#Fanfiction reference

[hexiewrites]

carve your name into my chest: hockey glossary

(read the fic on ao3!)

terms

All-Stars: marking the midway point of the season in early February, a weekend where players compete in various skills challenges on Friday night and then play in a divisional championship on Saturday, with teams made up of members from each division.

Barn burner: an intense or faced paced or just truly exciting game from start to finish. 

Battle of the Blades: A Canadian TV show that pairs up experienced figure skaters with (retired) hockey players in a Dancing with the Stars style pairs figure skating competition. (yes, this is real and you can watch clips on youtube)

Beaut: hockey slang, short for beauty/beautiful. great, awesome, etc. 'a beaut of a goal' is 'a fucking awesome goal'.

Bench / box: where players who aren’t currently on the ice sit and wait for their turn to play. Some players spend most of the game on the bench, others rotate out more frequently. Players taking a penalty are also “benched”.

Calder Trophy: Awarded to the best rookie in the NHL.

CBC: the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, the oldest and largest broadcasting network in Canada.

Check: a defensive technique aimed towards a player who is in possession of the puck. there are many forms of checks, though the most commonly known is when a player uses his shoulders and hips to knock the other player into the boards, separating him from the puck.

Chirping (or chirps): teasing, making fun of, specifically in a witty or particularly cutting remark. Also called sniping, sometimes.

Chute: Where players line up to wait before they take the ice.

Crease: the blue area directly in front of the net. Other players cannot make contact with the goalie inside of the crease.

Deke / deking: Short for decoy. A type of feint where the player who has the puck acts in a way to confuse another player, typically a defenseman or goalie.

Dusters: players who don’t get much play time, they gather dust on the bench. Also used to call players losers or as just a general insult.

D zone: the defense zone, the area behind the blue line that contains each teams nets.

Face off: beginning of the game/period/play. The ref will drop the puck between two players, who use their sticks to try to gain control of the puck.

Five hole: the space between a goalie’s legs.

Gretzky / Ovechkin / Howe: Wayne Gretzky, Alex Ovechkin, Gordie Howe. Three of the greatest hockey players in the world, and so far the only three NHL players to score over 800 career goals.

Hat trick: when one player scores three goals in one game. At the end of the game, the audience throws all their hats onto the ice in celebration.

Instigator: all players involved in fights receive 5 minute "major" penalties, but the person who is deemed to have started the fight (by being the aggressor, removing their gloves first, or another reason) is given an additional 2 minute minor penalty. the NHL is the most lenient league in terms of allowing fighting.

Jumper: a hockey jersey, your team uniform.

Lamplighter: a goal, named after the lamp that lights up behind the net to indicate the puck has gone in.

Line: either offensive or defensive, the players you skate the most with in your "shift" on the ice (a three man offensive line includes a center and both a right and left wing; a defensive line has two players).

Period: hockey games have three twenty minute periods of play, separated by two fifteen minute intermissions.

Playoffs: the Stanley Cup Playoffs. in each division (grouping of regional teams), the top three teams (plus an additional two wild card teams per conference) have the opportunity to skate in the playoff season.

Plexi: the clear barrier above the boards which stops flying pucks from hitting audience members.

Powerplay: during a penalty where only one team has a skater benched, so the other team has their full team on the ice and thus one more player than the other team. this gives them an advantage and increased opportunity to score.

Rookie: a new player, their first year playing for the NHL.

Shutout: a game in which the goalie(s) stops all goals from entering the net.

Sin bin: the penalty box. players who commit penalties are “benched” for varying amounts of time based on the penalty (2, 5, and 10 minute long penalties exist for different infractions)

Slapshot: a powerful and highspeed shot. good for shooting from further away because of the speed, but is slower due to the need of the player to “wind up” and is often less accurate than, say, a wrist shot. fun fact: the goal is not to actually slap the puck, but to slap the ice behind the puck which bends the stick and stores up even more energy, which is then released when the stick connects with the puck, sending it flying at speeds of more than 160 km/h (that’s 100 miles per hour, for you non-Canadians)!

Snow: to snow someone. when you skate to a stop quickly in front of another player (usually a goalie) and send a cloud of ice chips (snow) into their face. if a goalie is snowed while they're on the ground, players can receive a penalty for this.

Stanley Cup: the hockey trophy to end all hockey trophies.

Ten and two: slang for when a player gets a ten minute penalty on top of a regular two minute penalty (often for instigating a fight or fighting dirty). A ten minute penalty is a game misdemeanour, and means the player is benched for the remainder of the game.

Three on Three: a variation style of hockey where there are only three players on the ice (plus a goalie) at any given time, compared to hockey’s usual five (plus goalie). typically the best strategy in a three on three game is to have two forwards and one defenseman. because there are less players, less of the ice is covered, so players can often keep the puck in possession longer. in the all-stars three on three games, they play two ten minute periods with one intermission in the middle, instead of the typical three twenty minute periods with two intermissions.

Timbit League: To summarize: one of the most famous Canadian institutions is the coffee & donut shop Tim Hortons (named after Canadian hockey player Tim Horton, who founded the chain). Their quality has gone majorly downhill in the last ten years, but I digress. At Tims, the small round "donut holes" are called "timbits", and they continue to be delicious. The Tim Hortons franchise is a major sponsor of youth camps and sports across Canada, mostly for kids under 9, which helps pay for equipment, uniforms, and more through fundraising, to ensure all kids have access to sports. Kids who play in these leagues are affectionately called Timbits, as they proudly show on their uniforms, and their leagues are Timbit Leagues.

Top shelf: the top area of the net, above the goalies shoulders.

