#we are the north they are beyond the wall

[kellyvela]

Sansa Stark's Wishes: Seeing an aurochs.

[the-busy-ghost]

Look I love a Spooky Edinburgh Moodboard as much as the next person but I do wonder whether the people who tag pictures of St Giles and the General Assembly Hall as "witchy” or dark academia aesthetic have any idea what they’re looking at

[heartshapedmisery]

𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jon snow

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ in which jon wanders too far north of the wall into free folk territory and is put under your supervision, mance rayder's daughter, after your voluntary offer of him staying in your tent. you never thought you would be willing to bunk with a crow, but of course, there's a first for everything.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it y'all ), inexperienced!jon, reader taking jon's virginity, little bit of subby!jon, riding, handjob, mentions of blood ( reader bites jon's lip on accident whoops ), oral ( f! recieving ), jon having a praise k!nk, jon having literally no self-control, reader calling jon a crow about a thousand times lmao, minimal use of Y/N, lmk if i missed anything!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ jon snow x fem!rayder!reader.

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  jon snow is so babygirl

honestly loved writing this, lmk what you think! also, should i make a part two with ygritte involved ?? wink wink

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  june 26th, 2023 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

When you first saw the darkness of his furs sticking out so flamboyantly against the white of the northern snow, you knew Ygritte had struck gold on her hunt with the others.

You watched with a cautious but intrigued look on your face as she pulled him along behind her by a long rope tied around his hands, cradling a longsword in the crook of her arm with a wide smile on her face. But, the look on the crow's face seemed to be the total opposite.

Everything about him was dark, from his ratted furs to his hair that looked like it hadn't been given a good wash in ages, to even the disgruntled frown that didn't seem to leave his face until Ygritte finally untied him from his restraints. He was a crow, through and through.

You had seen plenty men of the Night's Watch before―even killed a few―but the one who stood before you as you made your way into your father's council tent was different. His eyes were a deep, darling brown, holding a youth that couldn't have been any older than your own. Most of the crows you had captured were all old and gray, not nearly as attractive and brooding as this one.

You didn't know there was such a thing.

"Where'd you find this one?" you whispered to Ygritte, your voice low enough for only her ears, your eyes raking over his figure that seemed disproportioned from the thick of the furs and leathers he wore.

"About a few miles north of the wall," she told you, watching him just as closely as you were. "He was just too pretty to pass up." The two of you shared a laugh as she handed you the young crow's sword, heavy and dull in its scabbard.

The Lord of Bones pushed him roughly towards the man sitting in the center of the tent, biting into a hunk of meat as if it were his last meal.

"I smell a crow," Tormund muffled with his mouth full, turning his head barely enough to get a good look at the young man. His scowl hadn't changed, if anything worsened since being shoved into the large tent.

His name had been Jon Snow, which he revealed to Tormund just before kneeling before him and muttering your grace. The entire tent seemed to bustle with laughter at the attempt of respect, you and Ygritte sending each other a knowing look as the crow's face reddened with embarrassment. Tormund may have looked and fought like one, but he was no king.

"Stand boy," a voice hidden in the back of the tent sounded, silencing everyone in the room within a matter of seconds. Your father, Mance Rayder, unveiled himself from the shadowy corner room behind Tormund, looking down upon Jon Snow as he stood.

Jon was quick to rise to his feet, looking up at him as the man stood taller than even Tormund. "We don't kneel for anyone beyond the wall."

Slowly, you moved towards your father from Ygritte's side, resting your hands on the hilt of the crow's sword as you allowed it to stand in front of you. Your father always valued your opinion when coming to decisions over the free folk, and this matter was no different.

Your eyes had hardened by now, catching Jon's gaze with a look that could only be interpreted as defensive. No matter how pretty you thought he was, he was still a man of the Night's watch. Your enemy infiltrating your land.

You watched him carefully as he went on to explain why he had left the Night's Watch, telling your father about the things he had seen in Craster's Keep.

"And why would that make you want to abandon your brothers?" Mance asked, his voice low and gravelly. His words seemed to intimidate the young man, his eyes flitting away from your father's before moving back to them hesitantly.

"Answer the question," you growled, leaning in towards him with a malice that couldn't help but send a chill down his spine. His eyes shot to yours, wondering why you were making such commands in the presence of Mance Rayder.

He explained how the Night's Watch did nothing to prevent Craster from giving up his newborn son to the white walkers, creatures that had been known to be gone for centuries.

"I want to fight for the side that fights for the living," he told your father, sparing you only a quick look as you stepped back to Mance's side. "Did I come to the right place?"

Mance mulled over the boy's words before looking down at you, the look on his face clear that he wanted your opinion. "What do you say, girl? Shall the baby crow stay?"

As you held his sword close to your chest, you stepped closer to Jon, your face inches from his as you gave him a good look over. He seemed nervous, his breathy shaky as it blew past his lips.

"I say he can," you paused, circling around him before meeting his gaze once more with a sly smrik on your lips. "But he stays with me."

He didn't speak much to you at first―or anyone really―only saying a few words when needed to and biting his tongue when you made some snide remark or called him a crow.

Since you had taken the responsibility of monitoring him, you practically stuck to Jon like glue until nightfall―as did many other girls in your camp, including Ygritte. She was an exception, but you had to keep running the rest of them off since their eagerness to catch a glimpse of him drove them to fights and quarrels in the snow.

Not to degrade any of the people in your camp, but men that looked like Jon Snow were not a common sight in free folk territory.

After showing him around the camp and getting him a new set of furs made of polar bear skin and boiled leather, you eventually gave him Longclaw back―which was what he called that heavy sword of his. He was grateful, but his disgruntled frown hardly left his face.

"Lose the frown, Jon Snow," you had told him as he joined you and Ygritte for dinner around the fire you had built near your tent. "You're not in the South anymore. There's no need to look so miserable."

When nightfall finally took the sky, you escorted Jon to your tent with a mischievous smirk on your face, earning looks from other wilding girls―most of them being of annoyance or jealousy. Their glares didn't go unnoticed by Jon, a look of confusion and concern evident on his face.

"Are they always like this?" he asked sheepishly, looking over his shoulder as the two of you stood still in front of the flaps of your tent.

You couldn't help but laugh, the scowls on their faces feral and sour as you led him into your tent.

"You're the first pretty crow they've seen in ages, Jon Snow," you told him with a grin. "They'll claw each other's eyes out to lay naked with you."

Your words seemed to surprise him, but he didn't say anything as a reddish tint rose in his cheeks. He had never been with a girl, he was too young before he joined The Watch, and his vows forbade him from lying with a woman. He had never gotten the chance, so the idea couldn't help but intrigue him.

"Your furs are over there," you pointed to the makeshift bed across from yours, "Though I know you'll be far much warmer over here with me."

He disregarded your comment, silent as he made his way over to his side of the tent and tried not to think too hard about laying with you.

It wasn't a large tent, your furs only a mere few feet from his. You still laid rather close despite being on separate sides.

Beginning to undo your outer layers and shedding them off, you were left in only a thin undershirt and pants that barely left anything to the imagination as you sat across from him.

Jon's eyes widened.

You could feel his eyes on you, his cheeks flushed at the sight of your hardened nipples poking through the fabric as you reached over to light a few candles between the two of you to brighten up the tent. He felt a sting of guilt run through his chest; he didn't want to betray his vows, or even think about betraying them, but you were making it very difficult for him to abstain on his side of the tent.

"What, have you never seen a woman's body before, crow?" you said playfully as you undid your hair from the braid it had been pulled back in all day, tousling it with your tired fingers to get ready for bed.

Jon only widened his eyes, gulping rather harshly as his lips parted, catching your eyes that seemed to be filled with nothing but seduction.

"What do you care?" he looked away, the tension too much for him to bare. His cheeks were flaming red at this point, embarrassment flaring in his chest. He could feel his hard-on begin to grow under his thick trousers, hoping to the Old Gods you couldn't see.

"Oh, right," you said sarcastically. "The Night's Watch will hack your hand off if you even think about touching a woman, is that right? Miserable bastards."

Jon tried to protest, his words caught dead in his mouth as you cut him off abruptly.

"Have you ever laid with a woman, Jon Snow?" you asked lowly, sitting up from your spot on your warm furs before slowly starting to crawl over to him, sultry laced thickly in your voice.

He shook his head, his eyes wide and blown out with lust. You were dangerously close to him, sitting down in front of him with your legs tucked neatly beneath you as you leaned in towards him.

"Do you want to?" you said slyly, your lips inches from his.

Your hand slowly reached out for his, grasping it gently before bringing it to your breast and allowing him to cup it. A shaky sigh blew past his plump lips, his gaze flitting down to your chest as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over your sensitive nipple gently.

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think. Before he could remember the vow that he had made not long ago. Your sweet scent of firewood and pine was like truth serum to his senses. "More than anything."

His gentle, pleading words were enough for you to bring your lips to his, enveloping in the taste of him as you moved swiftly onto his lap, lips moving in sync hungrily as if he would be your last.

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard chest. As you lowered your hips down onto his lap, you could feel him hard against your core, making you gasp in surprise.

You laughed gently under your breath in excitement as his eyes fluttered shut, not being able to help yourself as you began to slowly grind against him, earning a low and shaky whimper from his throat.

It was like music to your ears; his soft whimpers and pants. When you had been with other wildling men, they grunted and groaned as they worked their way in and out of you, almost animalistic. Jon was different.

"Do you like it when I do this?" You cooed in his ear. His moans were soft and desperate as he yearned for more of your touch, his hands gentle and needy as they grasped at your hips and worked you across his lap slowly.

He had no idea how much of an effect it had on you. How his exasperated pants made something foreign blossom in your chest and spread down to your lower half.

