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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

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Hi! I LOVE the way u write leo valdez and was wondering if u could do an x reader fic where she gets accepted to her dream college? Im manifesting lol 🤞🤞much love xx

OMG YES I'M MORE THAN HAPPY TOO!! ANYTHING FOR YOU ANON-

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ College Girls Do It Better, Duh!!

content: leo valdez x fem! reader warning: language, like the smallest amount of angst ig, stress and anxiety (the poster children of senior year) author's note: hi little miss anon!! congratulations on being my first ask by the way!! anyways, as someone who is currently fighting for my life to get through this last stretch of senior year, I feel year. I applied to my dream college since eighth grade early decision all the way back in november and got deferred. and i know this might be hard to hear and i know i didn't believe it at the time, but it was honestly one of the best things that ever happened to me. It allowed me to take a deep dive on who i am as a person and find actually interests outside of just that school. now, i've been accepted to another college in the same city (boston girl 4 eva) with a scholarship that covers more than half of my tuition and under a major I actually want to pursue (marine biology with a minor in journalism for anyone who was curious). ANYWAYS i've yapped on long enough and you're not even here for this little ted talk of mine. please carry on and i hope you enjoy this little bad boy i whipped up.

this was it: senior year. everything added up to this. finally! we’re in the homestretch, folks! gods, on top of stopping the world from ending every other summer, y/n had to keep good grades up too. she was more than ready to trade leo’s sweaters for a cap and gown, counting down the days to graduation. a break would have been greatly appreciated but the fates were never that kind. well, they were kind enough to give her leo, so they couldn’t be all that bad in her eyes. though, the pressure was starting to make y/n crack in ways she didn’t expect; the pressure that comes with college acceptances and, sadly, rejections. she felt like she was falling behind a bit, a lump growing in her throat and her chest tightening at every acceptance letter her friends got. of course, she was overjoyed for them and she’d buy them cupcakes and celebrate their accomplishments but she couldn’t help but wonder when it would be her turn. i mean, she slaved away over her college essay, she maintained the best grades she could, did all of the extracurriculars she could manage, on top of being a two-time saver of the world. something she, sadly, could not tell colleges. well, she told new rome university, but she figured they got a lot of letters like that. but, for now, y/n just waited…and waited…and then waited some more just for shits and giggles.

“today’s the day, right?” jason questioned as he walked with y/n towards their civics class. y/n swallowed thickly, nodding her head, although a bit reluctantly.

“y-yeah, early decision round two comes out today for new rome. now, no more talking about it or i’ll pass out," y/n told him and jason laughed, bumping his shoulder with her gently.

“come on, give yourself a fair shake. they’d be stupid not to-”

“don’t jinx it!! go find some wood to knock on, sparky,” the girl ordered in a panic and jason quickly rapped his knuckles against a door as they passed, the poor ceramics teacher peeking her head out to find no one waiting.

“okay, okay, no bad juju,” y/n muttered to herself following the boy's actions, taking a few calming breaths. jason gave her a sympathetic look as they took their seats, rubbing his hand gently over her tense shoulders. their eyes both went to the empty seat next to y/n before turning to each other with tiny smirks.

“i bet he’ll get here just as the bell rings,” mused y/n, trying to rid herself of her anxiety with humor. jason pretended to think it over, before holding his hand out.

“nah, he’s gotta be at least ten minutes late today,” countered jason and y/n shook his hand with a determined look. as the pair's eyes stayed locked on the clock, mere seconds before the bell would ring, leo came waltzing to the class, an iced coffee held in one hand and his keys swinging around in the other. mr. wright glaring at the boy, knowing he couldn’t give him the tardy he so desperately wanted to. leo made his way to his seat, kissing y/n’s cheek as he sat. y/n’s smile widened and her stress and anxiety began to melt away.

“for little miss smartie pants here,” he hummed, sliding the drink in front of her with a wink. y/n took a sip, shaking her head at him as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“lots of talk coming from someone who’s already been accepted with honors,” replied y/n, jokingly glaring at him though she couldn’t stop a proud smile from spreading over her lips. leo had a habit of underestimating himself and when he got accepted into new rome university on a scholarship to boot, he couldn’t really ignore it anymore. y/n was his number one supporter, buying him shirts and lanyards and pennant flags. leo rolled his eyes, slinging his arm over the back of her seat.

“they’d be stupid not to accept-”

“knock on wood right now!! what is with you guys trying to curse me?!” y/n bit out, shoving the boy in the direction of the wooden desk. leo knocked his knuckles against it whilst sharing a look with jason, who just shrugged.

“i’m just saying-”

“mr. valdez! if you’re just going to show up to disrupt my class, do not continue to show up!” mr. wright called, narrowing his eyes at the trio.

“sorry, mr. wright, but i do kinda need this class to graduate. if i didn’t, i guarantee you i would not be here right now,” joked leo, earning laughs from the rest of the class. mr. wright’s eye twitched as he stared at the boy before grumbling under his breath and returning to his lecture. leo held his head high after that, knowing he’d won for today.

the rest of the day seemingly flew past, y/n anxiously and constantly checking her email. after lunch, she sort of relaxed, somehow managing to convince herself that the email wasn’t going to come today and she’d just worry about it some other day. but, as she sat in her seventh period class, her phone buzzed on her desk. she didn’t think anything of it, determined to finish another math problem before she allowed herself a phone break. then her phone buzzed a few more times, her attention being dragged away from her math homework at the borderline constant buzzing. she huffed, picking up her phone before her eyes went wide and her breath tumbled out of her lips.

there on her phone she had an email from new rome university which read, ‘today’s the day! log into your student portal as your status has been updated.’ under that, and the root of the near constant buzzing, were texts from all her friends. leo was typing in all-caps, something about running to her class at the moment. her group chat with frank, hazel, and piper, the three other people who applied in the same decision group as her, had multiple texts about wanting to throw up and being too nervous to open it. annabeth had sent a text too, something about y/n being one of the smartest and sweetest people she knew and no college acceptance or rejection could change that.

ignoring all of them and feeling like she was in a haze, y/n unlocked her phone and got to work logging into her student portal and watching the spinning circle as she waited for it to load. bam! welcome screen, nothing new so far. y/n continued to breath, though she knew it was unsteady as she placed a hand against her chest, hoping to regulate her rapid heartbeat, which she could feel in her toes and hear in her ears. then she noticed a little hyperlink, informing her that her status had been updated. her finger hovered over it as hazel updated that she’d been accepted, promptly being followed by frank and piper. y/n squeezed her eyes shut, swiping away their messages and slamming her finger down onto the link. more waiting and then it finally loaded. she scrolled slowly, wanting to ease herself into rejection…

dear y/n l/n,

on behalf of new rome university, we are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted. congratulations! furthermore, we’d like offer you a scholarship for academic integrity, blah blah blah

wait- did that say accepted?! y/n’s eyes did a double take, which was growing increasingly more difficult as tears were starting to pool. her hands shook and she promptly stood up from her chair, muttering about needing the bathroom to the teacher before basically bolting out of the class. she moved quickly down the hall, her eyes darting around wildly until she heard the stomping of feet and the squeak of rubber on linoleum. leo rounded a corner at the other end of the hall, his eyes instantly focusing on the girl, on his girl. without a second thought, the two of them sprinted to each other, basically slamming against the other as they met in the middle. leo’s arms wrapped around her frantically, unsure of the verdict but wanting her in his arms either way. y/n curled into him easily, crying against his shirt, tears of joy but he didn’t know that.

“so?” leo whispered after a moment, cupping her tear-stained cheeks and looking down at her with what could only be described as unfiltered love. y/n looked at him before cracking a small smile through her tears.

“i got in. i- i got in, oh my gods, i got in!” she stated, growing more excited everytime she said it.

“duh! my clever girl! ooh, my clever college girl!” leo cheered, smirking down at her. y/n laughed, shoving him off as she reached up and wiped away some of her tears.

“whatever, you absolute hammer head.”

“there’s no getting rid of me now, baby. you’re stuck with me. wooo, we’re going to college together!” added leo, smiling down at her in genuine excitement. y/n looked up at him and leo could have sworn his bmp spiked, even after all these years.

“wouldn’t have it any other way,” she mused, reaching up and cupping his face before pulling him down so she could press her lips against his. easily, his hands found her waist and pulled her closer, as her arms draped over his shoulders.

the bell rang, school being out for the day, and as students flooded the halls, leo let go of his girlfriend and cupped his hands around his lips, screaming: “MY HOT ASS GIRLFRIEND JUST GOT ACCEPTED INTO A PRESTIGIOUS ASS SCHOOL! THAT’S MY GIRL RIGHT THERE!”

author's note cont. : I know what your all thinking, how could she possibly have more to say?!?! HA you underestimate my ability to yap. anyways, on a more serious note, I'm wishing you, anon and anyone else who needs to hear it, the best of best luck with colleges and whatnot. They'd be stupid to reject you and i'll proudly shove you all in my suitcase and take you to college with me. jk...unless. No, fr tho, don't let a rejection define you! Fate is fickle and will find a way to treat you to the life you deserve, don't forget it!! Anyways, now that I spent my whole night slaving away over this, I am off to bed, hope you guys enjoy and have great days!!

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #jason grace #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #pjo

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unforth · 3 months

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We are one Iowa caucus into the absolute shitshow that is going to be the US 2024 elections, and I'm already sick of seeing takes downplaying the risk that Trump and his fascist followers represent.

Look. Around 1900, my mother's grandparents immigrated to the Lower East Side of New York City. They brought with them children born in Europe (Poland? Ukraine? which country they were in depends on what year we're talking about) - we're not 100% sure they were THEIR children, even, but there were three, and they were young, and they came. But my great-grandparents had siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, huge families. And while my understanding is that an attempt was made to convince those folks to move to the US, none of them ultimately opted to.

They all kept in touch as they were able, exchanging letters and pictures, but through World War 1, through the 20s, through the Great Depression, through the worsening situation in Europe in the 1930s, my entire extended family who chose not to immigrate...continued to stay.

I think we all know how this story ends.

I have an entire family photo album of people whose names I will never know, because after every single one of them died in the Holocaust, my great-grandparents and grandparents couldn't bear to even label them. And they were PEOPLE, poor, vibrant, eager to maintain connections with their loved ones abroad. One was a Klezmer musician, and we have photos of him with all the different instruments he played. They're so real on the page, and they all ended in ashes.

And you know how that started? Fascism started with every inch allowed, with every well-intentioned moderate who tried to maintain a middle position even as the whole ground shifted right beneath their feet and even "middle" became extreme, every "no that change isn't coming fast enough, I want instant full improvement NOW" liberal who felt that doing nothing was better than accepting a slower improvement in the (truly awful!) post-World War 1 living situation in Germany.

Most of the members of my extended family also downplayed the risks. They never imagined that the worst could happen to them. They never fathomed how bad things could become.

And now I have their example always before me to know and to scream:

I KNOW HOW BAD THINGS CAN BECOME. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY THEN.

I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO MY FAMILY NOW.

People look at me like I'm crazy when I say I've got our passports ready (and have had since before the 2020 election).

Look. I don't know what will happen if Trump is elected, but there's a very real possibility he will, and he's been extremely clear about saying what he'll do. He did a lot of the things he said he'd do last time. I expect he'll continue to do the things he says he'll do. And the things he say he'll do will lead to the deaths of more people than we can imagine - in the US, in Palestine, throughout the world.

Don't tell me there's a middle ground here. Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. Don't tell me the worst won't happen. Don't tell me the risk is mild. Don't tell me we're safe.

We. Are. Not. Safe.