Winter Classic: an outdoors game played around New Years.

teams

NHL: the National Hockey League, the major professional hockey league in North America. originally a Canadian league, hence the "National", it expanded into the states first with the Boston Bruins and now has over 32 teams between Canada and the US.

Eastern conference / Western conference: Groupings of teams that are close together regionally. All teams face all other teams in the NHL at least twice a season, but teams in the same conference will face each other many more times. They’re also vying for spots in the Stanley Cup Playoffs, as each conference can only send 8 teams (3 per division + 2 wild cards) based on the number of games they win and goals they score throughout the season. Conferences are divided up again into divisions, with Eastern having the Atlantic and Metropolitan divisions, and Western having Central and Pacific.

The Bruins: The Boston Bruins, a hockey team based in Boston. Also sometimes called “the black and golds” for their team colours.

The Habs: The Montreal Canadiens nickname, for “les habitants” or maybe just “hockey” due to the confusing H in their logo.

Canucks: Hockey team: Vancouver Canucks.

Devils: Hockey team: New Jersey Devils.

Hurricanes: Hockey team: Carolina Hurricanes

Islanders: One of New York’s two hockey teams. The other is the New York Rangers.

Leafs: Hockey team: Toronto Maple Leafs. Worst team with the most rabid fan base, despite their constant proclivity to embarrass everyone by choking every year.

Oilers: Hockey team: Edmonton Oilers.

Panthers: Hockey team: Florida Panthers.

Penguins: Hockey team: Pittsburgh Penguins.

Sabres: Hockey team: Buffalo Sabres

Sens: Hockey team: Ottawa Senators. 

Toronto Six: Hockey team: a professional women's hockey team based out of Toronto. one of two Canadian teams in the Premier Hockey Foundation, which is the current professional women's league in North America.

[wouldyoustilllovemeifiwasawyrm]

Tears of the Kingdom NPC Master List

Lookout Landing

Hateno Village

Lurelin Village

Kakariko Village

Rito Village

Zora’s Domain

Goron City

Gerudo Town

Kara Kara Bazaar

Travelers

Stables

Zonai Survey Team

Korok Forest

(Will add links to this post as I create the lists)

[hannah-heartstrings]

I finally got some decent pictures of Garrus.

He's almost always standing in the throne room a.k.a. in the worst lighting, so I wasn't sure what color his hair actually was. I thought it was brown, but on the uesp page it looks blond, and when he's standing in direct light it looks red.

But I finally caught him in morning light on his way to work and I'm pretty sure that it is brown, but maybe an orange-ish brown? And shiny apparently.

Also what would you call that eye color? Light brown? That's maybe vaguely green-ish? I think I'll call it light hazel.

[parragone]

Grabs mic

Anyway

Barracks bunk assignments under the cut. Why? Well. Fanfic reasons and because if I don't write it down now I'll forget.

Format: Top Bunk - Bottom Bunk

--

Thatcher - Capitão ( Mute was formerly Thatcher's bunkmate, but Caveira threatened to castrate Capitão and now this is the arrangement. )

Sledge - Alibi ( Smoke begged to bunk with Maestro after their first boxing match. Alibi agreed, but only if she got bottom bunk )

Doc - Montagne ( it was immediately agreed upon, but they usually share one bunk anyway... )

Twitch - Rook ( the played rock paper scissors for who got which bunk )

Jäger - Bandit ( one of those "They're usually on the same bunk anyway" situations, but Jäger prefers to be high up )

IQ - Blitz ( there was a brawling match over top bunk. Blitz learned that IQ is weirdly good at pinning a man down when she wants something. )

Glaz - Tachanka ( Finka jokes that they put two tops in the same bunk. Kapkan continues to tell her to shut it )

Kapkan - Fuze ( in which Tachanka teases Kapkan for finally being a top in something and the hunter threatens to kick his ass )

Ash - Castle ( surprisingly easygoing )

Thermite - Pulse ( Thermite used to be bottom bunk but traded after Pulse rolled out in the middle of the night and needed medical attention for a broken nose )

Frost - Buck ( they're always talking. Always. Frost has 900 trains of thought at any given moment, send help. )

Blackbeard - Valkyrie ( Genuinely, they could sleep through a hurricane. Probably HAVE slept through a hurricane... )

Mute - Caveira ( they're besties, actually, and she does his makeup )

Hibana - Echo ( she actually volunteered for top bunk because he looked dejected at the idea of actually climbing into bed. She teases him about being lazy )

Mira - Jackal ( Jackal isn't even there most of the time. His bunk is the bottom bunk for ease of containment when he's captured )

Ying - Lesion ( this is primarily because Lesion knew better than to let anyone trade with her. )

Ela - Dokkaebi ( Doki continues to wonder if Ela actually uses her bunk )

Zofia - Vigil ( the not so easygoing bunk, this place is fucking immaculate at all times )

Finka - Lion ( much to his dismay )

Smoke - Maestro ( a disaster duo. One always has more bruises than the other. Mute continues to tease Smoke about sexual tension )

Maverick - Clash ( formerly inverse until the first time he had a night terror and punched her in the side through the mattress )

Nomad - Nokk ( nomad: I have a bunkmate??? )

Mozzie - Kaid ( Kaid refused to share with a woman, and his choice was respected. Unfortunately for Kaid, he doubted a man could be so... much. )

Amaru - Gridlock ( they're remarkably laid back, Amaru chats on and on about adventures, and Gridlock listens with a patient ear. )

Goyo- Warden ( Goyo complains that he got bunked with discount James Bond, Warden complaina that he got bunked with off-brand Indiana Jones. Everyone else laughs. )

[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes:

Updated 9th September 2024 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

Eating

Drinking

Warm/Hot

[darkwing-katy]

Decided to do a little bit of research for the LOST fic. At one point, my OC Evelyn winds up reading out loud to Sawyer from her favorite book, “The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon” by Stephen King (also totally my favorite book of his). It’s been a hot minute since I read the book myself, I was going off of my memories of it, but I ordered a used copy of it from Amazon and started reading it today to see if I could find fun parallels and things to reference in the fic (and tbh I’m trying to read more spooky things right now to help me add more unsettling creepiness to my original short story). I decided to time how long it would take me to read ten pages and math out how many pages Evelyn could read to Sawyer in roughly a two hour chunk.