"Please," he begged as he pulled away from your lips, looking up at you with an adoration you had never seen from any free folk. You had him wrapped around your finger, drunk on your warm touch. Nothing could've riled you up more.

"You can have me however you want," you promised him, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Slowly, you pulled your undershirt off over your head before wriggling out of your thin pants, leaving your body bare and on display for him. "You're mine now, Jon Snow."

Your hand traveled down slowly between your bodies, running over the front of his trousers and cupping his hard-on, dancing your fingers across it tauntingly. "But first, let me help you with this."

Your fingers quickly worked at the ties at his trousers, pulling it open and helping him get rid of them before assisting him in removing his heavy furs and leathers and throwing them to the side, leaving him bare and warm beneath you, his pale, toned skin burning against your own.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, sitting at the edge of his knees so you could get a good look at him splayed out before you. Excitement buzzed in your chest at the sight of his reddened tip, leaking with precum practically begging to be touched.

With a soft look, your hand grasped his hardened cock gently, making him shudder at the sudden contact.

The feeling was foreign to him; Sure, he had used his own hand once or twice to relieve himself when he was feeling desperate, but his calloused and thick hands didn't compare to your small, soft, and experienced ones as you began to pump him gently.

"O-Oh," he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as you rubbed him carefully, allowing your forehead to press gently to his. You could feel his soft, warm pants fanning against your face, gentle moans falling from his lips every so often.

"You're so good for me," you whispered to him, your thumb running over the slit at the head of his cock, earning a shaky gasp from him. Your lips peppered kisses against his, before moving slowly to his cheeks and working your way down his jaw tauntingly.

The feeling of your lips leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the skin of his neck and collarbone made him ecstatic. He didn't know what he had done to earn such a heavenly gift from the gods, but he knew he never wanted this to end. He never wanted to be without your touch.

"F-Fuck," he whined, entranced by the look of desire in your eyes as you rubbed him.

His toned stomach contracted gently, his abs tensing as he inched closer and closer to his release. His moans became more guttural, incoherent mumbles to the sound of your name filling your ears.

"I'm g-gonna-" he warned, his eyes fluttering shut. But, before he could finish his sentence, hot, white spurts of his release shot onto his stomach, painting him sinfully as a shaky groan rumbled in his chest in response. It lit something inside you, the way he trembled beneath your touch and moaned your name as if it were a prayer. You could drown in it.

Carefully, you reached for the undershirt you had thrown off and wiped his stomach clean, not caring you had dirtied it and would have to wash it by hand on the morrow.

A calm silence fell between you, allowing his forehead to fall to the crook of your neck as his hands snaked around your waist, pulling your chest flush against his. Your warmth was something he wanted to live in forever. He never wanted to leave this tent.

"You're so-" he mumbled against your skin, his breath faltering as he tried to find the right words. "You're so good at that."

You couldn't help but blush. The way he worshipped you made you ecstatic, your hands raking through his dark curls as you tilted his head up to look at you.

"Can I kiss you?" he rasped. His eyes were full of want, his eyebrows pulling together slightly as he pawed at the flesh of your thigh. Carefully, you moved to bring your lips to his with a wide grin but he stopped you, pulling his head to the side tauntingly.

He shook his head gently. "Not there."

You didn't understand what he meant. Kiss you where?

Cautiously, he pulled you off of his lap and laid you down on the soft furs, his body hovering over yours as he slotted himself in between your legs.

He began to make his way down your body with gentle kisses, nipping at your supple skin as he trailed from the crook of your neck to all the way down between your plush thighs, leaving little love bites in the wake of his mouth as he inched dangerously close to where you needed him most.

"Getting brave, aren't we?" you taunt, his hands moving to tuck your legs onto his shoulders before he gripped your hips with both of his hands firmly, holding you in place as you could feel his warm breath fanning against your glistening core.

He ignored your snide remark, wasting no time before licking a clean stripe against your cunt and beginning to work away at you, his eyes fluttering shut at the sound of your euphoric moans.

Your face contorted with pleasure as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, gently sucking at it, before cautiously bringing his middle and ring fingers to your core and allowing them to curl in an upward motion blissfully.

You had never felt anything like this before. The way his tongue moved against your folds made you ecstatic, wondering what they put in the southern water to make him so good at what he was doing.

"J-Jon," you gasped, your fingers combing through his dark locks and giving them a good tug, earning a moan from him as it vibrated against your core and only pushed you closer to your high. Your thighs clenched around his head in an attempt to pull him closer to you, the tip of his nose brushing up against your clit just enough to make you jolt with a shaky gasp.

He enticed moans out of you like never before, licking and sucking at your core in ways you didn't even know were possible. He seemed so skilled for claiming to have never touched a woman before. Could he have been lying to you?

Your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head as you saw his hips begin to grind slowly against the furs as he lapped away at your core, his cock hard once more from the sweet taste of you. Moans grumbled in his chest as he squeezed your thighs tighter, his fingers sure to leave bruises on your supple skin.

The abrupt feeling of his fingers pulling out of your core made you whine. But his tongue entering you was enough to make you see stars, your back arching up off the soft furs as you could feel the tight coil in your stomach begin to snap.

Your wanton moans filled his ears, loud enough to be heard by the rest of the camp, but you didn't care. Your only concern was him and your climax—which wasn't far off.

"Gods!" your heel dug into the middle of his muscular back as you gripped the furs at your side, your orgasm washing over you unlike ever before. Your thighs trembled gently around Jon's head, his mouth pulling away from your core, his chin glistening with your release as he watched you with a lazy smile while you writhed in pleasure before him.

He pulled himself up so he was hovering over you once more, his face a mere few inches from yours as your chest heaved up and down, coming down from your high. Your eyelids felt heavy as he gripped your hip, and the sheer look of lust in his eyes made your lips crash against his hungrily.

You could taste your release on his lips as his tongue slipped into your mouth, not even thinking before wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping him over on the furs, now sitting on his lap as he laid breathlessly beneath you.

You smiled at the way he looked up at you with want, his hands playing with the flesh of your ass impatiently. His hardened cock beneath your wet core made it hard for you to concentrate, but you still managed to roll your hips against his tauntingly.

"Just lay there, sweet. Let me give you what you want," you rasped, your hands splayed flat on his chest as your teasing became nearly unbearable for him.

"Please," he pleaded. "I need to feel you."

Slowly, you brought your hand to grasp him gently, giving him a few pumps before guiding him towards your entrance as you hovered over him, your eyes not leaving his as you sank down onto him.

Relieved moans left your mouths in unison, your cunt stretching around him sweeter than he could imagine. Your warmth made his heart flutter, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he waited for you to move.

Soft whimpers filled the space between you as your hips slowly began to roll across his lap, your nails raking down the front of his toned chest as you fell into a steady pace. His mind was fogged with the sheer sight of you on top of him, finding the gentle bounce of your breasts with every movement entrancing.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he breathed, his head falling back as he screwed his eyes shut, which couldn't help but send a wave of pleasure straight to your core. You couldn't help yourself when your fingers trailed to your clit and began to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves back and forth, clenching around his length with each roll of your hips.

"Gods," he cursed, sitting up from his spot on the soft furs as you still guided your hips back and forth on his cock.

Your arm automatically slung around his broad shoulders as his own pulled you closer to him by your waist while he propped himself up with his free hand, allowing him to thrust up inside of you and reach deeper than before.

The way the tip of his cock just barely brushed your cervix enraptured you. You were finding it very hard to believe that he had never done this before.

"Right there," you panted out, gripping his bare shoulder so hard your fingernails were sure to leave tiny crescent indents in his skin. His pace quickened, slowly becoming more desperate and sloppy as your moans grew with it. You were sure the entire camp could've heard the lot of you by now.

His lips met yours in an instant, a poor attempt on Jon's part at silencing you as best he could. You allowed his tongue to roam your mouth, your fingers collecting at the nape of his neck to hold him closer to you. But to his surprise―with a sudden thrust of his hips―your teeth caught his bottom lip with a moan.

"Ahh," he hissed, the metallic taste of blood collecting at the front of his mouth. He pulled back, panting heavily as the look of lust didn't leave his eyes. Your lips were reddened and wet, and the way your tongue poked out barely to wipe them clean made a low groan rumble in his chest.

Within an instant, he smashed his lips back onto yours, pushing you back so you were laying flat on the furs now with his hips between your legs, his length still inside of you as he wasted no time to begin a steady pace pistoning in and out of you messily.

"Jon!" you moaned, his cock stretching you perfectly with each thrust. His lips attacked at the supple skin of your neck, peppering little love bites trailing down over your collarbone. You could feel him wince between moans against your skin as your nails dug into his back uncontrollably, leaving long, reddened welts along his pale skin.

Your fingers trailed slowly up to his hair, giving it a good tug as you brought his lips to yours. Your movements earned a low grumble in the back of his throat in response, his hips beginning to stutter as he could feel his climax rising.

You weren't far off either, with his sweet, incandescent moans that made the coil in your stomach tighten filling your ears. "Are you gonna come for me, baby?"

A guttural moan ripped through Jon's throat at your soft whispers, unable to form words as he nodded his head breathlessly. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you, his last few thrusts hard and deep before pulling out of you—just enough to send you over the edge of your high.

You swiftly propped yourself up on your elbows, breathless from your climax as he pumped his shaft a few times before releasing himself all over your stomach and chest. His face contorted with pleasure as you watched him with amazement, a sly smirk creeping on your face as he came hard.

A gentle silence fell between the two of you as he caught his breath, moving to lay next to you on the soft furs and wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling you close to his side. His warmth burned against your cheek as you laid your head on his chest, running your fingers lazily across his skin.