The lives of dozens, hundreds, of members of family were lost in the 1940s amid the horrifying statistic "6,000,000 dead Jews."

I will not let my life (as a Jew), my wife's life (as a disabled woman), my son's life (as a biracial boy), my daughter's life (as a biracial trans girl), be part of the statistics that come from our a second Trump presidency.

If you won't vote like YOUR life depends on it, vote like someone ELSE'S life depends on it, because IT DOES.

And if you can't even do that much, at least shut the fuck up and stop spreading your poison around. You're wrong. The danger is real. Downplaying it now won't make your conscience feel any clearer when it actually happens, and comforting everyone else downplaying it will just make you that much more complicit.

#unforth rambles #politics #us politics #genocide #genocide tw #i don't know how to tag this #i wish the album was here instead of at my mom's #i want every one of you who think this doesn't matter #to stare at the smiling faces of my long-dead relatives #and see these people who were shot and stabbed and burned and raped and destroyed #who died in rebellion or despair in hopelessness or desperation #no matter how much or how little they fought #they're all ashes now and nothing will bring them back #i have no family in europe #not a single person survived #i won't let my family be the ones who stay too long because we don't take it seriously #and neither should you

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galesdevoteewife · 4 months

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Some thoughts on Act 3 cutscene, endings and the line “To know you love me for the man I am"

[ Gale romance spoiler all the way to the epilogue ]

In my vanilla playthrough, the particular act 3 cutscene dialogue which Gale wanted the crown caught me off guard. It was one of the rare bg3 moments that stirred complicated feelings within me. (to a point I was considering maybe I should romance Emperor lmao) The structure of his proposal felt thoroughly planned and scripted. Every question I raised was met with a well prepared answer.

Too ambitious? It's not for myself; it's for us, for the greater good. Too dangerous? What have we done that wasn't risky? We're up to the task! Power corrupts? Just a means to an end. I’ll still be me, just an improved version. Now I only need a kiss.

I viewed it from the perspective of him hard-selling the player a difficult decision, and the entire conversation felt strategic. Topping it off with the famous line, “With you, I forget my goddess. I love you.” Such a powerful, attention-grabbing statement delivered with utmost sincerity. It's likely that the player would remember only this line, also making it more difficult to reject him. While I don't doubt his love for them, his motives were a question to me.

One of the things that makes Gale's darker path unique is that everything looks beautiful—voyage through the galaxy, kissing lovers, his voice, so tender and sincere. There's no eerie light, no violence, no bloodshed.

Some thoughts on his true intention and how insecurity is the must-solve in Gale's romance arc

In my opinion Gale’s main emotional knot in relationship is the insecurities he harbors. He holds a logic that he is loved (or tolerated) because of his power. Gale Dekarios wanted to be seen and loved but he "holds a poor figure next to Gale of Waterdeep". While there are exceptions like Tara, his mother, and perhaps Elminster, who love him for who he is; it's not his default to believe that people would appreciate him without his power/achievement/service.

With that in mind and let's circle back to why he wants godhood.

If the player reject him in the boat scene, his instant reaction is: “But I could be so much more to you.” If they reject godGale: “I achieved everything we hoped I would, and still I'm not good enough for you?” –Not a word about the better world. I wasn’t convinced he wanted the godhood “for the betterment of all”.

Instead, what he truly wants is the player’s heart... and I think he believes that obtaining the crown and godhood can win them over. Awkwardly, he would need their help to get rid of the elder brain and he is trying hard to convince them.

Some argue that godGale quickly transforms into the type of passive deity he despised, but I hold my opinion on how deeply he cares about the world in the first place. True, he could sacrifice himself to save the day, but he always says "it's the right way/fate" with nothing empathetic for the general folks. I am suspicious that he says it to dismiss the player's concern.

A bit of addition to this theory. Seeking godhood is not a new ambition for him, according to Elminster's epilogue letter. In my canon, he desired it for Mystra if not for the player, attempting to draw closer to her as an equal.

Gale, the god of ambition

Ascending without resolving inner conflicts is like thrusting a dagger into redemption Durge's hands, potentially exacerbating the situation. The ascension path strengthens this twisted logic. Looking at the godGale romance ending cutscene, he gets to dress the player in matching outfits, hold them in his arms, in his realm, in his symbol. They are finally his, and he would believe it’s the power that made it happen.

However, this would lead down to a never ending thorny path with an insatiable hunger. As a god of ambition, it's in his nature to desire more, continually pursuing additional power because it's a viable all-purpose solution in his mind. He will work his way up to the god rank, might even consume a few, "bringing chaos that even trembles the heavens" —according to Raphael. And guess what? In the dnd universe, there are even superior beings above AO.

Nonetheless I hold hopes and optimism towards the godGale romance. I don’t see anything stopping the player from starting to make things better and nudging him into better use of his godhood. Ambition is not necessarily a bad thing. However, at the point where the game ends, this path is a dimmer one.

Some thoughts on the line: “To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command... None have loved me so purely before.”

When I first saw this line and my tav reacted with a sad face I thought she was thinking “Huh? But i love you for your magic too??” xD

It just doesn’t make sense if he is drawing a conclusion that the player would love him for a 0 magic muggle Gale. He is a wizard. His alliance with the player was built on him contributing to their journey with his magical ability, and their romance was sparked by a shared moment through the weave.

My interpretation is that what he meant by “the magic I command” was referring to the mighty power he used to possess, and “the man I am” was everything he showed you—his love for magic, nerdy side, witty jokes, cooking… things that he thinks define who he truly is. In my canon, he probably went through a long period where his title/talent was all that mattered to people, for his portfolio was way too strong (if I read my dnd materials right, lorewise he could be a legendary character even. I will make a post once I put my findings together). The Chosen of Mystra (among the 22 known chosen in more than a thousand years, some of them are even Mystra’s daughters), the prodigy archmage with the gift to conduct the weave. He could have experienced hurt multiple times as people showed little interest in his personality, then he fell back to conceal Gale Dekarios behind the Gale of Waterdeep fortress. However, this consequently blocked him from building real friendships/relationships.

His circle is small, yet I suspect it's partly because he wouldn't let people come close enough to see Gale Dekarios. Even in Act 3, he still wants to keep it between the player and himself. At the beginning of the journey, he denied the player's attempts to know anything other than his profession. If the player is a wizard, he would even play authority and "apprentice" them. By the by, here's an interesting reading about how he might be masking.

Professor Dekarios of Illusory school

Lastly, my favorite path for Gale! Ugh, it just melts me to see him smile that wayyy (How can Tim and the team be so genius and make the expression distinctive???? I mean, he has been smiling all the time, but especially sweet in the epilogue???) He is content. He knows he doesn't need the mask, nor power, or godhood for the player and him to be each other's. From my point of view, it's an arc of self-acceptance and unknotting. He is convinced power isn't everything, and he chooses to teach illusory magic (gotta admit, destruction-force wise it’s almost a harmless school) for he is the one who wants magic for realizing imagination and the one who shed tears over burned roses.

The path in which Gale Dekarios believes that he is seen, understood, loved, and finds peace. Nothing I would like him to have more. I hold true love for this fictional 3D man *wipe away joyful tears*

Sidenote [1]: Some hate Gale for thinking he's only “pretending”. I personally think he is a well-layered character, for there are so many ways to explain him and plenty of room for ambiguity, making it fun to think about his thinking.

Sidenote [2]: I inevitably project some of myself onto him. The concept of “you don’t need to try so hard, pretending to be someone else to be accepted by the world. you only need to find the right band.” is a kind thought that’s so cozy to me.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #gale romance #bg3 spoilers #bg3 gale #bg3 act 3 spoilers #bg3 epilogue spoilers #bg3 datamine #And NO bombing him is not even an existing option for me #Galeology #not fixing but loving

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 12 days

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SHANE MY BELOVED anyways gonna request based on an oc that i made/an ai chatbot chat that i did recently. selectively mute reader with shane, and how their relationship evolves? strangers to lovers probs. hcs or oneshot/drabble :3 -galaxy

WAHOOO

I got 5 hearts with him as we speak so this is perfect timing <3

......

Settling into Stardew Valley was certainly going to be a challenge, especially with the new life you wanted to build here..and of course that entails meeting new people.

For most of your life, you've been selectively mute, only ever using your voice if you absolutely have to.

You never used it much at your previous office job, but it was still quite soulless and didn't make you feel good.

Even so, Lewis doesn't think you should stay a stranger and insists you introduce yourself to folks in Pelican Town.

You couldn't ignore the letters stuffed into your mailbox forever..so you finally headed into town.

While some villagers regarded you as "quiet", many of them chalked it up to you being new and welcomed you anyways.

Although Shane is indifferent and annoyed--as he is to most strangers.

You accidentally bumped into him, and he thinks you're rude for not saying "sorry".

Your brain sorta panics as you sign the words...but from the way he stares at you, you realize he doesn't understand what you're saying.

By the time you get out your notepad, he's long gone, mumbling about being late to his shift.

Since then, you try being polite and wave to him anytime you see him in the street or at the saloon..but he just wonders why you're bothering him.

One thing he kept noticing at the bar was that you always gave your order to Gus on your notepad, and he starts thinking there is a reason you can't talk and you weren't just being a dick specifically to him that day.

Still, he doesn't ask you. You're probably gonna stop trying to befriend him sooner or later. So why should he care?

One day, you approach Shane while he's working at JojaMart and asked him where a certain food ingredient was, pointing to your shopping list..and you see that irritable look in his eye again.

He had customers mixing up things on the shelves and snapping at him for things outside his control--and you caught him on a rather bad day.

He says nothing and just points further down the isle, but you just smile and mouth "thank you", signing the words before continuing on.

Poor guy goes red, convinced you blew a kiss at him just now...and it's all he could think about for the rest of his shift.

The very next day, you show up at Marnie's place with a fresh pizza, asking if Shane was home.

He gets flustered as HELL when he realizes you were at the mart buying ingredients to make one of his favorite foods...and he acted like a total jackass.

You left a note inside the container, which basically tells him you're selectively mute and realized your farm was just down the road from his aunt's ranch.

After reading it, he awkwardly apologizes and asks for a fresh start, to which you just smile and nod.

Jas, at this point, can see he's got a crush on you.

After that was cleared up, you two become friends and hangout together at the saloon often or share a beer on the dock.

You don't talk, but tbh Shane appreciates the silence between you two. He didn't have to force conversation, and neither did you.

Although that also enables him to vent to you about how downtrodden and repetitive his life feels, with you simply listening and accompanying him home.

It doesn't change the fact he felt like a burden to everyone, and one night you found him on the cliffside, his face covered in mud and tears, ready to give up on the world.

In his drunken haze, he forgot you were mute and wants you to tell him why he shouldn't do it..

"No wait..I..forgot you can't-"

"Shane..I'm here for you." Your voice comes out low, hoarse, and a little shaky, but he stopped sobbing the moment he heard it..and he stares up at you in shock.

"S-So..you do speak.." He mumbles. "You sound....like--like an angel...fuck..maybe they do exist. So you'll...be here for me no matter what? Even if I did something stupid...?"

You simply nod, and that makes him change his mind.

He just can't believe that out of all the people in this town, you chose to open up to him--some sad sack of shit who was about to jump off the cliff--and decide he should be the one to hear your voice first.

You actually wanted him around. And you never hated him despite all the times he was rude to you..

After he nearly vomits all over your shoes, you take him to the hospital, knowing he needed Harvey's intervention, and since then you've been supportive of his recovery journey.

He only remembers bits and pieces from that night..although the one thing he couldn't forget was hearing your voice.

It was probably so difficult for you to find it again, and he appreciates you talking him down, even if you had to close up and go totally silent for the next few days or so.

