared Carlson’s discussion of Holocaust revisionism with the approbation: “Very interesting. Worth watching.” Once again under fire, he deleted the tweet and apologized, saying he’d listened to only part of the interview.

But this lesson is also unlikely to stick, because like many on the new right, Musk is in thrall to a worldview that makes him particularly susceptible to anti-Jewish ideas. Last September, not long before Musk declared the “actual truth” of the Great Replacement, he participated in a public exchange with a group of rabbis, activists, and Jewish conservatives. The discussion was intended as an intervention to inoculate Musk against anti-Semitism, but early on, he said something that showed why the cause was likely lost before the conversation even began. “I think,” Musk cracked, “we’re running out of conspiracy theories that didn’t turn out to be true.”

The popularity of such sentiments among contemporary conservatives explains why the likes of Carlson and Owens have been gaining ground and old-guard conservatives such as Shapiro and Erickson have been losing it. Simply put, as Trump and his allies have coopted the conservative movement, it has become defined by a fundamental distrust of authority and institutions, and a concurrent embrace of conspiracy theories about elite cabals. And the more conspiratorial thinking becomes commonplace on the right, the more inevitable that its partisans will land on one of the oldest conspiracies of them all.

Conspiratorial thinking is neither new to American politics nor confined to one end of the ideological spectrum. But Trump has made foundational what was once marginal. Beginning with birtherism and culminating in election denialism, he turned anti-establishment conspiracism into a litmus test for attaining political power, compelling Republicans to either sign on to his claims of 2020 fraud or be exiled to irrelevance.

The fundamental fault line in the conservative coalition became whether someone was willing to buy into ever more elaborate fantasies. The result was to elevate those with flexible approaches to facts, such as Carlson and Owens, who were predisposed to say and do anything—no matter how hypocritical or absurd—to obtain influence. Once opened, this conspiratorial box could not be closed. After all, a movement that legitimizes crackpot schemes about rigged voting machines and microchipped vaccines cannot simply turn around and draw the line at the Jews.

For mercenary opportunists like Carlson, this moment holds incredible promise. But for Republicans with principles—those who know who won the 2020 election, or who was the bad guy in World War II, and can’t bring themselves to say otherwise—it’s a time of profound peril. And for Jews, the targets of one of the world’s deadliest conspiracy theories, such developments are even more forboding.

“It is now incumbent on all decent people, and especially those on the right, to demand that Carlson no longer be treated as a mainstream figure,” Jonathan Tobin, the pro-Trump conservative editor of the Jewish News Syndicate, wrote after Carlson’s World War II episode. “He must be put in his place, and condemned by Trump and Vance.”

Anti-Semitism’s ultimate victory in GOP politics is not assured. Musk did delete his tweets, Owens was fired, and some Republicans did condemn Carlson’s Holocaust segment. But beseeching Trump and his camp to intervene here mistakes the cause for the cure.

Three days after Carlson posted his Hitler apologetics, Vance shrugged off the controversy and recorded an interview with him, and this past Saturday, the two men yukked it up onstage at a political event in Pennsylvania before an audience of thousands. Such coziness should not surprise, given that Carlson was reportedly instrumental in securing the VP slot for the Ohio senator. Asked earlier if he took issue with Carlson’s decision to air the Holocaust revisionism, Vance retorted, “The fundamental idea here is Republicans believe not in censorship; we believe in free speech and debate.” He conveniently declined to use his own speech to debate Carlson’s.

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