Turns out, it takes me about 14 minutes—which I rounded up to 15 for easier math—to read ten pages. Which means that Evelyn could read roughly to page 90 (I’d have her stop at the new chapter on page 88 ‘cause that’s easier and that’s a lotta reading) in two-ish hours.

Why am I sharing this? Not because I think it’s important per se, but because I needed to write it down somewhere for future reference.

[not-that-syndrigast]

Wattpad physics; my sister and I don't only have a big age gap but also a big height gap, for a ten year old shes only 135cm/4'4ft. Well, my father is very big and wears 4XL (he's 195cm/6'5ft) and still, his hoodies barely go down her knees

[franziskamylove]

narumitsu fics from edgeworth’s pov are so funny because its mostly just him screaming punching the air wanting to kill himself over a guy who literally ate glass in college and constantly fucks up in court and then just goes "oopsies.. sorry judge. let me try that one again!!" and then pulls the wildest theory out his ass thats somehow correct every time.

[drivebypainter]

What’s this? A fan fiction written by yours truly?! Yes! It is!

50% of All Marriages End in Divorce by Teacat11

Rated: Mature

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Fake Pregnancy, Queer Platonic Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Obsessive Luo Binghe, Confused Mobei-jun, Tired Shen Yuan, Shang Qinghua & Shen Qingqiu Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Oblivious Shen Yuan, Awkard Kissing, Enthusiastic Kissing, Dubious Kissing, Delusional Thinking and Activities, Real Marriage, Happy Ending.

Summary:

"“Well it goes like this, if we get fake married it won't be suspicious to Mobei-jun or anyone else if we both wander off together to look for Moon-Dew Sun Mushrooms-“

“Sun-Moon Dew Mushrooms.”

“-and if one of us pretends to be pregnant-“

“WHEN DID PREGNANCY COME INTO PLAY?!”

“-then Luo Binghe won't hurt us, after all, he wouldn’t hurt a pregnant person or the pathetic husband of said pregnant person! Which means we could avoid having to die in the first place!” Shang Qinghua finished his explanation with jazz hands. Shen Qingqiu felt like spitting blood.

Or

Months after the Immortal Alliance Conference disaster, Shen Qingqiu learns a bit of crucial information: Shang Qinghua, the treacherous rat behind the disaster in the first place, is a transmigrator! The two immediately begin to work together to find ways to survive Luo Binghe's return and the subsequent demise of their sect and lives, and with few options and time running out, they come to a quick and easy solution to save their skins; get fake married."

[sas-soulwriter]

What to give a fuck about,while writing your first draft!

I`ve posted a list about things you don´t need to give a fuck about while writing your first draft. Here are things you NEED TO CARE about! (in my opinion)

Your Authentic Voice: Don't let the fear of judgment or comparison stifle your unique voice. I know it´s hard,but try to write from your heart, and don't worry about perfection in the first draft. Let your authenticity shine through your words.

Your Story, Your Way: It's your narrative, your world, and your characters. Don't let external expectations or trends dictate how your story should unfold. Write the story you want to tell.

Progress Over Perfection: Your first draft is not the final product; it's the raw material for your masterpiece. Give a fuck about making progress, not achieving perfection. Embrace imperfections and understand that editing comes later.

Consistency and Routine: Discipline matters. Make a commitment to your writing routine and stick to it.

Feedback and Growth: While it's essential to protect your creative space during the first draft, be open to constructive feedback later on. Giving a f*ck about growth means you're willing to learn from others and improve your work.

Self-Compassion: Mistakes, writer's block, and self-doubt are all part of the process. Give a f*ck about being kind to yourself. Don't beat yourself up if the words don't flow perfectly every time. Keep pushing forward and remember that writing is a journey.

Remember, the first draft is your canvas, your playground. Don't bog yourself down with unnecessary worries.

[starscreeam]

hello. jew here

dont write jewish characters if u know next to nothing about us or our culture/religion pls. if u want to write a jewish character (or any character outside the scope of your personal knowledge, honestly), you MUST take the time to read about us and our beliefs, customs, etc. im not saying u have to be an expert on the torah or the tanakh or the talmud, but u need to do at least the bare minimum. and google isnt always reliable, if u have questions u should carefully analyze which websites u use. or have a jew beta your fic/writing!

im just tired of seeing “this character is jewish :) u can tell because they celebrate hanukkah” and that is it for the jewish characterization. like i get that u ppl know nothing abt judaism except for hanukkah but u HAVE to do better than that. because ur essentially tokenizing the character as ur Jewish Representation and it shows.

again, im not saying ‘dont write that hanukkah scene’, or ‘dont try writing jews at all’.

what i AM saying is that u need to actually do ur part in understanding judaism a little bit more before u decide to write a jewish character. if ur not willing to do the research or ask the questions, dont bother writing us into ur stories.