If you ever go into why you became selectively mute, Shane will do his absolute best to understand (and maybe get a little overprotective in the process if someone makes fun of you for it).

But if not, he'll still defend you regardless.

You teach him a few general phrases in sign language, which he tries to grasp and eventually gets the hang of.

At some point down the line..he asks you out on a festival date after much pressure from Jas and Marnie, and you were so excited you nearly yelled out "YES"-

But instead managed to nod happily, taking his hand and dragging him towards the celebration without a second thought.

Soon that little date turns into a genuine relationship, with Shane eventually moving onto your farm to help you care for the crops and animals, switching to alternatives to beer and promising to cut back on the hours he spends at the saloon.

Some days you'll be away mining, fishing, slaying monsters, or helping the Junimos rebuild the community center, but other times you'll stay inside and just cuddle with him, your pet, and the chickens.

He was muddling over why you chose him (a lot of self doubt still festers inside of him), and you spoke to him again--this time to his sober-self.

That was "because I love you".

And yes...he did cry.

#clanask #galaxy anon #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #sdv shane x reader #stardew valley shane x reader #shane x reader #headcanons #selectively mute reader #hurt/comfort #tw suicide mention

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monstersandmaw · 9 months

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Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too.

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’.

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons.

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be.

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man.

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was.

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

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vampiric-hunger · 3 months

Text

𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖

pair: Ascended!Astarion x female! spawn !reader

tags: no y/n is used, rating - T, jealousy, a tavern brawl, MC gets slightly hurt, protective Astarion, vampiric type of fluff

summary: five years passed since Wyll's wedding, but every year the city has festivities on the day, celebrating love and good wine. you too feel in a mood to go out but Astarion needs some convincing. he's not keen on mingling with others outside the palace. still, he agrees to go along, only for things to turn out less pleasant than expected. but he's there to protect you, no matter what.

word count: 2,966

a/n: happy valentine's day and happy reading, with much love from me to you all <3

written for Baldur's Date challenge on AO3

“Come on now, my love, you already refused to go to the main event, least you can do is accompany me.” you speak to Astarion while you’re putting in earrings. It took some time to get used to not seeing yourself in the mirrors and other reflective surfaces but by now you’re pretty good at it, even if earrings still get a bit tricky.

“Why can’t we host something here?” Astarion is watching you, his arms crossed on the chest and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Because it’s not enough time to send out invitations.” you raise your eyebrows at him and Astarion sighs. “And anyway, it’s good to mingle.” you add with a smile, making Astarion scoff.

“You mean mingling with peasants, my dear.” his tone of voice is bitter and verging on annoyance but you know it’s not that serious for him.

“We don’t have to leave Upper City, love. And you like seeing patriars get messy when they are too deep in their cups.” you smile, you know all his weak spots and this one works out too because Astarion’s expression softens and he unfolds his arms, now walking to you and taking earrings from your fingers.

“Well, I suppose that could be fun.” he smiles and while it’s not a soft smile, he is definitely in a mood to mock some spoiled nobles with you and you still appreciate that he’s willing to keep you company.

While Astarion is affixing your earrings for you, you think of the occasion: Wyll Ravenguard, a man you and Astarion travelled together and beat the Elder Brain with, got married five years ago. As a Duke he now has the common folk celebrating his marriage every year. It’s a festival with wine flowing freely and love being celebrated by both rich and poor. Of course, Wyll did invite you both, the Lord Astarion and his beloved Consort, to his personal celebration, but Astarion has never been too fond of Wyll so naturally he refused, sending a letter back with a well-crafted lie why neither of you can attend. Last time you actually saw Wyll was during the aforementioned wedding. Beautiful event and he looked so happy, but you got bored halfway through the evening and so did Astarion. Ever since you accepted immortality he always prefers only your company if possible. No matter the balls, the masquerades, the soirees, Astarion always ends the day with just you in his arms, holding you firmly as if you could disappear the moment he’s not looking.

But today you don’t want him to worry or be bored, so going out and mingling with others while the sun is bright and warm sounds like a great idea to you. And now that your beloved agreed to go with you, you’re rejoiced.

Astarion finishes helping you with earrings and cups your face with his palms, a soft smile now on his lips.

“You are so beautiful. I ought to just keep you here, for myself.” he says in a voice that’s soaked with emotion and love. You raise your arms and hold his wrists gently with a smile.

“You always say that, like I don’t spend almost every moment with you already.” you tease him lovingly and Astarion scoffs.

“Maybe that’s still not enough for me, love.” he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, but only for a moment. “You’re mine, don’t forget that.” Vampire Lord whispers against your skin and you smile.

“And you’re mine.” you whisper back while your eyes are still closed and you feel Astarion smile when he gives you another short kiss. Then he leans back, releases your face and you open your eyes to look at him.

“Alright, let’s go. Let’s see what beloved patriars of Baldur’s Gate are up to today.” he gives you a mischievous smirk and offers you his elbow.

With a nod and a chuckle you hook your arm around his offered elbow and let him lead you out of the bedroom and down the hallways, to the main door of the palace. Only couple years ago you two finished refurbishing the palace and it finally feels like home – to both of you.

Before you exit, Astarion suddenly stops and when you look at him you find concern reflected in his eyes.

“Just stay close to me, will you?” he asks. It’s not a command, not like the ones he gives to his spawn or servants. No, he’s asking you, nearly begging you to stay by his side once you leave the palace. It’s as if he is trying to sound like he cares for your safety when instead he’s just afraid to be among others without you at his side, the only person that makes him happy and fulfilled.

You’re surprised but only for a moment. You sigh and smile, caressing his cheek with your palm.

“Of course, my love.” you promise and he nods, looking more relieved now, and he leads you outside.

When you both walk past the gates and take a path leading to the Wide, you both turn heads. Of course you do. Not only you are known faces in Baldur’s Gate, you are also so exceptionally beautiful together. Astarion is embodiment of pride and arrogance as he walks with you by his side, through the streets of Upper City, and leads you to his favorite place called Golden Claw.

But you have other ideas.

You tug at his arm with yours still hooked around it and Astarion stops, looking mildly confused.

“What is the matter, little love?” he asks in a smooth, even voice and you want to just bring him closer and kiss him again but you don’t, you hope you’ll have time for that later.

“I want to go to Ribbon.” you say and Astarion raises an eyebrow at you.

“Really?” he asks as if he can’t believe you’d choose that tavern over the Claw. But today you feel in a mood to see people being happy instead of pretending that joy doesn’t exist among nobility.

“Really.”

“Well.” Astarion pauses, thinking, then glances in the direction of Claw before looking back at you. “Fine. But just because you’re batting those eyelashes at me like that.” he says, making you laugh and you make an extra effort to do just that, now making him smile in return. “Alright, don’t take it too far now or we won’t make it to the bloody tavern.”

You chuckle and nod, pressing yourself to his side before you begin walking again, although now in a slightly different direction.

For a little while you both walk in silence, just enjoying the sunshine, the sounds of the city, the smells of late summer flowers blooming. You are happy, you always feel happiest when you’re at Astarion’s side, no matter where.

“So why this place?” Astarion interrupts your inner musings and you glance at him, then notice that you two are getting closer to the Ribbon. It’s already bursting with bard song and people singing along.

“Because the youth gathers there. I like Claw, but patriars there can be so pretentious. You know what I mean.” you say and in your peripheral you notice Astarion nod. “But today I feel like I want to be among people who love life. Just like I love mine with you.” you smile and Astarion glances at you, smiling too.

“Very well, if that’s what you want then I will be with you.”

“I know.”

At the tavern it’s really hard to find a table that’s not taken by sons and daughters of patriars. Most of them are already drunk or getting there quickly. The wine is being spilled, the beer is being drunk and the songs never stop.

Thankfully the tavern owner recognizes you both and manages to clear one table. It’s a bit further away from all the partying happening and when you sit down, with Astarion pulling the chair for you, he takes his own and sets it next to you. While you wait for serving girl to bring you both some wine, you and your beloved watch over the people celebrating Duke’s marriage and love.

“Look at them.” Astarion says and you’re trying to see what he means exactly, scanning the happy crowd, looking for something that stands out, but you fail to find whatever that is.

You look at him but before you can speak the serving girl is back with a bottle of wine and two goblets. She sets everything on the table and seems to be flustered when she steals a glance at Astarion. You immediately frown, jealousy lighting up like a match. When the girl pushes the goblet towards your lover you grab her wrist firmly, making her yelp. Astarion looks at her, then at you, then finally sees you grabbing the poor mortal girl firmly and he smirks.

“My lovely consort, please, she’s a nobody.” he seems to have immediately caught on the situation at hand and he pats your grasping fingers softly. “Let her go, she’s no trouble.”

You glare at the server for a moment longer, then narrow your eyes, but let go of her at last. The girl immediately yanks her hand away, rubbing her sore wrist with fear in her eyes. She just stares at you in shock before she steps backwards and scuttles away like a rat.

“Darling, they can look but nobody can have me except you.” Astarion reassures you and takes your hand in his, finally getting you to look at him. He sees your frown, your anger, your jealousy and it makes him smile. “Oh, but you look so lovely when you’re jealous.” his voice is like a purr and he reaches up with his free hand, tucking your hair behind your ear, then trails his fingertips down your jawline. “I’m yours and you’re mine, for eternity.” reassurance in his voice finally makes you calm down and you sigh, leaning your face into his touch, making his palm press against your cheek.

“I apologize. I should’ve just ignored her.”

“Yes, you should have. Especially considering you’re my consort, dear. You should act appropriately for someone in your position. But I do love you so dearly, so I will forgive you. This time.” a smile on Astarion’s face tells you he’s not even slightly mad about what happened and is just teasing you.

“How gracious of you.” you tease back and his fingers slip from your cheek to your chin, pulling your face closer to him.

“Give me a kiss and all will be forgiven, my pet.” he hums and you smile too, leaning closer and giving the kiss he desires.

Unfortunately the kiss doesn’t last long, after all you both are in public and you have to upkeep the image of nobility and grace, but when Astarion starts pouring the wine you look around again, realizing that despite the celebrations going on in full swing there’s still some young patriars watching you two and whispering.

“What do you think they gossip about?” you ask Astarion and he gives the people a quick glance, then settles the bottle of wine down on the table.

“Who knows. Most likely how beautiful we are, how successful we are, and most likely what we do behind closed doors.” Vampire Lord gives you a mischievous look and you smile, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh I’m sure they gossip all about that. But they will never know the truth.” your eyes dip to his lips, to the hidden fangs not unlike the ones you have in your own mouth.

Astarion hands you the cup of wine and you take it, making sure to brush your fingers against his. Small gestures like that always make you both feel connected no matter the place or situation and when your lover takes his own cup you both take a sip each in unison.

“No, they won’t. But it’s better that way. If we want to keep spinning the web for this city, we have to hide our true identities until such time comes that we can reveal ourselves. But we have eternity, my dear. And world will be ours for the taking.”

You smile while you watch him watch the patrons of the tavern and take another sip. Hearing him talk about his plans for the future always makes you feel so excited. Yes, the world is yours for the taking. And you will help him every step of the way, no matter how long it will take.

But then you look away from Astarion when you begin hearing shouts. Right before your eyes the fight begins breaking out. Seems two men wanted to woo one girl and she didn’t bother to pick, making them angry at each other.

The fighting starts, mugs and cups start flying. Someone gets shoved, shoves someone else, more people get involved by the second. You see the tavern owner rush to the center of the brawl only to get punched and you gasp at that.

“Oh my.” you hear Astarion chuckle by your side but you feel his hand find your knee and squeeze it protectively.

