#long days journey into nigh

[galedekarios]

waterdeep & the city's wards: dock ward - part 1

"The splendors that await you in Waterdeep are legendary. Each of the city’s wards is detailed in this work, telling you what to expect depending on where you are, as well as what thrilling things you might see and do."

[from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion]

waterdeep is divided into a system of wards and civic districts. the six recognized wards are:

dock ward

castle ward

north ward

sea ward

southern ward

trades ward

notable parts of the city that aren't considered wards are the city of the dead and deepwater harbour and its surrounding isles (deepwater isle and stormhaven island).

in this meta, i'd like to first focus on the dock ward of waterdeep.

the dock ward is often theorised to be the ward that houses gale's tower. i'd recommend reading this post by @dailygale or this post by @elspethdekarios, as well as the posts linked within them, for further details.

the dock ward in spring

map of the dock ward, 1491 dr [source]

dock ward ambience by dungeon crawler audio

general

"Ports, by their very nature, are unclean, noisy, crowded, and constantly busy places where few outsiders are welcome. Waterdeep's Dock Ward fits this mold, though its notoriety and bedlam are, if nothing else, slightly muted by the tales told up and down the Sword Coast. It was best described, by a wizard of no little note, as a riotous, semi-stationary but nigh-perpetual brawl that covers entire acres and is interrupted only by small buildings, intermittent trade business, an errant dog or two, and a few brave watchmen (who do manage to keep the chaos from spreading beyond the docks), the whole lot wallowing in the stench of rotting fish. Still, in all, twas quite a lusty, intriguing place to spend an evening. City watch patrols and guard contingents keep this ward in a semblance of order, traveling in well-armed groups of eight during the day and groups of twelve or more after dusk. Many of the roads are gravel-packed dirt, once the docks and cobblestone access roads to the Way of the Dragon are left behind. The dark, mud-strewn alleys are endless in Dock Ward, and they hide many dangers, despite the alertness of Waterdeep's defenders, so travel in large, heavily armed groups if you must. Dock Ward's boundaries, quickly stated, are the harbor and the southern boundaries of Castle and Trades Wards. The northern boundary runs north and east on Lackpurse Lane to Belnimbra's Street, over and down Gut Alley, and turns east to Shesstra's Street. Moving east and turning south onto Book Street, the boundary moves east again on Drakiir Street until it meets the Way of the Dragon, the eastern perimeter of Dock Ward. The southern border of the ward is, of course, the docks and the harbor." [source: waterdeep dragon heist]

in his waterdeep enchiridion, volo provides his impressions of the dock ward:

"The Dock Ward was long considered the most dangerous district in the city, but the Field Ward has since taken that title. I don’t doubt the residents of the Dock Ward are glad of it, for in some respects this area has never truly deserved its bad reputation. Yes, aside from the Field Ward, this is the area where most of Waterdeep’s poor reside. Yes, it is home to some of the least literate people in the city. Yes, most of its taverns are inhabited by habitual drinkers, and far too many inns charge by the hour. But all must concede this: the residents of the Dock Ward often work the hardest while living under the harshest conditions. Warehouses, poorhouses, and tenements dominate much of the area. Streets are steep throughout, and few have space alongside for pedestrians. Wandering through the ward can be a bewildering journey without a guide. Except in the immediate vicinity of the piers, shop signs and advertising of any kind are rare, and warehouses and other businesses often have no sign at all. You either know where you are going and have reason to be there — or you are lost, and a likely mark for pickpockets or worse. Streetlamps don’t fare well in the Dock Ward. Their candles, oils, and glass are too regularly stolen or smashed. The Guild of Chandlers and Lamplighters makes a halfhearted attempt to repair the streetlamps at the start of each season, but for most of the year, locals are forced to carry their own light when traveling these streets at night. The colors of the Dock Ward are burgundy and orange, and its mascot is a swordfish that has always been depicted as green for reasons lost to time. The folk of the Dock Ward take competition seriously, and they frequently draft their champions from the rough-and-tumble sailors who come to the city. (Some say they draft pirates, but that is pure slander.) Frequent complaints arise that these women and men are more citizens of the sea than of the Dock Ward itself. But if they register with a magister and pay taxes, they are as welcome to compete as any long-term resident of Waterdeep." [from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion]

the sentiment that the dock ward is "dangerous" is echoed by elminster as well:

In the words of Elminster himself, the Dock Ward was a "riotous, nigh-perpetual brawl that covers entire acres, interrupted only by small buildings, intermittent trade businesses, an errant dog or two, and a few brave watchguards, who manage to keep the chaos from spreading beyond the docks; the whole lot wallowing in the stench of rotting fish." [source]

neighbourhoods of the dock ward

the living conditions in these neighbourhoods is described as ranging from "poor" to "modest":

Abovefish: Aeldinmuth Court, Arun's Bend, Drawn Sword Court, the Everwind, Fishgut, Frostraen, the Hobbles, the Hooks, the Krakenway, Leera's Trod, the Lurch, Redcloaks, Sakiir's Street, Scoundrel's Cradle, the Slide, Spider's Web, Three Daggers

Belowfish: Asteril's Trod, the Bitters , Cod Lane , Essunmar's Dream, the Ghemmerwalk , Greathoist, Horizons, Manycrates, the Odd , Old Elbermaen, Old Tar's Walk, Pressbow, Shipwright's Square, the Sirenwalk , Six Casks , Two Flasks

Eastsnail: Amanaster's Lane, Blackwell, Bulette Point, Candle Lane, Doerlunn, Emeskine's Shine, Foxden, Knightsfoot, Marvynhurst, Melinter's Alley, Oubliette, the Pearls, Philosopher's Court

Southdocks: Cedar Wharf, the Fishgut, Hoedmar's Trod, Manylines, Ormibar's Sky, Sailmaker's Run, Sambril's Lane, Smuggler's Run, Southshore, Sperival, Tower Watch

[source: waterdeep dragon heist]

landmarks and notable locations in the dock ward

below you'll find a collection of landmarks like the mistshore and notable locations like guildhalls, inns, temples, streets and alleys, as well as other places of note.

mistshore

mistshore is part of the northern harbour:

"After the Spellplague of 1385 DR, Waterdeep went into a decline and maintenance of the harbor was neglected. Many ships sank or were scuttled in the northern harbor and eventually Waterdeep's outcasts created a small community on the wrecked ship hulls. The harbor water was polluted and smelled horribly. In 1491 DR, Mistshore was largely destroyed in a massive fire, with most ships burning down to the waterline and having to be towed out of the harbor to prevent other vessels from running afoul the wreckage. By 1492 DR, most buildings in the neighborhood were still burned and abandoned. Mistshore was considered so dangerous that the City Watch refused to send patrols into the area." [source: forgottenrealms wiki]

notable locations within mistshore include:

Crib "This collection of partially sunken ships was the hideout of the crime lord Arowell prior to his death at the hands of Cerest Elenithil. The ships were arranged in a circle with suspended platforms in the center. Arowell sponsored gladiatorial contests to amuse the inhabitants of Mistshore." Dusk to Dawn "This tavern was nothing more than a tent that moved to different locations in Mistshore nightly." Hearthfire "The wretched inhabitants of Mistshore created a permanent firepit on which to cook." Waltzing Ferryman "Sea wraiths kept the inhabitants of Mistshore from approaching this old wreck. It was inhabited by an old spellscarred mage and his friend." [source: forgottenrealms wiki]

guildhalls, inns and taverns in the dock ward

"All sailors who regularly sail into Waterdeep have their favorite taverns and lodgings, but all are familiar with Cookhouse Hall, the large, echoing, hammerbeam-ceilinged hall where hot meals (usually roast beef, stir-fried vegetables, and a highly peppered stew) are served to all who line up and pay 2 cp for a meal. Minted drinking water is even provided. You don't have to be a sailor to eat here. It's open from dawn to dusk, and has fed many a weary (or poor or down on his luck) traveler who doesn't mind a little coarse company and dinner conversation.  The Shipmasters' Hall, by contrast, is a private inn and dining club for captains, first mates, and ship owners and their escorts only. It's very old and elegant, with polished dark wood paneling everywhere, shining brass fittings, comfortably cushioned brocade seats, and heavy plush drapes. One of the largest privately owned buildings in Waterdeep is the shipbuilding shed of Arnagus the Shipwright, who's crafted many of the fine ships that ply the Sword Coast. Owing to the dangers of sabotage and fire, he doesn't welcome visitors, but many folk go to the docks where the slipway from his shed runs down to the harbor to peer in at the work going on. A ship launching always draws great crowds. It's the nearest thing after brawl watching to a spectator sport that Dock Ward has.  The following guildhalls can all be found in this ward: the Butchers' Guildhall, League Hall, Mariners' Hall, Watermen's Hall, Seaswealth Hall, Coopers' Rest, Shippers' Hall, Shipwrights' House, and the Metal House of Wonders. The Most Diligent League of Sail-Makers and Cordwainers has as its headquarters the Full Sails tavern. The Muleskull Tavern serves as headquarters for the Dungsweepers' Guild." [source: worldanvil]

a list on inns and taverns in the dock ward from the forgottenrealms wiki:

a list on inns and taverns in the dock ward from oakthorne:

a list of shops and businesses in the dock ward from the forgottenrealms wiki:

a list of streets and alleyways in the dock ward from the forgottenrealms wiki:

a list of streets and alleyways in the dock ward from oakthorn:

listing out the following places of note with short descriptions:

Fishgut Court: A cobblestone court off Sail and Dock Streets where many strange happenings occur during nights of the full moon. Many know that Selûne herself hid in a mortal form in the tavern nearby, and her blessings continue to touch the courtyard.

Smuggler's Dock: The most isolated corner of the ward and also its safest, under the watchful eyes of Mirt's Mansion and the Watching Tower, used often for lovers' rendezvous.

Black Well Court: The small back-alley home to a polluted, monster-infested well that is sealed by order of the Lords, though it is occasionally broken into – or out of – and creatures haunt the shadows here before they are dealt with and the well re-sealed.

Manysteps Alley: A narrow alley that is the habitat of soothsayers, fortune tellers and thieves galore.

Melinter's Court: A dark courtyard often thick with the pipe smoke of curbside philosophers and corner sages (and sometimes the plotting of wizards).

Philosophers' Court: Also known by natives as "the Foolsquare", a daily (and often nightly) meeting place for intellectuals, old sages and drunken nobles alike found arguing over topics "too esoteric for a common mind".

Round Again Alley: An alley that doubles back on itself and provides a testing ground for many apprentices' illusions.

Three Thrown Daggers Alley: An alley that suffers from a magical curse that causes three random blades to fly from nowhere to attack passersby in the alley.

other notable locations are:

ilmater's safe harbour

"Ilmater's Safe Harbor was a soup kitchen, run by the Ilmatari priestess Mother Brenia, in the Dock Ward of Waterdeep in the late 15th century DR. It was known to be frequented by almost every beggar in that ward. The building's layout consisted of a cooking area, a dining room, a small room in the back, and a cellar. These rooms were provided illumination by means of lanterns and a heavy, iron chandelier of candles. Within the building's cellar was a hidden door, which opened to rough-hewn rock tunnels leading into the Warrens. Being a soup kitchen, this establishment provided free meals for the impoverished citizens of the Dock Ward. Additionally, in the building's small back room, Mother Brenia tended to the sick. [...] At some point during the late 15th century DR there was a string of disappearances of both beggars and stray dogs in the Dock Ward. This began not long after Ulmani, Rik Milesan, and some others began volunteering at the soup kitchen. A month later, the City Watchman Girnan Svann found himself frustrated at his superiors' not viewing the string of disappearances as something worth looking into. He went on to hire a group of adventurers at the Blue Mermaid to investigate, informing them that each missing beggar was connected to Ilmater's Safe Harbor, but that it could be a false lead. Looking around the establishment, the adventurers eventually discovered its hidden cellar door. Traveling through it, they came upona group of thugs dressed as Sharrans and accompanied by horribly mutated dogs and wolves. After beating up the thugs, the adventurers recognized some of them as the newer volunteers and that their Sharran identities were merely a red herring to distract from the mysterious mage they were truly kidnapping people for." [source: forgottenrealms wiki]

stinking sands

"The Stinking Sands was a local name for a stretch of beach in the southeastern most corner of the Dock Ward in Waterdeep. This beach was bordered by Dock Street and Deepwater Harbor. Along Dock Street the notable buildings that overlooked it included the Fellowship Warehouse, the Smokehouse, Telethar Leatherworks, a guard barracks, and the East Torch Tower. When the Laughing Lady sank near Waterdeep in 1372 DR, the caravel was dredged up onto this beach by barges belonging to Raulinvur's Ropehaul and by wizard members of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

starry cradles orphanage

"The Starry Cradles orphanage is a Dock Ward orphanage run by Matron Griselda Hoppletun, a halfling care-taker, and funded by the House of the Moon and the Selûnites clergy thereof." [source: worldanvil]

wavehall of valkur

"The Wavehall of Valkur was a temple to Valkur located in Waterdeep during the late 15th century DR. The temple was built during the late 15th century DR. During the Year of the Scarlet Witch, 1491 DR, the Wavemaster of the temple was killed by Mirt the Moneylender over a dispute involving the priest's refusal to bring a deceased ally back to life. Valkur was a minor Faerûnian god of sailors and their ships, as well as favorable winds and naval combat. The Captain of the Waves was the very picture of the daring sea captain, one capable of sailing his vessel through any disaster the Gods of Fury could unleash." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

this concludes my collection of information about waterdeep's dock ward for now. it's a sprawling topic, each and every ward, and i'm sure there are things i missed or forgot!

still, i hope this was of use to someone other than myself!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello M! I saw you were open to writing for characters for GOT/HoTD, so I was wondering if I could send in a request for Aegon the Conqueror x fem! reader (non-Targaryen - maybe Nymeria's sister?) with the prompt 'Gift giving'? As for smut level, if possible lemon please, if not default or lime are perfectly fine too! Thank you and have a great rest of your day :)

Hello! Nymeria actually lived and died long before Aegon’s birth, and the princess ruling Dorne during Aegon’s time was already eighty or so, so I will write this fic with the reader being princess Meria’s great-niece instead. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Aegon the Conqueror x Fem. Reader (House Martell/Great-niece of princess Meria | Second person POV)

Themes: Soft | Smut

Warnings: Size kink | Kissing | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 1.3K words

Summary: The day after his return to Dragonstone, Aegon receives his first gift on the day of gift giving

Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: In this version, Visenya and Rhaenys are merely Aegon’s sisters, and not his wives. I also write the seasons running for three months each, instead years and years.

Divider by @estrelinha-s

The Dornish custom of gift giving during the winter solstice was not unheard of in the other kingdoms, but they, besides the Northmen, were the only people to practice such a custom. Once King Aegon took a Dornish princess to wife and adopted many of their ways, his own kin started to exchange gifts as well.

The dreary holdfast that was Dragonstone was awash with black and crimson banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and black and crimson bunting besides. Sprigs of evergreen clung to columns and windowsills, adding to the color that cut the chilling white of snow.

When Aegon opened his eyes, it was to the sound of a bell chiming. It was still dark out; the sun was obscured by thick clouds bearing more snow. Aegon hoped it was morning and that he had not slept through an entire day. His journey to Volantis was a triumph. It was also long and tiresome. Now he was home, and he did not have to think of leaving again for quite a while.

“Good morrow, my love.” Relief surged through him when he heard your greeting. It was indeed morning, and he had not, as he had feared, slept for a full day. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead, sweetling.” Aegon threw back his pelts and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The room was still warm; someone had added fresh logs to the fire. He suspected it may have been you, and he was grateful for it. “Is everything ready for tonight’s feast?”

“It is.” The featherbed was comfortable, and the pelts were soft against your skin. Still, you opened your eyes and sat up in bed. The appointed hour for the giving of gifts was still a long way away, but you wanted to give Aegon his before breaking fast. “And I have something for you.”

“You need not trouble yourself, my lady,” Aegon replied. He watched while you slipped out of bed and slid into a thick robe. He felt a stirring in his blood, a yearning. He decided the first meal of the day would have to give way to more pleasurable diversions. “I have a great many treasures already, you most of all.”

“True, my lord,” you agreed, and then blushed after hearing his praise. Aegon was now king. The immense wealth of gold and jewels of House Targaryen was his to use as he saw fit. Nevertheless, today was the day of giving gifts, and you padded across the room and opened the doors to your wardrobe. There, safely concealed between gowns of velvet and silk, was a heavy object wrapped in leather. The king sat up in bed, his eyes full of ravenous curiosity. “But I thought of giving you this all the same.”

“What have you there?” He inquired. His fingers twitched in anticipation. For nigh on half a year, the two of you shared the same chambers as husband and wife. You dined together and shared the triumphs and trials of ruling a great kingdom together. This, however, was his first true festival with you, and he did not know what to expect.

“I carved this myself,” you confessed, and you placed the parcel on the bed. Worry consumed you the entire time. Aegon had received many a fine gift in his life, and you prayed your own would pass muster. “It took quite a while, and I had to make sure you never came upon me making it.”

“Oho! You made it yourself, is it? Now I have to see it.”

Despite the many cares and expectations that came with wearing a crown, Aegon still possessed the enthusiasm of one free of such. He loosened the thin ribbon and drew away the leather.

“It is you and Balerion,” you explain, and run your finger along an unfurled wing. They were the hardest to carve. One night, you despaired that you would not get them right. “That was how I remembered seeing you for the first time. When you arrived at Sunspear, to ask my great-aunt Meria for my hand.”

Aegon lifted the piece of carved wood and studied it intensely. He admired the embellishments along Balerion’s body: the scales all over his underbelly, the horns on his head, and the sharp spines going down his tail. Then there was Aegon himself, perched on Balerion’s saddle, his crown atop his head. The king was deeply moved. All the wealth he possessed did not compare with this.

“I will treasure this always.” Aegon placed the carving on the chest of drawers next to his side of the bed. He decided to have the carving placed in his council room, on the mantle beside the painted table. “And I have a gift for you as well, my lady. For now, come here.”

He did not give you time to frame a reply and pulled you back into bed. Thoughts of gifts and feasts and celebrating were all but forgotten after his kiss. He was exceedingly gentle as always, stroking your arms, your thighs, his mouth hot and sinful while it plundered yours. Your hands found their way into his hair. He trembled and kissed you harder, moaning into your mouth when those same hands moved lower and clutched desperately at his back.

“Temptress,” he growled when nails dug into his flesh. Aegon slipped his hand over your belly, and loosened the sash of your robe. The rush of warm air made goosebumps prickle all over your skin. He trembled again, this time when you slipped out of it and wrapped your legs around his thighs. Your husband was big, and wonderfully so. You felt it even more when he slid that rigid part of him inside of you.

It hurt a little, even though you were more than ready. And it felt glorious at the same time. Every time he drew his erection out and then pushed it back in, flames sparked to life and surged through your veins.

“It is wonderful to be home again,” Aegon whispered in your ear. And it was not just him who thought so. You felt the same, and you reciprocated his sentiment by kissing him with fire and passion. Aegon nearly faltered, his hips and back now burning with effort. The room felt hotter, and the air was thick and sweet. His cock twitched within the warmth of your body when he felt a coiling deep in his belly. Faster he went, driving you deeper against the featherbed as he chased his release. It was too much. The pleasure was too much. The sensations that came whenever he pushed himself in were too much. Bliss—pure and otherworldly—rose and dragged you into a dark tunnel you did not seek to escape from. You could not think. All you could do was feel: the trails of fire that lashed at you and left you weak, and your very body slowly dissolving into a kind of pleasure that had no name. Then you heard it—your name spilling from your husband’s lips, and the deep, guttural cry that followed. Aegon thrust one last time before he stopped, and went still. 