[bambiraptorx]

Recently I found a list I made several months ago of Big Mama words that she uses in canon, so I thought I'd share it. (Note: this is not complete and the notes on meaning/use are limited by what I guessed from context.)

Biddily-boo: auction, bidding

Bimbally bugs: no particularly new meaning, her way of saying bugs

Contrapulation: complex object, contraption

Crackadoo: mess, disturbance

Dimbally door: no particularly new meaning, her way of saying door

Fantumptuous: very good, fabulous, amazing

Fizzy-winkle: mess, chaos

Fuggy-doodles: thieves

Hollydoo: apparently a sort of limb

Malutacious monsters: positive apparently

Meddle-doos: meddlers, irritants

Oh, giggily-pin: exclamation

Scramulent: good, pleasing (occasionally used sarcastically)

Scrumbulent: good, pleasing

Silly-billy: silly

Skanktonious: stinky, repulsive

Tissle-tassle: problem, possibly a little issue that gets bigger

Thrashy-diddle: fight

And I organized them alphabetically because it was fun. If anyone has more, feel free to add!

[justaz]

when merlin asks arthur for things, the king is usually inclined to give him what he wants but it is not always guaranteed such as when his emotions cloud his judgement. but merlin’s surefire way of getting arthur to give in? he steps into his space, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says “arthur, please” and he folds like a house of cards.

[scribendis]

𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Daemon Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, profanity, these two are SO horny, dirty talk, p in v sex, size kink ish, breeding kink ish, just a little bit of throat grabbing Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~5,100

Summary: Mere months after their wedding, Daemon left his young bride to join the War in the Stepstones. His victory and subsequent return to King's Landing three years later meant that his wife would never spend another night alone in their bed.

A/N: I hope all my Daemon girls out there enjoy! This one's dedicated to you! Also, this is barely proofread and not beta'd. Lordy help me. Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link | Wattpad link

Mini HV glossary for ~future reference: ābrazȳrītsos - little wife ñuha dōna - my sweet issa - yes

Prince Daemon Targaryen had not been her father’s first choice of husband for her. It had, in fact, been the lord’s intention to marry her - his youngest child and only daughter - to King Viserys following the death of his queen. The prospect of such an arrangement brought her immense pride, for her house would benefit greatly from the wealth and status that would follow. But, by the time their wheelhouse finally passed through the gates of King’s Landing, the marriage between the king and Lady Alicent Hightower had already been set in stone. 

The king had thus suggested that she wed his younger brother instead, a prospect that her lord father balked at at first. Prince Daemon’s reputation certainly preceded him. No man called the “Rogue” anything had any right to take his precious daughter to wife. But when the Rogue Prince placed a wreath of flowers on her head and proclaimed her the Queen of Love and Beauty upon winning the tourney held in celebration of the king’s wedding, her betrothal to him was all but assured. 

She allowed herself to be wooed by him and his devilish smile, feeling herself falling harder and harder for him each time she caught his gaze from across rooms and banquet tables. There could be one hundred people between them and their eyes would always seem to find one another. His, more often than not, studied far more than her pretty face, trailing downward to her ample breasts or the curve of her waist. 

She had been told that Daemon was no great lover of dancing, but he offered his hand to her during every occasion that had musicians in attendance. And that hand found itself, more often than not, wandering dangerously past her hips as they moved about the dance floor. She was blissfully unaware of the fact that the prince would fuck his fist each night afterward at the thought of the places his hands had touched and what they might look like once he tore her clothes from her body. 

It was no wonder, then, that Daemon made certain that she fulfilled her wifely duties as soon as they were wed. He was barely able to make it through their wedding feast without whisking her away to finally claim her. But that night, he ensured that the entire Red Keep knew exactly whose wife she was.

In those first days of their marriage, she felt that she hardly left their marriage bed. When her presence was required at court, she walked with such an ache in her thighs and between her legs that she wished she could lounge about in bed all day. Each morning, without fail, their shared chambers still held the warm, musky scent of their coupling from the night before. It lingered on the sheets and on her skin throughout the day, only encouraging her husband’s desires further once he returned to her side. 

But their time together, it turned out, would be short lived. She and Daemon had hardly been married for three moons before Lord Corlys Velaryon’s invitation to join his house in the War for the Stepstones brought him hundreds of leagues away from her. Daemon could not refuse, for the potential glory of battle - his greatest chance to prove his worth to the realm - was a far more alluring prize than even his beautiful new wife. The kiss goodbye he gave her before climbing on the back of his dragon tasted bitter on her tongue.

She did not see her lord husband for three years. Life at court became a lonely thing. She was without children to care for or a husband to tend to. What she had was a husband whose actions in the Stepstones seemed to ripple all the way back to the Red Keep. To her. Slowly but surely, she watched her image deteriorate from that of a prince’s wife to that of a social pariah. How ashamed she must have been of her husband, the other ladies would whisper when they thought she was not listening - and, sometimes, when they knew that she was. 

Their shunning of her only worsened as news continued to trickle in about the rising victory of the Triarchy. She would sometimes linger outside of the Small Council chambers and trail after Ser Tyland Lannister in search of any information he had regarding her husband. Toward the end of the war, none of his news was good. She had come to accept that she would awake any day now a widow at the tender age of one and twenty. 

Until the morning that her maidservant burst through her door and all but shook her awake, uttering what, to her, was a garbled mess of words in her half-asleep state. But she did process enough to know one thing: Daemon had been spotted returning to King’s Landing. 

She rarely wore the colors of her husband’s house, opting instead for her own house colors. But today, as she followed the crowd into the throne room, she wore a striking dress of blood red the same hue as her husband’s dragon, Caraxes, and a necklace of rubies to match. Today, she was once again a Targaryen bride. 