You take another sip of your wine, getting slightly worried now that the brawl seems to be growing, the shouting is almost deafening, someone screams, high pitched type of scream that makes it hard to tell if it was a man or a woman.

“Astarion-“ you turn to him, only getting a second to see his serious face before something heavy drops on the table you’re sitting at.

You yelp and immediately jump to your feet, so does Astarion. Two men fell while trying to choke each other and you step back from them, only for Astarion to step in front of you, his arm extended protectively as he watches the men keep fighting even after falling so harshly.

“I think it’s time we leave.” you hear Astarion say among all the noises and shouting and you couldn’t agree more.

You take his hand and toss the cup of wine away, now looking around for a path to the door leading outside. But then – pain.

“Fuck!” you shout now more annoyed than scared and look at your upper arm, seeing a slash in the sleeve of your dress and a wound that immediately begins oozing blood.

Astarion turns to you in a moment and gets closer, looking at your wound, then at your face. When your eyes meet his, you clearly see that he’s furious. He briefly looks around then back at you.

“Who hurt you?” he demands to know but you shake your head, you don’t know, there’s people beating each other almost everywhere so it’s hard to make out who could’ve had a knife and accidentally hurt you.

Astarion snarls with fury, then looks around with his eyes narrowed and his muscles tense, you feel it because you’re still holding his hand and his grasp on your fingers is iron-like.

“Let’s go.” he says curtly and you hear barely contained fury in his tone but you don’t respond, just start making your way towards the door while pressing your palm against your wound.

From outside you already hear Flaming Fists gathering to manage the brawl and before you reach the tavern door it opens. It’s two men but they immediately notice you with Astarion and push people aside to get to you both, leading you out at last. You are happy they were here to assist you because you are not sure if Astarion would not have gone back in to kill whoever wounded you once you were safe outside. He cannot do it now with Fists present and it’s for the better because when he’s furious, he doesn’t think well.

Outside though you pull him to the side and make him look at you. He’s trying to see if he can sneak back in, his eyes not staying on your for longer than a second but you let go of his hand and grasp his jaw, forcing him to look at you now.

“I’m okay, you’re okay. It’s just a small cut.” you assure him and he finally seems to focus on you now.

“Show me.” he demands and you remove your palm from your wound. It’s just a shallow cut and it barely even bled.

Astarion sighs and holds your upper arm, looking at the cut with a frown, but then he leans closer and kisses it gently.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” he whispers and you smile at that.

“I know. But I’m okay. It was just an accident. No need to slaughter entire tavern in broad daylight.” you assure him and his eyes meet yours.

“No need? Maybe not. But the desire to do so anyway…” Astarion’s voice trails off but he sighs and nods slightly. “Yes, you’re right. It’s just hard not to want to punish these idiots for even laying a finger on you, let alone spilling your precious blood.”

“It was an accident. You know well nobody would touch me without your permission anyway.” you say with a smile and Astarion finally seems to start relaxing, his face softens as he gazes at you.

Finally, that self-assured smirk returns to his lips and he pulls you into an embrace, his arms around your waist and you place your palms on his chest, looking up at the beautiful man you have a whole eternity to love. And be loved by him in return.

“You’re mine.” he says in a whisper.

“And you’re mine.” you whisper back and let him kiss you.

Crisis averted, slaughter avoided. Screw this wedding anniversary celebration of the Duke. You two can show love to each other in safety of your palace.

And you will.

For as long as time itself exists.

#baldur's gate 3 #ascended astarion #reader insert #x reader #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion #female reader

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woundedwizard · 1 year

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A new substack: Letters from Poor Folks

#letters from poor folks

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fatehbaz · 8 months

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Goldstein and Mahmoudi point to what, on appearance, is a relatively new phenomenon: namely the use of digital technologies in contemporary forms of surveillance and policing, and the way in which they turn the body into the border. Shoshana Zuboff (2019) has famously referred to the historical moment within which the datafication of human life becomes an industry in its own right as “surveillance capitalism” -- a system based on capturing behavioral data and using it for commercial purposes. According to Zuboff, surveillance capitalism emerged in the early 2000s, with [the major company beginning with letter "G"] as the main driving force [...].

In contrast, scholarship on colonialism, slavery, and plantation capitalism enables us to understand how racial surveillance capitalism has existed since the grid cities of sixteenth-century Spanish Mexico (Mirzoeff 2020). In short, and as Simone Browne (2015, 10) has shown, “surveillance is nothing new to black folks.” [...]

[S]urveillance in the service of racial capitalism has historically aided three interconnected goals: (1) the control of movement of certain -- predominantly racialized -- bodies through means of identification; (2) the control of labor to increase productivity and output; and (3) the generation of knowledge about the colony and its native inhabitants in order to “maintain” the colonies [...].

---

Identification documents and practices can, like so many other surveillance technologies, be traced back to the Middle Passage [...]. [T]he movement of captives was controlled through [...] slave passes, slave patrols, and wanted posters for runaway slaves [...]. Similar strategies of using wanted posters and passes were put in place to control the movement of indentured white laborers from England and Ireland. [...]

Fingerprinting, for example, was developed in India because colonial officials could not tell people apart [...]. In Algeria, the French dominated the colonized population by issuing internal passports, creating internal limits on movement for certain groups, and establishing camps for landless peasants [...]. In South Africa, meanwhile, the movement of the Black population was controlled through the “pass laws”: an internal passport system designed to confine Black South Africans into Bantustans and ensure a steady supply of super-exploitable labor [...].

On the plantation itself, two forms of surveillance emerged -- both with the underlying aim of increasing productivity and output. One was in the form of daily notetaking by plantation and slave owners. [...] Second, [...] a combination of surveillance, accounting, and violence was used to make slave labor in the cotton fields more “efficient.” [...] [S]imilar logics of quotas and surveillance still reverberate in today's labor management systems. Finally, surveillance was also essential to the management of the colonies. It occurred through [...] practices like fingerprinting and the passport [...]. [P]hotographs were used after colonial rebellions, in 1857 in India and in 1865 in Jamaica, to better identify the local population and identify “racial types.” To control different Indian communities deemed criminal and vagrant, the British instituted a system of registration where members of particular tribes were not allowed to sleep away from their villages without prior permission [...].

---

In sum, when thinking about so-called surveillance capitalism today, it is essential to recognize that the logics that underpin these technologies are not new, but were developed and tested in the management of racialized minorities during the colonial era with a similar end goal, namely to control, order, and undermine the poor, colonized, enslaved, and indentured; to create a vulnerable and super-exploitable workforce; and to increase efficiency in production and foster accumulation. Consequently, while the (digital) technologies used for surveillance might have changed, the logics underpinning them have not.

---

Text by: Sabrina Axster and Ida Danewid. From an article by Sabrina Axster, Ida Danewid, Asher Goldstein, Matt Mahmoudi, Cemal Burak Tansel, and Lauren Wilcox. "Colonial Lives of the Carceral Archipelago: Rethinking the Neoliberal Security State". International Political Sociology Volume 15, Issue 3, pp. 415-439. September 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #landscape #colonial #imperial #ecology

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elegantsplendour · 9 months

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Of Blossom and Betrayal

Summary:

AU: Green victory, the realm called for a new queen after Queen Helena's demise

Seraphina Tyrell did not belong to the worldly realm of Westeros; a lone child conceived of loyalty, love and devotion. A beacon like her attracts the darkest of souls, in the darkest of times.

💌 Aegon II Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: manipulation, abuse of power, mentions of rape, slight underage, dub con, violence. Specific warnings will be added at the beginnings of each chapter.

Cast

Chapter 1

Prologue: Highgarden

Tag list: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @femmechaotic

Other friends: @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @qyburnsghost

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Lord Lyonel Tyrell was a man of honour, loyalty and vigilance. Succeeding in remaining neutral, assuring his family’s survival and maintaining the influence of his house in one of the bloodiest war since Aegon’s Conquest, if not of all of Westerosi history, was an accomplishment that many of his position had dreamt of.

Loyalty? He laughed bitterly at the memory of the bright and confident smile on his long gone brother Bryan’s departing figure to King’s Landing to serve under Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Be loyal to no one but his family, his loved ones.

It was the code he had lived by since Bryan’s unexpected tragic demise at the hands of Rogue Prince himself, a man his poor brother, the innocent messenger sent by King Viserys, admired and sworn loyalty to, fourteen years ago.

Lyonel remembered the day the news of his demise reached his father, the former lord of Highgarden.

People sing that there were six stages of grief.

Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

But when it came to a devoted seventy two year old father, the grief ended in the very first.

Two days later, Lyonel, the second son, whose ambitions never surpassed the allure of marrying Lady Jayne Lannister and sampling the finest wines and sugary with his beloved, inherited the legacy he had never been prepared for.

The Targaryens will always do what’s best for the Targaryens.

Those were his late father’s last words.

To survive the Targaryen rule, Lyonel played by their rules. Schemes, betrayals, deceptions and bloodshed? He did not shy away from them. He bore the burden so his family, his people, didn’t have to.

With his hands on the cold balcony, Lord of Highgarden bathed the fresh air of flowers, the peaceful chirping of insects, the giggling of young maids and the distant melodies from the small folks returning to their homes after a long day of labour.

This was his empire he defended.

One of loyalty, honour and love.

His beloved Jayne, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Seraphina, his precious jewel, his sweet little rose, the one and only fruit of his and Jayne's love's many attempts at blooming.

His Lancel, Bryan's illegitimate offspring, whom he had taken under the Tyrell bloodline, a fierce and honorable knight, a fine protector, his heir.

“Lord Ormund has written again,” Jayne rested her head on his shoulder, her golden curls soothing his skin as much as his mind, “The letter touched me, the words he’s chosen, the sincerity of his voice. He truly desires a betrothal between his first born and Seraphina.”

Jayne traced her fingers on her husband’s cheeks, “He wishes to introduce them in King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?” Lyonel frowned deeply, “It should be fit for them to present themselves to Highgarden, especially when Phina was the one who treated their wounded bodies in the woods, risking the slaughter of the ruthless Northerners.”

Jayne swallowed hard as she recalled the turbulent times of the war.

Although negotiations, strategies and armies kept the castle away bloodshed and dragon fire, the walls were not impenetrable to whimpers of loss and screams agony from the highborn’s well acquainted soldiers calling the Rose without Thorns to their rescue, even at the interdiction of her parents.

Every time the Rose sneaked away from safety, the Lord and Lady of Highgarden sobbed while the peasants and soldiers rejoiced. Her empathetic smile, attentiveness to their wounds and of course, the herbs and food she had carried with her ignited the flicker of hope in the darkest times.

One fateful day, Seraphina stumbled upon two injured knights bedecked in green armor, hidden in the woods—Ormund and Daryn Hightower, gasping for air, on the brink of death from the Battle of Tumbleton.

As Seraphina returned with the blood stained figures of the castle, Lyonel and Jayne’s anger and fear exacerbated.

Highgarden had remained unharmed because of its neutrality that their naive daughter had just broken.

Yet, the gods seemed to show them mercy, perhaps in honor of the lives House Tyrell defended. The Blacks remained oblivious to this act, which could be seen as a declaration of allegiance. Instead, Seraphina’s uncalculated move of benevolence eaned House Tyrell a favourable position in the new Targaryen court: an intimate alliance with the most influential house beside the new king.

As Lyonel contemplated the offer in silence, Jayne squeezed his hand, “Daryn is a handsome, brave and honourable young man. I recognized the look on his face when Seraphina brought him back from the wild,” she pressed a kiss on cheek, “It’s the same way you looked at me years ago, lord husband.”