"You were right," he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your head as you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. You smiled against his skin, "How so?"

You lifted your head up, meeting his darling brown eyes as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I'm far much warmer with you."

[daniellewritesfr]

𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲

Paring: Jon Snow x f!Reader

Summary: You arrive in Winterfell lending aid to House Stark but seeing Jon brings back lost feelings you both share.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, kissing, fluff.

Word count: 1.4k

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rode through the gates of Winterfell the familiarity of the high stone walls and the sight of Stark banners bringing back the memories of your childhood. You had, in the past, spent many years in Winterfell growing up with the Stark children. Your father became a good friend of Ned Stark; while fighting alongside each other during Robert's rebellion. Leading to many years spent in the castle. 

You arrived in the courtyard of Winterfell, the cloak you’re wearing doing surprisingly little to suppress the cold winds of the North. You had been called as a bannerman of house Stark to lend aid and fight the white walkers beyond the wall. You look around, all the people of Winterfell seem to have solemn faces ‘it’s quieter than I remember’ you think to yourself while dismounting your horse stirrups rattling, the stable boy rushes over to take the reins from your gloved hands leading your horse away. Your men follow you, dismounting their horses, gathering their things and moving supplies, all of a sudden the yard is buzzing with movement.  

“Y/n!” you turn at the sound of your name to see Sansa walking towards you, “lady Stark” you bow slightly she lets out a small laugh as she embraces you, “you mustn't call me that y/n” she smiles “well you are lady of the North are you not” you ask “that I am yes, but to you it will always be just Sansa” she states “very well than Sansa” you smile “take me to Lord Snow.” 

The castle is darker than you remember, as Sansa leads you through the doors of the great hall, you catch sight of Jon, the young man you once remembered as a solemn and brooding child.  

Walking past the large tables in the middle of the hall you pull off your gloves, you look up to see Jon sitting at the high table reading a letter “Jon” Sansa says he looks up, his face breaking into a warm smile when his eyes land on you. You can’t help but smile back. You haven’t seen Jon in a long time, not since before he left to join the Night’s Watch. “My lord,” you take a slight bow, he stands and begins to walk towards you not saying a word, his gaze lingering.  

Finally he speaks “My lady”. He lets out a small laugh before wrapping his arms around you, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him even with the layers of fur between you, he lets go resting his hands on your shoulders before they move to cup your face.

 “Look at you” he mutters, eyes raking across you he pulls away “I didn’t think you’d come.” 

“I’m sworn to House Stark my lord” you reply “it is an honor to fight for your family.” 

 “My lord” Jon repeated “since when were you one to be so formal”? He teased.  

You can’t help but smirk, while walking past him with your hands clasped behind your back making your way to the table running your fingers along the edge,the teasing tone in Jon’s voice luring out your own wit. “And here I thought that being declared King of the North automatically earned you the title of ‘my lord’.” 

Jon chucked, a low rumble escaping his throat, “yes it does except, we grew up together there is no need for formality between us.” 

“I suppose you're right” you agree, your voice lightening. “However don’t let that get to your head, a little formality never hurt anyone.” 

Jon raises an eyebrow playfully. “Is that so? Then perhaps I should start using ‘my lady’ whenever I address you.” 

You laugh “you can certainly try but, I can’t promise I won’t retaliate” 

Jon shakes his head, a smile dancing on his lips. 

A fortnight had passed since you'd first arrived back in Winterfell, and tonight you were dining with the Starks and their men in the great hall, enjoying the loud conversations and laughter ringing throughout the room. It had been a long while since you’d allowed yourself a good time. You spent the night laughing and socializing with the others. Not noticing the way Jon was looking at you. 

As the talking and laughter slowly began to die, people began to retire to their chambers, you being one of them as the fatigue from the day's ride was finally wearing on you. Standing up making your way out to a long hallway lined with sconces providing a small amount of light as you pass various chambers while walking to your own.   

Opening the door you’re greeted with warmth radiating from the fireplace, you walk to a small table in the corner of the room picking up a few letters that you had yet to open, before dropping them back down rubbing your temples knowing that the night would be full of endless reading.  

Jon hadn’t put much thought into what he was about to do, maybe it was the wine or maybe it was just pure ignorance he thought to himself, as he was making his way through the dimly lit corridors. When he arrived at the door, his heart was pounding in his chest taking a deep breath before he raised his fist to leave a soft knock. 

While on your 3rd letter of the night you hear a light knock at your door, getting up from your seat at the table curious as to who it could be. Unlatching the door expecting it to be Sansa you were startled to see Jon standing on the other side.

“Jon” you said surprised “it’s late” 

For a moment he didn’t say anything, his gaze lingering on your face. 

 “Evening” he said “I hope I haven’t disturbed you”   

“No, it’s alright” your eyes scanning his face for any indicator of what he was there for. Tilting your head slightly to one side. “Has something happened?” you asked 

“No, no, may I come in?” 

“Yes of course. Please come in.” 

Moving aside Jon steps through, making his way to stand in front of the fireplace. He looks nervous, still thinking something had happened you ask once again. 

“Jon” you pause, he looks up, his eyes finally meeting yours. The look on his face starting to worry you. 

The silence hung like smoke in the air as you awaited his response. 

 He mumbles, moving one of his hands to run through his hair, turning back to face the fire watching the flames dance. You cautiously walk up behind him reaching to put a hand on his shoulder, he turns to face you leaning into your touch.

 Long forgotten feelings wash over you.   

“Jon, please tell me” you insist, your hand now resting at his jaw he leans further into your touch before covering your hand with his. You stayed like this for a short time relishing in the moment, the unspoken understanding filling the space between you. Removing his hand from yours to cup your jaw as he draws himself closer, his eyes searching yours for permission.

You quickly nod, before he closes the gap between you, lips brushing together. Your lips part slightly, letting his tongue slip inside. His hand glides to the nape of your neck, then moving to your waist, pressing your bodies together. You moan into the kiss, hands running through his hair while he trails gentle kisses leading from your jaw to your collarbone, small breaths escaping your lips. 

Pulling away, his gaze meeting your own.  

“You have no idea what you do to me” he whispers. 

The look in his eyes was evidence enough revealing what he felt without uttering a word. Yet he continues to speak. Hands coming back to hold your face.

“I-” he pauses for a brief moment gathering his thoughts. “You are my every thought” He breathes. “The only person able to ground me, make me feel whole. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. How I wasted all those years believing I had no chance, only to be standing here right now. With you.” 

Tears begin to swell in your eyes threatening to fall. 

“You consume every part of me, body and soul.” He gently wipes away the tears that begin to fall. “You are everything to me.” 

You smile at him, leaning into his touch. 

“I love you.” 

The words feel heavy. 

He starts to speak afraid of your rejection, you cut him off colliding your lips together for a brief kiss before pulling away resting your forehead against his, shallow breathing filling the room. 

“And I you.” 

The words so lightly spoken, Jon wasn’t sure he heard them. 

Leaning in to kiss you softly once more, running a hand through your hair, his eyes full of nothing but affection. “My lady.” 

[samwisethewitch]

How I Get the Most Out of Meat When Cooking

As someone who 1.) was 100% vegetarian for ethical/religious reasons until very recently, and 2.) recently had to reintroduce meat for vitamin deficiency reasons, limiting waste as much as possible when I cook with meat is really important to me. For one thing, I feel like I owe it to the animal that died to get as much use as possible out of its body as a way of honoring its death. For another, meat is expensive (ethically raised meat even more so) and I want to get my money's worth.

I recently bought a bunch of lamb for my family's holiday dinner, so I wanted to share my attempt to practice the Honorable Harvest in my meat consumption. This is new to me, but I wanted to document the attempt because it's been a fun learning process for me! If you want to actually learn about honorable consumption I encourage you to read the works of Robin Wall Kimmerer and other indigenous ecologists, since the Honorable Harvest is based on indigenous North American practices. (Though there are other cultural practices all over the world.)

Step One: Sourcing the Meat

I am very fortunate to have enough disposable income to buy ethically raised meat, which tends to be more expensive. This is a privilege. Other people are not able to spend this extra money on their meat, and that doesn't make me better than them. Feeding yourself is morally neutral, and a tight budget is not a moral failing. Most meat alternative products (Beyond Beef, Impossible, etc.) are also pretty expensive. If the factory-farmed meat at the supermarket is the only thing in your budget, use that.

If you DO have some extra funds, local farms are a great place to source meat. The reason we had lamb for the holidays is because a local farm recently culled their herd and had lamb on sale. In the past we've gotten beef from a relative who raises cattle. I encourage you to learn about farms in your area and what they have to offer. CSAs and farmers' markets are great places to start. You can also ask around at local restaurants about where they source their ingredients.

When I say "ethically raised meat," what I'm really talking about is pasture-raised animals. Cage-free animals may not live in cages, but they can still be kept in cramped, dirty, inhumane conditions and be sold as "cage free." Pasture-raised animals are able to graze and forage and generally wander around within a paddock. For some animals like chickens you can also look for "free range," which means the animals are unfenced and are able to wander freely. Since I don't cook meat often, I try to get free range or pasture-raised meat when I do buy it.

In some areas, you may also be able to find certified ethically slaughtered meat, which means the slaughtering process has been designed to cause as little suffering to the animal as possible. That kind of certification isn't really available where I live, but it might be for you!

And of course, hunting or fishing yourself is also an option. If you kill the animal yourself, you know exactly how it died and can take steps to limit suffering as much as possible. Hunting isn't a skillset I have, but if you do more power to you!

Step Two: Cooking the Meat

This is the easy part. Depending on the cut of meat you got and the dish you are cooking, you may need to remove bones or trim fat, but aside from that it's just following a recipe.