She caught the eyes of some of the women who had spent the last three years lambasting her for her husband’s deeds. For his failures. She barely regarded them as she pushed past, her head held high and a smirk painting her lips. But, briefly catching the shocked look on Lord Beesbury’s wife, which somehow made the old woman look even more like a pigeon than she already did, she felt validation run warm through her veins. This would stop their wagging tongues.

In her place near the front of the throne room, she and everyone else watched Daemon approach the king. She had hoped but not suspected that he would find her among the crowd, so when his eyes flickered to her for a fleeting moment, she felt warmth radiate down her entire spine. 

Though he had looked away to address his brother, she did not take her eyes off of him for even a second. His silvery-blonde hair, now cut short, gave her an admirable view of his face and neck. Though obviously kissed by the sun, his skin also bore other changes. Forehead creases and other new wrinkles, likely from frowning or stress or both. A mottled, pink scar painted the right side of his neck and disappeared below his armor. She dreaded to think about just how far it went and how many others lay beneath his clothes. 

Truthfully, their time together before his departure had been so brief that she could not quite put her finger on all of the ways in which the war had changed him physically. From where he stood, the light pouring in from one of the high windows behind him highlighted a small scar just beside his right eyebrow. Did he have that before? She could not remember just now.

There would be plenty of time for her to relearn her husband’s body anew, just as he would hers. She did not realize how lonely a place the marriage bed could be with her husband so far away for so long. All she could hope was that he would still find her pleasing after their years apart.

Their reunion, it seemed, would have to wait, for the king was eager to whisk Daemon away from the eyes of the court following his return. Her disappointment meant little when measured against the wishes of the king, even though the ache in her heart felt all too real as she watched the brothers ascend the steps out of the throne room. 

She fielded several congratulatory remarks and other words of praise for her husband from those around her - the very same individuals who had spent years speaking naught but ill about him, whether to her face or behind her back. But she had known all along that Daemon would prove them wrong. 

The dispersing crowd soon filtered out of the throne room, with some individuals most assuredly sharing whispered words of gossip with their neighbors and others simply wondering when the celebratory feast would be held. She was one of the last to exit the room, a dizzying mixture of anticipation, relief, and disappointment churning in her stomach. 

So when a hand caught her by the throat and another by her upper arm as she ascended the stone steps into the hallway, she was taken completely by surprise. She hardly had time to let out a frightened gasp before a familiar voice breathed into her ear.  

“Will you not welcome the prince home from war, my lady?”

Her fear washed off of her just as quickly as it had come. Heaving a sigh, she smiled. “Daemon.” 

He turned her on the spot so they were face to face, his hand moving to hold her by the nape of her neck so she could not pull away. But she would not have done so even if he had not held her in such a way. 

“Gods, you scared me,” she continued. If he could only feel the way her heart was racing in her breast at his little stunt.

His bottom lip stuck out in a feigned pout. “And here I thought my dear wife would be excited to see me.” He placed his forefinger beneath her chin to tilt her face upward, his violet eyes studying the planes of her face as though he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

“She is.” 

A satisfied grin tugged at Daemon’s lips at the warmth of her remark, though he did not release her from his embrace. Rather, he pulled her closer and leaned down to claim her lips for the first time since his departure. To kiss him felt so familiar, yet also like a distant dream of a time long past. He allowed his lips to linger, savoring the moment as though they did not have dozens of onlookers watching them. 

“Should you not be with the king?” she murmured against his lips but felt him smirk.

“I have had to look at my brother’s ugly face since before I can remember,” Daemon replied, running his hand down the length of her spine until it came to rest in the small of her back. “I would rather have a moment alone with my pretty wife.”

That he had forgotten her or, at least, his burgeoning feelings for her during his years in the Stepstones had been a great worry of hers. He had been all too enthusiastic to leave her side and partake in the war to begin with. She often thought that, should he return one day, the two of them would be no more than strangers to one another. That whatever spark that had ignited between them in the early days of their marriage would have long since burned out.

But she recognized the look in his eyes as they roamed her face and continued downward, along the exposed line of her collarbone and shoulders before going even further. They ravaged her form as they had on all those evenings both before and after they were wed. He was entranced by the way her crimson gown enhanced her womanly shape. No doubt, he was toying with the thought of tearing it from her body right here and now, and reclaiming what was his for the entire court to see.

The mere prospect of such an act sent heat rushing through her lower stomach that pooled between her legs. She hadn’t worn her smallclothes beneath her gown today, remembering how tedious her husband had always found the extra barrier to be. He would have discovered that, if only he would have taken her by the hand and led her to their quarters. 

“You heard what I told my brother,” Daemon continued, his breath feather soft and warm on her cheek. “About the title they bestowed upon me in the Stepstones.”

“King of the Narrow Sea,” she whispered, feeling her mouth go dry as she watched the violet of his eyes become consumed by black. “But… you gave your crown to His Grace.”

Daemon clicked his tongue as he would in disappointment at a child. “Would my wife not have me be her king?”

Gods, she began to ache with need at such a question. She knew he noticed every flutter of her eyelashes, every rise and fall of her breast, every lick of her lips. He was an animal playing with its food, enjoying the act of teasing her. Testing her to see if she had missed him. 

“She would.” Her reply came out hoarsely, which only made the wicked smile on his lips widen further.

“And that would make you my queen,” he cooed as their noses brushed against one another. “Queen of the Narrow Sea.” His thumb moved slowly along the line of her jaw until it found the soft spot just beneath it where her pulse was hammering against her throat and pressed lightly.