Later, after he forced himself to move away from you, he admired his gift once more and then inquired after his sisters.

“Rhaenys has built a small mountain of gifts, her ladies tell me.” Aegon hooted when you told him. “Most of it will be given away to our guests during the feast. Visenya has only prepared tokens for us, for Rhaenys, and for no one else.”

“At least she has crafted a token for you, which is a miracle in itself.” Visenya, having expected Aegon to wed her according to the traditions of their House, was wroth when he chose a Dornish bride for himself. She had been cold and aloof for most of your marriage to her brother, but during the the last turn of the moon, there was a softening in her stance, an attempt to meet you in middle ground. It gave you hope for a much stronger bond with her in the future. “Send for the servants, sweetling. I think it is only proper for you and I to share a bath.”

[fanonical]

Jamie's Mildly Pretentious Uquiz Adventures - A Masterpost

what is haunting you? you have been asked to rid a place of the thing that has been haunting it. tell me how you prepare, and i will tell you what you find.

which faerie will guide you? You have been invited to a gathering of the Fae, to meet the being who will become your mentor. It is an invitation you have both dreaded and anticipated. Make choices along the path, and I will tell you who waits at the end.

what thing is hunting you? there is something following you. it is time to run. gather what you can, take what roads call to you. there is something following you, and it will not stop until it catches you.

prepare a spell and i will tell you what sort of witch you are lightning strikes outside your door - the witching hour is close at hand. power swirls inside your form, magic strong at your command. enchantments thicken in the air, spells of word and clay and steel. but what is the charm that you shall cast; to help or harm, to hex or heal?

survive a journey through the post-apocalypse and i will tell you who you are long ago, the world came to an end. but you are still here, surviving amid the ruins. and you have a job to do. the road is long and harsh. there is little comfort here. but you will see it through to the bitter end, and discover your role in this strange new world.

try and save the world from the end and i will tell you what kind of hero you are the signs of the end time are nigh. the people flee, frantic, from the destruction that is to come. but there is a hero, one who will emerge in the last gasps of a dying world, to journey beneath the earth and bring forth an artifact that might, the sages say, avert the end times. and that hero is you.

Prepare to meet a vampire, and I will tell you what you find October has dawned crisp and cold. 'Tis the season of the macabre, of the blood-tinged, and you have been waiting for it a long time. This year, you are going to surpass every past Halloween. This year, you are going to find a vampire…and ensure they turn you into one of their kindred.

Travel out to sea and I will tell you your role on a pirate ship The bright sun beats down on the glistening azure waves. All around you, the docks are alive with sound - seamen and stevedores shouting, timber and rope creaking and groaning, the distant screech of a fiddle. You are a pirate, heading to your ship for a day's work. But what kind of pirate are you?

Which god chooses you? The Hall of the Gods has many idols. As an acolyte, you have become familiar with each of their faces. Now, you prepare for your initiation. One of them will accept you as their successor. Perform the rites, survive the trials, call the Divine, and see who answers.

death is coming for you. how will you escape? the end comes for all of us. some accept it, lay down and fade away. some are eager to find out what lies beyond. and some will kick and scream with every last breath. you just have days remaining, but you have a plan. you're going to cheat death. one way or another. you're going to win.

Create a monster, and I will show you your reflection Night has fallen. Lightning crackles in the sky above. It is time for you to create an abomination. But what manner of horror will spring from your hands?

[moeitsu]

♡The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee♡

(Arthur Morgan x OC) Masterlist

Hey cowboys!

Below is where you'll find all the chapters to my Red Dead Redemption fanfic, I will keep it updated as I continue to post more chapters. But in the meantime, I wanted to make things a little more organized and easier for you to navigate.

Whether you just started reading, or if you've been keeping up with the story since the beginning. I want to thank you! This started as a little side project to keep me busy during my down time at work, but it's turned into something I'm really passionate and proud of! So thank you for all the support <3

!!Please be aware this fic is explicit. As it contains blood/violence, as well as other adult themes!!

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->-> Ao3 

->-> Wattpad

Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places.

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

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Ch 1 - The Years Creep Slowly By Kate becomes entangled in a heist with two strangers, Hosea and Arthur, forging an unexpected bond amidst their criminal endeavor. Ch 2 - The Snow Is On The Grass Again A fisher of men and A strange encounter. Ch 3 - The Suns Low Down The Sky Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook Ch 4 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been It's time to collect a debt. Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp... Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh The battle begins, and the past is revealed. Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back. Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky A blissful sunny day after a long hard night. Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine The Course of True Love and other Revelations Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire. Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 1 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate. Ch 13 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 2 Arthur’s life is ebbing out like the tide. Kate must work quickly and diligently to reverse the cruel hands of fate. She is aided by the help of an unexpected ally. Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey. Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings. Ch 16 - The Past Is The Eternal Past Kate and Arthur welcome a new life into the world. The scene brings back tender memories of Arthur's past, he finally finds the courage to open up to her about his family. Ch 17 - To Watch The Dying of The Day Say, isn't it strange? I am still me, and you are still you. In this place. Isn't it strange how people can change? From strangers to friends, friends into lovers. To strangers again. Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime The gang finds a new hideout at Shady Belle, just outside the heart of the new modern America. With Jack still missing, Kate and Arthur must work together to find him. Amidst the tension, Arthur confides in Kate about his deepest regrets.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ If you're interested in reading about my OC, I linked the Kate McCanon Lore here :) As well as her Face and Voice Claim here <3 About me!

[damndamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part viii)

a/n: the 2 big C's - cregan and character deaths

With Aegon II Targaryen averred as king in King's Landing and Rhaenyra crowned queen in Dragonstone, a war among kin was brewing on the horizon. Upon Prince Jacaerys' request, it was resolved by Queen Rhaenyra that she would send her three eldest children—Princess Aemma, Prince Jace and Luke—as messengers on dragonback to remind the great houses of whom they had sworn fealty to her succession nigh on twenty years ago.

"Dragons will persuade the lords more than a raven scroll," Jace had said. "Let them see that we are the blood of the dragon and we are not to be disparaged."

It was decided that Aemma, the oldest of her siblings, would fly to Winterfell to meet with Lord Stark, given his previous inclinations in treating with her before her hasty marriage to Prince Aemond. By stealth, the queen wanted to propitiate Cregan Stark's displeasure with her daughter as a significant motivation. It was a foul thought for a mother to have, but chances were on her side.

The princess was initially defiant about being cozened into this bloodshed. Whilst her husband advocated his traitor brother's claim to the throne and her mother played her for a mummer in her siege to the throne, she preferred to bide her time. She would not be made to raise war against her husband and, moreover her dearest friend.

That evening, Prince Daemon had cornered his stepdaughter in her chambers and bore down on her.

"You, my girl, piss on compromise—I adore that. But, ambition without intellect is like a bird without wings," Daemon had said to Aemma. "Are you a chicken or a dragon?"

She had snorted. "Better that than ambition without conscience. You would lead my little brothers to slaughter and death."

"Then take no part in it. Go as the queen's emissary and nothing else." He glanced at her, slightly encouraged. "Assure safety to your kin. Do your mother good and help her raise an army."

Jace, the oldest male of the three, was entrusted with a longer and trickier task of flying to Eyrie to meet with the Lady of the Vale, Jeyne Arryn first, before making his way to White Harbour to win over Lord Manderly.

At long last, Princess Aemma attempted to advise the queen against sending her little brothers anywhere, fearing their novice would travail their situation. Jace was fifteen and Luke was but thirteen, and Aemma had noticed how her youngest brother had blanched upon her mother's decision. Luke was in no way fit to deal with those mighty lords alone.

"Both your brothers have served as squires for long," Rhaenyra pacified Aemma, bringing her aside from the great painted table. "It is you we fear for. You only mounted Silverwing three days ago. With winter’s grip tightening in the North, we cannot risk your health flaring up on the journey."

Luke silently lingered by her and squeezed Aemma's tense shoulder, sheepish to her protectiveness. "You minimize me, Emmy. I am to be the Lord of the Tides one day. I can fight as well as my brother."

"Arrax is yet a fledgling," she insisted.

"A dragon, nonetheless." But his rejoinder went by ignored.

"At least send Luke and Jace together," Aemma pleaded to her mother. "They will make each other invulnerable, protect themselves."

"It would be time wasted," her mother said.

"Then I shall accompany Luke to Winterfell, persuade Lord Stark, and afterwards proceed to Storm's End," Aemma declared firmly. She took her mother’s hand, gripping it tightly. "Arm my brother with his blade, and let him act as my ward instead."

"There will be no fighting," Rhaenyra especially prompted. "You will only go as my envoys. Remind the lords of the oaths they swore."

"Then Luke will be my knight," Aemma triumphed.

The queen hesitated, her gaze shifting between her daughter’s earnest plea and the anxious figure of young Luke standing behind her. Rhaenyra could sense the depth of Aemma’s desperation, the way she fervently protected her siblings with a fierce loyalty that had always been evident. Whether it was managing a simple supper or overseeing rigorous training, Aemma had always been protective of her younger brothers, asserting her authority with unwavering dedication. Her devotion was so profound that, if either of her brothers were not fully on board, Aemma would have upended the household to find recourse.

Daemon had once remarked that Aemma’s dedication to her brothers was a way of compensating for the absence of Aemond as if the next best thing was to safeguard her own kin with even greater intensity.

Now, as Aemma ardently defended her younger brothers, Rhaenyra found herself torn. She was caught between honouring her beloved daughter's unrelenting aims and fulfilling her obligation to the realm justly.

Finally, Rhaenyra nodded. "So be it."

Little Joffrey stepped between Aemma and his mother, his mouth twisted in disdain. They watched him incredulously, Daemon included. Rhaenyra smothered a smile at how her children lovingly doted on one another.

"I will fly on Tyraxes with Jace. I will be his knight," he offered harshly. "Let me go with my family, mummy."

Luke tousled his brother's hair, who fought off his mischief. "Sheath your steel, Joff. Daemon needs you and your dragon here, on the lookout with Moondancer."

Come undern, Aemma lingered in her chambers, feeling like a fish far from the familiar seas. The garments laid out for her—a sleek brigandine with armoured layers—were finely designed yet undeniably cumbersome. The synthetic scales and padded wadding were meant to mimic the attire of a Targaryen dragonrider, but the weight of it felt oppressive.

She sighed in frustration, tugging at the stiff jacket. When her mother arrived at the door, a knowing smile on her face, the realization dawned.

"As much as you'd like to shield me to the teeth, Mother, I'm still flesh and bone underneath," Aemma said, grumbling as she smoothed the jacket’s skirting. "Seven hells, I can barely move in this."

"This old thing was mine once," Rhaenyra revealed, her tone soft with nostalgia. Aemma turned to her, surprise flickering across her face. "Though it seems you’ve outgrown it. You’re taller than I was at your age."

Aemma tilted her sleeve, inspecting the gold stitching and intricate patterns that mimicked the form of Syrax, her mother’s dragon. Her fingers traced the delicate embroidery, a grin spreading across her lips.

"Beautiful," she murmured.

"I’ve imagined you like this since the day your tiny hand curled around my finger," Rhaenyra mused, standing beside her daughter and speaking through their reflection in the mirror. Her hands gently adjusted the braids near Aemma’s temple, a wistful look in her eyes.

"I know you wish none of this were happening," Rhaenyra continued, her voice tender. "But I am eternally grateful that you would do this, for your queen."

"For my mother," Aemma corrected, her voice barely above a murmur.

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, her indigo eyes shining as she leaned in to kiss Aemma’s cheek, the gesture overflowing with affection. One kiss turned into three more, each more desperate than the last as if trying to hold on to her daughter before she had to let her go.

"Hurry back to me, sweetling," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her hand lingering on Aemma’s arm as though she could keep her safe just a little longer.

The three siblings departed from Dragonstone on their dragons. Silverwing and Arrax flew north, battling the rash winds and winter, while Vermax flew west toward the Bloody Gate. Throughout their leave-taking, the entire island held its breath. Something was left amiss, for sure.

X

Prince Luke and Princess Aemma Velaryon's arrival at Winterfell was of distinction, as decreed by their northern king. Despite the daunting fire-breathing beasts that came thundering down onto their outer courtyards, Lord Cregan Stark and his few council members lingered outside the entrance gates, waiting on hand and foot.

Lord Stark was most persistent to see the Targaryen princess who had dashed his hopes, considering that he should be raising his banners against her in a war for breaking her word. For months, the young lord had heard tell of her beauty, elegance and infinite passion, and a few gossips of her paternal lineage. She had acquitted herself well to her people, kith and kin; spirited, gracious, knowledgeable, good-humoured, and treasured by the smallfolk. Out of sight, Princess Aemma had him fascinated, twisted into a wordless spell.

And now, as he saw Aemma dismount her awesome dragon, she appeared as a might-have-been. What a vision, the princess was; her eyes gleamed with the warmth that could melt a thousand winters, while the hazy evening sun bathed her in a golden glow, offering her the aura of a queen long forgotten. There was no mistaking the magnificence of her lineage, visible in the silvery sheen of her hair and the striking features of her face. In stark contrast, her brother stood at her side, lacking the same Targaryen traits but every bit as protective, his presence quietly formidable.

"Lord Stark," Prince Lucerys greeted, nervousness cloaked beneath his strong voice. "I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon. This is my sister, Princess Aemma Velaryon, heir to the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. We bear a message from our mother... the Queen."

Just then, the boy prince's dragon let out a deafening roar. Whilst Lord Stark's meagre council staggered back and away, the young lord stood his ground, amazed.

Aemma curtsied with a quiet greeting, her head held high. There were traces of a grin on her shivering lips—she was not dressed for such cold—and she galumphed across the snow with a tightly bound scroll.

"Good morrow, my lords," she addressed his council first, then the Warden of the North. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Cregan."

Aemma spoke exuding the integrity she wished would make up for his disfavour.

Cregan made do with a slow nod and a breathy, "Princess." He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"I hope you bear no malice towards my engagements, my lord. Or that my impulsive actions are to the detriment of your ancestor's oath to my grandsire." Her silver-toned voice was faint, as if these words were only meant for him.

Cregan simply flashed her a smile, instinctively taking her scroll-carrying hand into his. He brushed a courteous kiss against her gloved knuckles before acquiring the message.

"Starks do not forget their oaths, princess," he proclaimed. He leaned closer, saying, "And believe me, your beauty is one I would raise my swords and banners against your prince husband in a blink."

Aemma managed a suave laugh. "My prince husband would rend a vein in his head if he heard your words."

Cregan arched a quizzical brow. "Who just happens to be southward, miles away, plotting his war resisting the Queen. I am compelled to assume his loyalties are hence withdrawn."

This struck home, and her jaw flexed. "They remain true, my lord. Writ in dragonglass, bound by blood."

"So I've heard," he said, barely concealing his amusement. "I meant no disrespect, princess. Even the many cold mysteries that lay beyond the Wall cannot stand to compare with matters of a lady's heart."

Aemma chewed the inside of her cheek, stifling the levity that built in her. A shiver wracked her body, and she darted a look at Luke, who stood a few steps behind her, watching his sister's interaction, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and blowing into his palms. The cold was overwhelming him, too.

"Let us pursue this matter further in a more amiable setting. Winterfell is yours for tonight, Your Graces," Lord Stark announced before Aemma could make a request. She shuffled back to join her brother's side.

"To all appearances, our summer snow does not agree with dragon blood. I'll have warm clothes sent to your chambers. I expect you'll be walking piles of quilts for supper."

Aemma burst forth a snicker, unlike Luke who was quick to take offence. He glanced his disdain at his sister, prickled by the lord's familiarity. Cregan bowed his head with a spirited grin aimed at the prince and princess before stepping aside to direct the path to the Winterfell gates.

"If it so pleases you, I would be honoured to show you around the castle," he remarked, eyeing Aemma particularly.

"For the sake of goodwill, my only request is that no one infringes on our dragons without us, my lord," Luke informed before walking forward. His tone was tinged with an immature threat. "Contrary to our gracious disposition, dragons are far less so, their mercy though a breath of fire."

Cregan acknowledged this with a courteous nod. "Very well, my prince."

"Silverwing is rather benign," Aemma interjected, striving to allay their concern. "And Arrax has been well-fed before our journey. I assure you, they will bring no harm to your people."

The lord pursed his lips, fighting a smile as he bowed his head once more.

"Your assurances are most welcome, princess," Cregan said, his tone even but grey eyes gleaming with thinly veiled mirth. "Though I must confess, it's not the fullness of a dragon's belly that troubles us, but how swiftly it empties."

X

As much as Aemma despised the bereft frost and the muddy funk the north had to offer, she could not deny how captivating their hearts were. Northmen and women carried themselves with honour above all else, bound to duty for their castle and regent. Like raw gold, they were unpolished but held a promise of brilliance once refined.

Their values glistened most promisingly in their young lord and king, Cregan Stark. At merely seven and ten, he was sized like a titan, unmatched by her athletic Aemond, and built like an ox, swathed in a dense cloak of wolf furs and leathers, amassing his ancestral Valyrian sword, Ice. His pride wafted out in vaunts of his home and his duty-bound traditions and resilience to the Wall. His accent was thick, assertive yet unfamiliar to Aemma's ears, his voice tinged with the lilting cadence of the North.

In the castle stables, they came upon the direwolves, and Aemma’s excitement was uncontainable. She had only ever known one direwolf, her own Seasmoke, and now before her was an entire pack with pups. She could hardly believe it.

"I’ve never heard of direwolves surviving so far south of the Wall," Cregan mused as he watched her awe-struck expression. The wolves, still untamed, were kept behind barricades, wild and untrained, but their presence was nothing short of glorious.

"My direwolf is named Seasmoke," Aemma said with quiet pride, her voice softening with fondness. Her eyes grew misty as the green memories awakened. "Named after my father's dragon. Aemond and I raised him as a companion. We were the only ones of our kin without dragons for a long time; Seasmoke was our solace, our friend in that loneliness."

Cregan’s lips curled into a thoughtful smirk. "I understand now," he said quietly.

Aemma turned to him, her brow furrowing slightly. "Understand what?"

"It was not haste," Cregan replied, his voice gentle but sure. "You simply married your friend. Few are so fortunate."

Aemma couldn’t suppress the smile that blossomed on her lips, warm and unbidden. "Fortunate indeed," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan’s expression turned serious, his gaze unflinching as he met her dark, doe eyes. "If we are past evasions, there is something I would ask freely."

"Anything."

"Is it not treachery that Prince Aemond stands with the usurpers instead of the rightful queen?"

Aemma exhaled slowly, a weary grimace tugging at her features. "This whole war is treason, my lord," she answered, her voice heavy with the weight of her thoughts. "I fear what we have begun."

A lavish feast was hosted during supper to honour the Targaryen nobility who graced the halls of Winterfell. Aemma was resplendent—tireless to win over the young lord—in striking black velvet adorned with thick furs, her pendant sleeves embroidered with intricate dragon motifs. Beside her, on the grand table overlooking the Great Hall replete with folk, Luke wore a regal black pelt draped over his shoulders in the manner of dragon scales, the red sigil of his house prominently displayed on his raven armour.