For our holiday lamb stew, I used this recipe. I have Celiac disease, so I subbed gluten-free flour and replaced the beer with red wine. I also added rosemary and garlic for a more Mediterranean flavor to compliment the wine.

Step Three: Organs and Bones

This is where the breakdown is for a lot of Americans. We don't cook with bones or organs very often, and we tend to throw away whatever parts of the animal we don't want. That is not honorable consumption. Part of the Honorable Harvest is using every part of the being that died to feed you.

Most organs make great stew meat. My favorite Nicaraguan beef stew is made with tongue, and my indigenous Hawaiian relatives make stew with pig feet. And while I don't like them, lots of my Southern family members love chitlins (pickled pig intestines). Lots of cultures eat organs, and you'll find plenty of delicious recipes if you look!

Bones are typically used to make stock, which can be used as a base for future soups and stews. There are lots of recipes for DIY stocks and broths, but I usually fry some onions and/or garlic, deglaze with wine, and then add the meat/bones and the water, plus salt, pepper, and herbs for flavor. Most animal bones can produce two batches of stock before they lose flavor. (For really flavorful stock, leave some meat on the bones.)

Once the stock is done, you'll still have bones to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, cooked bones are not safe for dogs to chew on. (But raw bones usually are!) Instead, I strip any remaining meat and gristle from the stock bones, give those scraps to my pups as a treat, and then use the stripped bones for something else. With a little extra processing, the bones can be used as a fertilizer in a garden, a calcium supplement for chickens, or a safe treat for dogs and/or cats.

This was my first time processing bones, but after boiling them for, like, 12 hours in water with salt and vinegar, they were soft enough to break apart with my hands. I'm going to grind them to make bone meal.

[huramuna]

selkie's song - chapter 1.

night's watch aemond x wildling shapeshifter ofc work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

this is wholly inspired by @lonelymagpies depiction of Night's Watch Aemond. please go check out their beautiful work here!

i am also partial to selkies bc irish 🤭 i'm going to take some liberties with wildling lore since we don't know too too much about them and mix some of my own heritage into it (indigenous american and irish) , which i feel would meld really well.

previous | next chapter

word count: 2.2k

content: smut (eventually, specifics will be under the cut of chapters with it), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, ofc is a menace to Aemond and he kind of likes it

who is she? - I MONSTER • dead! - my chemical romance

The blood of the dragon runs hot and thick, pulsing through Targaryen veins like molten lava. His mother always snuggled him as a child, citing him as her own personal furnace. 

If only that would come in handy now. Aemond thought he knew cold, way up in the skies, skimming the clouds upon Vhagar’s back, feeling the chill away from the heat of the earth. A frigid autumn breeze going through his window, causing him to bundle up in two blankets— although he usually kicked them off sometime during the night. 

But this— this was cold. Ball freezing, bone chilling, blue lipped cold. He was stuck up in the ass of the North, stationed at the wall, dressed all in black. He puffed up the collar of his cloak, trying to find some respite from the gales of glacial air. 

“Saddle up, Targaryen,” the lord commander grunted. He was a broad man, some disgraced Northman who rose his way up the ranks of the Night’s watch. Aemond could hardly remember his name, “We’re goin’ beyond the wall. Scouts said wildlings gettin’ too close.” 

“Mm.” Aemond grumbled in response, not wanting to waste his energy talking to the ogre of a man when it could be better used for warmth.

The stable boy, no older than nine name days, tugged his palfrey to him, “I’ve got ‘em all tacked  up for ya, prince.” 

“Oy, Ryam,” the lord commander snapped. Lord Ennard Fir, that was the commander’s name, “He ain’t no prince anymore, so stop callin’ him as such. He’s just one of us now, eh? A man in black.” 

Ryam nodded slowly, handing the reins to Aemond. The boy’s face was tinged red as he puffed air into his cupped hands, trying to keep warm. He was a boy from the south, just like Aemond— a butcher’s bastard boy, Ryam Waters. He had accompanied the now scorned prince on his ride up the Kingsroad. He reminded Aemond greatly of Daeron.

“Stay warm, boy,” Aemond said, giving the youngster a stiff nod of his head, “Take the fur from my bed, it’ll help.” 

Ryam puffed out his chest, “Uh huh, your grace,” he giggled, speaking the title in secret. 

It almost made a smile come to Aemond’s lips. Almost. He tried to remember the last time he smiled– it was on that fateful day near Storm’s End, over Shipbreaker’s bay. He was taunting Lucerys, finally being the stronger one, the one who had control. He laughed and smiled like a madman, chasing his nephew on his puny hatchling of a dragon. He felt like a god.

Then Vhagar snapped her jaws, ignoring Aemond’s commands. The sickening crunch of Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon still lived in his mind. It played in his dreams, making them into nightmares. He constantly woke up in a cold sweat, muttering, “It was an accident, it was an accident, I didn’t mean it.”

His eye began to ache and he clenched his jaw as he mounted his horse. Glancing around, he saw that five other men were joining him. He tugged his hood up slightly before his hand rested on his blade. He donned two weapons; a standard issue castle-steel short sword, and the Catspaw blade. He had watched his father carry it for years, he watched his mother brandish it in his name and cut Rhaenyra— and now it was his. 

Not by precedent or bestowment, he actually stole it. When he was being sent to take the black, he pilfered it from Daemon’s chambers. The old fucker already had one ancestral blade, he didn’t need two. It was the only thing he had left of home, besides the sapphire in his socket and his eyepatch. It was gorgeous crafted Valyrian steel and he always kept it on his person. 

His thumb grazed over the ruby gem on the hilt of the dagger absentmindedly as they descended on their journey, spurring their horses further across the threshold of the wall. Lord Fir was at the front, with Aemond holding up the back in their procession of ingrates and outcasts. 

If he told his younger self that he was to be lumped in with bastards, thieves, rapers and ne’er-do-wells, he would’ve laughed in his own face. It was a ridiculous notion for a Targaryen prince to be even entertaining the idea. And yet, here he was. Living it out. 

He wondered what his mother was doing currently. Had she taken Helaena and Aegon to Oldtown with the children? Did she stay in the Red Keep to be squashed under Rhaenyra’s heel? 

“Aemond Targaryen, you stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, protector of the realm,” Ser Westerling had shouted, “You stand accused of treason, conspiracy to commit usurpation, and nepoticide. You murdered Lucerys Velaryon in cold blood above the skies of Shipbreaker Bay.” 

Aemond had been in chains, his face haggard and stubbled from not being able to shave. They stripped him of his eyepatch and sapphire at the hearing, sending him down to his knees with his barren eye socket to behold. 

“How do you plead to these charges?” Ser Harrold asked. 

Aemond said nothing. 

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, tapping her finger incessantly against the metal, “Brother. I’ve granted you the courtesy of allowing a hearing to your… crimes, rather than simply sending you to the block. Mayhaps I was too lenient on my decision to let you say your piece.” 

Aemond still said nothing, looking down at the ground. He heard his mother shuffling near him, off to the side in the throne room, murmuring something hurriedly to someone. 

“I have nothing to say. Lucerys is dead— nothing I can say will bring him back or undo what’s been done.” he finally grit out, his voice hoarse from disuse. 

“So, you have no objection to being punished for your crimes? The crime of Kinslaying is the most cursed,” Rhaenyra said, leaning forward, “Mayhaps I will grant you a death by dragon— I would honor you the same way you so graciously honored Lucerys, hm? Mayhaps have Syrax and Caraxes rip you limb from limb and scatter your parts over Blackwater Bay.” 

Aemond didn’t respond.

“Y-your grace,” Alicent spoke up, walking to Aemond and standing in front of him, “Please, have mercy upon him. Your son wouldn’t have wanted this—“

“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT MY SON WOULD’VE WANTED,” Rhaenyra bellowed, standing up from her seat, “Your son took away his ability to want anything, and for that there should be repercussions! A son for a son.” 

“Rhaenyra, please,” Alicent murmured, “Please, I can’t lose him— it… it was an accident. Aemond, tell her it was an accident!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to admit their family’s greatest fear was true; they did not have complete control over their dragons. 

Rhaenyra gazed at Aemond’s pained expression, then at Alicent, “He will be punished. But I would not become a Kinslayer— I do not wish to be as accursed as you, brother,” she strode back to the throne, twisting the rings on her fingers, “He will take the black and be sent to the wall. He will have no titles, no land, no wife or children. He will have nothing for the rest of his life except for the Night’s Watch.” 

Alicent was stunned, as was Aemond. He wondered if he would’ve preferred death. 

“In addition,” Rhaenyra continued, “His claim to his dragon, Vhagar, will be severed. He will undergo the Valyrian ceremony for it.” 

“You can’t,” Aemond growled, “You can’t!” he panicked— Vhagar had been the only thing he ever achieved in his life, truly. He lost his eye for her. 

“Take him back to his cell and prepare him for the ride up the Kingsroad.” she said with finality, looking down at her hand as she sat back on the throne. 

Aemond saw— she had been pricked by the throne, blood beading at the tip of her finger. 

Mayhaps there are still small mercies in this world. 

A particularly strong gust of cold air snapped him back to reality, his hand still itching over his dagger. They reached the thick treeline that stretched out for miles, their horses trudging through the snow. 

They were at least ten miles out from the wall now, the Seven Kingdoms left truly well behind them. A small river trickled near them and Aemond saw the shadows of fish— large ones at that. 

He had been in the Night’s Watch for at least seven moons now, and this was his first expedition outside of the wall. It felt like a whole different world— a world without laws, without political duty, without fights of succession over a throne made of swords— there was something freeing about being here. It was only a remnant of what he felt soaring the skies on Vhagar, but it would have to do. 