Lyonel’s gaze softened as he enveloped his wife into his arms with a light chuckle, “Your jest on formality never cease, my love. If the young Hightower truly feels the same about our daughter as I did to you twenty five years ago,” he cupped her cheeks, “Then, perhaps, that boy deserves her hand.”

Jayne held her husband tightly, relishing his scent and warmth. In a world cruel as this, she thanked to the gods everyday for granting her a man of his devotion, wisdom and strength.

“To King’s Landing then?”

“To King’s Landing,” Lyonel nodded before rolling his eyes, his never dying youthful side emerging, “Where the drunken king will be holding a foolish lavish pageant while his people starve. Seven bless the poor girl he will choose as the new queen.”

Jayne laughed wholeheartedly before tending to his arm, returning to the warmth of the interior, “You know, fate favoured us immensely,” she whispered with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety, “If we had agreed to the Kinslayer’s proposal in marriage-“

Lyonel suddenly gripped the touch of her hand, “Thank the wisdom my father and brother had bestowed me. Never trust a Targaryen. The rumours of…” disturbance and disgust written all over his face, “Lady, now a Princess, Cassandra Baratheon’s screams of pain echoed through the Red Keep on her wedding night. I cannot imagine-“

He buried his face in his hands as he sat down with his wife next to the fireplace.

Jayne brushed his hair with adoration, “Don’t overthink about the past, my love. Phina is about to marry a good man.”

The lord smiled as he lifted his head to face his beloved, “Everything I risked, I fought for, it was worth it. For you, for her, for Lancel, and for our people.”

Jayne kissed him passionately before whispering, “You are too good for this world, Lyonel Tyrell.”

As the stars gracefully pirouetted around the moon in the embrace of the night's darkness, and with the imminent date of embarking on the journey to King's Landing drawing near, the wheel of fate began its inevitable revolution once more.

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aegon ii fanfic #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #alicent hightower

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fairly-linked · 5 months

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Presence (Twilight x GN!Reader) 🖤✨

A/N: Two fics in the same 24 hours??? Am I okay??? Yes, I'm on vacation. I have energy to write lmao. Eat it up while you can folks. Enjoy! 💖💖💖💖💖

TW: Mentions of depression, self-isolation and general stress on the reader.

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Twilight noticed you'd been a little... off lately. A lot of things had happened over the last few days, and everyone was a bit on edge; the whole team being ambushed around almost every turn, you having trouble keeping up due to some kind of medical issue he wasn't understanding (which terrified him, of course, though he'd struggle to hide it for fear of overwhelming you), and not to mention Wars' and Legend's near constant bickering over trivial matters due to all the stress... But your breaking point seemed to come when the postman delivered a letter to you.

He'd watched as you read it, everyone else watching on as well as it seemed like the emotion drained from your very being. It worried him beyond words. His heart shattered at the sight of you so visibly... emotionally numb. And he'd asked if you were alright, but he knew he could only do so much-- he'd never want to push you.

So instead, he did what he thought was best: he managed to convince the Old Man to let the chain stay at an inn for a few days to give you time to recover from... whatever was going on with you. Twilight soon learned that even though Time didn't show it, he also seemed troubled by your sudden change in demeanor.

He was very thankful now more than ever that the Old Man was a good one at heart. If he hadn't been, the Rancher knew he wouldn't have let you rest.

So here they sit, him and the Old Man, together with the rest of the chain in the inn's dining hall for dinner. The only empty chair was yours, he noted with growing anxiety. You hadn't shown your face all day today...

"...Are they still asleep?" Time questioned him softly. "...This isn't good. They shouldn't be alone when they're feeling like this... It only serves to make things worse in the long run," he sighs.

Twilight nodded. He knew you had a habit of isolating when you weren't feeling your usual self, but... skipping all three meals today was unacceptable. He stood from the table suddenly, without finishing his own food; he'd been so worried about you he couldn't eat much of it anyway.

"I'm... I'm gonna go check on 'em," he states firmly, unable to mask the concern in his voice.

To his surprise, the Old Man didn't try to stop him; Time simply nodded, speaking softly.

"...Why don't you fix them a plate and bring it up? I know they may not want to eat, but even something is better than nothing. They need their strength..."

The Rancher nodded again, fixing you a a decent portion and bringing it up to your room.

When he reached your room, the one that the Old Man was kind enough to let you share with Sky (someone he knew wouldn't bother you)... He paused, his ears twitching slightly at the sound of soft sobs coming from the other side. His heart broke, and a lump formed in his throat; he was so worried about you. He hated to see you in such a state... Nevertheless, he knocked softly.

"(Y/n)? ...Can I come in...?"

The crying hushed immediately, and your shaky voice reached his ears. "W-What do you want...?"

He paused, trying to think of the best way to respond.

"...(Y/n), we're worried about you, darlin'. Can I come in please?"

...Silence. He sighed; he knew he shouldn't barge in on you, but--

"...Fine..."

He let out a sigh of relief at your answer. He opened the door softly, carrying the plate of still-warm food; the room was dark. No lights, the curtains were drawn... Oh, you poor thing, he thinks to himself.

"...I'm turnin' on the light, sweet thing," he says, flicking on the light and watching as your figure huddles deeper under the blanket. He sighs, setting the food down on the nightstand and taking a seat beside you on the bed.

"...Can I ask what's been goin' on with you lately? You've been so sad, and it worries me to see you like this, hun. It worries all of us..." he says softly, placing his hand on your hair and rubbing the top of your head softly with his thumb.

He could've sworn your voice broke a little as you speak again in a softer tone than ever. "...I don't wanna talk about it..."

He sighs, but nods. "...That's okay, darlin'. I won't push you to talk if you don't want to..." he mumbles, still stroking your hair.

"...Can I at least stay here for a bit? I haven't seen your pretty face all day, sweetums."

He hears you sniffle, but he can see you nod. It's hard to make out at first, with your figure huddled deeply under the comforter, but he smiles when he realizes you'd said yes.

He shifts, now sitting cross-legged on the bed beside you, his hand remaining on your head. He sighs, thinking about what he could do to make you feel better.

...He'd be lying if he said he didn't wish you were roomed with him for the night. He wants to make sure you're okay, but he also knows that Sky is perfectly capable of being there for you should you want it.

...And he says 'want', because goddesses know you definitely need it.

"...You feel like eatin'?" he asks softly, voice remaining low as he leans a little closer. He sighs again when he hears you mumble a weak "Not really..."

"...Yeah, I figured..."

He sighs for what now has to be the eighteenth time. He wants you to eat; he knows you haven't all day, and it's past 5 PM now...

"...I know you don't want to, doll, but... could you at least take a little bite? For me? Pretty please?" he asks as sweetly as he can muster.

He hears you sigh, and for a split second he's worried he's pushed you too far; but to his pleasant surprise, you sit up, reaching for the plate.

Heh. Can't say no to me, can you lovebug?

He smiles; the way your hair's all messy and the tired look on your face makes you cute, but in a heart-breaking sort of way. He watches intently as you slowly pick up the fork, poking at the food; and his smile grows more as you finally take a bite.

He places his hand back on the top of your head. "Good pup," he chuckles softly, laughing a little more as you huff at him.

You must've finally realized you were hungry, because he sits in silence for several minutes as you manage to finish off a little more than half the plate.

"There you go," he says softly with a tender smile. "Feelin' a little better?"

You nod, setting the plate back on the nightstand and pulling the blanket back up to your shoulders.

"...You're free to go back to sleep if you want, darlin'. I just wanted to check up on you," he says, subconsciously leaning a little closer to your face as his hand drops to your shoulder. "...Do you want me to stay here, or should I leave?"

"You can stay..." you say softly. He's overjoyed at your response, grinning like a lovestruck dumbass (because he totally is. Not that he's admitting it or anything. Not at all.)

"...I can do that. But you're cuddlin' with me whether you like it or not, lovebug."

He laughs as you huff again, rolling your eyes this time. "Fine..."

His grin only grows, lying down and pulling you down with him. Gently, he pulls your head onto his chest, resting his hand on the top of your head as he noses your hair.

"See? I'm not so bad," he chuckles softly.

"I guess not..." you sigh, and he runs his finger through your hair.

"...Don't worry, sweet thing. Sometimes you just need someone else to take care of you when you can't do it yourself....

"...And I'll be that person if you'll just let me. Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing, darlin'. I'm here..." he says tenderly, stroking your hair.

He's so warm and his presence is so comforting, it's not long before you're on the verge of sleep again. A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest.

The last thing you note in your half-asleep state, is that you could've sworn you felt his lips on your forehead.

"Sleep, little lovebug. I'll be here when you wake up."

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Tagging friends so they see and maybe are proud of me lmao

@trippygalaxy @the-cucco-nuggie (you might like this one. I know how much you like hylian jacob black from twilight)

#bek's.fics #lu twilight #loz linked universe #linked universe x reader #linked universe #fluff #comfort

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 10 months

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The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: You’re Alys Rivers but with less sorcery and more so just judgement over being a bastard. You’re around the same age as Aemond, maybe two-three years older than him at the time of the Dance.

Wordcount: 2,400

The Dragon’s Revenge

It is known by Commons and Nobles alike that the Targaryens have always ruled the skies.

They had for the last century: when the Old King had his decades of peace, continuing to his grandson, Viserys I. Dragons continued to fly over towns and for that century, the common people stared in both admiration and terror.

Peace did not continue for long, not after the death of the King and its disputes finally sprung forth. Rhaenyra, the King’s eldest daughter and Aegon, the second born but eldest living son from his second marriage had begun their war for the throne, and the people suffered for it.

It didn’t matter what the poor folk thought, not when their opinions were silenced over the sounds of constant clashing steel and the rumbling of dragons roaring above. Wherever war went, the people died for it, and on and on did the cycle continue.

The Riverlands had seen the most of the war, for a dragon appeared from the skies in early 129 AC. The blood wrym circled and landed on the Kingspyre Tower with a screech that shook the castle grounds.

The castellan, Ser Simon Strong, yielded it without the need of spilling blood to Prince Daemon Targaryen and he used it as a nearby base to carry his side’s attacks.

For the next few months, dragons and armies came and went through Harrenhal, your home for as long as you could remember. You had been fostered by the old man and uncle of Lyonel Strong, Ser Simon after the death of your mother, an unknown woman no one knew of. Not much was known about your father too: noble or baseborn too, there was one thing for certain, your looks were undeniably Strong.

The first men's blood was strong in your veins: from the curls that reached the small of your waist, black as a raven’s wing, to your eyes, brown as chestnuts. Squires and maids whispered within the walls of Harrenhal, murmuring of your potential parentage. One of the many kin of House Strong, many whispered it had been Harwin “Breakbones”, the man who fathered Princess Rhaenyra’s children with her first husband, Laenor Velaryon.

Others whispered it had been the castellan himself, Ser Simon, who took pity on his natural daughter, taking her in as a handmaiden. Some even mocked it had been Larys, Harwin’s brother and the Master of Whispers for Aegon’s small council, but those also mocked that spoke that it would’ve been impossible for him to even father children.

Harrenhal was a ruined castle: those who resided in its walls spoke of ghosts, deathly and dreadful, cursing those who was the owner. It was no surprise to you when you had heard of the rumours: of Lyonel and Harwin’s deaths and those that came before.

“Have you heard?” You had been kneeling by the fireplace when your closest friend, Perra came running through into the main apartment, a letter screwed in her hand.

“If you’ve come to tell me this bloody war is not over, I’m not interested.” You chided, wiping away the ash from your calloused hands against your apron.