Aemma's bell-like laugh rang out louder than the chortles among the men in the hall when one of Cregan's captains had cracked a joke about most of his men puffing up like overstuffed armchairs during their harshest winter from a few years ago.

Luke stewed in silence, observant of his sister's unstinting friendliness. She had effortlessly impressed upon the lord's heart, no doubt, now remained the lingering question of his obeisance. He subtly touched his elbow against Aemma's in a signal.

Aemma glimpsed him, wiping a tear from her eye, from laughing too hard. She happily cut another slice of pie onto her plate before adding a few slices of honeycake onto Luke's.

"Must you remain so shy, brother?" She waved to a table full of boys who appeared his age, engaged in lively dialogue. "Interactions would do you good."

"Well, these interactions would be more esteemed if I..." he sighed, peeking at his sister's silvery hair and angled features. "Never mind."

Aemma laid down her cutlery to scowl at him. "Luke."

"Nothing," he hedged.

"Tell me. What's wrong?" she urged softly.

He shook his head before he mumbled, "Some guards took me for an outsider when I ventured out to see Arrax. Perhaps they anticipated a dragonrider more akin to our uncle or mother."

Subdued by sympathy, Aemma palmed his shoulder and then his cheek. "It is the mark of our lineage to defy expectations, not simply hair and skin. You carry the legacy of the Conqueror and Old Valyria, Lucerys, no matter who you resemble." She let out a disbelieving giggle, tousling his hair. "Your steed is a dragon—how many among these people can claim such a distinguished feat?"

Luke's spirits were lifted by the reminder of his place and worth. He bared her a smile, shrugging. "You."

She tilted her head. "Besides, I think some people

More than anyone else, he felt acknowledged that Aemma valued him the most despite his differences. While Jace taught him to fight back, he learned from Aemma to take advantage of his disparities.

He took his sister's hand into his and held it to his lap silently. He didn't need to impart his thanks, he would not sour their bond with such silly presumption.

Cregan smiled to himself as he quietly listened to the conversation between the siblings. What misfortune indeed, he thought. Aemma would have been an incredible match for him, as a lady and his wife. Upon first impressions, integrity became her. Now, she carried herself with the succour of a good queen. Ice and fire would have found a home to coexist between them, here in the north.

"If I may, Lord Stark," Aemma called for his attention, clearing her throat. She was going to cut straight to the chase. "Your hospitality precedes you, truly. But our time here is scarce. The realm will be in dire straits if the North fails to recall the oath sworn to King Viserys and his rightful heir."

"The North remembers, princess," he declared.

Aemma let a relieving grin spread on her lips. His further words dampened her smile.

"But my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King's Landing." He pressed two emphatic fingers down on the table. "I need my men here."

"The Hightowers have usurped the throne," she insisted, her tone morose. "If my mother is to defend her claim, she needs an army. War is coming, my lord, and our queen cannot wage it without your support."

Murmurs and raucous conversations around them drown out their fortuitous silence.

Feeling as if her negotiation had come to nought, Aemma shrunk her shoulders and returned to her plate, staring out her defeat. Would this have been easier if she had remained unhasty, or even secretive, and brought forward a marriage pact to the lord? Would she take to pleading? Perhaps this was her impulse's due consequence.

"I have thousands of graybeards who've already seen too many winters," he pronounced, his attentive eyes yet to have left her face. "They are... well-honed."

A flicker of triumph appeared in her eyes before it vanished to steely-nerved determination. She nodded once at him before letting a curious smirk curl on her lips.

"They are old," she mentioned.

"They will fight hard." He leaned closer, whispering, "Like Northerners."

"Our queen would be honoured to have their prowess be of service to her," Aemma praised.

"I will ready them to march at once."

When she looked at her brother over her shoulder, she offered him a victorious wink. Luke responded with a slight nod, his lips curling into a bemused smile.

X

It was Lord Stark alone who bade farewell to the princess and princeling on the morrow whilst the sunshine still drifted behind a gloomy sky. He had shed his thick furs and menacing sword for his leather coat of plates, wishing for calm winds to carry the siblings on their arduous journey east.

Silverwing trilled a soft, melodic song, her wings beating gently as the pearly snow cascaded around her like dust motes in an abandoned hall. It was as if she were welcoming Aemma home. Aemma reached up, her hand brushing against Silverwing’s snout before trailing down the horned scales of her warm, thrumming throat.

"Iksan kesīr, gevie. Lykirī," Aemma murmured soothingly. (I am here, beautiful. Be calm.)

"A she-dragon," Cregan remarked, his tone laced with newfound understanding.

Silverwing nudged her great purring maw into Aemma's stomach, eliciting a chuckle from the princess.

She glanced at Cregan, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Does she take after her rider?" she teased.

Cregan’s lips curled into a smirk. "You’re only missing two wings, princess."

Before Aemma could respond, she heard Luke call her name, "Em!"

His voice was impatient, coming from where Arrax pawed at the ground, eager to escape the biting cold. Aemma’s laugh faltered as her gaze shifted to her brother. She stilled, seeing the shock written all over his face.

Luke’s awestruck gaze rested on a small, sizzling mound of snow, no taller than his sister’s knee, its shape undeniable—like a fresh dragon clutch. Silverwing had nested here during the night.

"What do we do?" Luke’s voice trembled slightly at the sight, unnerved by the prospect of what lay before them.

Aemma, caught between awe and uncertainty, steadied herself, her mind drifting to the wisdom of their mother. Only sharp reasoning would pull them through this.

"We... should take them with us to Storm’s End," she said, almost in a daze, her voice filled with calm resolve. "Perhaps we could offer an egg to Lord Borros, should he swear his fealty to our mother. He’s a vain man, she said. This could win him without any fuss."

Luke, still rattled but reassured by his sister’s clarity, flashed her a grateful grin. Without further hesitation, he drew his dagger and began slicing through the tough membrane covering the clutch. Inside, nestled in the steaming heat, lay three perfect dragon eggs, shimmering in silver, red, and violet.

"I really have seen everything," Cregan wondered to himself.

"Not in the slightest, m'lord," Luke huffed, glancing at Aemma.

He and Aemma carefully retrieved the eggs, their hands reverent as they placed them one by one into a satchel waiting nearby.

Luke, with a serious expression, secured the flap and slung the satchel over his shoulder. The weight of the future, the hope these eggs represented, now rested on him. He would carry them to Storm’s End, where he would face Lord Borros alone.

Aemma, sensing the significance of the moment, turned to Cregan, who stood quietly by her side, observing the scene. Her eyes, warm and earnest, met his.

"You've been a gracious host, my lord," she complimented, her voice soft but laced with hope.

Cregan’s gaze softened as he looked at her. "Much obliged, princess."

"I'm certain we will see each other once again. I'd love to show you around Dragonstone," Aemma said, a faint smile touching her lips as their eyes lingered for a moment longer.

"I await that day," he promised.

X

The siblings were again on the wing, charting a course to the Stormlands. It was a gruelling many-hours-long journey, so much so that Aemma began to rub her thighs raw from straddling the saddle.

Snow gave way to storm-wracked isles, and out of the horizon, rose the crests and spokes of the Storm's End fortress, centuries old in the gusty oceans with little wear to show for it. A single, colossal edifice, buttressed to the hilt endured the impending tempest like a fist of spikes.

The sight of menacing Vhagar cloistered in the outer courtyard had Aemma gleaming with a smile. Her heart painfully clenched in her chest when she realized that they had convened as opposing sides of their factionalized families, so any chance of meeting Aemond would be null.

So Aemma pursued Arrax's path of flight, descending off Silverwing who seemed to answer the gruff roars of Vhagar with her own hollers. An apprehensive Luke dismounted a shrieking Arrax to come up on the Baratheon soldiers whilst noticing Vhagar's looming head above the bridging battlements.

"Luke!" Aemma tried to yell at him.

He turned to nod at her, wilfully showing her the silver egg he had safely tucked between his chest and forearm. "I can do this, Emmy! Wait for me!"

"Let me come with you." Too bad, her words were a mere whisper in the gales and Luke had disappeared behind the impenetrable doors. The knights went back to their positions, evident that she would not be getting through.

Vhagar's savage roar rattled the bones in her ribcage. It unsettled Silverwing, too, who thundered back in return and advanced defensively over Aemma. She stood right beneath the fiery belly of her dragon, shielded between two towering wings.

Aemma touched Silverwing's shivering scales, stroking. Silverwing's tense growls subdued beneath her careful palms.

She attempted to console the impatient dragon. "Ssh. Skoros iksis ziry, Gēliotīkun?" (Ssh. What is it, Silverwing?)

Silverwing released another uncharacteristically aggressive roar, so deafening that Aemma had to press her palms tightly over her ears. Even Arrax had sensed a strange disturbance in the air, flapping his wings and bellowing out more shrieks.

"Lykiri, Silverwing. Iksan kesīr, paktot kesir," Aemma tried again, tilting her head up to catch Silverwing's auburn eye, (Calm down. I'm here, right here.)

Eventually, Silverwing sank her great head down by Aemma's side to blink her obscure emotion at her. Unknowingly, Aemma rubbed at the curve of her coarse jaw back and forth, conveying her consolation through her touch.

"Bastard!"

A vicious seethe boomed past the doors, cutting through the gushing winds following a whip of lightning and another of Vhagar's roars. The word crushed an unfeeling weight in her heart, especially with the deep voice it came bearing.

Aemma had not noticed Luke's hurried appearance out the bolted doors. She rushed to her brother's side, blood coursing through her veins, unease catching in her throat.

Luke, still clutching the dragon egg, had his eyes round with horror. "We need to leave. We need to leave now."

"What was that—what has happened?"

He shook his terrified head, half in words and half in gasps. "He wants... He wants my eye."

"Aemond," she whispered, now totally conscious.

"He was there!" Luke blustered. "He came with Dreamfyre's clutch and then he nearly cornered me!"

She inhaled deeply, understanding the full implication of his words. She had suspected for some time now the depth of his resolve. Her dearest friend had once told her, "Better to be feared than scorned," a sentiment laced with the retribution he believed he deserved. What kind of sister would she be if she allowed her little brother to believe that sacrificing his eye would quench the burning vengeance in her husband’s heart? Aemond was not going to leave this place without shedding blood—someone's blood. And she would not allow it to be Lucerys.

Vhagar's wings stormed up and into the grey clouds, leaving their line of sight.

Aemma gulped down her dread and quickly ushered Luke forward. No time to waste.

"Quickly. Get on Arrax," she ordered.

He nodded shakily. "You?"

"You fly first. I'll follow close behind—Silverwing and I will stand guard on your tail."

He was not convinced. "What if he—"

"I will keep you safe, as I always have." She held his trembling cheek firmly. "Aemond will not get past me."

She said this with all the confidence in her heart. If one thing she was certain about, Aemond would rather gouge out his other eye than see her harmed by his hand. Because that is exactly what Aemma would do, too. She trusted him enough to trust her instincts on this.

The rains whipped at them, harsher now, as if urging them off the island at once. Luke blustered calming commands at his twittering dragon before taking up the saddle and tightening his harness. Aemma stood by and watched him fly off, and then she dashed to Silvering, who waited with her torso lowered to the ground, awaiting her.

As soon as Aemma mounted her, she shouted, "Soves, Silverwing!"

A thunderclap cracked the darkened sky, and their dragons roared. It wasn't a dance anymore—this was a full-blown war.

Up ahead, through a blurry film of clouds, Arrax bolted on, battling the rain and winds. Luke looked behind him, his fright shifting to reassurance when she spotted Silverwing, as promised, close on his tail. He would have some probability of avoidance tonight, thanks to his sister.

Vhagar threatened them from above, casting a pall over them, ten times larger than Arrax, particularly more battle-worn than Silverwing.

"Dracarys!" Aemond's vindictive growl shattered between them.

Bright amber flames gushed forth, not meaning to harm either of them, only meant to separate them. As if to kindle the vestige of doubt that flashed in her mind, Aemma gasped when Silverwing staggered, trilling in surprise.

Beyond, Luke had twisted Arrax, deftly switching his direction to find cover between the clouds. A breath of relief staggered into her chest.

"Vhagar, daor!" She heard her husband's anguished yell.

Grasping the peril in the moment, she discerned what Aemond had yelled for. There was a bigger prey to hunt for Vhagar as her wings moved forth. Wings thumping and jaw-snapping, she was coming for Silverwing now.

"Come and get me," Aemma challenged, twisting the reins around her wrist tighter.

Silverwing was swift and more agile than Vhagar, so she had the upper hand in fleeing, utilizing it to the maximum. She angled off to see Aemond, hair slicked from the rain and handsome face deformed to pain, seeming a lot like that nervous boy from her memories, control slipping from his fingers.

"No, no, no..." he muttered. What was she doing? Idiot, fool, my love, flee!

His single eye roved toward her, Aemma’s fingers tightening around the rim of her helm. Those doe eyes of hers were unmistakable—both a caution and a plea.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Warning her. Begging her. Anything to spare her from the madness that had engulfed them all.

Aemond's usual sharpness faded when his eye rested on Aemma and her dragon. He didn’t want her caught in this whirlwind of vengeance, didn’t want to see dread in her eyes. For a brief moment, regret clouded his expression, as if wishing to pull her away from the violent path fate had carved out.

But Aemma would never run. She would face it, head-on, so many times he had seen this. She would do anything to protect her brother. Aemond knew this, and it both enraged and pained him. What about him? What about her dear friend?

His jaw tightened as his fingers flexed around his handgrips, knuckles whitening under the weight of a choice he didn’t want to make. She stood her ground, flying onward, defiant and fearless, the same fire that lived within their bloodline burning bright in her.

"Don’t do this," his voice was barely a whisper, almost lost in the wind, but she caught it.

It wasn’t a command—it was a plea. He didn’t want to see her hurt, didn’t want to be the cause of it. His breath hitched, the internal struggle tearing at him, and for the first time in a long time, he was vulnerable.

Aemma, in her silent resolve, glanced upward, to the sheet of roiling clouds where Arrax soared as a silent shadow. She was her brother's shield, his protector, even when she was outmatched. The bond between them was unshakable, something Aemond could almost respect—almost envy. His heart twisted as he realized that. Aegon would never do that for him, be that for him.

But this was the world they lived in. He was bound by duty and pride, while she, unyielding and courageous, would never leave her brother's side. And in that moment, Aemond knew—no matter what he felt, this battle wasn’t his to stop.

It was then that everything happened in the blink of an eye, too fast for any to fully comprehend—save for one. Prince Lucerys Velaryon, the sole witness, would carry the weight of what he saw that day for the rest of his life. The memory would be a haunting spectre, etched into his mind like a scar never to heal.

A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the chaos unfolding above. From out of the storm’s fury came Silverwing, her silvery-blue form cutting through the dark clouds like a blade. She appeared from the blindside, as if summoned by the tempest itself, her wings sweeping back to gain speed. With a sudden, terrifying dip, she collided with Vhagar, catching the ancient behemoth off guard.

Vhagar's massive jaws were spread wide, ready to unleash destruction, but Silverwing struck first; not in an attack, but a defence.

Her momentum was devastating—saddle-first, she slammed into Vhagar's gaping maw, throwing the larger dragon off her path. The collision was like thunder in the air, the sound of scales and bone crashing together echoing through the storm. Both dragons reeled from the impact, spiralling in the sky, their forms twisted in a violent struggle as they plummeted from the heavens.

For a moment, they seemed weightless, like leaves tossed about in a gale, their massive bodies buckling and capsizing as they lost control. Vhagar, once so fearsome and prevalent, was forced into an ungainly descent, wings flailing as she tried to recover her balance and safeguard her rider. Silverwing, though smaller, was relentless, her own wings stretched wide to slow her fall, her screech piercing through the roar of the storm.

From far above, Lucerys could do nothing but watch in helpless terror, the clash of the dragons above unfolding in a chaotic dance of survival. His breath caught in his throat. What he had witnessed would haunt him till his dying breath.

Three desperate shouts rose in the air.

"Sister!"

"Aemma!"

Aemma’s piercing, hopeless scream echoed in Luke’s ears as Aemond resurfaced from his reckless dive, now reining in the immense form of Vhagar, who had steadied with lethal grace beneath him. Aemond grunted, prepared to berate his wife from atop his dragon for such rashness.

But then he noticed Silverwing—far below, plummeting ever faster toward the turbulent seas, a pale streak against the darkness, spiralling out of control. Her familiar trill had vanished, ruined by the roaring gales.

Confusion gripped him, suspicion withering, only to be replaced by a creeping dread. His grip on the reins tightened as he pieced together the gravity of his mistake. Something had gone terribly wrong, not just in the chaos of the battle but in the very fabric of his choices.

And then, the realization struck with the force of a dagger to the heart. His mind raced back to what he had truly seen in that final moment—Silverwing’s saddle, empty.

"Aemma!" His yell was gobbled by the thrumming roar of his dragon.

It was over Shipbreaker’s Bay, the histories tell us, that Princess Aemma Velaryon, Queen Rhaenyra’s heir and dearest daughter, plunged to her death, swallowed by the unforgiving sea below. She was but sixteen years old. Her body was never recovered.

To this day, no one knows for certain whether it was her desperate haste to protect her brother that caused her to forget to fasten her harness or if it was the wrath of her husband’s vengeance, a grim twist of fate that claimed her life. The darker tales whisper of betrayal—that Princess Aemma was murdered, felled by the very hand sworn to protect her, the hand of her husband, Aemond Targaryen, whose thirst for blood ran deeper than his vows.

Regardless of which tale you believe, one truth remains clear: the light had dimmed on both sides of the Targaryen war. With Aemma’s death, the last beacon of hope, her ambitions, and her courage, all were lost to the salt and sea.

X

I promise I'm working on the next part—or do I?

[esther-dot]

Beauty and the Beast

Tokens of Life (give me) 9k WIP by @ihaveastorminme

Jon thought of his mother's family often. But he never heard a whisper from them. Not once. Until the day the northern wind howled through the ancestral halls of the dragon Queens, bringing with it snow and wolves’ cries at its tail. Five hundred different deities in that hall, and nobody whispered when she walked in, tall and forbidding, the skirts of her dress swirling about her like mist and snow glittering unmelted in her flame hair. She looked at him... and everything changed.

No Rose Without a Thorn 24k

Ten years ago, the Others were defeated, the Starks took back the North, the Targaryens reclaimed the Iron Throne, and the Old Gods transformed Sansa Stark into a dread and dangerous beast. Now, winter is coming, the beast remains, and the family would really like Sansa to be a full time human again.

The Beast, the Beauty, and the Bastard 3k

It is a reworking of Disney's Beauty and the Beast, but with a bit of a twist. Hope you enjoy!

Certain As the Sun 22k, incomplete

Sansa is bright, beautiful, and out of place in her little town. After her father is captured in a forgotten castle, she moves to take his place with the cursed prince.

Gifset by @dcbicki and Gifset by @yenstarkofrivia

Rapunzel

From Tower to Tower 10k incomplete

Locked away in a tower for eighteen years by a witch claiming to be her Mother, long-haired Sansa seeks freedom and a chance to regain her crown as Princess of the kingdom. But the tower is high as she has no means to get down, aside from her incredibly long hair, and no guarantee of safety in the outside world she has been warned about. One night, when the witch is out, and a thief who climbs the tower seeking refuge happens upon her, she stuns herself by taking a chance and asking him to help her escape. Assuring him that she will have all charges against him dropped when he returns her to her rightful parents, she embarks on a series of first discoveries with her new bandit friend Jon.