The wind whistled through the branches of the trees, fresh snow beginning to fall. He heard a fly buzzing near his ear. No, that couldn’t be right. Surely there weren’t flies in the cold? 

It wasn’t right— another fly whizzed past him, sticking into the man in front of him. Those were the arrows. 

“Ambush! Wildlings!” Lord Fir shouted, reeling in his horse. 

Aemond went to unsheathe his sword when his horse went haywire, rearing up on its hind legs. “Lykiri, lykiri!” Be calm, be calm. He shouted at the horse, tugging at the reins as the wildlings descended upon them. He felt like he was above Storm’s End once more, screaming for Vhagar to heed his commands—

His horse bucked him off, sending him tumbling into a deep snow drift. He dropped his sword somewhere aside— his hand immediately went to his waist, gripping around the Catspaw dagger. 

A breath of relief washed over him as he rolled and hid behind a tree, unsheathing the dagger. He twirled it around, waiting for someone, anyone to cross his path. 

He then felt the cool pressure of a blade against his throat. 

“Don’t move, crow,” a voice said. It was almost diminutive, soft in tone— but it was threatening all the same, “I don’t need to paint the snow red with your blood just yet. Drop the dagger.” 

Begrudgingly, he dropped the Valyrian steel into the snow. 

“Now turn around, slowly. Keep your hands out.” 

He turned around, expecting to see an ugly wildling in his gaze. He had only heard the tales of them, that they were more ugly than not. 

His breath caught in his throat as he looked upon her— she was small, much smaller than he, her skin somewhat pale and cool toned, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. It was her eyes that caught him— one was a deep, rich brown, and the other was a light blue, with fragments and shards of brown in it, like a mountain against a clear sky. Her hair, dark chocolate brown with one streak of white in it, was tied into a haphazard braid. She wore earrings made of the lower jaw of some small mammal, inlaid with opals. She was holding a dragonglass dagger to his throat, the hilt of it carved from a deer’s antler, encrusted with a matching moonstone. 

She wore a long, white coat— it looked to be the skin of some animal, but Aemond couldn’t tell which. It was spotted and fluffed. 

His brow narrowed as he noticed that she was soaking wet, dripping water from her nose and hair, the sheen of moisture shining from her skin.

He could only imagine how astonished he looked staring at her— but she stared back at him in the same manner, her eyes wide. She had huge eyes, Gods be good. 

“Fucking hell, you’ve got a purple eye.” she murmured. 

“You should see my other eye.”

A harsh crack across his face— she had slapped him, “Don’t be a pig.” 

Aemond blinked profusely, “By the Seven— I meant my actual other eye,” he grunted, “May I?” he gestured to his eyepatch. 

“… better be worth it, crow.” she murmured, nodding slowly. 

He lifted his eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire underneath. 

Her lips were slightly agape as she ogled at him, “You’re a fancy crow, aren’t you?”

“Hm.” he grumbled. 

She retrieved the Catspaw dagger from the ground, stowing it at her hip, “I’ll be keepin’ this for right now.” 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asked, perplexed as to why he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Not yet— you got interesting eyes, I wanna show my papa,” she retrieved a leather cord from her belt and wrapped it keenly around his wrists, “Caught myself a crow.” she hummed, seemingly entertained with herself. 

Aemond rolled his eye, letting her hoist him up into a standing position. He towered over her, to which she didn’t seem too bothered about. 

She led him past the battle, which was now over. He saw three of his Night’s Watch brothers slain, and it looks like two others had run off like cravens, including Lord Commander Fir. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“My tribe,” she replied, stringing him along. 

“Your… tribe,” he repeated, “And what is your name?”

“Euna. And you, crow?” 

“Aemond.”

[bettdraws]

In an alternate universe where Elain met Lucien before becoming fae

(an Elucien daydream)

“I would like to show you my estate, Lady Elain” The young Lord Graysen said and brought back her attention to the present moment. “I heard you like nature, would you like me to escort you?”

Elain took a little moment to ponder on what he was saying, her gloved hands resting on his forearm, his face open and waiting for her response, even if through the glimmer in his eye she could tell he already knew she would say yes to him. The man courting her was used to women bending themselves for his affections, constantly trying to make him like them, be the ones holding the key to his affection. And the gods knew she used to also feel that way, like she was special when she was the one those eyes were fixated upon. Lately, she realized, it did not matter as much as it did before.

Elain nodded and smiled as he guided her through the lands on his estate, she was not going to miss the opportunity either way. It was true, she did love nature and she did not have an abundance of opportunities to wander around places like these in her day to day life.

“These lands are very close to the wall, but worry not, they are very safe thanks to our sentries patrolling night and day” Graysen proudly announced. She glanced towards the thick folliage of the woods next to them. So inviting.

“Is it the same for those woods?” She asked pointing to the forest curiously.

“Yes, if we don’t stray too far from the manor, they’re as safe as can be” He said matter-of-factly. “Would you like to see?”

Elain nodded immediately and with a slight bow he directed her through one of the paths into the green thick forest.

Elain wondered if she should take his word for it as they walked further and further into the blooming nature, but any lingering reservations she may have was replaced with the allure of the mystical beauty of the woods, making her question what more exotic things could be found at the other side of the wall he had mentioned. A little nudge she felt in her chest made her curious about the things that her sister Feyre had once spoken about to Nesta, wonder if perhaps she hadn’t yet seen true beauty at this side of the world.

“Have you ever seen a fae?” That curiosity led her to ask her companion, his face incredulous for a moment and a bit irritated too.

“I- No” He said, a bit upset at admitting it. She knew that his family was very much against faeries, raising their heirs to become hunters, building their homes to protect themselves from the magical beings. She could tell that admitting he had never seen and naturally never fought one was a bit embarrassing to him, but she didn’t comment on it.

She had never really formed a strong opinion on the fae. Yes, she was raised to fear them, but after Feyre had come back from beyond the wall and had told them of the incredible things she had seen, and how she had even fallen in love with one of them, her mind could never stop wandering towards that. It was probably silly, and she doubted she would ever see anything related to the other side in her lifetime. But Elain still held her eyes ahead, as if she could see through the forest, to what was beyond it.

“If I ever get to see one, I doubt it will be a long encounter, my whole life I’ve trained to slay them. I hope I get the opportunity one day” Graysen continued and Elain simply nodded. He was brave, she thought.

They were walking by a blackberry bush when suddenly one of the Lord’s sentries atop a brown mare appeared from the forest folliage

“Pardon milord, but- we need your assistance, there has been an incident in the north border” He said, one more sentry appearing at his side, pulling an extra horse with him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“It-“ The guard glanced at Elain for a second. “We have found something you might want to see” He ended with a sense of importance.

Graysen nodded at the sentry and then looked at Elain. “Will you be fine going back to the manor from here?” He glanced at the manor, clearly visible from the place where they were standing.

“Yes, don’t concern yourself” Elain half smiled, not completely certain about how to feel. He let go of her hand and she awkwardly fumbled with her gloves as she watched him quickly near the extra horse. With a swift move he climbed into the saddle and directed his gaze to Elain.

“I’ll see you back at the manor, Lady Elain” He said and with a quick bow of the head he was gone, engulfed by the foliage of the forest surrounding her.

Elain watched him go for a moment, suddenly realizing how strange it was for her to be so… alone. The forest around her was very much alive, though. Birds chirping and wind singing through the leaves, the light breaking through the canopy by the lovely midday sun. It was a shame that the exploring had been cut short, Elain had just started enjoying herself, she pondered, fingers running softly through the leafs of a jasmine vine.

She glanced towards the manor. It was probably the wise choice to just go back and wait for Graysen to be done with whatever it was he needed to do.

It was the wise choice.

But something Elain could not really explain made her take a small step back into the woods. Just a little wandering wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

She told herself it was the feeling of finally being unrestricted that guided her further and further into the lovely woods. She didn’t know why it made her heart so happy, her limbs so free, she was suddenly smiling to herself, laughing even as she discovered a magnificent owl sleeping not far away on top of an oak tree branch, giggling as she skipped through leaves, passing by wildflowers and vines and apple trees. Even if a bit pathetic, she felt free and alive and somewhere down the line she lost her gloves and both her shoes were now hanging on her fingers, her stockings now the only barrier between her and the warm forest soil at her feet.

That was until she suddenly stepped onto something hard but soft and before she knew what was happening, she was stumbling face first down onto the ground.

“Ow” She groaned as the pain hit her ankle and she tried to gather herself. What in the world had made her fall-

She saw him then. She almost shrieked as her eyes took the sight all at once. Red hair, the most vibrant and rich crimson color she had ever seen, an enormous body, sprawled right beneath her as she sat on hands and knees. Directly in front of her: tan skin, with a few freckles speckled on his chiseled cheeks, a long brutal scar down the side of an otherwise perfectly handsome face, breaking through one of his thick dark eyebrows. Long lashes resting softly on his high cheekbones. And the ears, the slightly curved pointy ears pierced and sporting the most exquisite jewels she had ever seen. Elain gathered it all in seconds, and instinct made her jump and retreat away until her back painfully met the trunk of a tree.

Her heartbeat was pounding on her chest, the adrenaline preventing her of thinking straight.

A fae. A fae was lying right in front of her. She had stepped on… him. She had landed right on top of him too. Her hand pressed to her mouth.

She should run. She should already be running as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

She stared at him once more. He was looking so peacefully unconscious she suddenly wondered if he was even alive. She studied him warily. Why wasn’t she running again?

Gathering her strength she stood onto her two feet and wincing at herself, peered a look closer to him. She had never seen a fae before, curiosity taking the best of her as she took another step closer.

It hit her then that he was magnificent, something completely out of her world. Every inch of him designed for a much more exquisite realm, as much as deadly as he was beautiful.