She swallowed hard. “Queen of… of rocks and crabs and sand,” she said in jest, a paltry attempt at distracting herself from the now unbearable ache between her thighs. 

Daemon chuckled shortly. “But my queen nonetheless.” His lips moved to her ear to deal their final blow. “Do not think that I have forgotten the sweet sounds of your moans, ābrazȳrītsos,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble like that of a dragon’s echoing throughout the Dragonpit. “Or the even sweeter taste of your cunt.”

She could not stay the soft whimper that fell from her lips. Her body practically trembled with unfulfilled need - three years of it. What a devil her husband was for inflicting such torment on her, and in clear view of every nobleman and servant who walked past. 

And he was even worse for withdrawing from her completely and regarding her with a saccharine grin, though the dark lustfulness in his eyes belied his sudden pleasantry.

“My brother unfortunately demands my company just now, ñuha dōna, but rest assured…” He looked her up and down hungrily once more before stepping around her in a single languid step. “I shall be treating you like a queen tonight.”

Her eyes scanned the page of the open book that was draped across her lap, but the words may as well have been written in Lhazareen. She had gone over this page a dozen times but retained nothing, plagued by thoughts of her husband as she was. 

The sun had long since set and here she sat, alone, by the fire waiting for him. Of course, the king was not to be denied his brother’s presence and she knew that Daemon was certainly basking in the attention and praise that was being showered on him. But she would still hold him to his promise.

Having given up on her paltry attempt at reading, she rose. Her bare feet carried her restlessly back and forth across the cool flagstone floor of the bedchambers that her husband had not slept in for three long years. With every turn, her eyes flitted to the door as though she could will it open with her mind alone.  

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed. 

She had not sated her own desire after her husband had left her wanting earlier, so the anticipation of their reunion this evening had only continued festering inside her throughout the day. It gnawed at her now, an itch that only he could scratch. 

What could she do to prepare for him, she wondered? There was no use in changing into a nightgown that would only end up on the floor. She had no wish to drink herself into a haze that would rob her of the pleasures of their lovemaking. In the end, she decided to perch herself before her vanity and remove the jewels adorning her neck, ears, and fingers. They would only get in the way.

It was when she dipped her head to unclasp her necklace that she heard the heavy wooden door push open. Her eyes immediately snapped to the mirror in front of her, only to see her husband already leaning against the far wall, admiring her. The mere sight of his lips curled into a half smirk was enough to send a rush of heat through her lower belly.

“Do you require assistance with that, ābrazȳrītsos?”

Daemon did not wait for an answer before he pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered over to her. Sneakily placing something on the cushion beside her, he took his place behind her and lifted his hands to remove her necklace. 

“Red was always so becoming on you,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, admiring the color of the rubies against her skin before carelessly tossing the necklace onto the vanity. “You were destined to be a Targaryen bride.”

Her eyes fell closed as she felt his lips move downward to press to her neck. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words were a soft hum against her skin. “I have something to give you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. With her eyes closed, she could hear the rustle of his tunic as he turned. Smell the sweet aroma of wine on his breath. Feel the warmth of his arms enveloping her. Then, there was the cool touch of metal on her forehead and the sudden weight of something in her hair. His fingers gathered the long strands of hair that she had already unbraided and brushed, pulling them to one side of her neck. Once again, his lips found her ear.

“Open.”

She found her image in the mirror again and beheld his gift to her. A circlet cast in what she assumed was Valyrian steel with glittering rubies mounted along the front of the band. It fit her head perfectly and complemented the color of her hair in a way that no other accessory ever had before. When she reached a hand up to touch it, Daemon caught her fingers and brought them to his lips.

“Oh, it’s beautiful…” she breathed. The smile that lit up her features elicited one of his own. “This is what kept you, isn’t it?”

A look of pride flashed in his eyes. “My queen deserved a crown.”

She turned around in her chair to face him, her smile gone and her brow furrowed. The gesture was a lovely one, but it would be an insult to Queen Alicent for her to ever wear this publicly. And she had already spent the last few years as an outcast at court; she would never take risk worsening the others’ view of her. “Daemon, I-I couldn’t possibly wear this. Not at court…”

“Then wear it for me,” he crooned, slowly smoothing his hands along the warm skin of her exposed shoulders. “And nothing else.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer or deny her burning need for him. He could ask anything of her and she would submit. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it. 

“How… how do you say ‘queen’ in High Valyrian?” Her voice was but a breath, trembling and full of lasciviousness.

Daemon smiled crookedly. “Dāria.” His thumb brushed across the spot on her neck where he could feel her hammering pulse, just as it had earlier. “Ñuha dāria.”

She knew enough of his mother tongue to know what that meant. 

My queen.

“And ‘king?’” Her throat felt painfully dry, now.

He leaned forward, his gaze reflecting a mixture of playfulness and possessiveness. “Dārys.”

She watched as what little was left of violet in his eyes was overtaken by the black of his pupils. His hand at the side of her neck squeezed slightly. His nostrils flared. And, all the while, he wore the same half-smirk on those lips of his that she wanted to kiss every last inch of her. 

“Say it,” he growled.

“Ñuha dārys.”

Their lips crashed together in a devouring kiss far more passionate than the one they had shared in the hall that afternoon. Daemon easily lifted her into his arms and bore her toward their bed, just as he had on the night that they were married. He did not break their kiss for even a second, not to breathe or to utter soft words of yearning and love. They had so much lost time to make up for and tonight would only be a start.