Perra was from House Grey, a knightly house sworn to House Tully. Brown-haired and long-faced and a girl of ten-and-seven, she was as skinny as a stick and small as one too. Her uncle, Ser Garibald had sworn to the Blacks from the beginning of the conflict and it was without a doubt that Perra agreed.

She grinned toothily, shoving the letter in your face, assuming you were literate. “You will be most pleased to read what just arrived.” As you unravelled the scroll, your eyes darting over the words you were reading. “My uncle brings news. The Queen has taken over King’s Landing. Aegon has not been seen nor his children. The Queen Helaena and Dowager Alicent have been captured.”

“The Greens will not be most pleased to have their Queen returning to claim her father’s throne.” You rejected the letter quickly, handing it back over to Perra.

“This is good news, Y/N. The war will soon be over. Stark bannermen march down, so too will the Arryns.”

It didn’t seem possible that the wounded usurper king was missing but not much was known of his remaining brothers. Daeron remained at large a threat with his dragon, Tessarion, but what about the one-eyed brother, Aemond?

“You forget one thing, Perra. The King may be missing, but he has two other brothers, Aemond and Daeron. And they have dragons too. What would we do with them? Or where could they be?”

“They fight elsewhere.” Perra was too naïve to know such a thing, the excitement and positivity were good to hear of, but you doubted the Greens would leave the capital open so easily. “Vhagar has not been seen with her rider for days.”

Certainly, they will be looking for revenge. You dreaded.

Your conversation was broken when the low, dreadful sound came as a response of caution.

A long, blow of a horn was sounded in the courtyard, and the rush of footsteps and shouts erupted as vast as the sound of battle. Steel and shields could be heard being collected and as Perra rushed to the window to look out, she shouted. “A dragon comes! The Rogue Prince without a doubt.”

How you wish it had been.

The shadow of this dragon was much too large to belong to the blood wrym, looming over the entirety of Harrenhal like dusk. It appeared as if it was an apparition, and fears of what happened a century ago from the first Aegon could happen again.

It had not been Daemon that had arrived, but rather a one-eyed Prince who landed in the courtyard.

The ground shook when the old beast landed, mighty and worn from a thousand battles. The she-dragon growled, hissed and spat as she stared down at those who had gathered arms in protecting the base.

From her saddle, Aemond climbed down, appearing in gleaming armour of black and gold, adorning a helm of similar colours and a long dark plume. He was not mistaken for another Targaryen, for when the banners of a gold dragon on green cloth began to be marched through, you realised the war had not been over just yet.

You and Perra ran as fast as you could, gathering behind the stalls, and observing the entire ordeal go down.

From this close, you saw the Prince, and despite missing an eye, you couldn’t help but marvel at how otherworldly and comely he was from afar. Targaryen women were blessed with the rare beauty of Old Valyria, and so too were the men.

Aemond stood mighty in front of his dragon, and beside him, the new Hand, Ser Criston Cole, aged and haggard and not so knightly as the stories spoke of him. War and hatred had aged him horribly, and he stood with a sour face, adorning the golden armour of the Kingsguard and pin of the Hand.

“Which Strong rules this castle?” Aemond spoke aloud to the crowd that had gathered and when no one spoke or came quick enough, Vhagar hissed impatiently.

It didn’t take long for a voice to be heard, emerging the old man who presumably shared your blood. “Aye, I am.”

Aemond responded coolly towards him, “Ser Simon, I assume? Can you recall to me, Ser, which Master of Whispers sits at my brother’s council?”

“My grand-nephew, Larys, my Prince.”

“And you agree that you share the familiar ties to Strong blood?”

“Aye, my Prince.”

His seeing eye was wide with rage, mouth twisted when he spoke in unwavering patience. “Then pray tell, why have you yielded the castle to my uncle, and kept it as a base for the forces of his whore of a wife and pretender Queen?”

Ser Simon did not yield under the heavy gaze of the Prince, nor with the hot breath of the dragon eyeing him down. He had no hesitation when he stared death in the face, and he must’ve known that he would die this day.

Perhaps in the jaws of a dragon. You thought.

Simon spoke calmly. “Prince Daemon took the castle without spilling blood. I am, without a doubt, loyal to my Queen.”

Aemond tutted, his purple eye glaring in rage, though he remained calm. “You waited daily for a dragon to return and now, one does. Do you yield your castle to King Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?”

“Your brother – that cunt of a man – you wish for me to yield my castle to him?”

Aemond was to speak before Criston Cole stalked towards him, ready to unsheathe his sword. “Not yet, Cole.”

The Hand did not answer as he slowly stepped away from Simon, glaring silently. “Yes, my Prince.”

“I will not ask again, Ser. Answer truthfully and you will be spared alongside your kin. My dragon will not burn your walls the same way it did at the hands of my ancestor a century ago. Do. You. Yield?”

“I would never accept the words from a kinslayer.”

Kinslayer. The word was wrought with dread from the simple term, and it seemed to both spook and bring Aemond’s temper to rise. Or neither. Murdering his nephew with his dragon, chasing them along the clouds only for them to meet a death falling into the sea.

Aemond nodded to the honest words, and it took you everything not to grab Perra and flee through the castle gates. You knew that the Green’s forces stood just outside to chase any Black loyalists down.

Or even have Vhagar have a meal if she’s hungry. You shivered. Instead, you stood still, frozen in terror of what would happen if you were spotted.

The next words to come from Aemond’s mouth were wrought with venom.

“Cole. Bring me my sword.”

Men of Aemond’s forces grabbed for Simon, kicking and knocking him to his knees, holding him by the back of his burly arms. The Hand did not say a word, silently moving like a shadow before bringing forth what the Prince had wanted. There were cries in the crowd, presumably from those who were close kin to Simon.

A sword flashed bright silver when it was unsheathed from the Prince, as he stalked his way towards the knelt man.

“Speak now or forever hold your silence, old man,” Aemond asked, his mouth thin and twisted, holding the blade in between both hands. “Do you have any final words?”

“Gods be good to you and your ilk, kinslayer,” Simon spoke with as much pride as his “The Black Queen will come for your head and every Green who chases for her throne.”

Aemond did not flinch when he gave the man a worthy death, swinging the sword with might that it took his head clean off, thudding softly into the soft mud. Shouts and protests were heard in response, but they were deafened by the sound of Vhagar roaring.

You watched as the resigned Aemond brushed off some blood and its matter from the blade with a harsh flick. You could tell in his eye that it was something he shouldn’t have done, but what he had to do next was the next honourable thing:

His voice was laced with heaviness as he announced to his men, “Bring every boy, squire and baseborn of Strong blood to meet my steel.”

You grabbed Perra by the hand, fleeing back the way you came through, down the vanquished halls that had melted away like a thousand candles. Screams from others were heard around you as you hid, but to no use, the castle was surrounded by not only men but an ancient dragon that could burn it all down.

It felt as if no time had passed at all, before Perra was grabbed and thrown into the arms, screaming for you as she was led out the castle. “Perra!” You, however, found yourself running after her, colliding into the back of a heavily-armed bannerman, decorated in the green sigil of a dragon.

“No! Unhand me!” You screamed and hissed as you were dragged the opposite way from your friend, away from the sight of freedom and back towards the courtyard.

Aemond was facing his dragon when you came back to meet him up close, and you realise even despite the way he scowled as he looked you up and down, that he was still comely. You were thrown to your knees, your hands bracing your stumble as they were coated in the mud and blood that decorated the yard.

Aemond eyed you scrutinisingly as if assessing what was wrong with you and what he had to do to be rid of you. After all, you did have Strong blood in you, but he didn’t know that.

“Who are you, girl?” He drawled, but his tone was laced with taunting you.

You dared not to meet his dismal stare, instead, watching the blood-soaked and muddied ground or his muddied boots. “Y/N. Y/N Rivers.” You spoke earnestly.

“A bastard,” Criston Cole hissed, momentarily holding his sword’s hilt to draw it, “would you wish for me to bring forth her head, my Prince? Or she could be fed to Vhagar.”

“No,” Aemond dismissed quickly, too quickly. He was staring at her distantly, and it was difficult to see what he was thinking. His seeing eye was bright and staring down at her with disgust and fascination for her and those of House Strong blood. “No, she will not be fed to my dragon. She is much too reliable. Bring her warm clothes, Cole. I will have better use for her.”

“Yes, my Prince.” Cole relaxed as he grabbed you by the back of your arm, dragging you away from the yard, away from the one-eyed monster and his loyal beast.

You wished for your feet to stop yourself from being dragged away, to accept the headsman’s sword and to have your head beside those you were fostered by.

You looked back in horror, watching as the courtyard grew smaller and smaller, hearing the foreign, unknown words dragonrider spoke to their bonded dragon, the bright flame came from her open jaws, lighting up the pile of corpses you did not stand too close to a second ago.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #Aemond the Kinslayer #aemond x reader #strong! reader #reader has the surname rivers #aemond targaryen x reader #female reader #asoiaf fic #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house targaryen #the dance of the dragons

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bucknastysbabe · 8 months

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70s/80s summer camp for jace it’s just so fitting

SO FITTING THAT LIL SUMMER BOY, I struggled at first and really found my groove so I hope it’s good! Thanks for requesting❤️❤️

AU Bingo - 70’s Summer Camp - Jace Velaryon

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//underage drinking, consumption of marijuana and alcohol in LARGE quantities, Jace and Reader are 18, Cregan’s little sister!reader, enemies to fwb to lovers, slight angst, Addam and Alyn share one brain cell, poor Luke, Cregan is the ultimate Big Bro, cunnilingus, pnv!sex, Frottage, blowjobs, Jace’s Horse Dong, virgin!Jace, we goin wild at the summer camp

“It’s going to be a hot summer this year folks! But we have hotter music for the Summer of seventy-nine. Here’s The Logical Song from Supertramp.”

The man on the radio was right. It was sweltering in Jace’s little black Pontiac firebird transam. He swerved at breakneck speed around the bends on the mountain roads, second nature at this point. Lucerys was in the passenger, nervously eyeing his brother.

“You’re making me quiver,” he shoved the twerp, “Quit being a pussy.”

Luke mumbled, “M’not a pussy!” He sunk down into the leather seats, brown eyes cast to the surrounding trees and views. They’d go through the mountains before making it to the lake and the camp. Camp Wolfwind was the name, the Stark family generously started it over decades ago.

Cregan Stark, Jace’s best friend by mail most of the time would be there. He was assistant director of camp this year, just a year older than him. Cregan always had the air of being mature, making Jace feel like a kid without even trying. Mr. Umber was the camp director, some wildman looking type with a booming laugh.

Jace’s mother had him and Luke come to this camp since they were little, to quote, “I’m not sending my children to that snobby hobnobbing farce of a camp. You boys are going to learn to be of the people and nature.” Safe to say Camp Wolfwind was a staple of Jacaerys summer. It really was a great place.

Being a senior counselor this year added bonuses. More time off between campers, say-so on party invitations, and all the grass, liquor, whatever you could get your hands on. It was a poorly hidden secret Mr. Umber grew his own bud. But only on the weekends you could partake, per Cregan.

“Whose gonna be the female senior counselor?”

Jace almost wrecked the fancy car. Fuck. Cregan’s little sister got that post. He’d had to work with the thorn in his side since, god, he first camp to Wolfwind. She had a way of getting under his skin with that sharp laugh and glinting eyes. Most of the guys thought she was sexy, looking like Jaclyn Smith of Charlie’s Angels.

Jace saw a demon with horns snorting at him when she opened her mouth. He had no clue how that girl was related to the ever calm, collected Cregan. Jace huffed, annoyed that Luke brought back the information he had banished since receiving the letter from his friend.