Common sense urged her to leave him, to run. But something deep inside her commanded her to stay, to inspect. For some god forsaken reason she was not as scared as she should have been when she reached softly and placed two fingers on his throat, just to find warmth and a rhythmic pulse underneath her fingertips. She looked down on his body. Even while hidden under the most exquisite clothes she had seen, she could tell the… male was ripped with muscles, strong forearms leading to big wide hands adorned with golden rings. The steady breathing marked by the rising and falling of his strong chest. Her eyes wandered a bit before coming back up to his face and to her utter shock, finding him staring right back at her with a pair of mismatched eyes.

Elain almost yelped as she was suddenly being thrown on her back, one of those broad hands instantly on her mouth holding any sound she might make, his whole enormous otherworldly body encasing her and making it impossible to leave.

“I won’t hurt you” The male said just as she was going to start screaming nonetheless. “Don’t make a sound” He said, his handsome face inches from hers as she heard dogs barking and coming straight towards them.

The hunting hounds.

“Mmm!” She said, trying to warn him that they would end up being their food in no time.

“Don’t” He murmured. “They won’t sense us”

She looked at him with an incredulous look, her eyes about to pop out of their sockets at how wide they were as he just waited for the hounds to come.

And they did. The enormous dogs barked and passed right by without a second glance. How was that even possible?

Before she could move she heard the sentries going after them. They were following a trace, Graysen with them. They rushed through the forest and then disappeared. The male on top of her just stared ahead, waiting for them all to leave, his hand still unmovable on her mouth as he counted the seconds, while she looked at his long strong neck in front of her. He finally looked down at her again,

“Can I trust that you won’t scream bloody murder if I move my hand?” He asked. Elain nodded once, eyes locked into his mismatched gaze, one eye of russet, one of gold. It was the most enchanting thing she had ever seen and she felt ashamed at the thought.

He nodded as well, hand falling from her face as she gaped at him.

“My apologies, lady” He muttered, still atop her. “I couldn’t let them find me you see.” He slowly got himself off her smaller frame, he pulled himself to sit on his knees, extending a hand to her to help her sit up, she realized.

Warily, she took it, the act of sliding her hand through his warm calloused palm a lot more exhilarating than she had predicted it to be. He helped her up with no effort whatsoever until she was sitting straight facing his impossibly beautiful face. She could not stop wondering how such a being could possibly exist, let alone be talking to her in this moment.

“I’m Lucien” He suddenly said, something about her intense gaze apparently making him lower his gaze for a mere second and run his hand through his molten red hair. Lucien, even his name was new to her ears.

“You’re fae” She said, and that earned her a lopsided smile from him.

“I am” He said, his white smile bright as he displayed his pointy canines to her. Elain couldn’t help but to gape again. “And you’re human I see” He pointed out.

“Well- obviously. You’re in the wrong side of the wall, you know?” Something about his smile made it easy to talk to him and she surprised herself at her boldness. Again, shouldn’t she be running away from him?

“I am aware” He said as his smile turned into a sly smirk.

Elain arched an eyebrow at that, but he only assessed her further, his intense eyes going from her eyes, to her mouth and neck, the disarray of her dress and her muddy stocking clad feet on display. Her cheeks flushed as his gaze stayed there.

“Were you running from someone?” He asked slowly.

“No” She said, his eyes traveling just a little up towards her ankles, as if he could see her little injury from the fall. “I was just wandering through the forest” She said.

“Well, I owe you one, because if it wasn’t for you I might not have awoken in time for that” He said, pointing towards the way the dogs and the sentries and Graysen had gone through.

How had she awoken him?

She was still pondering on that when he said. “I can heal that, if you’d like, it wouldn’t take long” He gestured to her sore ankle, one she didn’t realize she had been softly rubbing. She was hesitant when he added. “Please, as a repayment for… helping me”

She glanced at her ankle, it was sore and… something inside her was still curious, peeking its ears at this new stranger, so different from anything she had ever encountered.

“Will it hurt?” She asked, tilting her head faintly at him.

“Not in the slightest” He put his hand on his heart. “I give you my word”

She pressed her lips slightly as she pondered before slowly nodding her approval. He approached carefully and Elain wondered if she had made the right call as he glanced at her for permission to touch her ankle, pausing until she dipped her chin softly into a nod.

Her stocking was loose on that side, and as he softly took her foot into his big palm, he realized it had come loose from its suspenders, so he simply began pulling at the fabric, making her blush even more furiously when seeing him strip her foot bare.

“Where does it hurt exactly?” He murmured when the clothing item was discarded.

“I thought you could see it” She said with an inhale. Something about a stranger touching her bare foot was finally hitting the mark as scandalous, but she couldn’t get herself to make him stop as his fingers brushed her skin softly, in a way that made her wonder if his intentions were exactly as selfless as he had expressed.

“Clever” He said with a slightly wicked smile. “I did… sense your ankle was hurt, but I can’t see exactly where” He explained as she wondered how that could even be possible. “Is it here?” He pressed on the top of her foot. She shook her head slightly as his eyes found hers again. “Here?” He moved his long fingers towards the side of her ankle and she shook her head again.

“The inner side” She said with a breathy voice that she could barely recognize as her own.

He nodded as his hand moved to where she directed him. The pain concentrating there as he moved her ankle slightly and she flinched.

“It’s not every day that I get awoken by a beautiful lady in the middle of a forest, you know?” He said as little sparks of light began spreading around her ankle as he worked. Elain was in awe as she stared at his magic, almost enough to make her miss the way he called her beautiful.

She hid her blush. “And it’s not every day that I stumble upon a sleeping fae in the middle of a forest too”

He gave her a roguish smile. “Ah, I do have a habit of sleeping around” He teased and she smiled a bit at his sass, right as the last of the pain got swept away, but he still did not put down her foot.

“What were you doing here?” She was compelled to ask as he looked into her eyes.

“I was dropped here by- …it doesn’t matter” He set down her foot at last. “They wanted me to end up ripped to shreds by those hounds just for funsies you see”

“Why?” She asked in horror.

He just shrugged. “They love to play with their enemies and I fell right into their grasp” He said, for a moment he looked around, then back at her. “You shouldn’t be around here… especially alone”

“I lost track of where I was going” She didn’t even know if she could go back through the same path she had taken without ending up even more stranded into the forest. He studied her quietly. She couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel scared of him, even for one moment, when his whole body screamed at how much of a warrior he had probably been forged to be, his muscles rippling through his clothes with every move.

“Were you having fun?” He asked her with a slight smile.

“I was” She admitted. A smile creeping into her mouth too.

“Is that an unusual thing for you?”

She bit her lip, wondering if she should be opening up to this stranger here in the middle of the woods. “I’m not used to feeling… unrestricted” She surprised herself by saying.

“That’s a shame, milady” He gathered himself to stand, and Elain could do little more than gape at how tall he was, more so than what she had expected. He extended a hand towards her again, and when she took it, a small frown crept on his brows as he stared at her small hand in his and pulled her to her feet, not a trace of pain as she stood. When he looked up at her face again, catching her gaze with predatory swiftness, he smirked at her once more. “In my humble experience, there is no greater fun than a female unrestricted” He said and she shifted on her feet as a blush crept onto her cheeks. Scandalous, that’s what this was.

“Are all fae this shameless?”

“Are all humans this curious?”

She realized her hand was still in his when he said it, and she nimbly pulled it away, his broad palm remaining open as it had been. She couldn’t understand what had gotten into her, and why she did not have the mental capacity to look away from his intent gaze.

“As much as I’d love to stay and aid in your adventures” He mused and Elain averted her eyes. “I gotta go, as you probably do too” He said and she looked back at him, his body straightening to take a step away from her. Something deep, so deep inside of her urged her to stop him for a moment longer, and before she knew it she was talking.

“Lucien-“ She said, and his head whipped towards her again, as if hearing his name from her lips startled him for some reason. “Will we ever meet again?”

Something flashed through his eyes as he contemplated her question.

“What’s your name, lovely forest nymph?” He asked her with a sly grin.

“Elain” She said, and again he started, as if something finally clicked. “Elain Archeron”

“Elain-“ He repeated. “You are Feyre’s sister”

“You know my sister?” She tilted her head, taking a small step closer to him. “How is she faring?”

“I’m her friend. She’s well-“ He said, his eyes averting her face for a second. “I’ll send her your greetings-“

“No- I” She said too quickly. “Can this stay between the two of us?”

He looked at her long and hard. His mismatched eyes enthralling her, the strands of his hair falling to frame his handsome face. Elain realized her neck was almost bent in half to maintain their eye contact from where she stood in front of him.

He finally bowed his head just slightly. “Of course, Lady Elain” He said. “And to answer your question” To her bewilderment he brought one of his knuckles and brushed them on her chin in the faintest motion, making her heart start beating hard and fast. “I hope we do” He said at last, his eyes falling from her eyes to her lips and back again. Elain felt herself gulp for air. In that moment she felt her body be transported in a blink of an eye, and before she knew it the beautiful male was gone.

She shook her head and noticed the blackberry bush near the entrance of the forest, she could see the manor from where she stood, as if he had brought her exactly to where she had been before, and then left as quickly as he had appeared.

The faint whisper of his touch still remained on her chin, the smell of him still lingered on her nostrils. And Elain could not understand for the life of her why she could not shake the feeling that she would always be looking for him. Somehow she knew he felt the same. And a faint voice in the back of her mind told her that they would someday meet again.

[indigenouscontemporaryart]

Ogimaa Mikana. Don’t be shy to speak Anishinaabemowin when it’s time. Bayfield St., Barrie, Ontario; Biskaabiiyang. North Bay, Ontario; Untitled (All Walls Crumble). Ottawa, Ontario; Anishinaabe manoomin inaakonigewin gosha. Peterborough, Ontario.