With barely any care for the intricately sewn gold buttons that trailed down the back of the dress, his hands began to rip the garment open. He tore at the red fabric with the ferocity of a beast while his tongue danced with hers. They were caught in a swirling storm of desire and longing, heat and passion - and they were perfectly content to let it sweep them away together. 

Buttons scattered across the flagstone floor to be lost forever underneath the heavy furnishings, and soon her dress joined them as it fell in a heap beside their bed. Daemon’s roguish smirk returned when his hands cupped her bare arse and pressed her against him. 

“It’s hardly befitting of my queen to strut about the palace without smallclothes like a common whore.” He bit down gently on her bottom lip and relished in the soft mewl that rose in her throat. “Any man could…” 

As his voice trailed off, she felt his fingertips ghost over her hip before moving to her center and sliding into her wet heat. His fingers curled inside her immediately, expertly finding her most pleasurable spot as though it had not been years since he had last fucked her. A stuttering, wanton moan left her, only encouraging him to continue.

“...take advantage.” 

Daemon coaxed her back onto their bed, never pulling his hand away from where, with rapacious speed, he was already bringing her to the brink of the most carnal pleasure. But as she pushed herself up onto her elbows in search of his lips, he pulled back.

“Uh uh,” he hummed. “Look at me, ābrazȳrītsos.” He no longer wished to kiss her, choosing instead to watch her with the same darkened eyes as he had earlier. He saw it all. The way her half-lidded eyes struggled to stay on his, the way her brow twitched and furrowed, the way her neck strained with effort. 

And she was ablaze beneath him, the dragon’s touch inside her reigniting a fire that she had not felt in so long. The warmth of it began to spread through her as his fingers swiftly brought her to her release, which spread through every limb until it consumed her like a wildfire in the countryside. 

There was a grin of satisfaction on Daemon’s face when she opened her eyes again. To him, no sight could have been better than that of her beneath him, breathless, with flushed skin as she lay in the haze of her release. And to her, the image of him licking her wetness from his fingers with such lecherous desire in his eyes could have finished her once more. 

He sat back on his haunches to remove his doublet and tunic, which joined her gown on the floor as though they may as well have been dirty rags. She barely had time to study his bare torso, scarred and more muscular than it had been when she had seen it last, before he was upon her again. When he leaned over her to kiss her, her own hands took over and began to fumble at the closure of his breeches. 

“My poor little wife,” he rasped, “left without a husband to fill her all this time.”

Her lips curled into a sly grin that she knew he could feel against his lips. “Perhaps I have taken a lover in your absence.”

“Name the man and I shall have his head.” Daemon spoke in jest, she knew, but she also surmised that a certain level of sincerity lay beneath his words. Any man that would dare touch the wife of the Rogue Prince would incur his wrath. “Nay, his cock, and he may live out the rest of his days as a eunuch. Perhaps I will have him sent away to become an Unsullied or a priest of Boash.” 

He watched her face intently as her trembling fingers finished their work at his breeches. She had already been brought to pleasure but the sight of his thick, hard cock emerging from his trousers as she pushed them down renewed that same need inside her like an ember that had been rekindled into a blaze. A memory bloomed in her mind of when she had first laid eyes on his manhood on the night of their wedding and how she had doubted that it could even fit inside her. She found herself considering the same thought now.

“O-on the contrary,” she managed, dotting her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. “I have had to pleasure myself.”

“Oh?” Daemon’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted as his hand lifted to her chin to hold her gaze so she had no choice but to see his lust. “I would have you show me sometime, ñuha dāria,” he purred with voracious need. “But for the rest of tonight? You will not cum anywhere but on my cock.” 

He took her firmly by the hips, his calloused fingertips digging into her skin as he pulled her with him so that she straddled him. And then, in a brief moment of tenderness that barely concealed his near-animalistic desire, he twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Know this: your cunt shall never go unfilled again. And perhaps I will put a babe in you, now that I am home.”

“Please.” Her voice, though barely a whisper, was heavy with want.

“Issa, ñuha dāria.” 

Daemon pulled her hips down so that she sank onto his cock, too impatient to give his wife any time to adjust after three years apart. A soft whine left her at the sudden fullness, the way he stretched her as though he had claimed her maidenhead for a second time. He did not let even a second go to waste before he began to guide her movements atop him. She was at the mercy of his hands, which demanded her pleasure and the closeness of her body without remorse. 

What he need not demand was the sweet cries of ecstasy that passed her lips, which filled their bedchambers and, likely, spilled into the hall outside of their door. They felt almost sinful to listen to and, yet, were the most beautiful sounds that he had ever heard.  

“Gods… Daemon…” she moaned, her body arching into him. She had spent so many nights whispering his name into the darkness of their bedchambers as she brought herself to release at the thought of him. But to have him beneath her, inside her, around her once again was pure bliss.

At the sound of his name on her lips, Daemon pressed his face between her breasts and groaned hoarsely. “That’s it, ābrazȳrītsos,” he panted against her flushed skin, his fingers moving further to grasp her by the arse and pull her closer. 

It would not be the gods that would make her cum tonight; it would be him.

She could feel it, the pleasure beginning to tighten inside her. She was at his mercy, lost in the feeling of him bucking his hips up into her and the sensation of his lips at her breasts. It felt impossible that one should experience such rapturous delight as this. In every touch and every choked growl that left him, she could sense that he felt exactly the same. 

“Daemon, please–” Her words left her as a high-pitched squeak, signaling to him just how close she was to falling over the edge. Her body began to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of his hips. Her hands flew to his upper arms, grasping and almost pushing, as if to try and escape the wave of pleasure that was fast approaching. 

But he would not let her go until it consumed them both.  