I'll not be climbin' up, I'll only be calling good morning 13k @violetcoloredglasses

Princess Sansa, the rightful queen, has been trapped in a tower by her usurping step-mother for nigh on three years now. Between the benevolent interference of a local woods-witch, the seemingly random appearance of a dashing young man on a horse, and a magical book that Sansa uses to turn a man into a crow, she may have found a way to change her stars.

flower shaped heart 25k, incomplete @missfaber

Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King's Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets. corresponding moodboard

Let Down Your Red Hair .6k

A Jonsa Rapunzel story told in verse. With her father beheaded and her brother marching against the king, the last thing Sansa expects is for her hair to never stop growing. She is soon locked away in the tallest tower of the Red Keep, withdrawn from court as the War of the Five Kings rages on. Elsewhere, rumors of her magical hair have spread to the Wildlings, who see her fiery strands as their last hope against the coming winter.

Tangled edit by @kitten1618x, Tangled edit by @queen-sans-in-the-north, Tangled edit by @sardoniyx

Tangled gifset by @dcbicki

Sleeping Beauty

La Belle au bois dormant 4k

When The North celebrates the birth of Lady Sansa, all the realm is invited to celebrate with them. Each Lady of a Great House bestows a gift upon the little lady, including Cersei Lannister, whose presence at the celebration is both unexpected and unnerving.

Once upon a Dream 1k by @azulaahai

Sansa is under a curse - fallen into a magical sleep, she, according to the prophecy, can only be awoken by a kiss from a dragon. Arya rides south to ask for help from the dragon king Aegon, but the king’s grumpy half brother Jon might prove to be an obstacle.

Visions are Seldom All They Seem 14k

Sansa Stark is sure her life is a great song. She's a beautiful princess. She's been cursed. And the only way it will be broken is to sleep for a hundred years and be awoken by true love's kiss, given by a king's son. She's more then happy to prick her finger if it means getting her happily ever after with a handsome prince all the sooner. But a hundred years is a long time. To be fair to Sansa, Jon did not realize how long it would be either.

Sleeping Beauty Gifset

East of the Sun and West of the Moon

you are my sun, my moon (and all of my stars) 133k

When the white wolf came, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to give him his eldest daughter. Eddard Stark had grown up on legends of wolves, on the stories of bargains made by the First Men, on the knowledge of the price that he and his family might one day be forced to pay.  His father had explained the reason their house had taken a wolf as its heraldry and “Winter is Coming” as its motto, a reminder of a promise to honor, a recognition of a debt owed that would need, one day, to be paid. Ned had breathed a sigh of relief when his sister’s twentieth winter arrived and the beast had not. And he had watched the dawn sky for the first signs of the snow that would mark that his daughter, too, might also be spared, might escape the fate that had been handed down by their ancestors. But no man could be so lucky.  Sansa, too, had been born with the North in her blood, had been raised on the stories of white wolves, had lived her life with the knowledge that one might come for her.

this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty 22k by @dialux

“I fell,” Sansa says softly. “I flew.” [When a strange, hooded man appears out of nowhere, demanding a woman in return for keeping the Others and dead out of Westeros, Sansa goes with him. It’s the best and worst decision of her life.]

PRE CANON - WESTERN - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

OoTP, Chapter 1 - A Hesitant Offer

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: 1948

Note: Welcome to the first chapter of my Draco x Reader series! Starts in Order of the Phoenix at the beginning of school term.

Ever since arriving at Hogwarts in your first year, you've had to come to terms with your nigh nonexistent sense of direction. That, coupled with the changing staircases, and Peeves' unfortunate habit of blocking several corridors with a single tantrum, meant that most days you had to leave the Hufflepuff common room at least twenty minutes before anyone else did.

This morning was no different. As you shouldererd your bag and climbed out of the round door, beginning your journey to Herbology 5, your friends waved at you from their cozy seats by the fire. They all had this period free, and had offered to walk you to the greenhouse several times, but in all truth you didn't mind wandering the castle halls before other students were about to disturb them. You liked meeting new paintings and ghosts, some more forthcoming than others, and some willing to give you directions. Early last year, the Fat Friar had personally shown you to your first Divination lesson.

September was quite nippy in the Scottish Highlands, but the castle was kept warm by strategically placed fire places, and the greenhouses varied on the climates of the plants within. The walk between the castle and the greenhouses, however, was a wind tunnel to be feared all year round.

In a stroke of good luck, you found your way on the first try, and the vegetable patches were in sight long before any other students. The sunlight was pleasant in that early morning way, and the wind was as brutal as ever. You pulled your robes tighter around yourself. As you passed, you peered across the way to note how the courgettes were doing - there were several that looked ready to harvest. The image of steaming courgette and tomato gratin filled your mind, and you smiled wistfully. Then, your stomach rumbled and you could only think of regretting skipping breakfast.

Voices in a tense discussion bled out from greenhouse 5, and you grimaced. It sounded like Professor Sprout was talking to a fifth year about their O.W.L.s.

"I am sorry," Professor Sprout said, though her tone suggested she was not sorry at all, "that you are displeased with your marks. However, I stand by them, and will not be grading anything on a 'curve' this year."

The frustrated student replied, "I didn't know you could get a T! What does that even mean?"

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, a T stands for 'Troll.' It means a troll could've written your essay." You tried to stifle a snort of laughter. Which essay was she talking about? Surely not the essay on self-fertalizing shrubs - that one had taken you two reference books and a single hour to complete. Granted, you'd only received an E, but your parchment was a quarter inch too short.

You stopped by the greenhouse door, wondering if you should interrupt their discussion, or if somehow listening in was better.

"That's insulting!" Malfoy said, "They're bushes that consume their own shit - what more is their to say?"

"Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. I expect more from my O.W.L. students." There was some silence. You took this opportunity to enter the room. Professor Sprout smiled at you; you smiled back awkwardly, and put your things down in an effort to avoid eye contact with Malfoy and prepare for the lesson. Professor Sprout continued, more quietly but you could still hear, "As it is still early in the term, I will accept a rewritten assignment due in one week. And I highly recommend you find yourself a tutor. As I'm sure you've guessed, I only accept students with passing marks into Advanced Herbology."

Behind you, a few other students, Ravenclaws, shuffled in also trying not to eavesdrop.

Malfoy huffed away from Professor Sprout and stomped up to some other Slytherins, arms crossed and muttering. "Tutor," he spat. They looked at him quizzically. "Just wait until my father hears about this."

Ah, now you recognized him.

Professor Sprout cleared her throat from the back of the greenhouse and the class quieted, Malfoy still glowering by the door. "Today, we'll be attempting to produce high quality smoke from the fire breathing snapdragons you've been attending to. Go on, fetch your plants. Excellent. Now, the key to a good smoke is a high soil pH, and immediate watering after a bout of fire breath. There are a number of ways to do this, so have fun and try your best. Professor Snape has requested whatever we harvest today be added to the potions' store room, so capture the smoke in these." She gestured to a collection of glass bottles with marble stoppers to her left, then shooed you all to begin your work.

From your bag, you produced the pestle and mortar your mum had sent you for Christmas first year, and set it next to your snapdragons. They were glowing softly, the red flowers pulsating with a white light. There was a canister of chunk limestone in the corner; you waited patiently while a Ravenclaw student poked through it, presumably looking for a piece the right size. Across the room, Malfoy looked lost, and so did his friends. You tried to ignore it.

You plopped a reasonable hunk of limestone into the mortar and began to grind it into as fine a powder as you could muster. Then, you sprinkled the powder around the base of the plant, working it into the the soil gently with a trowel, and took out your wand - 10 and 3/4 inches of chestnut with a unicorn hair core, quite bendy. Limestone generally raised soil pH slowly, so you'd have to help it along.

You drew a circle clockwise with your wand and whispered, "Longius ire." The snapdragons responded well, the tips of the outer petals now a stable purple.

"Aguamenti," you said, wand tapping a watering can. Nothing happened. You frowned and said again, more forcefully, "Aguamenti!" A small, pitiful stream, a few drops really, fell from your wand onto the thin metal. Sighing, you carried the empty can to the hand-cranked water pump outside. As you passed, you glanced at Malfoy's plant. The tips of his flowers had turned a sick green color.

You returned to your snapdragons with a full watering can and a glass bottle. You prodded a couple flowers with your wand, the white glow they gave off turning yellow, then orange, until finally they ignited into tiny bursts of flame. The moment the last flower died out, you doused the whole thing with water, and gathered the plum-colored smoke into the bottle by swirling it with your wand. The snapdragon shook off the excess droplets grumpily, and you put the marble stopper back in the bottle and looked around.

A fair few other students had successfully bottled the smoke, and most looked to be the right color. You labeled the bottle "Y/L/N" and stood to turn it in.

Then you smelled something horribly acrid. It was Malfoy's plant. He'd succeeded in coaxing the flowers to produce flame, but the smoke was all wrong. You coughed and covered your nose with the sleeve of your robes, as did most people around him.

"Stupid bloody plant," he muttered.

By the end of class, you'd produced another bottle of smoke, and continued to watch Malfoy struggle pitifully. The glass of the greenhouse shuddered as the bell tolled in the distance, and in unison the class stood up and began filing out of the room. You threw a look behind you. Malfoy was shooing the other Slytherins away, holding a bag of something or other.

Before you really knew what you were doing, you'd weaved through Malfoy's gruff looking friends and approached him, asking, "What's that?"

He turned and scowled at you. "Why?" But you could clearly see the label. Leaf mold.

"It just seems like you could use some help. Did you know that leaf mold makes soil more acidic?"

"That's why I'm using it, to raise the pH. Duh."

You sputtered, "N-no, acidic is low - a high pH is alkaline."

"Oh." Malfoy looked down for a moment, then knit his brows together and said, "Well it's stupid-"

"Look, you need a tutor and I'm offering. What'd'ya say?"

He looked you up and down appraisingly, and you regretted offering your help with every passing second. "Why?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Why do you want to help me? What do you want?"

"OK, I definitely don't know what you mean. We can meet Saturday? I can help you rewrite your essay that I... overheard you... and Professor Sprout talking about." He opened his mouth to speak, looking even more affronted. "Just meet me here Saturday morning after breakfast. These are all open to Hufflepuffs on weekends."

Seemingly forgetting whatever he'd wanted to say a moment ago, he said, "I thought this was a Slytherin - Ravenclaw class."

"Oh. I'm a fourth year. This was the only Herbology five that fit into my schedule. I'm sorry, I've gotta go - double Potions - we have a deal?"

Malfoy glanced around at the empty greenhouse. "I don't even know who you-"

"Y/N." You edged out the door. You really did have to run, quite literally if this conversation didn't wrap up soon. "See you Saturday!"

Thanks to another broad stroke of luck, you ran into your friends on the way to your shared Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff double potions class, and made it with minutes to spare. After the lesson, you decided to swing by Professor Sprout's office to, hopefully, get some guidance for tutoring for an O.W.L. you hadn't even thought to worry about yet.

Like Hagrid, your head of house had her own private garden, though it was a series of rooftop patches that grew a variety of rare and occasionally dangerous plants. Not a pumpkin in sight. This year, there was a newly installed aquaponics tank growing a mass of thriving, slithering and hissing venomous snake plants. You gave them a wide berth as you crossed the garden to the office door and knocked.

"Come in!" rang a warm voice from inside. Professor Sprout smiled warmly at you from her desk when you opened the door to her small office. "Hello, dear. Have a seat. What can I help you with?"

Inside, the office was overfull of house plants, none of which were practical in any sense, but they were clearly cared for with love. You dodged an enchanted watering can and sat down. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that I've offered some tutoring to Draco Malfoy. And I was wondering if you had a list or something of the things the O.W.L.s should cover?"

She clapped her hands together, clearly pleased. "Excellent. I was hoping someone would take pity on him. I have some notes around here somewhere. One moment." She began rifling around in her desk drawers and continued, "Not a helpless case, that boy, I suspect he just needs a bit more attention than I can afford to pay him. It doesn't help of course that the gentle study of magical flora is often written off as a lesser one. Aha! Here it is. I expect you've seen most of these, but let me know if you need anything once you get going." She handed you a list of scribbled plant names entitled 4 OWLS. She was right - your mum grew most of these for her shop. This should be a cinch.

"Thanks, Professor."

"Of course, Miss Y/L/N. Was there anything else?"

A slow, giddy smile grew on your lips. "I wondered if you could show me the new aquaponics setup?"

She grinned. "Come with me."

[thedeathofduty]

Little Doe

Summary: Prince Aemond shows you a special place in the Red Keep's gardens. When the two of you return that night, you are able to enjoy his company, but feel burdened by the possibility of a betrothal you thought you wanted. Now, though, you are not so sure.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!F!Reader

Warning(s): Explicit scenes, some light choking, brief mention of Aemond's awful, terrible, no-good thirteenth name day. Minors dni, thank you uwu

A/N: Let's all imagine Borros Baratheon had a younger brother named Davos. There's absolutely no mention of the Dance or any of the crazy family tension in this fic. Also messed with the universe's timeline a bit. 8,243 words!!! Bone apple teeth, y'all. Also, please do not be fooled by the title. Aemond does not dom in this fic.

You stood before your father, fighting to school your features so you would not burst into raucous laughter as he yelled at your handmaiden until there were tears streaming down the young girl’s face. Usually, you were not so cruel, but you could not help but feel she deserved it for nearly soiling your image, and to your beloved father, no less. Everybody at court knew you were the sparkle in Lord Davos Baratheon’s eye, his youngest child and only girl. They knew better than to speak ill of you.

The girl must be new to the Keep. As your father put her in her place, your chest grew with pride.

“My daughter has no need for a chaperone,” he growled, his blue eyes blazing like icy coals. “She is merely going to go for a walk in the gardens with the young Prince. Or do you presume to question my daughter’s virtue?”

“No, My Lord, I-I would never,” the girl whimpered, shaking like a little leaf in the wind next to you. You had to cover your mouth to hide your smirk.

“Do you think he would fuck her in the gardens, for all to see? Do you hear how stupid you sound, you cunt?”

“Father,” you chastised him. He pointed a stern finger at you and you bit your lip to try to hide your irrepressible smile.

“If he touches you in a way that displeases you, you are to show him no mercy and leave the rest to me. I promised your mother you would return to Storm’s End a maiden and I intend to make good on that, even if I have to cut out Prince Aemond’s other eye.” At this, you let out a girlish laugh as your handmaiden gasped loudly.

“Yes, father.”

“Very good.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the girl next to you. “Have the Prince ask the Queen to fetch us another one, little doe. This one is a bit too fucking stupid." You nodded.

These handmaidens never lasted long under your father. Even though he was soft for you and your mother, he was a harsh man. You loved him dearly, and he, in turn, lavished every affection on you and let you run as wild as you wished. Whatever your transgressions, he either did not see them or merely pretended you were innocent.

You led the girl out of the room with a sly grin, offering quiet apologies. She said nothing offensive, but you could see the fear and anger in her wet eyes and it gave you great pleasure to know that she had no choice but to keep it all to herself. Perhaps after today she would learn you were nigh untouchable. You were a Lady of a Great House and clearly favored by the oh so terrifying Aemond One Eye. Was it your fault that two bold, fearsome men cared for you?

You strolled through the halls of the Red Keep, making your way to the gardens to meet Prince Aemond with your chin held high and a smile so wide, two deep dimples adorned your cheeks. Your mind felt cloudy with excitement, your thoughts racing with what you and your Prince may get up to today. Usually, he took you for a ride on his dragon and, while you had resisted at first, it had quickly become one of your favorite things to do with him.

Sometimes he would take you to one of the small spits of land in the Blackwater and other times, your journey would end deep in the Kingswood. No matter where the Prince took you, the story ended in the same way: with you naked in his lap, his soft hair between your fingers, and his mouth on your neck. The fact that he let you have him was a privilege and a pleasure you had no intention of giving up. Sacrificing the happiness of a lowly handmaiden was nothing to you and you would ask Aemond to allow you to feed her to Vhagar yourself if it meant you got to feel his tongue thrusting into your cunt again.

It was odd that he wanted to trade those private trysts for a public stroll through the gardens. Your father held no ill-will towards the Prince despite his earlier threat, but nor did he have much love for the Targaryens as a house. You imagined it would take a lot of convincing to get him to agree to a betrothal, if that was what Prince Aemond was attempting by walking with you somewhere public.

You hoped that was not what he wanted.

Though you held the Prince in high regard somewhere perhaps very near your heart, your heart itself was as of yet a land unclaimed by any man, and you preferred it that way. You were no longer a maiden and had not been one for years, not since your fifteenth name day here in King’s Landing, but your heart retained its maidenhood and had never been bloodied by love. Perhaps someday all this practice with him would prove useful when you married whatever Lord your father ultimately deemed worthy of his little doe.

The moment you saw Prince Aemond, you bit your lip and let out a laugh without thinking. As always, he was in his black leathers you found so dashing on him, but in his hand he held a single flower, your very favorite: a yellow plumeria. They grew in some of the hidden alcoves of Storm’s End. Back home, you always had the servants replace the vase of them you kept in your chambers.

He looked every bit the roguish gentleman, out of place in the brightly colored gardens clad only in black, with his dark eye patch and scar marring half his pristine face. His bright blue eye seemed to glow in the sunlight, nearly the same shade as yours. You did not think you could remember a time when the Prince had worn a different color. It was as if he was ever a widow in her mourning period.

“My Prince,” you said with a small bow and an outstretched hand. Gently, he grasped it and brushed it against his lips.

“My Lady. Your flower.” He handed the plumeria to you and you gave yourself a moment to breathe in its soft scent before sighing fondly and pressing it against your chest. “Does it remind you of home?” he asked, offering you his arm, which you took without hesitation as the two of you started walking.

“It does.” A pause. “Though I do not miss it. Storm’s End was wet and terribly boring. King’s Landing is much more exciting.” You gave him a meaningful look, and he chuckled under his breath.

The day was warm and a little damp. There had been a big storm the night before and a heavy fog had settled over the Keep. Everyone around you was wading in it, even your companion. As the two of you passed the various members of court who had ventured into the gardens on such a humid morning, you said your quiet greetings and remained a touch too close to one another. You wondered how the two of you must look from a distance, your thick black hair next to his silver, your bright yellow dress next to his black leathers. Did the two of you walking arm in arm look natural to the people you were greeting?

“Did Lord Davos like Aethia?” he asked, breaking the companionable silence.

“Who? Oh, the servant girl.” You snorted, brushing your flower under your nose. “No, father called her stupid. As he should! That bitch was trying to come and chaperone me today. Can you believe the nerve of it?”

Prince Aemond grinned, happy to indulge your ego just as your father usually was. “Those are the rules, Lady Y/N.”

“Not for me, My Prince.” You slipped a finger under the cuff of his sleeve, feeling his steady pulse on the inside of his wrist. When you spoke, you leaned close to him and let your words out in near whispers. “My father said there was no chance you would fuck me here in the gardens where anybody could see you.” His pulse quickened under your fingers and you could feel yours do the same.

“Oh, and you believe him, do you?” He raised an eyebrow at you, mirth shining in his eye.