Whatever. It was his last summer at Wolfwind before heading off to college. Camp stopped last week of July and most of his stuff was packed up back home anyway.

A sign for the camp flew by, Jace’s knuckles whitening on the wheel. Luke snorted and popped back a cheez-it, “You’ll be fine, she’s really not that bad.” The elder brother made a familiar turn, much slower now, and scoffed, “Okay, sure, that’s why Aemond makes you cry at Christmas.” The two were pulling hair and throwing blind punches, the car skidded to a halt as insults were slung.

Cregan leaned into the open window, grinning in amusement, dodging a stray elbow. He slammed on the hood of the trans am a couple of times before Jace collected himself and shot one last side-eye to his shit of a brother. The eldest Stark huffed in humor, “Good to see you Jace and Luke, let’s get you two parked then you can go into the woods to work it out.”

Jace smiled and shook his best friend’s hand, “That can be arranged.”

Luke was back to pouting, quiet and slamming shit as he grabbed his stuff upon parking. The familiar smells and sights greeted Jace’s nose. He couldn’t help but grin at the lake shining under the view of the mountains, the wooden buildings here and there, up through the trees were obstacle courses and archery ranges. The smell of the mess hall wafted by. The Velaryon felt at home here.

Sliding his Ray-bans back, Jace sauntered to the senior counselor rooms, a duplex where he’d be connected to Satan herself. Luke stomped off to the more open spaced male junior counselor building, throwing one last bird finger. Cregan leaned against the porch frame now, holding out a bag full of camp clothes.

“You need to leave that poor boy alone,” he teasingly chastised. Jace plunked his suitcase on the bed and eyed the mirror in front of him. He shrugged, “Always sound like my mom Stark.” Cregan shrugged, “You know me, someone’s gotta do it.” The smaller brunette plugged away his personal clothes.

“Sis is real excited to see you,” he deadpanned.

Cregan’s dry humor could either make one want to drown or laugh until crying. Currently it’s drowning. Jace slammed a drawer shut and snarked, “I’m sure she is, surprised she-wolf wasn’t waiting with a sign that said ‘welcome pansy!’” Another huffing snicker from the elder.

“Well get your swim trunks on and meet down by the dock, Umber’s got us a nice selection while the counselors get here.”

Jace sighed a bit at that. Some bud and a beer would be nice. He shimmied on his red trunks and sandals, putting his best foot forward. He was the alpha somewhat now, had to exude authority. The Velaryon had no idea how his cousins, one a drunken slob and the other an uppity seminarian could exude so much confidence.

Down on the dock, Big John Umber was lighting a pipe, booming, “Jace! My boy! Get over here and have a puff!” Jacaerys grinned, “Yessir, how’ve you been this year?” He took two greedy puffs of the potent herb and held until exhaling with a couple of coughs. Umber’s big hand clapped his back as he replied, “Business is booming son, spent the whole year in Miami!”

Jacaerys waved and nodded at familiar faces; Maris and Cassandra, Ben and Aly Blackwood, Alyn and Addam, then the she-demon. She waved her painted nails, long dark hair streaming down a regrettably beautiful body. The she-wolf cooed, “Jaceyyyy, you ready for camp? Then college? Gonna have to unlatch off of mommy’s tit by then.” Her hazy eyes were lidded, lips curled in sarcasm.

Jace cracked a beer open and sniffed, “Might have to fight Lucerys and Joff back for that position Stark. Sure you’re ready to go wild without Cregan’s approval.”

Cregan’s dark, sharp eyes turned to the pair. She waved a hand, “Just playing around bro, chill out, smoke some more damn.” She stuck her tongue out at Jace and leaned back, exposing more tit than he really needed to see.

He sat on the dock’s edge, humming along to the radio, feeling the buzz tickle his senses.

Soon enough more arrived and a little gathering had developed into a party, Cregan and Umber high as balls watching from their kingly wooden dock chairs. Even little Luke had finished his pouting fit to have some PBR, making a face. Jace was flirting with Cass, boasting about his college plans.

Before a little hand pushed him into the water with a laugh. Jace dunked under the chilled night water, coming up to wipe his hair back and curse, “Hey! What the fuck?” She smiled down at him and said, “Sorry, Cass looked bored. I wanted your spot.” A raucous of laughter echoed around, drunken teens.

Jace narrowed his eyes and swam around to get tossed a towel from Addam, shaking his head. Jace plunked down near the white-blonde and was passed a shot, taking the whiskey quickly. He swallowed down the burn, feeling easier. The Hull boy snickered, “Cregan’s sister has it sooooo bad for you Jace.”

He raised a brow and guffawed at such a notion. “Yeah and gas is gonna go down too!” They both laughed at that, the male humming, “Glad I get a deal on the diesel family monstrosity.” Alyn piped in, “The monstrosity is named mouse and she does a good job.”

Another shot or two was passed around, Jace beginning to feel pretty smacked. He shook his head and excused himself from the twins, “I think I’ve lived up to the family lightweight standards, and I’m gonna retire boys.”

“Awe c’mon, c’mon, we got ghost stories soon!”

He smiled and promised another night, half stumbling back to his new cabin, all to himself. He could shower! Shower! Fuck yes. Jacaerys Velaryon felt like a king. The dim porch lights blurred in his vision, the door almost there.

“Tapping n’for the night already?,” she asked softly, long hair braided back. It looked pretty. No. Bad Jace. Cregan’s sister was drunk off her ass too, eyes hazy and leaning against the wall with a too wide grin. Jacaerys snipped, “Why y’care? Want to push me n’to the water again?”

She shuffled closer, face so sharp and pretty, dark eyes enticing. “No, I wanted to get you to myself and I was making sure ya’ weren’t leavin’.”

Jace’s face suffused into a blush. He stuttered, “W-wh-Wha?” He was a big virgin. With a capital V. Berlin Wall sized V. The darker haired girl smoothed a hand up into his hair, asking, “Taken? No good hm? Whas’ the play here.”

He steadied himself, blinking some sobriety into his thoughts and said, “I’m going to go to my shower. You can turn the radio on. The rest is up to you but,” he snatched at her waist, “Quit playin’ ‘round with me.” She moaned softly, nodding.

He let her go and moved to his room, stripping inelegantly, heading straight to the shower, leaving the door cracked. It got to a steaming heat, he stepped under, sighing, his cock beginning to hang heavy between his legs.

Right.

Jace had a ridiculously sized cock. So large in fact he thought something was wrong and went to his step-father about it. Who crassly widened his pale eyes and exclaimed, “That’s a damn horse if I’ve seen one. Congrats lad. No wonder your mother loves some Strong’s.”

So usually when he got to the point of attempting to fuck a girl, they would shy away or screech in pain. But he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to fuck right now, this she-wolf was a menace.

The radio clicked on. ‘Spooky’ by Little River Band filtered into the haze, making Jace a bit woozy as more blood flew between his legs. He heard her light footsteps, then a body slid behind his own, soft tits and feminine hands sliding up Jacaerys’ taught torso.

She murmured into his ear, “When did’ja get all handsome hm? Get this,” she wrapped her hand barely around his cock and shook, “This Fuckin’ monster.” He moaned softly, leaning dark hair back onto her shoulder. “Dunno, tried to hide it today.”

He flipped her round under the spray, getting a good look at wet lashes, dilated pupils, and swollen lips. Jace stared, hands groping at her built ass, cock nudging her thigh. She pulled him forward with two hands, sculpted lips drawing Jace open. They slid tongues across another sensually, occasionally getting a little nip from her, a hand pulling at his aching member.

Jace groaned helplessly, whining and chasing her lips with wide eyes as the she-wolf pulled back. She snatched some conditioner and slathered it on his cock, Jace’s legs trembling. The brunette girl braced herself against the wall, ass up, legs tight together.

“C’mon, y’old maid, fuck the gap!”

Understanding knocked him clean in the skull, shaking hands guiding into that shining opening, gasping and stuttering her name as he fucked the man-made gap, her teasing fingers helping along. She cooed and shivered, “Y-yes, that’s it, fuck you’re perfect! N-nudge there, there, THERE!”

Jace must’ve been getting her clit based on pitchy whines and cries, her cute hands scrambling for purchase as her back arched and then gushed on his cock, pussy convulsing. She tightened her strong thighs around him on last time before dropping to her knees.

“Cum on my tits Jacey, just like those pornos you watch.”

It didn’t take long looking at her wrecked face and swollen cunt to have him painting her tits in white, some reaching her chin and lips. He heaved and choked out hoarse moans, body wearing out. He slapped a hand on the shower wall and whimpered her name when the she-wolf licked his cum off her chin— fuck, lips, moaning.

“Does your mother know,” Abba warbled. She grinned evilly, patting his oversensitive cock. Standing back up she sung, “We’re gonna have fun this summer, Jacey.” And off she went, leaving the male a shaking panting wreck. He was gonna get her ass next round.

Jace was met with a rude awakening besides a mega hangover the next morning. Stretching and shuffling to the mess hall, he waited for his duplex neighbor. She gave him a disgusted look and shoved past, giving Jace an eyeful of legs and ass in her bitty jean shorts. Her dark hair whipped around.

Oh. Jace was a bit perplexed. She was just licking his cum off her chin last night. Now the cold shoulder? Was this one of those games girls played? The brunette was a novice on the front and he certainly couldn’t go to Cregan about it.

Shuffling into the mess hall Jace managed to stomach some grits and coffee, head pounding. Addam and Alyn sat down, identical faces cheery. Those two were immune to anything. Alyn hummed, “What’s your bag? Looking like a bummer man.”

Jace took a miserable sip of his coffee. He murmured, “Do not start yelling and jumping when I start talking. Got it? Or coffee in your face.”

Cregan was off in the corner with Aly, the two seemingly close this year.

The twins nodded, eager for the skinny. Jacaerys sighed, “What does it mean when a girl gives you the cold shoulder after gettin’ ah-uh a little hot and heavy.”

“Who?!”

Jace hissed, “I said shut it! Doesn’t matter!”

Addam, the more suave of the two, “She’s playing games then, wants you to beg and grovel for her. Or…if this is who I think it is, she wants it on the DL.”

“Downlow then, but riles me up during the day. Just great,” Jace whinged while sipping his coffee. Alyn whispered something to Addam, the other nodding and they descended into giggles. A plate slammed down, the trio jumping and growing red faced.

“Morning girls, what’s the skinny?,” the she-wolf asked with a conniving look. Addam shrugged off Alyn’s red face and Jace being an idiot, “Which girl has the nicest ass, what did you expect Stark?”

“I’d assume it would be mine,” she hummed, taking an obscene bite from her banana, watching Jace. The brunette took the last bite of his apple and darted off, holding his mug of coffee, “See you guys for cleanup later!”

Jacaerys was going to explode. With anger, lust, he didn’t know what. He stomped to the little overlook on the lake he’d found as a kid, sitting on a rock. The lake was calm and lapping on the smooth rocks, sky sunny, fish flopping here and there. With every sip of his warm drink, his blood began to settle.

The crunching of leaves took that serenity and shat all over it. Stark’s sister sat next to him, a strange look on her face. Both began to speak then stopped. Jace bolted out, “I don’t know what the deal is here but I can’t handle it.”

Pretty lips frowned and she replied, “Fine, I’m sorry. It’s fun to see you get red in the face. But I can’t just change my personality around you,” she looked off into the distant, “Cregan is Cregan no matter how close you two are. I wanna keep fooling around, why not?”

Jace narrowed his eyes and held out a hand, “Fine. Just fucking around on the low. But just know I’ll get you back.” She grinned and shook his hand, stating, “You got it Velaryon.” They sat down in simple peace before the call of the speakers came, the order for clean up.