With his hands still at her hips, Daemon pushed her backward until she was buried in the soft blanket that had been so perfectly laid atop their bed mere moments ago. His body sunk into hers, taking over from her previous ministrations atop him as her hands anchored themselves to his shoulders. He rutted into her like an animal, starved as he had been of her body for the last three years. 

She felt herself shudder when his lips planted kisses along her jawline and moved up until they found her mouth. He swallowed every desperate moan that left her, the taste of them growing sweeter and sweeter the closer she came to her peak. 

Her walls began to clench around him, her breath hitching with his every thrust. Any words she may have uttered only coiled at her throat, her thoughts meaningless as the building pleasure finally unfurled inside her. He held her steadfastly as she came around him, his touch her only lifeline as the heat and delirium ravished her completely. 

“Cum with me,” she gasped against his lips. He would have kept going, brought her to another peak before finishing, but her soft plea was enough to end him, too.

“Fuck…” he groaned, thrusting into her one final time as he spilled himself inside her. 

And when their shared pleasure had passed, her vice-like grip on his shoulders released. The light touches of her fingertips traveled across his back, feeling each new scar that he had acquired in the Stepstones. But he relished in her gentle touch after so many years of war, and allowed himself to collapse against her. 

The weight of his body was soothing, his warmth a balm for her lonely heart. Their breaths slowed and, soon, the only sounds in the room came from the fireplace opposite their bed. It crackled and burned, its radiant heat intermingling with the lingering warmth of their coupling. 

Daemon eventually lifted his head again and reached a hand up to straighten the circlet that had half fallen off of her head in their final throes of passion. He paused to admire the sight of her, still in a daze and wearing a sleepy smile on her lips. He kissed her once more and, when he withdrew, she saw that his eyes had regained some of their earlier hunger.

“Do not think that I am finished with you, ñuha dāria.” 

[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes: Physical Pain

Updated 6th June 2024 More description notes

It was as if his bones were made of glass, shattering into a million pieces with every movement and sending waves of sharp, shooting pain coursing through his limbs.

His muscles screamed in protest with every step, each movement sending jolts of electric pain shooting through his body.

The ache settled deep into his bones, a dull, persistent throb that seemed to resonate with every heartbeat.

Every inch of his body felt tenderized, as if he had been used as a punching bag in a brutal workout session.

The sensation of blood trickling down his skin was a grim reminder of the violence he had endured.

His ribs screamed in protest with every breath, each inhalation a sharp reminder of the blows he had taken.

The world seemed to spin around him in a dizzying blur, his vision clouded by the stars of pain that danced across his field of vision with every movement.

A sharp, stabbing sensation shot through his lower back, making him wince.

Her temples throbbed with a relentless, pounding headache.

He clutched his side, pain radiating from the bruise with every breath.

Her muscles screamed in protest, the soreness a reminder of yesterday’s workout.

A burning ache spread through his chest, each heartbeat intensifying the agony.

She bit her lip, trying to stifle the groan as pain flared in her twisted ankle.

His knuckles were raw and throbbing, evidence of the fight.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, a dull ache settling behind her eyes.

A searing pain lanced through his knee, nearly buckling his leg.

She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white as pain shot through her arm.

Her trembling hands betrayed the unyielding agony in her joints, a relentless companion.

Doubled over, he fought against the relentless cramps that seized his stomach.

A sudden, searing pain in her wrist forced her to relinquish her grip, the cup clattering to the ground.

Every step reverberated through her aching feet, a reflection to the miles she had traversed.

Rubbing his shoulder provided little respite from the persistent agony that gnawed at the joint.

A sharp sting on her finger brought fresh irritation, the paper cut a small but sharp reminder of vulnerability.

His tooth throbbed incessantly, a deep, pulsating ache that clouded his thoughts.

Each movement of her stiff and sore neck elicited a fresh wave of discomfort, a constant reminder of strain.

A stabbing pain in his chest made each breath a struggle, a reminder of mortality's grasp.

The throbbing in his hand, where the door had slammed shut, served as a relentless reminder of his own clumsiness.

A dull ache settled deep within her lower back, rendering even sitting a feat of endurance.

His leaden legs protested with every step, each movement a symphony of agony.

His head spun, the pain behind his eyes making it hard to focus.

Sharp pangs in her side served as a reminder of the physical toll of her exertion, a stitch from pushing too hard.

His throbbing ankle, swollen and tender, made each step a test of willpower.

Gritting her teeth against the shooting pain, she cursed the strain from overuse that tormented her wrist.

Pressing a hand to his chest, he felt the pain radiate outward in relentless waves, a reminder of vulnerability.

Her burning shoulder protested each movement, the pain a constant reminder of her injury.

He winced as sharp pains flared in his elbow, each movement a reminder of his body's fragility.

A deep ache throbbed in her hip, a persistent discomfort that refused to be ignored.

His fingers tingled with pain, a result of gripping the tool too tightly for too long.

[coffeetank]

Ways to Make a Character Apologise

"I'm sorry."

"I just...want to say I'm sorry."

*brings gift* "This is to make up for what I did."

"You're right, it was my fault."

"I have some reparations to make."

"I would like to make it up to you, if you give me a chance."

"I just need one chance. To prove that I truly regret doing what I did."

"Saying sorry does not make me any less smaller. It's just the right thing to do."

"Do you think you could forgive me?"

"You deserve this apology, so take it grandly."

"I will do anything to prove how sorry I am."

*goes to lengths to apologise* "I'm still not done apologising."

"Come with me, please."

"Let me do the right thing."

"You can choose not to accept it. But that doesn't mean I won't do it."

- ashlee