“My Prince,” you gasped, clutching your flower near your heart, “I would never think you capable of such depravity.” You often laughed together, as you were both doing now, and you often felt that it was your favorite part of spending time with Aemond. “And with a pure maiden such as I.”

He hummed, his gaze dropping to your lips. In the distance, the waves of the Blackwater crashed against the lower walls of the Red Keep and your face flushed with desire. “You’ve not been a maiden for some time now, My Lady.”

Your fifteenth name day had been a boring affair. Your father had gifted you a chest full of new dresses and a small orange kitten you named Perzys after the Valyrian word for fire. You had spent some time having wine and delicate pastries with some of the other young Ladies at court, including the Princess Helaena who unfortunately did not quite seem to fit in with the rest of you. She was a sweet girl and, though you had no issue with her, you never quite knew what to say to her.

That evening, you had wandered with a goblet of wine in your hand and a scowl on your face. You had felt like a big fish in a small pond, like the Red Keep was too small a pen for so large a stag. You had found Prince Aemond in the Godswood by himself, reading as he often was when he was without a sword in his hand. The two of you had taken notice of each other before and you knew he had found flimsy excuses to barge into his sister’s chambers on the few occasions you decided to spend some time with her. His one gleaming eye seemed to be stuck on you like a searing hand and you could deny it no longer: you wanted to have him.

‘It is my name day,’ you’d all but whispered to him, nearly in his lap already with your eyes raking all over him at all the places you wanted to touch but would not dare to just yet. ‘Even your brother sent me a bottle of wine with the Princess Helaena. What have you gotten me, My Prince? What will you give me?’

‘What is it you want, Lady Y/N?’ His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you stared at it, completely rapt. ‘I will see it done.’

‘I want you, Prince Aemond.’ Your hand brushed against his cheek and he clutched it, his eye narrowing as it bored into yours. Slowly, you allowed yourself to lean into him. ‘I am not so lost in my cups that I do not know what that means. Will you make a woman of me? It would be the best gift anyone has given me today.’

When he finally kissed you, a loud moan bubbled past your lips and into his. He led you hand in hand through the halls to his chambers, taking great care to make sure the two of you were not seen. The moment he shut his door, you connected, pulling each other apart until you both tumbled into his bed. It was funny. Your mother had warned you it would hurt, that you would cry and bleed and curse the gods. But it had not been like that at all.

Your body felt like the night sky, like a void filled with a swirl of dizzying stars. Even your fingertips were humming with pleasure by the time Aemond was guiding you into his lap with a firm grip on your waist. When he finally entered you, you cried out in relief and ecstasy, not pain. It was as if there was a terrible itch inside of you that was finally being scratched.

He gasped and groaned as you moved your hips, slowly at first, then as quickly as you could manage. You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him close so he could kiss and bite your neck as he had been doing before. Gods, you had loved that. When your fingers snagged on the strap of his eye patch, you growled and yanked it off without thinking, tossing it off to the side. For a moment, you almost missed the way his entire body went rigid until you opened your eyes.

You had never seen something so wondrous and beautiful, not even the giant she-dragon he called his. His one good eye was wide and fearful and in place of the other was a dazzling, glittering sapphire. The sight of it made heat coil low in your belly like a plumeria blooming after rain.

‘You,’ you panted, ‘you have been hiding this from me this entire time?’ He opened his mouth to speak and you ducked down to lick the pale column of his throat.

‘I-I do not wish to scare the ladies at court,’ he stammered and you huffed a gentle laugh into his wet skin.

‘I am not afraid, Aemond,’ you murmured, letting him feel your teeth against his neck. ‘I am wet. Do you feel my desire?’ You moved your hips again, and you both moaned. ‘Do you think it has it waned?’ He shook his head and pulled your mouth up to connect with his. The kiss was slow and languid, your tongues dancing as you quickened your pace in his lap. The desire that had bloomed inside you only grew, threatening to engulf you in a wild passion hotter than dragonfire.

‘Oh gods, you feel incredible,’ Aemond groaned against your lips, a wail torn from his mouth as you gripped his hair in your fists and rode him viciously. He had given himself as a present for you, so he was yours, all yours. The thought swirled dangerously in your head as you chased your release with gritted teeth.

‘Aemond!’ you cried. Your hair was sticking to the side of your face and the back of your neck. The reward you had been working for was so close you could taste it on your tongue and yet it eluded you. Your eyebrows pinched together in frustration, then smoothed as he ran his hands up your back until they came to rest on your shoulders. You opened your eyes and peered down at him, your chest heaving.

His sapphire was catching bits of moonbeams from the open windows. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen and nearly red from your kisses. He was... You loosened the grip you had in his hair, trying to catch your breath as he leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. You wanted to tell him he was beautiful and fine, like a Dornish knife made of ivory or a piece of the moon come down to lie with you, but you found you could say nothing as you stared at him. His hands gently cradled your face, thumbs brushing away the frustrated tears you had scarcely even noticed. You furrowed your brows under his studious and gentle gaze, your heartbeat growing louder in your ears as he pressed another kiss just shy of your lips.

‘May I?’ You were not sure what he was asking for, but you said yes all the same.

He taught you much that night, about your body and about pleasure. Sometimes it was better to go slowly and let it build until it immolated you from the inside. You knew that now. When your release found you again that night, it was with a shudder and a silent scream. Aemond finished on his stomach with a low groan and just the sight of him in the throes of pleasure had you wanting him all over again.

Afterwards, you lied in his bed with your legs tangled together and spoke softly to one another. They were not words of love, no promises of betrothals or heart wrenching confessions of secret fondness plagued the two of you that night. It was easy speaking to him now that the deed was done where before it had been so difficult. Of course, how many secrets could there be after someone has seen such a hidden part of you? He had forced you, whining and bleary-eyed, out of his bed and helped you dress before accompanying you back to your chambers. Again, your hand was in his and he kissed it gently as he wished you pleasant dreams.

It was a good night, a fine way to lose your maidenhead. One month later, your family returned to Storm’s End, and you assumed that would be that. Years later, however, here you found yourself again, playing this little game you loved so much with the Prince. This game had never included a scenic walk through the gardens, but you enjoyed his company enough to allow him access to you with your clothes on.

“You dare question my virtue, Prince Aemond? My father will have your other eye for that,” you joked, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

“Your father is overly indulgent.”

“As are you,” you purred, batting your lashes at him and giggling when he looked away.

“Hm, you are right. Perhaps today is the day I deny you that which you seek and you learn some discipline.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that, My Prince,” you declared with a cocky toss of your dark hair over your shoulder. “When you deny me, you deny yourself the pleasure of giving me what I want.”

“You are a bold one, Lady Y/N. Were it not for your hair, I would take you for a dragon.”

You smiled coquettishly at him, leaning your head against your shoulder and peering up at him through thick lashes. “The only dragon here is you. I’ve merely the privilege of being your rider.”

Fondness softened his smile into something you could not stare at and you sighed, looking ahead at the flowered path before you. The air was thick with the smell of pink roses and salt water. The ocean breeze stirred the trees and bushes, the sound melding with the waves. You could still feel him staring. He led you through the gardens and you allowed him to guide you to places you had only ever seen from afar in the windows high above. As you walked together, you saw fewer and fewer people until it was just the two of you surrounded by high walls and luscious blooms still dripping with morning mist. When you spared a glance back, the walled path simply narrowed and turned and you could no longer make out any clear voices at all.

“Remember this path,” the Prince said and you gazed up at him with a question on your lips. “We will walk it again tonight.”

“Why not only walk it tonight?”

There was a thin rectangle of golden light on the ground ahead and the roaring of the sea grew louder as you walked on. Your dark hair was sticking to the back of your neck and you moved it to the side so a cool breeze could soothe you. “I thought you might like to see it like this as well.” You squinted up at him with a quirk in your lips and stepped into the warm light as a brisk gust of salt air pushed all your hair across your face.

Your body instantly cooled, and you struggled to keep your dainty flower in your hand as a single petal was plucked off and spiraled away. Prince Aemond released you and you took a careful step through the archway into the rotunda with wide eyes. Your gaze darted around, trying to settle somewhere to take in every little detail, but it simply could not. The space in front of you was round, the floor laid with tiles depicting red dragons mating with fair-skinned maidens. Vines and thin branches wrapped around the slender columns, small dark blue fruits growing in bunches near the tops. Dark, curved shingles layered the dome above you, making you feel like you were inside a dragon’s egg. Just beyond the structure was the Narrow Sea, the high morning sunlight dancing on its shifting surface and feeling like a pressing weight on your eyes. If you wanted to, you could sit at the very edge of the tiled floor, your legs dangling far, far above the crushing waves below.

You had all but forgotten the Prince was even there and when his hand came to rest on the small of your back, you jumped with an undignified yelp. Mercifully, he did not comment on it or even laugh. Perhaps he was as entranced with the view as you were.

“Do you like it?” His voice was soft like a flower petal against you, his lips coming down to caress the tender skin just below your ear. You turned and drew him in closer with a searing kiss, humming as his hands crushed your body against his. When he pulled away, you were dizzy with longing.

“Must you make me wait until tonight?” He pressed long open-mouthed kisses against your neck and your eyes closed, seemingly all on their own.

“You will be happy I did.” With a huff, you let yourself accept it, trusting that you would be just as pleased at night as you were now.

When the two of you separated for the day, it felt as though you had been floating for hours, only to be forced to contend with the weight of stable ground once more. You often felt similarly after riding Vhagar, like your stomach was still rising and falling freely through the air even as you walked along the ground with the other mere mortals. This was different, though you could not name how.

The day was long, and each hour seemed to stretch on forever. The Ladies you often spent your time with were delightful enough, but your gaze continuously drifted towards the gardens, your mind conjuring images of what you knew was to happen there tonight. It seemed Your Prince held an unjust amount of power over you if he could still excite you like this.

That night with him those few years ago was a secret you guarded fiercely, but there was one you kept even closer to your heart. After you and your family had returned home, you had felt changed by the experience, more like a woman. Several nights you found yourself unable to rest, plagued by a need that had settled in between your thighs. Though you had felt it before, it had never been so loud and insistent, dominating your sleepless nights with visions of the Prince moving against you, that gorgeous sapphire glowing with the flashes of lightning that fell outside your chamber windows. Young Lady of a High House you may be, precious daughter to the harsh Davos Baratheon, burdened with three older brothers who would geld any man who presumed to touch, but you were still not without open admirers back home. You were not without opportunity to dampen the flame of your desires. But for one reason or another, you never sought out a bedmate to entertain you.

The nights leading up to your journey back to King’s Landing had been long and agonizing, your heart thundering in your chest and sleep unwilling or unable to find you until you had taken matters into your own hands and given yourself that which Aemond had gifted you years before. As you pressed your palm against your wet cunt, you imagined him in bed curled next to you with his voice in your ear urging you on, whispering about how good you tasted, how soft and sweet you were, how he needed you to finish just one more time before he could fuck you again. It was not until you had felt your release at least twice that you would drift off in pleasant dreams, the tips of three of your fingers wrinkled and sticky.

It was nearly evening now, the sun setting slower than it ever had before just to taunt you, and you were stomping through the halls of the Red Keep, hoping to see the Prince just once before your meeting with him. Wherever he was, he was very well-hidden. You passed a pleasant, albeit very dull supper with your father, your mind elsewhere, until...

“What do you think of the Lannisters, Y/N?” You blinked in confusion and savored the cherry wine on your tongue.

“As a house? They are wealthy and powerful. I find them all to be a bit self-serious, though. The Targaryens have their signature arrogance and the Lannisters have their pride. Ultimately, there is little difference between one and the other.”

Your father nodded across the table, taking a bite of his rabbit with a pensive look on his face. “One of their boys has taken a keen interest in you.” You choked, the bit of drink still in your mouth burning your throat on its way down. “I know you are a fan of fineries, so I thought their vast coffers may be of interest to you. You would be well taken care of as the Lady of Casterly Rock. What say you to that, little doe?”

“I... I must admit, father, I’ve not given marriage much thought, and no Lannister has approached me.” Your hands found your skirts in your lap, thumbing at the embroidery there.

“Of course not, the boy understands that he must speak to your Lord Father first.” He smiled. “If it does not interest you, consider him gone, but it would please me if you took the night to think about it. I believe the Lannister boy to be a fine match for you. It would elevate our house, and you, considerably.”

Think about it you did as you sat rigidly in your bed and stared at the flimsy little yellow plumeria on the table beside you. A Lannister would be a big step for you and certainly it was the sort of opportunity you had been waiting for. Casterly Rock was a fine seat for you and you would have everything your heart could think to desire there. You’d wear the finest dresses, drink the sweetest wines, and your hands would glitter with gold and rare jewels. With all the experience you had gathered with the Prince, you doubted you would be unable to make your Lord Husband a lucky man. You knew even Perzys would grow to be fat and happy there.

When a knock came at your door, it dragged you from the depths of your pondering with a start. A flower of relief bloomed in your heart as you opened your door to find the Prince before you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head.

“My Prince,” you giggled, your earlier woes instantly forgotten. “Have you finally come to spirit me away? I was just about to send for a servant to help me dress for bed.”

“My apologies, Lady Y/N, but I had to ready everything myself.”

“Ready everything?” He offered his hand with a small smile on his lips and you clung to it as the two of you crept through the halls. The Prince seemed built for stealth and you were careful not to make the slightest sound, walking on your toes and holding your breath as much as possible.

Your nerves nearly forced a giggle past your lips and perhaps he could feel it coming because he shushed you and you covered your mouth with your free hand. It wasn’t until you were safe in the gardens that you released it, letting it flow from you and into the Prince’s mouth as he kissed you. Your heart fluttered in your chest, beating its wings like a nervous little bird, as you tugged him deeper into the labyrinth of flowers, hoping your memory served you well enough to get you where you needed to go.

As the two of you stumbled through, you kept grabbing at each other with a feverish insistence. He littered your face with quick kisses, his one sparkling eye closing as you ripped through the metal fastenings on his clothes and touched his bare chest underneath. His whispered voice was like silk and honey in your ear. “Have you been thinking of me all day, little doe?” If it weren’t for the mystery of what awaited you in the rotunda, you would have had him fuck you right there. It was unfair. He knew how it unraveled you when he called you that.

“Yes,” you gasped, flashing him a breathless smile with all your teeth. Gods, you wanted to pick him apart until he was a mess of bones and blood, devour him whole, and lick your fingers clean. “You left me wanting you, my dragon. Will you give me what I need?”

Hunger burned in his eye and, with a firm tug, he yanked through most of the laces on the back of your dress. “Of course. Now follow me and you shall receive your gift.” When he moved to walk around you, you grasped at his arm and guided his hand under your skirts with your eyes trained on his.

“I want you to feel me,” you murmured, your throat tight. Your hand stayed on his wrist as his fingers slid past your knees.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he touched the slick coating the inside of your thighs on either side of your flushed cunt. You were already so open and ready for him, you could feel your heartbeat pounding between your legs. You never felt quite so powerful as when you reduced Prince Aemond to cursing and calling to the gods. His nostrils flared, and he snatched his hand away, dragging you along the rest of the way.

The sight earlier had been beautiful and left your mouth slightly agape at the brilliance of it, but that paled in comparison to the sight before you now. Lit candles sat in silver dishes along the tiled floor, some black, some red, some gold. Your mouth curled into a fond smile. Though a thick black sheet and plush red cushions covered the design on the floor, you remembered it well enough and knew you were soon to recreate it. A cool wind brushed through the open archways, a brilliant full moon casting its pure light over all that delighted you. The Prince seemed to glow with it, his alabaster skin kissed by moonlight and his blue eye appearing even truer to its color.

“The night sky suits you,” you said. Your nerves returned, and they forced a wide smile onto your warm face. His deft fingers brushed through your thick black hair, rubbing the ends of the wavy locks between his fingers.

“As it does you.” You needed only to spare a quick glance to the dark eye patch still covering his gemstone eye before he was taking it off and tossing it down onto the sheet. The sapphire glowed with the rest of him, the candlelight reflected inside twinkling as golden stars and piercing you like a hail of arrows. The first thing you’d done when you first found yourself alone with him on your return to King’s Landing was slide that offensive garment off his face. Any Lady who would be frightened of a simple sapphire was unfit to lie with a dragon and you were no craven.

As if a tight cord had been cut, the two of you collided. You loved the violence of it, how you both sank your teeth into each other and tore and ripped until nothing false remained. You’ve heard it said that the purest view you can have of a man’s soul was mere moments before the Stranger pulled his soul from his body, but you were certain that was not true. As the two of you moved as one, falling into the cushions on the ground with ease, unwelcome thoughts prodded at you.

Would the Lannister boy make you feel as good? Would he take the same pleasure in granting your every wish and desire as Aemond did? You shook your head to try to regain your focus as your dress slowly slid off your body. The Lannister boy was nowhere to be found. You were in the gardens with the Prince and he was pushing your bare thighs apart with a glint of fire and hunger in his eye. Your cunt clenched around nothing at the sight, aching to have him so deep inside you that you could never pull him out. Your eyes closed and head dropped back as soon as his mouth touched your heat.

He was always so good at this, at pleasing you. It was like- “You were made for this,” you moaned, digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders as he dipped his tongue inside you with a pleased hum. You ground your hips up against Aemond’s mouth, climbing higher and higher up your burning rope until your legs trembled on either side of his face. “Look at me,” you gasped, “please.” The sight of his blue eye gleaming next to his sapphire from below your short crop of dark hair sent you keening and coming completely undone for him. You hoped Aemond felt no shame about his eye anymore. You hoped he wore his leather eye patch out of a sense of belonging to you instead of any silly concern about the delicate fears of the weaker Ladies at court.

His mouth climbed up your body, planting kisses like bright hot flowers on your skin until he could suck the pants right from your lips. The bittersweet flavor of your pleasure was on his tongue, sharp and tart like a pomegranate. Your fingers wound their way into his hair, pulling him closer and groaning into his mouth as he pressed his hips into yours. His cock was straining against the fabric of his pants and you brought an angry hand down to tug at his waistband.

“Take this off,” you growled. “I want you.”

“You love to demand things from me, like a petulant child.” He clicked his tongue at you in admonishment, but obeyed you all the same. As he set the last of his clothes aside, you sat up and stroked along the scarred half of his face, one of your fingers grazing the edge of the sapphire that had haunted your dreams for years now. But for the scar you were touching, the rest of him was smooth and unmarred, the small flames surrounding you dancing on the pale expanse of his chest. He was pure gold and silver, and with his jewel, how different was he really from a beautiful necklace or even a crown? Aemond was a precious bit of finery and right now, he belonged to nobody but you. Your touch grew possessive, your sharp nails leaving pink trails in their wake as you raked them down his torso to wrap a hand around his cock. His breath stuttered.

“You complain and yet you obey, my dragon,” you purred as you pushed him onto his back. Pride, or maybe arrogance, swelled in your chest as you smirked at him. “I really am your rider.” His chest rose and fell sharply, his long legs braced against the floor and hips moving of their own accord. As you moved your hand, you leaned over him and caged him beneath you. The emotion swelling your chest was probably avarice, the little green cloud with sharp teeth that filled your mind with longing and a very distinct sort of anger. His wet lips were bright pink and parted, little gasps and moans falling past them every time you swiped your thumb across the thick vein just below the tip of his cock. “Do you like this?” He nodded eagerly, tugging on your hair until you leaned down to claim his mouth as yours.