Ogimaa Mikana is an artist collective founded by Susan Blight (Anishinaabe, Couchiching) and Hayden King (Anishinaabe, Gchi’mnissing) in January 2013. Through public art, site-specific intervention, and social practice, we assert Anishinaabe self-determination on the land and in the public sphere.

The Ogimaa Mikana Project is an effort to restore Anishinaabemowin place-names to the streets, avenues, roads, paths, and trails of Gichi Kiiwenging (Toronto) - transforming a landscape that often obscures or makes invisible the presence of Indigenous peoples. Starting with a small section of Queen St., re-naming it Ogimaa Mikana (Leader's Trail) in tribute to all the strong women leaders of the Idle No More movement, the project hopes to expand throughout downtown and beyond.

“The Anishinaabeg endure. We do so through settler colonial time, and across space.  We do so in contention. Untitled (All Walls Crumble) considers this movement. To be Indigenous in the city is so often a struggle for recognition, to be seen, and to resist the erasure that is common in Toronto, Montreal, Ottawa, etc. Yet with recognition also comes appropriation and co-optation. In this unease, we consider the benefits of erasure, or at least, covert movement. Inspired by stories of our relatives and ancestors counting coup, and Basil Johnson’s description of warfare more generally, the Ogimaa Mikana Project considers the tension between visibility and invisibility to challenge settler colonial logic. Against a crumbling wall holding up Ottawa’s major highway - scheduled for demolition and replacement - we draw attention to the ways the settler state recycles itself, and by extension, affirms its legitimacy. We see it and resist in provocative ways that mirror a there/not there presence. Against this crumbling wall, we reclaim space for an anti-recognition: to speak to each other, as Anishinaabeg, as communities pushed out by gentrification, as the colonized, and offer a refrain and a sign of defiance: “Wakayakoniganag da pangishin. Nin d'akiminan kagige oga ahindanize.”

[camillesblogsposts]

Protective! Ellie with injured reader

Request from anonymous. Hope you enjoy <3

Ellie woke you up, pulling the sheets from your face. You whined, recoiling, clawing them back up. "Stop, we need to leave." She spoke as she pulled them away once more. Her voice sounded grave. Begrudgingly, you sat up to see her. Ellie's face was serious, brows furrowed and her forehead full of lines. "What's wrong?" You leaned forwards to place a hand on her shoulder. "Some kid's ran off, we need as many people out looking for her as possible, those woods are thick and anything could happen." She explained, stern. You nodded and shot up, walking to get dressed quickly. Ellie left to get your horses ready, Shimmer and Cupcake.

You left quickly, Jesse explaining that people were out looking North, East and South. You were to go West, directly into the thick of the woods. Joel had took North with Tommy, he'd looked grief stricken. He didn't even know the girl. You could hear people shouting for her beyond the walls- Amy. Ellie felt your nerves and went ahead of you, stroking your arm as she overtook you, "It's gonna be okay, we'll find the little shit n' get her home." You nodded, hopeful. You weren't certain if she would be okay. You were almost certain there were no nearby groups of people, Jackson's patrols were intensive and frequent. But infected sprung up unpredictably. Even if she was lucky enough to come across neither, it would be almost impossible for her to find her way back. "How did she get out?" You shouted to her. "I don't know, she's only little, probably just snook past when the gates were opened for morning patrols."

"How old is she?" "Twelve, blonde n' short."

"Didn't you run away like this when you got here?" You asked, snickering a little. "Joel earned that."

You were deep into the woods, scanning the area around you, shouting for her. It had been around half an hour. Your stomach was clenching as you became acutely aware of the seconds passing. "We need to get off the horses and look around, she could be hiding." Ellie spoke, doing so and walking to you to help you down from Cupcake. You tied the reigns to a tree branch. "Mama not going far, cupcake, you look after shimmer." You kissed her gently. Ellie grabbed your cheek teasingly for a moment, "Don't go off far, okay? Stay where I can see you." You nodded, she kissed you gently on your forehead, "Good girl." She went left, you looked right.

You came across a cave opening; shining your flashlight down, you could see a hat. A small, woven pink hat. The inside of the cave looked wet and dark, you spared no time sliding down, not even thinking to alert Ellie. She must be in here, you thought. "Amy!" You shouted, falling down to the bottom of the rocky floor. It was dark and damp, your flashlight only facilitating a tunnel vision forwards. You picked up the hat- it was soaked wet, the fabric moulding. This couldn't have belonged to her. You turned to try leave, suddenly feeling the need to be with Ellie. You tried to jump up the wall and grab onto the opening but failed, falling back down and bruising yourself on the rock. You winced, limping to stand again. You heard an echo of a noise from the back end of the cave. You froze. Again, it came. That familiar clicking sound. Your body began to vibrate and you struggled not to scream, hand clasping over your mouth as you desperately tried to claw yourself back up and out of the cave.

You struggled like this for what felt like a century, desperate to not make noise, whimpering to yourself as your fingers were shredded from clawing at the rocks, trying your hardest to pull yourself out of the cave. It was coming closer, you could hear it, your brain was shot as you debated whether Ellie or the clicker would get to you first if you screamed. You didn't get time to decide. It was there, where the hat had been laid. You turned to look at it silently, kneeling down to be at floor level. It was only small. A little girl. It screeched out, not noticing you as you shuffled to the left of the stoney grave. You couldn't see a way out. Ellie's voice rang- "Y/N? Where are you?" She shouted your name over and over, growing closer and closer. The clicker screeched again, standing just below the hole, hearing her. Your body reacted against your will- "Ellie!" It was a shrill screech, immediately you shot to the other side as the clicker ran for you. Ellie was there immediately, shuffling down into the cave. It lunged at you, pinning you to the ground and scratching at your arms to get to your face. You felt a searing pain, screaming out for Ellie. "Fuck," She shot it, barrel of her gun pressed up against the back of its head. It fell slump against you, blood pooling around you.

"Fuck, shit," She pulled it from you and pulled you up as you winced, crying. "Fuck, your arms," She gulped down, almost gagging from anxiety. "Did it bite you?" She was terrified. Her face was pale. You shook your head, sobbing, face pressed into her chest. "We gotta get you home, can you stand?" She asked, trying to pull you up to your feet. You nodded but fell, Ellie holding you up by your waist. You were growing faint. "You gotta stay awake baby, c'mon, gotta get you up here." She carried you to the entrance and holstered you up, you could hardly see, white searing your vision. You couldn't feel your body. You were laid, face touching the ground. Ellie pulled herself up, her added inches of height allowing her an easy exit from the cave. You grew annoyed at how easy it was for her, momentarily. She grabbed you again, lifting you. She carried you in her arms back to the horses, her breathing rapid. "Fuck, never letting you out the fucking house again." She kissed you again before putting you onto the front of Shimmer. "But... c-cupcake." Your voice was weak and slurred. She held her arms tight around your shoulders as she held onto the reigns of Shimmer and Cupcake. "Don't worry baby, I've got her."

"You have to stay awake, okay? Can you do that for me?" She asked, you felt the speed at which she had the horses, your body being jolted. You nodded, weakly biting her arm. She flinched, "What you doing, silly?" She sounded relieved at your playfulness. "Eating you." You felt almost high, all floaty and weird. "What a reversal." She kissed the top of your head. You giggled, leaning back into her. You tried not to look at your arms.

It didn't take long to get to Jackson, the gates opening as you entered. "I need Maria, fucking clicker got Y/N, tore up her arms." You heard her speaking as you were carried from Shimmer. You couldn't see but you knew it was Joel. He carried you quickly to the 'hospital' that had been set up. "You're gonna be okay, kiddo, don't even worry." Ellie kept up beside you, not looking elsewhere for a second. You were laid on a bed, Maria began pulling up your shirt and Ellie grabbed her wrist, "We need to get her clothes off, I need to see what we're dealing with, Ellie." She sounded aggravated. Ellie let go of her wrist and nodded, looking back at your face. Joel left the room, patting Ellie's back on his way out. She helped Maria undress you to your underwear and stood back to observe you. She was chocked up, her hands shaking. "Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry," She mumbled, leaning down to kiss your cheek. Maria gave you a shot, you didn't know what it was. "Stay awake for us." Maria told you, you nodded weakly. It was over quickly. Maria used a disinfectant on your wounds, the shot must've been a numbing agent as it hardly hurt. Ellie fussed over you nonetheless. Maria bandaged you up and some crutches were gave to Ellie for you. You were carried back home by Joel, unable to walk yet.

He laid you down in bed and Ellie brought you a glass of water, her heart still thumping in her chest. Joel and Ellie whispered together out of ear shot for a moment and he left, saying he'd come back in a couple hours with food. She came and laid beside you, cradling your head in her arms and kissing you. "You're gonna be okay, princess." She was crying quietly to herself. "It's okay Ells, please don't be upset." You wanted to hold onto her but your arms were heavy.

"Nothing like this is ever gonna happen to you again." She sounded solemn. "Not leaving my side ever again."

"I'm okay with that." You whispered, kissing her hand and nudging your face into it. She blamed herself. Ellie was riddled with guilt. She had failed. She let you go off alone. She put you into a vulnerable position. It was her fault. She felt sick, her stomach churning.

"Thank you for saving me." You mumbled, kissing her over and over. She recoiled. "Don't thank me, it's my fault you're in this state." She snapped. You looked up at her with big doe eyes, lip pouty. "Don't be silly, I walked off, you told me to stay where you could see me." She smiled a little and leaned down, her forehead pressing against yours. "Not your fault baby, you were trying to help." She reassured you. "Not your fault either." You matched her. She kissed you softly and settled into the bed.