Over the next week was a flurry of inebriation, hard work, escaping Cregan’s watchful eye, and shoving away the Hull twins. He’d spend his nights learning all the ways to pleasure a woman. Jace’s favorite was face first between her strong thighs, lapping and sucking. She’d get all whiny and soft on him.

Especially when he crooked his middle finger up and she made his chin slick with arousal, Jace going back in for more, rutting into his bed frantically. He made her come so many times one night she cried and held to him until the she-wolf remembered her situation and ran away.

As the days to campers arriving drew nigh, she was a staple in his bed after their romps, the pair just chatting and smoking cigarettes. Dreams, hopes, funny stories, sad stories. He felt like he’d known the Stark sister for years by now.

They never reached full penetration, Jace utterly petrified by hurting her, as much as she begged for it. Getting head was just as nice, especially when she’d get him down her throat, the male holding her distended neck and whining helplessly, balls drawing tight so damn fast.

Then the campers came. The two would bicker and shove each other when directing the others. Not to mention the inclusion of night rounds to make sure no kids were being naughty. Occasionally they’d find some kids macking against a pine but nothing serious. The leaders were the naughty ones.

It went like this all summer. Until the very last week. The send-off dance with all the staff and the tweens moving up to counselor next week. Jace was excited and decided he would ask his girl. Which wasn’t his girl but they did everything like a couple, the whole camp had picked up on it.

Jace reluctantly asked Cregan one evening. He was shaking in his shoes, “Y-you know how your sister and I can get, but, I really like h-her.” The elder Stark deadpanned, “You’ve been at it all summer, you think I can’t tell that? She likes you a lot too, go for it. I wouldn’t want any other man to have her hand for this dumbass dance.” Jace grinned and pulled Cregan into a brotherly hug, thanking him tremendously.

He would wait until later to spring the question on her. Jace may have gone a bit overboard, flowers from the woods and twigs spelling out, “Be mine?” Aly loaned some candles and he was set, waiting. The door opened to his cabin and there she stood, gorgeous as always.

She took in the surroundings and stifled a laugh, eyes wide. “W-what’s all this?,” she questioned, snorting again. Jace’s heart and smile began to fall, she seemed to dislike this. He murmured, “I asked Cregan, he doesn’t care, wanted to take ya to the dumbass dance as a last ride, c’mon?”

“You went and asked Cregan? Really? What is this? My silly engagement proposal? Fuck you Jace! We knew what this was from the beginning!,” her dark hair tossed about as she hissed again, “Don’t fucking talk to me again!”

The door slammed shut. The radio turned to some cheery disco song. Fuck Suzi Quatro. Stumblin’ in to what? A brick wall, in the trans am at 120mph. Jace, stunned, sat down on his bed. He wiped away a stupid tear, steadying himself.

“FUUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUUCK.”

Okay, maybe he felt better now. Jacaerys Velaryon would just have to do like he did last year, pining over a different girl then. Get blackout drunk and puke in the grass. Then get back and go way too hard on the dance floor, maybe Cassandra would let him have a squeeze. Blegh.

Jace moped his week away, some of the kids asking why he wasn’t with his ‘girlfriend’. He’d snap, “Back to the ropes course! She’s not my girlfriend!” A snap of the line and the little shits would go scrambling. Meanwhile the she-wolf ignored him utterly and completely. Not even to jab or play a trick. Nose up and eyes away, not responding to any teasing.

He tried to get her attention once and she simply crossed lean arms and stared until he got the point and shuffled away. Pure torture this was. Alyn and Addam exchanged confused glances, they had no clue on what pissed her off so bad. Addam clapped Jace’s shoulder and laughed, “Girls man! Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

But Jace worried about it, pacing his wooden floor the night of the dance, all dressed up. By that he meant a linen shirt and some nicer shorts. Luke probably had a damn silk disco top on. The brunette dabbed on some cologne, ignoring his wild hair. He hoped she went home or something.

The dance was awkward and filled with the smell of sweaty teenagers and weed. Cassandra offered a flask and said, “Looks like you need it, sorry bout’ ya girl.” Jace took the heady drink to the dome, swallowing down the burn, finishing it. He shook his head and garbled, “Sorry,” then shuffled away.

The buzz kicked in but Jace felt more moody than anything. Luke’s silk shirt did bring a slight smile to his face. Same with Cregan’s brotherly hug and promise, “She’ll come around.” But the music and happiness wasn’t seeping into his bones.

Grabbing a beer the eldest Velaryon went to his spot by the lake. It was much quieter out here, only crickets chirping, faint music emanating from the mess hall. He found his rock and sipped on the beer, stuck in his thoughts. Beer bottle still sealed by his plush lips, Jace caught a glimpse of lights over by his duplex cabin.

Taking a gulp and placing down the bottle he stared at the dim light, an aching feeling crawling up from his belly to chest. Longing. God. He was so dreadfully in love. Taking one more swig he disposed of the bottle and trudged to her side of the cabin.

The door was ajar, Blondie singing about that glass heart. Jace pushed the door open and raised his brows. There she was, pinning a banner up. Per usual the female snapped, “I wasn’t done yet you dunce!”

‘Sorry for being a bitch’

She stepped down and gestured, face aflame, “Well. Here it is.”

Jace noted the trembling in her bravado, the multiple discarded outfits, even a curling iron was steaming on a dresser. She never did her hair or wore make-up. “Are you going to say something or stare? I know I’m a piece of shit!”

Lean arms began to wrap around herself, shying away.

“No, no! Just surprised!,” Jace crawled onto the bed and pulled her to straddle him, taking in that familiar beauty. She blushed and turned her head, but little hands curled under and behind to grab his shoulders. The she-wolf murmured, “I’m really sorry— I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I freaked out. I know I’m crazy…but that was shitty. I-I’ve always held the cards?”

Jace grabbed her chin to look at her long lashes and rouged cheeks, sighing, “You are crazy. But I forgive you. A valiant effort by the way, but you always look pretty to me.” She huffed, Jace smiling and nibbling at sharp jaw. “I don’t do makeup for anyone,” the other brunette stated.

“You gonna keep talking or kiss me sweetheart?”

Stark jerked her gaze towards Jace and took charge eagerly, hands moving to grab his face. Ah great, the radio was on the Doobie Brothers. Sexy time initiated— Jace internally cringed. Their lips sealed eagerly, finding a familiar pattern before Jace licked into her mouth. He got a breathy sigh, an arch closer into his frame.

He grabbed her pretty ass and squeezed, dragging her across his already aching cock. The she-wolf gasped and whined into his maw, lapping harder afterwards, humping him desperately. Jace thumbed a sensitive pulse point on her long neck before sliding a hand under her crochet top— no bra to be found.

Now he had something to work with, both hands relocating to her tits, tweaking and pulling at sensitive buds. She yanked off the top in a flurry, going to work unbuttoning Jace’s linen shirt, kissing her way across tanned skin. He shimmied the top off to push his she-wolf into the bed, him growling at her forced moan.

He rutted into her clothed cunt, the little hotpants doing nothing to hide. Jace rumbled against her ear, “Does it feel good, letting someone else have the cards?” She stuttered a retort— gone squeak as he pulled up on the front of her shorts.

“Fuck yes it feels g-good, get ‘em off!”

Jace grinned, that pretty pussy he missed so much…wet and swollen for him. Him. Only Jace. Sliding back to her chagrin, the male unbuttoned and pushed down his shorts and boxers, heavy member dripping with arousal. Eyes hazy but determined she moaned, “That- ugh- fucking monster is going inside me. Stud.”

Jace nodded, barely catching the bottle thrown at him. He looked down and smirked, a bottle of lube sat in his calloused hands. Jace casually put it aside and hummed, “Gotta get my pretty girl ready first hm?”

The girl almost shrieked when familiar lips met eachother again, Jace lapping and suckling her clit. He sighed, “Y-you’re so fuckin’ wet baby.” She shoved him back down, thighs shaking. Jace flicked his tongue as one, two, three all eventually fit into her tight pussy. Sloppy noises outweighed the background drift of music.

Stark cried and shivered, “Ah-haaah, Jace, fuuuck! Another, Jus’ one more! So close.” He could almost cum right then at her broken voice. Easing a pinky inside, she gasped and shuddered, coming undone when Jace flicked the sensitive spot under the hood of her clit and fucked all fingers up in the way she liked.

“Jace! Jace! Fucking god!,” she hollered.

He kept his mouth wide open for her gush of arousal, moaning and slurping eagerly, until she whimpered and shied backwards. Jace simply took his essence covered hand and jacked his cock a couple of times. He eyed her sated look and asked, “Still want this baby?”

“Uh-huh,” she rasped, legs wide open, cunt twitchy and still shining with arousal.

Jace slathered himself further down with the KY, even taking time to work her stretched opening, earning the cutest little noises. Now pressed on top, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, they stared intensely. She thumbed his cheek and murmured, “I really, really care for you Jacaerys. M’sorry for freaking out. I could probably spare this for later but,” he kissed her gently, hands smoothing up and down soft skin.

“S’okay, I promise, I care for you so much. Now just relax, we both gotta make this work okay?”

Another kiss and Jace led the heavy blunt tip to her soaked entrance. Oh god. He can’t believe this was happening. He tucked his cheek next to the fellow brunette to listen for anything, lacing fingers with her own. It was a big stretch, her panting going hoarse as the first few inches slid in.

Fucking hell. She was like Heaven, so tight n’ silky hot. She gasped, “K-keep goin’ Jacaerys, c’mon.” Soon the fattest part of his length was deep inside, cockhead nearing her cervix. One more push and they were snug as possible— joined completely. In a sweaty tangle of limbs, half-mewling cursed and sweet words.

She kissed him deeply, licking into Jace’s mouth, sighing, “I can feel you, hell, so ah deep.” He could feel it too, the lump in her lower belly. Puffing softly he asked, “Can I? Can I try?” Another peck to sweeten the deal.

“Go for it stud, be gentle.”

He slid back inch by agonizing inch, mouth open with helpless moans of her name. Every inch of her cunt was pulling along him, wanting to suck back in. Then gathering his wits, Jace forced himself up, the she-wolf mewling in glee. Unsteady at first, Jace developed a good pace, sweat dripping down his back, and god knows what leaving his mouth.

She scratched and cried at his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around slim hips. She warbled, “S’good, only you, only you stud, fucking me so good.” Jace’s hips stuttered at that, picking up the pace before he blew from her just being…sexy. Soft slick noises developed into full-on slaps and squeals.

Jace rambled, “Tight- s’tight- ohgodyoursoperfect! Ohhh-only mine!”

He was falling apart fast, balls tight and nerves on fire to bust a nut. She swirled lithe fingers around where they were joined then to her clit, crying and carrying on. Jace rapturously watched— her fingers, their copulation, the belly bulge. In a frenzy he pulled out with a load groan, painting her legs and the bed with loads of spunk.

Unable to catch his breath, Jace flopped onto his belly, leg still woven with his girl’s. The pair rested for a minute, music filling the peaceful void. A raspy voice and warm body curled over to him, her nosing his hair. Practically purring she cooed, “Couldn’t have been better. Too sweet. They make you Velaryon’s different.”

Jace huffed a laugh, rolling her onto his belly, “Was is good enough you’ll call or write me when we go off? If I remember…that stuffy girl’s school isn’t too far from mine.”

Her sculpted lips curled upward, “A hop and a skip they say. Gotta get the lads from somewhere. I’ll be around.”

He grinned and squeezed her. Damn Starks.

#asks answered #au bingo #summer camp!au #jace velaryon x reader #stark!reader #jace velaryon smut #hotd smut

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