There it was again, that feeling in your chest, blackening your thoughts and resting heavy in your gut. It was that feeling that made you want to possess him entirely and haunt him like a specter. You imagined yourself somewhere different, somewhere perhaps across Westeros on the coast of the Sunset Sea, and you could not help your frown. When you stopped touching him and pulled away, Aemond kept a firm hand behind your head, scanning your face with furrowed brows.

“Is something the matter?”

The corners of your eyes wrinkled as you beamed at him and shook your head. Hopefully, it would be enough to convince him. "No, My Prince. I am just eager to have you." His eye narrowed, but he ultimately released you and followed you up. Without ceremony, you settled into your preferred seat in his lap. All these dumb Lords fighting over the Iron Throne and here you were with the true best seat in all the Seven Kingdoms. And you were to leave it all behind? Surely, it would have to happen eventually, but why now? Another question circled you like a kettle of vultures. Why did you have to leave at all?

You sank down onto him, taking him in with a soft gasp. His fingers dug into your hips and he hummed, kissing up your neck. If all men were weapons, Aemond was closer to a Valyrian steel dagger than a boring longsword. You would always keep him on your thigh with leather straps. Though his eye was closed, his sapphire twinkled in front of you and you pressed a gentle kiss on it before licking up his scar.

"Fuck," he cried, clinging to you like he was dangling over a cliff by the mere tips of his fingers, "again, do that again." You leaned in, savoring the salty tang of his skin on your tongue.

You clenched a fist in his hair, pulling his neck tight. If you were lucky, he was having a hard time breathing, just as you were. "Tell me you are mine," you hissed, grinding your hips down until you felt him touch where you were most sensitive.

"I am all yours, little doe." His voice was brittle, brilliant tears just starting to shine in his eye from your brutal hold. Your cunt clenched around him, squeezing a moan from his lips. With rapt attention, you marveled at how his tears grew when you tightened the fist in his hair.

"And you will take care of me, protect me?" There was a question in his eye. When he closed it, a single tear fell and you followed its short descent into his hair. "And always obey?"

When he said your name, it was with blissful reverence. You wanted nothing more than to topple the Seven in his mind and take their place. "You are my rider."

Yes. Your mouth stretched into a sharp, lecherous grin as the hand in his hair moved to wrap around his neck. Sometimes you wanted to laugh at the Ladies who mentioned their apprehension regarding Aemond. The man beneath you was too docile to inspire fear in the heart of any woman. Aemond felt no fear in the presence of Vhagar, so why should you feel any when you were around him?

"I..." You paused, kissing the corner of his mouth as you moved your hips in a steady rhythm. Warmth curled around your pounding heart. "You darling thing," you murmured, squeezing the sides of his throat. His answering moan vibrated under your palm as his eye flew open. It was barely blue now. His pupil has nearly finished consuming it entirely. His hips met you beat for beat, his hard cock pressing against that spot he always abused when he curled his fingers inside you. "Yes, yes, yes, my- Right there!" You howled, leaning back so you could take even more of him. Aemond's steady hands kept you in that perfect place.

The slick sound between your legs flooded your sense. You imagined what Aemond must be able to see: your pink cunt swallowing him whole, your quivering thighs, his cock shining every time you rocked back. Maybe one day you could have him in your chambers in front of your tall mirror and watch how the two of you fit together. If it looked the same way it felt, you were certain he would have you sobbing with it.

Your fantasies ran rampant behind your closed eyes. You imagined Aemond on his knees in front of you with his hands tied behind his back, feasting his eye on the sight of your fingers in your cunt as you forced him to watch you find your release. You imagined him begging, you imagined him crawling, you imagined him crying. Heat licked up your legs and spine. He had never said no to you before, never deprived you for long. Your hand tightened possessively around his throat. He was yours, yours, yours.

With a shuddering scream, you hit your peak.

The moments right after always felt hazy to you. You were outside yourself, floating in the warm air above your bodies and letting Aemond move you as he wished. When you found yourself again, you were splayed out on the soft sheet and Aemond was tensed above you, pinning you in place with one eye glowing with hunger and desire. You moaned helplessly as your gaze settled on his hand furiously stroking his cock.

"Can I?" he begged, his face screwing in pleasure, "on you?" You nodded and he finally slackened, the whine that left him pulsing through you. He finished on your abdomen, some of the white liquid landing in your patch of dark hair, and it chilled almost instantly in the night air.

With a groan, he collapsed next to you, his face landing directly in one of the cushions. The two of you lied together in companionable silence, both trying to catch your breath as you listened to the wind and the waves.

"Come, little doe," Aemond cooed and you curled into him, caring little about the come rubbing on him. A giddy smile played on your lips, only widening when he planted a wet kiss on your forehead.

"Are you really mine, my dragon?"

His nose brushed against yours and you let him draw you in to a soft kiss. "If you want all of me, I will give it to you," he whispered, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke.

"I am gluttonous," you warned him.

"I know." He kissed you again and you could not help but smile into it. Fondness plucked at the strings of your heart and you melted deeper into the floor below you as he placed a gentle hand against your cheek.

As your bodies found their equilibrium once more, the two of you stretched out side by side. It was so easy to talk to him. A dark cloud drifted over your thoughts once more. Whether you were to agree to meet the Lannister boy or not, this... whatever it was that you had with Aemond, would end. It was inevitable. While he had set a golden standard for you, it was not as if you could fuck that other boy to see if he knew how to please you. You knew most women went through married life completely unsatisfied while their Lord Husbands carried on with mistresses and whores, siring bastards left and right. Would that be your fate?

You sighed, running a tender hand through Aemond's tangled hair and smiling softly as he hummed contentedly. There was a spot that made him wince, though, and you scooted closer to him. "Was I too rough with you?"

"I enjoyed it." You smirked and continued to card your fingers through his hair.

"Aemond, do you know of any of the Lannisters at court?" Though you knew he was not exactly the most popular man, he was observant enough that you trusted he was likely in possession of the information you needed.

"I assume you mean other than Ser Tyland on the small council?" You nodded. "Well, there are his young nieces, who I do believe I have seen you with, and his nephew Loreon."

"And... what do you know of him?"

There was an unnatural stillness to Aemond's body before he spoke, each word coming out carefully. "I am afraid I do not know much. He spends much of his time in the city with Aegon." You frowned, staring up at the dome above you. "Why?"

"My father said a Lannister boy was interested in me," you sighed, "but I doubt he knows how the boy spends him time, or else he would never have mentioned it."

"Did your Lord Father bring you to King's Landing to find a match for you?"

"N-no," you stammered, your face growing hot. In truth, the only reason you were in King's Landing was because you had begged to accompany your father when you had learned he was to return. "I asked to keep him company and he said yes." Aemond hummed next to you and you continued speaking, almost to yourself. "If I am wed to him, I will be the Lady of Casterly Rock. The Lannisters are a wealthy house, so I doubt I would be living like a pauper. My father has given me the night to decide if I wish to be introduced to him."

"What stays your hand, My Lady?" You furrowed your brows, tucking your chin into your shoulder as you gazed into Aemond's blank face.

"I do not rightly know." A secret danced at the edges of your mind and you sat up, running your hands through your hair and letting out a heavy sigh. "I suppose I am afraid. And I am not usually afraid."

The candles around you were starting to die and it made your chest hurt. Behind you, Aemond sat up and pressed a small kiss to the back of your shoulder. It was so easy and natural to turn towards him and soften under his touch, to tilt your head towards him in anticipation of a kiss that never came. "Aemond?" You tilted your head back and opened your eyes.

He was so close to you, you could clearly make out the ring of darker blue around his iris. His lips were pursed together. "Do you want to know how many women I have been with?"

The thought of him with anyone but you had your nose curling in disgust. "No."

"Three." You scoffed, starting to turn away from him before he put a hand on your face and kept you where you were. "Two whores when Aegon took me to the streets of silk for my thirteenth name day, and you."

You froze, your mouth falling open before you snapped it shut. A cold wave rushed through your body, quickly followed by heat and sweat. "But... you knew so much! I thought you were at least as experienced as your brother."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes, well. Unlike my brother, I can read. My family has enough unhappy women, and I'll not suffer one more. I told myself that even if my future Lady Wife were ashamed of me for my deformity, I could at least find some other way to make her happy."

A huff of laughter punched its way out of you. Little pricks of fire sparked behind your eyes. "My sweet, darling dragon," you whispered, wrapping your arms around him and tugging him close even as he tensed. "You've been with only three women, two of whom were paid to be with you when you were still just a babe. What could you know of the hearts and desires of women?"

"I know your heart and desires," he said, "do I not?"

A smile melted onto your face and you shook him in your arms, your heart thundering in your chest. "You do."

"That Lannister boy... He would not please you as I do, not for the pleasure of it. I give you everything you desire because to give to you is my desire." You remembered words he had whispered in your ear years ago.

'There is pleasure in the giving.' He had been between your legs then, the entire bottom half of his face wet from your cunt. You had thought he'd grow bored down there as you had with him, but he never did. In the end, you were the one who'd had to move the two of you along to the act itself.

"So you would take me as your wife?"

"I would give myself to you, as your husband." He pulled away and placed your hand on his bare chest. His heartbeat was hard and fast. "You will want for nothing, little doe."

You met his eye with a sly grin, leaning up to press a gentle kiss just below his sapphire. "Then you will speak to my father tomorrow, and ask him for my hand."

[sephesisweek]

Sephesis Week 2024

January 1st thru 7th

Are you ready for the first annual Sephesis Week event? This new year, let's all celebrate a new beginning!

EVENT GUIDELINES ▏ FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ▏ DIRECTORY

@ffviifandomcalendar

Prompt list text under the cut. ⤵

Day 2 — Short prompts: Hero / Worship. Long prompt: "beloved by the goddess."

Day 1 — Short prompts: Infatuation / Introduction. Long prompt: "we seek it thus."

Day 4 — Short prompts: Injury / Separation. Long prompt: "wings stripped away, the end is nigh."

Day 3 — Short prompts: Battlefield / Camaraderie. Long prompt: "my friend, the fates are cruel."

Day 5 — Short prompts: Equality / Validation. Long prompt: "there is no hate, only joy."

Day 6 — Short prompts: Reunion / Divinity. Long prompt: "to find the end of the journey."

Day 7 — Short prompts: Passion / Devotion. Long prompt: "the bringer of life."

[zapreportsblog]

Hello I love your writing. Would like to request a gem reade/Marcus

We all know Marcus lost his mate so when he sees the new intern secretary come in after the last one got eaten. He’s so moved and thankful that he has a new mate 🥹🥺 my man was dead inside and after centuries this sweet juman that’s so innocent and caring now is his mate 🥺 I jus want them to go on romantic date on one particular nigh they are talking about literature and his lif e on a moonlight stroll. The night ends with them having a passionate night together. Fem reader was shy but Marcus is a wonderful lover and she’s so happy to be with him. Her last partner had been so abusive she feared falling in love again but Marcus was so attentive,protective and romantic 🥹

Awww poor baby is getting the happiness he needs

❝nothing like what I imagined❞

✭ pairing : marcus volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : the moment he laid eyes on her he knew she was his second chance at life, it’s unheard of vampires having second mates but now that’s he’s found his he will do all that he can to make sure she knows she is loved

✭ authors note : this song was definitely heavily inspired by the song “baby I’m yours”

✭ twilight masterlist

In the dimly lit corridors of the Volturi castle, Marcus moved with an air of quiet contemplation. His presence was often overlooked by those who were consumed with their own ambitions and intrigues. Yet, his gift of sensing emotional ties among individuals allowed him a unique perspective on the world around him.

One day, as he made his way through the grand hallways, his attention was drawn to the entrance of the castle. There, a new intern secretary had just arrived, replacing the previous one who had met a gruesome end. Marcus watched from a distance, his crimson eyes focused on the young woman who had captured his attention.

The moment their eyes met, a surge of emotion flooded through Marcus. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in centuries, a deep and powerful connection that reached beyond his usual sense of emotional bonds. He stood there, rooted to the spot, as he realized the truth—this young woman was his mate.

His heart, which had long been dormant, seemed to awaken within his chest. The mate bond between them was stronger than anything he had felt before, a tether that bound them together across time and space. Marcus was moved, both surprised and thankful, that fate had granted him another chance at love.

As he watched her navigate her new role within the castle, he kept his distance, his emotions a mixture of anticipation and restraint. He knew the dangers that surrounded them all, the complexities of their world that often led to heartbreak and loss. But this time, he was determined. He silently promised himself that he wouldn't allow history to repeat itself.

Over the days that followed, Marcus observed her from afar, a mix of longing and caution in his gaze. He kept his new discovery hidden, knowing that revealing such a bond could attract unnecessary attention. He continued to perform his duties, all the while his thoughts and emotions were intertwined with hers.

As time passed, Marcus found himself drawn to her presence more and more. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing day, a force that couldn't be denied. He felt the weight of centuries lifting from his shoulders, replaced by the hope and possibility of a future he had thought he might never experience again.

In the shadows, Marcus remained patient, his love and determination hidden beneath his stoic exterior. He knew that their journey would be filled with challenges and obstacles, but he was prepared to face them all. For in this young intern secretary, he had found his mate, a connection that transcended the darkness of their world and promised a new chapter in his immortal existence.

As the days passed and Marcus's connection with (y/n) grew stronger, he found himself unable to suppress his feelings any longer. He knew that he had to tell her the truth—the truth about the mate bond that bound them together. He couldn't deny the intensity of his emotions, the longing he felt for her presence.

One evening, as the sun set and cast warm hues across the grand halls of the Volturi castle, Marcus found (y/n) in a quiet corner of the library. He approached her with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, his crimson eyes focused on her as he cleared his throat.

"(y/n)," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "may I speak with you?"

Startled, she looked up from the book she had been reading, her gaze meeting his. A blush crept across her cheeks as she nodded, her fingers nervously clutching the pages of the book.

"Of course, Master Marcus. What can I do for you?" she asked softly.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his emotions swirling within him. He reached out to gently take her hand in his, a silent gesture of comfort and connection.

"I want to share something with you," he said, his voice low but steady. "Something that has been on my mind since the day you arrived."

Her heart began to race, her curiosity piqued. She looked into his eyes, sensing that there was something significant he was about to reveal.

"You see," Marcus continued, "when I first laid eyes on you, I felt a bond—a deep and powerful connection that goes beyond what I've experienced before. (y/n), you are my mate."

His words hung in the air, a confession that held weight and meaning. Her eyes widened, her heart pounding within her chest. Her past experiences had left her cautious and guarded, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"I understand if this is overwhelming," Marcus said gently. "But please know that I am not like your previous partner. I am not here to hurt you. I want to protect you, to be there for you in every way that I can."

She bit her lip, her emotions conflicting within her. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he meant what he said. But the fear of being hurt again held her back.

Marcus could sense her hesitation, her inner turmoil. With a soft sigh, he continued, "I understand that this is a lot to take in. Perhaps we can take it slow, allow our bond to grow at a pace that you are comfortable with. You have my word that I will always respect your feelings and your boundaries."

Touched by his sincerity and understanding, (y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest. She looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of deceit. But all she found was honesty, vulnerability, and a genuine desire to make her feel safe.

"Thank you, Master Marcus," she said softly, her voice laced with emotion. "I appreciate your patience and understanding. I'm just... trying to navigate through my own fears."

“Please just call me Marcus,” he says before nodding and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I will be here every step of the way, (y/n). We will face this journey together."

As the evening continued, they sat together in the library, sharing stories and getting to know each other. The library's soft ambiance provided a comforting backdrop to their conversation, and in that moment, they both realized that their bond was something worth exploring—a connection that held the promise of healing and a love that could stand the test of time.

After a few weeks of talking in secret Marcus got (y/n) to agree to a date. So now under the shimmering moonlight, Marcus and (y/n) strolled along a cobblestone path, their steps accompanied by the gentle rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

The stars adorned the velvety sky like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the surroundings as if nature itself was setting the stage for their romantic evening.

As they walked, their conversation flowed seamlessly from topic to topic. They spoke about literature, exchanging thoughts on classic novels and sharing their favorite authors. Marcus shared stories from his long life, giving (y/n) glimpses into different eras and cultures he had witnessed.

"I've always found solace in the words of poets and authors," Marcus said, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Literature has a way of capturing the human experience, of transcending time and connecting us to the emotions of those who came before us."

"I completely agree," (y/n) replied, her eyes sparkling as she listened to his words. "It's like stepping into different worlds and experiencing a multitude of emotions through the characters' journeys."

As the night deepened, they found themselves by a tranquil pond, its surface reflecting the moon's silvery glow. They settled on a comfortable spot beneath a tree, where a blanket had been laid out for them. A bottle of wine and glasses were placed nearby, casting a warm and inviting ambiance.

"(y/n), would you like some wine?" Marcus asked, pouring a glass for himself.

She nodded with a smile, accepting the glass he offered. They clinked their glasses together before taking a sip, the taste of the wine mingling with the atmosphere of the night.

Their conversation continued, becoming more intimate as the wine flowed. The air was filled with laughter and shared stories, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, (y/n)'s cheeks grew flushed from the wine, and she looked at Marcus with a mixture of boldness and vulnerability.

"Marcus," she began, her voice soft and slightly slurred, "I've been wondering... Do you feel an attraction towards me?"

Marcus met her gaze, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. His lips curved into a gentle smile, and he nodded. "Yes, (y/n), I do."

Flushed and slightly flustered, she took a deep breath. "Well then... I'm not sure how to say this... But, Marcus, I want you to take me."

Marcus's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Take you where, (y/n)?"

Her gaze remained steady as she said, "Take me, Marcus. I may be a little drunk, but my mind is clear enough to make this decision. I want to feel loved."

A moment of silence hung in the air as Marcus absorbed her words. He placed his glass aside and gently took her hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

"(y/n)," he says, his voice so soft that her name barley comes out as a whisper.

There was a sense of both nervousness and excitement that filled the air as Marcus leaned in closer and gave (y/n) a gentle kiss on her forehead. His touch felt warm and comforting, and (y/n) could feel her heart beating faster as their lips met.

His hands gently traveled down her body, exploring her curves and curves until he gently caressed her body and they embraced each other tightly.

Their passionate kisses were filled with so much emotion and desire as Marcus was a gentle, loving, and attentive lover. He explored every inch possible of (y/n)'s body with kisses and caresses, and as their bare skin met, (y/n) felt as if she was being surrounded by a powerful, consuming love.

“Come, not here.” He says scooping her up into his arms quickly and whisking them away to his bedroom. The bedroom door had just barely been closed before (y/n) found herself on the bed eyes wide and cheeks flushed red as she stared up at the towering volturi leader before her.

“If I’m to take you, then I must do it right.”

[tgrailwar-zero]

I have no idea what you are doing Invader, but, I trust you. I hope you will accept our support though.

As you began feeding your own mana as well as joining with KUKULKAN, her light filling up the hospital room, you found your focus wavering.

You saw flashes of events.

RIDER opting to secede from the Red Faction in order to search for AVENGER- and ostensibly you. A discussion between two Emperors. SABER granting that request, fairly yet reluctantly. Being confronted by CASTER several days into the journey. The desperate trigger of a defensive Noble Phantasm. Agony. The severing of a contract. The double-sided sword of having incredible fortitude- excruciating pain yet survival nonetheless. A hooded figure carrying him to a hospital. Darkness. A gnawing feeling. His personal mana running out, his Spirit Core trying to eat him alive. His mana had run out a long time ago- he was holding on through sheer willpower. Brief relief. A figure in black medical clothing setting up a new mana supply- temporary, but effective. Days passed, in a nigh-comatose state. Unfit for an Emperor, for a Servant. Frustration. Shame. Anger. A swirl of emotions, as day after day he tried to struggle out of the hospital bed- only making it as far as the door before falling unconscious again and again.

And--

[ NEW CONTRACT ESTABLISHED. ]

A bond.

Despite skepticism, a sense of belief. Faith, perhaps.

The same heart that you witnessed back on the waterside.

[ SERVANT - RIDER. TRUE NAME... "Constantine XI Dragases Palaiologos" ]

RIDER--no, CONSTANTINE snapped awake.

"Saber! We need to-- the Red Faction--… I need to get back to Saber!"

KUKULKAN put a hand on his shoulder, gently stroking it to calm him down.

"Shh. You're here-- you're fine…"

"Sorry for worrying you..."

As he was being comforted, you felt a new tether. It seemed as if your contract was renewed, but… different.

After all, you could only supply the same amount of mana, and now it was being divided between KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE, which meant that dealing with combat would be different. Sure, T-Summoning was an option but--

Before you had much time to think, you could sense a shift in the mana in the room. You quickly turned to face the DOCTOR, who was trembling, the air around him beginning to twist and distort.

"Doctor…?"

CONSTANTINE asked weakly, KUKULKAN stepped in front of him.

"This is what he meant. I didn't realize it'd impact him so quickly. Maybe it was a proximity thing...? Well, anyways- get ready, Masters!"

It seemed like the new aggression was a bit outside of KUKULKAN's expectations... however, that became secondary to survival as the DOCTOR let out a violent roar.

A harsh wave of mana rocketed out. There was barely any time to react as KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE went flying.

You saw the DOCTOR step out of the broken wall that the two Interloper Servants had fumbled through, his form changed, a divine glow around him.

"My name is Asclepius, the God of Medicine. Foul harbingers bearing the chaos of Phobos and raze the Solar Cell of life the hands of Hades, I will hereby destroy you! Begone, Interlopers!"

[ Both KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE avoided taking damage! ]

"Damn... did something go wrong with my technique...?"

KUKULKAN's- and your action were a success- and it gave her enough time to recover.

Both KUKULKAN and CONSTANTINE were flung into the main room of the laboratory, the two of them pushing themselves up to their feet and drawing their weapons- CONSTANTINE unsheathing his sword as KUKULKAN's fists sparked with mana.

With two Servants, your battle strategy has changed! You can only have enough mana to fully support one as a 'leader'- who takes point during battles. They perform actions as normal, dealing damage- but also taking the full brunt of damage (unless the enemy has a unique multi-hitting skill)! However, the other Servants in your party (up to 2 extras) act as 'auxiliary'! Auxiliary Servants can be triggered for T-Summons, and do a number of 'support skills' (generally at the cost of mana) to keep the battle in your favor! The amount of Servants you can contract can be as high as you want, but has to have a Leader and two Auxiliary Servants when traveling around. You can edit around your 'party layout' while resting. Either have a large group of allies, or a small, elite battle force- your choice!

Statistics (KUKULKAN) - LEADER:

Strength: C Endurance: C Agility: B Mana: EX Luck: A NP: B++ Current Health: 3/7 Current Mana: 11/13

Statistics (CONSTANTINE) - AUXILIARY:

Strength: C Endurance: A Agility: C Mana: D Luck: C NP: EX Current Health: 7/11 Current Mana: 0/5

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Day: 4 @eonweweek

Prompt: Romance

Pairing: Eönwë/Arien

Themes: Epistolary form (letters) | Medieval AU

Warnings: Just two people all loved up, your honor  

Word count: 800+ words

Summary: Eönwë writes to Arien, thanking her for her gift.

Letter from Eönwë to Arien:

25th August 1453

To my most beloved Lady Arien, greetings.

Not long ago, I received your letter and your gift of a saffron ribbon richly embroidered in golden thread. It pleases me to hear of your prosperity and good health, and I accept the present that you have bestowed upon me with a glad and willing heart. If it would not offend, I will wear it upon my person whenever opportunity allows.

My lady, the continued demonstrations of your affections oblige me to love and honor you always. Such things I do not consider a burden, for what burden is there in serving the one whom I desire over all others? I shall treasure your words and your tokens, and I pray that I will continue to be the recipient of your esteem; there would be no greater punishment than the loss of it.

I compete next in the tourney at House Shield. Lord Tulkas has welcomed all, and the king himself will take his place in the lists. I yearn to see you there, and perhaps, if it pleases you, I could entreat you to join me in more private amusements, far away from the prying eyes of others.

I must now end this letter, my lady, for a lack of time, but know that I wish you well and that you are in my thoughts always.

Written by the hand of your most humble servant,

Eönwë

Letter from Arien to Eönwë:

02nd September, 1453

To my most beloved knight, greetings.

Your letter came to me on the swiftest of swings, and it was received with much joy. I made haste to write in answer, for the weather is slowly beginning to grow colder, and our birds do not fare well when it becomes even more so. The cold makes them weak, and too many of them become easy prey. Come winter, my letters will be a rare thing, but I will more than make amends for it when we are blessed once again with the glory of spring.

It would not offend me in the slightest, my lord, if you wore my token upon your person. And it honors me, truly, to know that my tokens and my letters, trifling things as they are, will always be treasured by you. Your words of devotion humble me, my lord, and I pray that I will always prove myself to be worthy of it.

I too will travel to House Shield, for the ladies I serve desire to witness the spectacle of the tourney. Lord Tulkas will see to it that no expense is spared, especially now, when the king himself wishes to contend with other knights. As for the other matter, that of my joining you in more private amusements, my answer is yes, my lord. I will be glad to do so.

For now, my love, farewell.

Arien 

Letter from Eönwë to Arien:

11th September 1453

To the Lady Arien, my beloved companion in all things. Greetings.

Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again, my love, for your letter. Preparations are nearly complete for our journey, and the king has sent word for us to depart on the last day of this very month. The days will be long and hard and tiresome, but such struggles will be soon forgotten when I am finally able to see you and take you into my arms once again.

I too understand the difficulty that comes with sending letters during the winter. The road to Ilmarin is nigh impassable; the wind howls violently like a living, breathing beast and only the boldest, or perhaps the most foolish of hearts, attempt to ride up paths hidden beneath thick drifts of snow. Perhaps, my lady, you will consider wintering in Ilmarin before returning to Green Grove in the spring. You will find that the royal palace is warm and well-appointed even during the coldest and foulest of months, and you will not lack for any comfort. His grace the king has already consented to my request, and I will gladly speak to the ladies you serve on this score if you were to give me leave to do so.

By the hand of your most faithful companion,

Eönwë

Letter from Arien to Eönwë:

19th September, 1453

Most treasured companion, greetings.

My lord, I heartily accept your invitation to while away the winter months in Ilmarin. The ladies whom I serve will readily assent to your plea, and I gladly give you leave to speak with them when you see them next. I am told that Ilmarin is most beautiful during the cold months, with holly and sprigs of evergreen and gilded lamps wrought in the shape of stars adorning its chambers and halls. I have always longed to see such beauty with my own eyes, and I am forever grateful to you for granting me this.

I shall put down my quill for now, but please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers always.

Written by the hand of she who is always yours,

Arien

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Forty-Five: Blanky

The end is nigh for poor Blanky and I for one am heartbroken!

He's on his third leg now. The first was finely crafted but snapped off around the time that Pilkington and Le Vesconte (Blanky calls him Harry) died. That day he rode in a boat with Mr Honey the carpenter who fashioned him a new one, rather impressively, while on the move.

When he's up and hobbling along once more he does all he can to show solidarity with the men. They're doing things just as Blanky describes to Fitzjames in the show - carrying half a load a day's march then doubling back for the other half. And even though Blanky himself can't carry much or haul at all, he still tries to do those things anyway and makes a point of marching in both directions alongside the other men.

The only thing that's really keeping him going is the thought of being able to take to the water in the boats and put his ice master's knowledge to good use once more. It's come up a few times now, this notion that many of the men who survive longest and show the fewest signs of illness are those who have the most to live for and Blanky's definitely in that group, I think. There's even more immediacy to his situation though: "Still, it was not only his usefulness that was being decided by the ice, but his survival... once the ice master was at sea again, he would survive... If he could last until they took to the boats, Thomas Blanky would live."

Then, of course, there is Tuunbaq, still stalking them on their journey south and coming for Blanky first, so he believes. And, to be fair, that's an astute assessment of things - his leg is in a sorry state indeed and he leaves a trail of blood for it to follow wherever he goes, after all.

Blanky does what he can to hide the extent of it, sweltering in his greatcoat long after the other men are hauling in their shirt sleeves in the comparative heat of summer. "I'm cold-blooded, boys" He'd said with a laugh. "My wooden leg brings the chill of the ground up into me. I don't want you to see me shiver." :(((

Blanky reflects on a few other events as he hobbles painfully along. He recalls that two other men have died of the same tin-based poisoning that killed Fitzjames (though Richard Aylmore remains unaffected). And he notes that, even with the temperature rising, the men are plagued by frostbite still as well as snowblindness and headaches from refusal to wear their mesh goggles. One man notes that "wearing the God-damned wire goggles was as difficult as trying to see through a pair of lady's black silk drawers but much less fun." which is very amusing to me.

Blanky is especially aware of these medical issues as he's begun to help Goodsir where he can. Interestingly, Goodsir trusts Blanky not only to fetch things from the locked medicine chest but seemingly trusts him not to blab about the final secret vial of laudanum he's got in there, despite lying to the men that it's all gone.

Blanky also notes, heartbreakingly, how their minds and very identities as sailors are deteriorating away along with their bodies: "Sailors who had tied off complicated rigging and shroud knots in the roaring darkness fifty feet out on a pitching spar two hundred feet above the deck on a stormy night off the Strait of Magellan during a hurricane blow could no longer tie their shoes in the daylight."

When his third leg finally snaps, Blanky sits down on a rock and accepts his fate. It's gut-wrenching just like the show but also funny as Blanky finds opportunity to be sassy to both Tozer ("He had always enjoyed irritating the stupid sergeant by using his first name.") and Crozier.

He doesn't have quite the same close relationship with Crozier as in the show, though there's clearly still respect and some love there. They argue the matter a little but Crozier respects his decision, offering him a water bottle and promising to get word of Blanky's fate back to his family (although, as with Irving and his supposed Bristol-based upbringing, Blanky's family and home in Kent (?!!) are details that Simmons apparently pulls right, infuriatingly, from his arse)

It is after midnight when Tuunbaq finally appears. Blanky greets it like an old friend ("Welcome back," said Thomas Blanky to the shadowy silhouette on the ice.") before meeting his fate grinning fiercely all the while. "You're late," said Blanky. He could not help it that his teeth were chattering. "I've been expecting you for a long time." Unlike with the front he put up for the men beforehand, Blanky knows it doesn't matter anymore if Tuunbaq sees him shivering... :(((

[the-heart-of-a-monster]

Wh-

What the f-

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HELLO EXCUSE ME WHAT-

Yeah. This is fine. This is great, even! I'm just scrolling around on Tumblr, havin a good time, then I see some asks talking about the new page and I get excited. I riot in my head, even! I squeal with joy because I absolutely adore your art!

Then Sonic pushes Shadow away and my heart breaks in half.

wtf /pos and /lh

I wanna psychoanalyze this so fuccin bad so I'm gonna try my best but everything is so clear and easy to see so idk how obvious this will all be. I'll have a TLDR at the end that will hopefully be shorter idfk

Also before I do that I just wanna say that I absolutely love THOAM and I'm so glad I've been along on such a crazy journey for this long. Love seeing your art evolve throughout the 2 years I've been here!

ok let's get on with it already-

---

Okay so the first thing I noticed is Sonic's demeanor in this entire chapter so far. Sonic wasn't necessarily pissed at Shadow before coming here, (I still fail to remember the name of their location) but he was a bit... He seemed angered to some degree. This obviously has to do with the lack of sleep he's been getting due to his incredibly painful transformation, and uh side note here, transforming on its own would be enough to make someone feel out of sorts. I totally understand why Sonic is acting odd, in this case.

Anyway, the point I'm making is that Shadow has slowly been testing Sonic's patience throughout this and the last chapter. In the last one, Shadow said something incredibly rude and impulsive, which lead to Sonic staying behind in the dorm while Shadow and Chip were getting mawled. He only came back because he knew they were in deep trouble. The hug he got from Shadow didn't really help all that much, even if it was a kind gesture and something the Ultimate Lifeform wouldn't typically do. Because, y'know, it's just a hug. People hug others all the time, and it's not even close to a real apology.

Then Chip stayed behind with Tails. And... Suddenly, Sonic took a complete 180!

Without Chip around, without Sonic's emotional support buddy, the blue blur is left with all these pent up emotions that he's been refusing to let out for a long time. The last time he cried was days ago when he accidentally attacked Amy, and for us, that was probably like 3-4 years ago at this point. He's hardly had enough time or room to really feel anything, and that leaves him all constipated and icky. Sure, he had to kind of mellow his real feelings when Chip was around because he's just a kid in Sonic's eyes, and when Sonic lashes out it impacts Chip in a bad way. This doesn't mean Sonic feels any better without Chip, because without him, there's no hype man to make him feel better. There are no comforting words or small chit-chats for the road and no pit stops to get snacks... It's just him and Shadow now, and since they're on a pretty important mission to, you know, fix the entire fucking world, there's like no time for breaks.

Combine all this with the fact that Sonic is stuck as a Werehog for this entire chapter, and for the entirety of this specific mission... Yeah, you've got a pretty cranky hedgehog. And here's the sad part in all of this: Sonic doesn't like feeling this angry and this alone, but no one seems to really understand him anymore. Not even Shadow. They don't know what it's like living two whole lives at once, having to go through all this pain and agony for so long and not able to tell a soul. They couldn't possibly comprehend!

So how should he feel when his closest companion makes an effort to understand, even just by a little bit?

---

TL;DR

Sonic is confused and angry at the world. He doesn't understand what to do or how to act, and without Chip's support and unintentional therapy, he's just kinda... Left to his thoughts. Shadow suddenly trying to help after being not very helpful for a while made things even more confusing, and the fact Shadow never told Sonic about the constant nighttime thing... Yeeeeeaaahhh, Sonic's not doing too hot.

Hope this wasn't too long and I hope Tumblr doesn't eat this up due to its length. Thanks so much for reading to the end and thanks for just being you. Because if you didn't exist the world would explode-

<3

NEVER TOO LONG i think others also appreciate the theories ♥

[feyosha]

Come along catch a Heffalump

Sit with me on a muddy clump

We'll sing a song of days gone by

Run along now don't be glum

Get you gone now have some fun

Don't be long for the end is nigh

Don't let moments pass along

And waste before your eyes

March with me and the borogoves

Come with me and the slithy toves

And never ask us why

Come, come, come, come, come along now

Run away from the hum-drum

We'll go to a place that is safe from

Greed, anger and boredom

We'll dance and sing 'til sundown

And feast with abandon

We'll sleep when the morning comes

And we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs

We'll be here when the world slows down

And the sunbeams fade away

Keeping time by a pendulum

As the fabric starts to fray

There's no such thing as time to kill

Nor time to throw away

So once for the bright sky

Twice for the pig sty

Thrice for another day

Come, come, come, come, come along now

Run away from the hum-drum

We'll go to a place that is safe from

Greed, anger and boredom

We'll dance and sing 'til sundown

And feast with abandon

We'll sleep when the morning comes

And we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs

Come with me catch a rare type specimen

Cuddle up with a hesitant skeleton

We'll break our fast with friends

Once we're fed we shall disappear rapidly

Many moons to the west of here and happily

Our journey never ends

Shut your ears when sirens sing

Tie armbands to your feet

Listen up and you won't go wrong again

Float along on a verse-less song and then

Get to where the two ends meet

Come, come, come, come, come along now

Run away from the hum-drum

We'll go to a place that is safe from

Greed, anger and boredom

We'll dance and sing 'til sundown

And feast with abandon

We'll sleep when the morning comes

And we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs

[author-morgan]

Title: Persuasion Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader x Alexios Rating: M Summary: It takes both Eivor and Alexios to convince you to join them on their summer raid to England. Blame @mrsragnarlodbrok for this filth. ❤️

THE WATER IS warm and relaxing after a long day’s hunt, but the reprieve is interrupted by a messenger from the south named Ragn. He brings word from Eivor Wolfsmal —a summons to meet and discuss plans for the summer raiding season. The arrival of the raids means good plunder for those who partake, but for your people, it means the time to start planting rocky fields and making stores for the next winter is nigh approaching too.

There is a reason your people have not gone a viking in so long —the winters are growing longer and colder, and you cannot risk losing the menfolk, else everyone starve. But Ragn tells you Eivor has set his sights to the west, to the foretold riches of East Anglia and beyond. You thank him for the message and sink further into the cooling water before calling for one of the members of your vanguard, asking her to call upon your bannermen to prepare for departure. At dawn, you will travel south and meet Eivor of the Raven Clan’s call —for old time’s sake, if nothing else.

It is not an overly long journey south, nor is it a short one traveling across rocky crags and rushing streams. It takes nigh two moons before you can see the walls of Eivor’s settlement rising on the horizon —guarding the dark and frigid waters of the fjord beyond. Horns sound to announce the arrival, and Eivor rides out to meet you and your traveling party. People have trickled in for the last fortnight, and you are among the last to arrive —the one he’s wanted to see the most.

He dismounts his white mare as you slide from the back of your mount too and approaches you with welcome arms and warmth in his smile. The years have not changed him. He is still handsome and kindly as ever. He embraces you, a quick greeting between old friends. “Welcome,” Eivor says, then he spares a moment to look you over from head to toe. He feels as though time has not been as gentle to him as it has to you. “You look well,” he remarks.

You reach out, resting a hand on his scarred cheek, and smile up at him. “As do you.” Eivor covers your hand with his own, fingers curling around yours. He pulls your hand from his cheek and places a quick kiss on your knuckle. You ride at Eivor’s side, your traveling party trailing along, single file with the wagons at the head through the streets, stopping at the heart of the settlement before the great hall. Dismounting, you look around at the wood and stone buildings, noting how much the once small harbor has grown in recent years.

“Come with me,” Eivor says, motioning for you to follow him through the muddy streets to the harbor. You wave to your bannermen, and they disperse among the barracks and market —offloading crates and barrels of goods from wagons and carts for trade. Horns sound again, marking the arrival of three longships bearing white sails with a dark eagle clutching a serpent in its talons. The last of those who Eivor summoned for the meeting.

A man wearing pale brown leathers, a mantle of grey fur, and blue wool disembarks from the arriving longship, drawing back his hood. Most of the gathered Jarls you are familiar with, but this is a new and strange face. One who does not belong so far north. His dark hair is matted into locks shorn at his shoulders and adorned with golden beads —his skin is sun-kissed, and his eyes dark. Eivor approaches the man on the wharf, and they both size each other up in a moment of tense silence. The façade quickly breaks with Eivor’s laugh. “Alexios!” He greets.

Alexios clasps Eivor on the shoulder, smiling. “It has been too long, my friend,” he remarks —dark gaze straying to where you wait beneath an arch of wood and stone. But curiosities can be slaked later; for now, it is time to prepare for the feast.

NINE OF THE eleven Jarls who have answered the call retire for the evening. Their absence leaves you sitting between Eivor and Alexios at the table strewn with overturned cups and empty plates —still unconvinced it’s in your people’s best interests to join the summer raids of an all but unknown land. Too much is at stake for you to carelessly venture west.

“You’ve yet to persuade me, Wolf-kissed,” you note, setting aside your cup. The promise of riches alone is not enough to send men to an early grave. “I have my people I must care for and women and children who will lose their husbands and fathers.” Where others could make do with the absence of menfolk during the warm months, your clan could not —only a handful of men joined the raids each year. Every person contributed to the survival of the whole so far north. “Our winters are longer than yours here in the south,” you remind him.

Alexios regards you carefully, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s not said much this evening, but his dark eyes have been busy —watching. He sees a strong will, a sharp wit, and a gentle heart. The makings of a leader loved by the masses. That’s without considering the respect you commanded from the others who have seen more summers than you. He has to admire that after encountering so many weak-willed leaders in his years.

“Perhaps another drink will help ease your worries,” Eivor says, pouring a fresh cup of mead and sliding it across the table for you to take. Even drunk, you do not think you’d willingly throw away so many lives for the spoils of the summer raids. He’s adamant, though. “I know there are riches and fertile land to the west,” Eivor tells you. “You need not endure the harsh winters if your people can call Anglia home.”

“It’s true,” Alexios supplements, “I’ve been there before.” He has wandered around the world for centuries and knows Eivor and others speak the truth about the land once named Britannia. “Thick forests and rolling green hills as far as the eye can see.” It sounds too good to be true —like a dream. “You see,” Alexios continues, “the true riches lie not in gold or silver, but the fertile earth. There’s more than enough land for your people to make a new home,” he tells you.

“Still,” you say, looking between the two men flanking your sides, “I shall have to think on it.” It is no small thing to ask that you uproot your people on a whim for an uncertain future in a strange land, but perhaps you could join them to see this land and its riches for yourself. Though, it is still something that must be considered without the strong mead fogging your senses.

Alexios leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. He looks past you to Eivor —who seems to be in the same mindset as him. He’s certainly not immune to the charms of a woman such as you, and neither is Eivor, considering the looks he’s shared with you over the course of the evening. “Perhaps we can convince you to join us,” he says, voice gruffer than just moments before.

Eyes flitting between both men, you catch onto the game they’re playing. You’re not one to shy away from such games, and it’s an easy choice to decide to play along with whatever they might be scheming. “And how will you do that?” You challenge, lifting a brow.

“Do you know how to wield a spear?” Alexios asks —you catch the double meaning of his question easily enough. Had any other Jarl asked such a thing, you’d have emptied your cup over their head, but there’s a certain allure and charm to Alexios with his sharp features and tawny-gold eyes.

“I do,” you answer, letting another sip of mead wash away what little inhibitions are left for the evening. “I can skewer a boar and bring a man to his knees,” you note. Eivor knows you can do both with ease —he’s seen you hunt before, knows what it’s like to have you writhing as he fucks you.

“How about you, Alexios? Can you wield a spear?” You query, lifting your cup to hide a bold and enticing smile. He moves as soon as you set your cup on the table, drawing you into his lap, hands instantly finding the ties of your soft gambeson and the pale tunic below —as though he’s been waiting for this moment since first setting eyes on you hours prior. The gambeson slips to the floor, and you rid yourself of the thin tunic without care. His lips are warm and soft against yours when he kisses you, palms pressing flat against your breasts.

He leans down, mouth latching onto your neck with a gentle bite that makes you gasp. Alexios moves down your chest until his lips wrap around one taut nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud and drawing a moan from your traitorous lips. You feel him smile against you —the press of his teeth against your chest in a broad grin. You catch Eivor’s gaze, and the color on his cheeks as your hands trail down Alexios’s chest —you can feel the firm muscles in his abdomen beneath your hands and his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. He offers no resistance when you start unlacing the ties of his pants.

His cock is thick, heavy, and hot in your hand as you wrap your fingers around him —feeling each rigid vein. You can’t help but imagine the feel of them dragging along your walls as he fucks you. Your cunt tightens at the thought —a shiver crawls down your spine, and warmth pools in your belly. What you’d give to mount him like a stallion —you can already feel the aching burn of him stretching you open. But for now, you’ll settle for this. Alexios’s head tips back. The muscles in his neck tense. You lean into him, lips dragging along his jawline, and when he groans, it reverberates through you both. His breath stutters as you start slow. A teasing, languid pace —letting your entire hand explore him.

Eivor shifts in his chair —you can feel the heat of his stare without sparing him a glance. “You’re awfully quiet, Eivor,” you muse, still peppering kisses along Alexios’s neck and letting his calloused hands explore what skin they can. “Still not over that night?” You tease, breath catching when Alexios nips at your collarbone —the scruff of his beard leaving a burning trail that his tongue soothes. “Must’ve been, what? Four years ago, now?” Eivor does not answer. He won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing how many times the thought of you has kept him warm at night.

Your gaze drops to Alexios’s cock as you give him another long stroke from base to tip. Flushed, thick, and throbbing against your skin. You stop holding back —hand moving faster and wrist twisting on each upstroke— and Alexios cannot restrain himself any longer. He feels a fool for coming undone so quickly, but there’s magic in your touch, especially after a long voyage at sea.

“Is this any way to treat your host?” Eivor japes, and you can hear the bitter jealously in his voice as he watches. “Casting him aside to watch?”

“Come now, Eivor,” you chide. “You’ll have your fun later.” The way you say it, taunting and teasing with your hand wrapped around another man’s cock makes this all seem like a competition. If it is, at least it is a game where you will all be victorious. 

“Is this not part of the sacred guest-rights?” Alexios asks, his voice half-strangled from how your hand works his cock but amused too. His body arches into you, pulling you against him, and his lips part as he moans unabashedly. It isn’t loud, but it is guttural and desperate, and it makes your core ache with want. Your hand doesn’t stop working him even as he spills himself over your fingers, drawing out his orgasm for as long as you can until you slow to a stop, and he begins to relax —catching his breath.

But he’s quick to begin taking what he wants. Alexios kisses your neck, moving down your body —the rough pads of fingers trailing along your sides, but it’s not enough. He needs more, wants more, and it’s impulse and desire when he sweeps his arms out, knocking the plates and cups in front of him to the floor. Alexios lifts you from his lap onto the edge of the table —hurriedly pulling at the ties of your britches as you toe off your boots. 

Eivor inhales sharply, seeing you bare and splayed out on the table. His tongue darts out to dampen his lips. Memory reminds him of how sweet you tasted and how prettily you’d moaned for him, and he can barely stand the thought of not being the one between your thighs.

Alexios slinks down to look upon his second meal —eager to devour. You feel the stubble of his jaw tickle the crest of one hip and then the other before feeling his breath against your aching center. He kisses the inside of each thigh, then suckles and bites a mark in the same place on each side, laving over the little marks with his tongue. Alexios does not know what will come of this night, though he will leave a lasting impression on you to remember him by for the coming days —and maybe have you coming back to warm his bed on these cold northern nights.

He nuzzles his face against your cunt, inhaling the heady scent —drunk off the smell— and Alexios wrenches an incredulous noise from your throat when his tongue darts out, licking a flat stripe over you, stopping to circle your clit. He repeats the action thrice over, each time adding more pressure —devouring your cunt with attention like a man supping on his last meal, and he will be sure to have his fill. Reaching down, you twine your hands into his dark hair, and he peers up, dark eyes almost black with desire but still shining gold in the firelight. It’s easy to forget you and Alexios are not alone.

His tongue and mouth are insistent but soft, warm, and wet —a practiced lover— and he groans in delight against you when he feels your hips rise from the table and start to roll against his tongue. Alexios thinks himself a simple devotee worshipping at the altar of a goddess.

Every time you make a new noise, it just makes him more voracious —makes his cock stir again, but right now is about you and he’s determined not to stop until you’re shaking. He loops his arms under your thighs and moves his fingers to spread you open farther —letting his thumbs rub up and down your folds, gathering the slick. Then he eases one finger into your cunt, curling, and stroking, then adds a second. It’s devastating —the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue on your clit— your breath comes in short gasps, chest heaving until it all erupts in slow sparks and smoldering flames.

It's the plummet of a longship’s prowl after cresting a wave when gravity takes its full force. The slow build of heat low in your belly takes to flames fanned by bellows. Alexios curls his fingers just right and feels your body tighten and seize. Your back arches off the tabletop and your ragged cry of ecstasy fill the room as you quiver.

Alexios raises his head, lips and chin glistening in the low light of the empty mead hall. He eases you down, hands stroking the insides of your thighs, and his lips find the skin below your navel before he draws you off the table and back into his lap. You tremble still when he drags the scruff of his jaw over your breasts and clavicles —promptly burying his face into your neck and listening as your heartbeat slows.

Fingers threading into Alexios’s matted locks, you glance at Eivor —his eyes are dark and filled with lust. His breathing is quicker and more labored than it had been during the feast too. Eivor splays his legs open, and you can see the outline of his hard cock through the wool of his britches. You smile for him —knowing it drives him to insanity and jealousy to see you like this because of another man. Alexios’s rough hands slide over your sides and around to your backside, pulling you down and forward against him —so you can feel his cock twitch back to life. A promise the night is not over yet.

But Eivor’s patience has run dry, and he will resign to being a bystander no longer. Rising from his seat, Eivor steps to you and Alexios, tugging your hair and forcing you to look up at him. He cranes down close to your ear and smirks. “My turn,” he rasps, pulling you off Alexios’s lap before scooping you up and over his shoulder and parading through the Great Hall toward his chambers. “Come, my friend,” Eivor calls back to Alexios, “guest-rights would have you take her cunt first.”

Anticipation burns low in your belly as Eivor pushes open the door to his room. Alexios trails a few steps behind —cock half-hanging out of the untied laces of his britches— his hands already fumbling with the ties of his tunic. Then Eivor lets you down from his shoulder and seizes your face in his hands, lips finding yours with burning lust and consuming passion.

You break away, breathless, and start to slide your hands beneath the hem of his tunic, pushing up the coarse crimson wool until he finally rids himself of it. Then your lips trail effortlessly along his heated flesh as you kiss your way from his scarred neck down his chest, then to his stomach, ghosting over the familiar blue-black ink of the runic tattoos accenting his middle. They’re a shade or two lighter than when you last saw him like this.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d have your fun later?” You muse, stopping just below his navel where a trail of hair a shade darker than that on his head begins. His response is a breathy groan as you continue down the path you’d started, falling to your knees in front of him, alas. His hands tangle in your hair as he moans quietly for you, feeling the blood rush as your breath trails dangerously close to the swell of his still-clothed cock.

His jaw clenches in frustration when you slow down, working the ties of his britches. You push the soft leather down his thighs, letting his cock fall free —hard, heavy, and weeping with want. Eivor steps out of his britches, and you press a to kiss his inner thigh, feeling the muscle twitch in anticipation. You kiss his inner thigh and feel the muscle twitch in anticipation. His fingers brush over your jaw, and your lips part to run your tongue across the length of his cock.

You look up at him before circling the head of his cock with your tongue, and he growls, running a hand through your hair affectionately. Your thighs squeeze together, knowing how much he wants your attention makes you feel flushed and warm in the best way. You give him a small smile before you open wider to take the head between your lips and are rewarded with his pleased sigh.

He hisses as he watches his cock disappear into your mouth —can feel the wet of your tongue lapping at him when you hollow your cheeks in. Your eyes are fixed on him, firing with lust as you watch him slowly fall into a haze. His brows furrow, his eyes slip shut, and his mouth parts from the sudden peak of pleasure. He doesn’t expect you to stop so suddenly, though. The aching emptiness between your thighs is enough to drive you mad. You look back at Alexios —he’s bare as you are now, his clothes tossed in a heap at the door, and he’s stroking his cock as he watches.

Rising from your knees, you press your hand to the center of Eivor’s chest, pushing him back toward the bed. He goes without complaint, falling backward into the furs, and you join him, perching on hands and knees —placing a long lick up the underside of his cock before a small sucking kiss on the head and presenting yourself to Alexios for the taking.

Alexios steps up behind you, his hands running over your hips and backside. His fingers dip into your soaked cunt before curling around his cock, stroking himself before pressing into you —slowly, so you can feel each ridge and vein dragging along your walls, filling you. It draws a low moan from you as he bottoms out, then starts thrusting shallowly as you lick a stripe up Eivor’s cock again. You give no warning as you open wide, mouth closing around the head of his cock and slipping halfway down his length. His fingers instinctively yank at your hair, moan cracking in his throat like he’s choking on the sound.

From behind, relentlessly to his snapping hips, Alexios fucks into you. Hard, rigid, merciless through a string of guttural groans and stumbling profanities spoken in a tongue you do not understand. Needy and pitifully pathetic, your aching cunt burns with each thrust, rough pads of his callous fingers digging into the skin of your bare hips. You lay there for him, hands twisted into the fur pelts next to Eivor’s thighs, body jolting and humming with pleasure. You can’t see him, yet you know how he must be —satisfied— and how he must look —chest flushed as incoherent grunts of pleasure bolt his lips.

His thickness splits you inch by inch while he slams in relentlessly, ceaselessly, persistently. Each vein, each ridge, each curve of his cock skidding along the walls of your cunt, driving your body further into oblivion. Alexios’s teeth scrape over your shoulder when he lowers his mouth to your back. One of his hands stays on your waist, anchoring you against him, the other palms your breast, fingers tweaking one nipple then the other. You’re vaguely aware that Alexios and Eivor are saying something to each other, but you’re too distracted by your work to pay attention. You shiver a bit when you feel warm hands come down to grope your breasts, and you let your throat squeeze around him, mind shrouded in a fog of sex.

Alexios looks down at the display of his cock moving in and out of your wet cunt. It’d be a shame not to enjoy what you’re offering in the moment. He leans over you, chest pressed against your back, and kisses your neck —the feel of his hot lips sends a shiver down your spine and makes you clench around his cock. “Fuck,” he hisses, grabbing a handful of your ass to spur you along. You feel the familiar tension blooming in your stomach as he thrusts inside you again and again. The needy little sounds you’re making for him are muffled around Eivor’s cock. Alexios’s bottoming out with every rock of his hips against yours, and this won’t last much longer for either of you —his cock is already throbbing with the prospect of release.

Eivor’s fingers thread into your hair, keeping you against his groin and looking at you like you’re some kind of benevolent goddess. It only makes that heat inside you flare up more. This all feels so good, but you can only offer muffled whines as both of them enjoy your body. You whimper, and the low reverberation and hum of your mouth around his cock is enough to finish Eivor —and you swallow the bitter salt of his seed.

Rough fingertips find your clit, rubbing and stroking until your cunt clamps down tight around his cock, and you lose all sense of focus as the wave of pleasure washes over you —breath reduced to tiny gasps and your thighs shaking. You slump forward, head pillowed on Eivor’s stomach, content to let Alexios work himself to his own finish with your body, and it doesn’t take much time. He comes inside you after a few more sloppy thrusts, cock spasming deep in your cunt, pressed so close against your back you can feel his heart beating fast behind you. The two of you stay together for a minute to get your bearings before he pulls out and steps away.

Eivor’s waited long enough to have your cunt, and he’ll not give you long to recover from how Alexios fucked you. He crawls between your thighs. His eyes hold a certain darkness you’ve never seen before —rooted in jealousy— and his mouth is slightly a gape with his chest rising and falling in heavy heaves. He takes hold of his cock, stroking himself as his spare hand plants to your hip, spreading your legs open wide for his taking. Eivor’s lips quirk into a faint smirk as he guides his cock into you as if to say you’re mine now. 

Low and throaty, he hisses to the sensation, eyes momentarily clenching shut to the feel of you as he sinks to the hilt. His thrusts start slow but quicken —he’s thought about having you like this again on many a cold night— cock throbbing and twitching inside you, slipping from your cunt messily each time before plummeting back in. He grunts and curses above you as you plead with sobs of frustration and nigh overstimulation. You’ve never been so well-fucked before.

Your nails dig into his biceps, each thrust presses your breasts tighter to his chest. Eivor dips his head down, teeth scraping over your neck —just above a thrumming pulse. Your body involuntarily reacts, arching into him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer every time he rolls his hips into yours. His fingertips press hard into your thighs, holding you tight against him, and your back arches with jolting shocks. Eivor’s eyes blacken when his eyes glaze over your body —wanton and bare, completely exposed for him, with your breasts bouncing as he rams in, cock burying deep, deep inside you with each thrust.

He grunts, jaw tightened, his pace never faltering. Your cunt pulses and throbs —Alexios’s seed leaking onto the furs below. Eivor breathes your name, face lowering to yours —mead-tinged breath hot against your lips as he quietly growls, teeth barely grazing your jaw. Persistently, he nips at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks to match those left by Alexios, as if marking his claim too. “Fuck,” he grits, his eyes frenzied and primal, wild as he asserts his dominance —taking what should have been his all along. It’s the way his throbbing cock works your cunt, the way he perfectly fucks you into pure and utter bliss.

Throaty and gruff, he lets out rough moans, breathy and raggedy, and hot as he shudders, sending shivers of wanting down your spine when you know he’s close. Your head tilts back, and you can see Alexios reclined behind you —watching contentedly. With a few particularly harsh thrusts, you yelp in pleasure, ascending another peak, searing your nerves as he continues to fuck into you, chasing his own end. Eivor’s cock hits your end with a halt, a satisfied grumble of his chest rumbling against your breasts as he finds release, filling you with tingling warmth. Then his head falls forward, forehead pillowed on your breasts, and he lets out a breathy exhale, chest hot and puffing from the exertion. Drawing in a long sigh, Eivor slides his cock from you, rolling off to the side.

Shifting, you rest your head on Alexios’s stomach and drape your legs across Eivor’s. He smooths his hand over your calf and turns his head, watching the seed drip from your ruined cunt. Sleep weighs heavily on your chest after the length of days of travel, and now this. It calls sweetly. “Have we persuaded you to go to England with us?” Alexios asks, half-laughing as he runs his fingertips over your stomach and stops to fondle one of your breasts.

“Will the two of you be having me like this every day if I do?” You ask in turn, voice airy —dreamy— eyes slipping shut. Both men exchange a look, and neither will object to such a proposition. You can feel the low rumble of laughter in Alexios and Eivor’s chests. You certainly wouldn’t object to the proposal. Eivor kisses the bend of your knee, and Alexios takes your hand, lips pressing to the center of your palm —each kiss like a promise of what’s to come.

[taglist: @alessyaraven @alexandra-alle @ananriel @callmemythicalminx @certifiedlittleshit @chaotic-spooky @darkravenqueen98 @edelaen @elluvians @erzsebetrosztoczy @finick94 @hc-geralt-23 @idkjj04 @itseivwhore @kitkitvm @ksziggy @letsloveimagines @maximalblaze @missmannequin @mrsragnarlodbrok @novastale @overratedsun @qhbr2013 @queenyalo @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @thedragonqueenfan @theelvenvalkyrie @thepreciouspurrsian @vanillabeanlattes @wallsarecrumbling @withered-poppies @xxdearlybeloved ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor, Alexios, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!