"Did they find her?" You asked, suddenly remembering why you had even left Jackson. "Yeah, she went North, Joel found her stabbing a tree." You giggled at that, relieved. "She sounds a whole lot like you when you were little, Ells." She nudged you *very* gently, laughing softly.

Ellie nursed your wounds, changing your bandages before bed. You winced and she comforted you, "Doing such a good job for me, so brave aren't you?" She brushed your hair and plaited it so that it wouldn't get knotty during your bed rest. Joel brought sandwiches and she fed you, making sure you were hydrated and dosed up on painkillers. You were certain to heal fast with Ellies nursing.

She wouldn't be letting you leave your home for a very long time.

[narcissisticmf]

say don't go | aragorn x fem!reader

description: getting ready to leave for battle leads to an unexpected conversation.

trigger warnings: angst, mentions of violence, some sexism, daughter of gandalf!reader, witch!reader, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: <1k

You squeezed through the many bodies of men that were amongst the camp. Searching for Aragorn, your tired eyes bounced from tent to tent, hoping he would appear eventually.

Across the camp, Aragorn was saddling his horse. You took the opportunity to approach him as he was seeming to be leaving somewhere in secret; without Legolas and Gimli, more evidently.. without you (you observed).

"You're leaving?" You questioned with a subtly firmness which you did not intend.

Aragorn saw you, eyes locked for a moment before parting his lips to speak, "This I must do alone, Y/N."

You nearly rolled your eyes, but fought yourself from doing so and remained still. The crickets sung, filling the silence between the both of you. He stared at you with reluctance, but continued to saddle his horse.

"So you're no longer the ranger from the North, are you?" You questioned and looked at you. "You are the King of Gondor.. protecting his people, is that right?"

"Y/N, I need you here protecting these warriors. You are more powerful than any of us all together," Aragorn explained, stepping toward you away from the stallion. "I am leaving to summon an army that will defend us, we do not have the numbers and you know that."

"That is precisely why I should be going with you, you'll die back there," You stated, blankly.

"I do not fear death," He replied.

"You have far too much pride, Aragorn," You whispered, lowly.

"You will stay here and protect these men," He ignored your insult.

"That is what I am to do? Stay here and watch you go?" You bit off, frustratedly.

"I must do this alone, Y/N," Aragorn repeated more what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

You were beyond frustrated now. It felt as though you were conversing with a stone wall. Aragorn never doubted your abilities and your magic, but now it felt like you were merely a woman being told to stand back while a man took care of other matters of business.

Unaware of your emotions, your eyes filled with tears and became red. You were angry more than anything and reached your hand up into a fist. Aragorn watched you with a furrow in his brow. His pupils large as he slowly gripped your wrist, ever so gently.

"Tell me to stay," Aragorn spoke softly to you as you looked to him with an emotionless expression, though tears continued to fall. "Say don't go," He added.

"I cannot tell you that," You replied, wanting more than anything to.

"I don't understand," Aragorn lowered your hand as it was no longer balled in a fist. "A moment ago you are angry that I go alone, now you tell me you can't say you don't wish for me to leave."

"What I want is to join you, Aragorn," You told him with pure vexation. "I never felt like just a hopeless woman with you until this very moment. I cannot tell you to stay, but I can come with you. I can make sure that you do not end up dead."

Aragorn stared at you for a moment longer before his lips curved into a soft smile, "You're almost as stubborn as Gandalf."

"I learned from the best," You whispered and a snicker left your lips shortly after. "Don't unsuspect that Legolas and Gimli won't be coming along as well," You warned with a small, thin smile.

Aragorn's lips curved into a pleasing smile in response.

.

a/n: i don't know how i feel about this. is it good?? idk how to feel!! needless to say, i hope you enjoyed this sweetpeas! this is my first lotr fic and i'll definitely be doing more! mwah! be safe and happy (almost) halloween! <33 — angelina.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Faking It | Part IV

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

GUYS! Thank you so much for all the love on this story! I'm so amazed at how popular it's become. It really means the world to me that ya'll are enjoying it so much, so thank you <3

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: swearing, excessive drinking, FLUFF.. like so much fluff (should've led with that XD)

Start from the beginning: Part I

“Didn’t you drive here, Y/N?” your sister asks as you take your sixth – or eighth – shot; you might have lost count.

You shrug. “I’ll take an Uber.”

Your sister purses her lips. “Or we could call Steven. I bet he’d love to give you a ride home.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you respond curtly.

Your sister gives you a pointed look. “You only moved to North Island two months ago. How serious can it be? You and Steven are soulmates.”

You cringe. “I really hope not.”

“Fine.” Your sister waves a hand. “Call the aviator.”

“I don’t need to call anyone. I’ll take an Uber.”

Several drinks and a questionable table dancing situation later, you’ve ventured into the heart of the crowd, losing yourself entirely to the beat of the music. A few songs in, you feel a hand brush over your shoulder and you jerk away, nearly losing your balance in the process.

Bradley’s fingers close around your arm to keep you steady.

“Oh,” you say. “It’s you.”

Bradley furrows his brows. “Who else would it be?” he asks.

You dismiss the question with a wave of your hand. “Never mind,” you say. “What are you doing here?”

“Our parties are merging,” he says. “I think we’re all heading to the pub across the street. They serve late. Are you okay?” he asks as you sway on the spot.

“I’m fantastic,” you respond, giving him a broad smile. You let yourself admire the colorful lights dancing across his face in the darkness of the club because you’re far beyond caring whether he catches you staring. Yes, Bradley Bradshaw can be annoying as hell but there’s no denying that he’s good looking. “Let’s go,” you say, starting for the exit. “I could go for another drink.”

You end up veering into a couple of guys who jeer at you in response. One of them tries to grab your ass. Bradley quickly takes a hold of your shoulders, aiming a livid glare at the men in question, and steers you away. “You sure you’re alright?” he murmurs into your ear from behind, his hands still guiding you.

“Totally,” you respond distantly, relaxing so much into his grasp that your legs start wobbling in your heels.

“I don’t know if having more to drink is the best idea,” he says when you get to the door.

You glance up at him sleepily, leaning into the wall near the exit as you wait for the others. It feels amazing to have Bradley looking out for you, but also nauseating because you know he’s only doing it for show. “I’ll be fine,” you say dismissively.

Bradley’s eyes search your face suspiciously, as though he can tell something is bothering you. He doesn’t have a chance to ask, though, because at that moment, your sister shows up.

“Y/N!” she calls as she approaches you. “Drinks at the Rusty Raven, come on!” She stops before you and Bradley and looks him up and down. “Okay, aviator,” she comments on his getup. “Not bad.”

Bradley holds back a smile, adjusting the collar of his leather jacket. “Thank you,” he says.

“Good on you not flipping out about Steven,” she says.

You close your eyes, hanging your head.

“What about Steven?” he asks. You look up to find his expression has hardened.

“Did I speak too soon?” Your sister grimaces.

Bradley studies your face, then glances between you and your sister. “Somebody’s going to have to elaborate.”

“He came by earlier,” your sister says nonchalantly.

“He did what?” Bradley asks, and you notice his fists clenching at his sides.

“Oh, don’t worry,” your sister pats Bradley on the arm. “She wanted nothing to do with him.”

“He really is a piece of work, isn’t he?” Bradley shakes his head. “Where is he?” He starts looking around.

“I don’t think he’s here,” your sister says quickly, giving you a knowing look.

You nod at her, bringing a hand to your spinning head. “Listen, sis, I think we’re just going to head back to the resort. I’m so tired all of a sudden, I really need to go to sleep.” You do not want to chance a confrontation between Bradley and Steven tonight, considering how drunk Steven was during your last encounter.

Your sister smiles at you, wiggling her eyebrows. “Yeah, you’re going to go home and sleep.”

You nearly burst out laughing at her insinuation but catch yourself just in time. If only she knew the torment that awaits you back at the chalet.

…

Bradley steadies you as you stumble along the boardwalk that leads back to the row of beach houses on the water. Your heels keep catching on the planks and your legs keep tangling as if they’re new to walking. You decide to remove your heels and, leaning your weight into Bradley, you lift one of your legs to unclasp your shoe. The moment your foot leaves the ground, however, you start to tip over.

You let out a yelp as Bradley grabs you before you could fall. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Here, let me.” He crouches down and you lean your weight into his shoulder as he starts pulling on the straps of your heels. You feel yourself wobbling so you put your hands on his head, your fingers instinctively running through his soft, wavy hair.

Once he’s unstrapped your heels, you step out of them and he picks them up. He rises slowly and your hands trail down to his shoulders and then to his chest as you are still relying on him for support. “Thanks,” you say, giving him a smile.

“Anytime,” he responds.

You chuckle. “I’ll just holler whenever I need my shoes removed.”

Bradley laughs. “You do that.”

You bite your lip, thankful that the darkness of the evening hides the subtle blush creeping up your cheeks. You start walking again but, as you make your way past the beach, you suddenly get an idea. Stopping abruptly, you detach yourself from Bradley and veer to the side of the boardwalk, hopping down into the cool evening sand.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

You glance back at him with a wily smirk. “I’m going swimming.”

“Uh,” you hear him say behind you. “Right now?”

“Are you coming?” you ask, turning back to look at him and teetering as you do. You dig your feet into the ground to stabilize yourself and the sand feels amazing under your feet after the torture of your heels. You curl your toes in blissfully, but the slight imbalance on your feet causes you to stagger backward.

“Careful,” he says, stepping off the boardwalk toward you, his fingers still curled around the straps of your shoes. “Maybe we can do this tomorrow?” he suggests.

“C’mon, Bradshaw,” you say, giggling as you try to find your center of gravity. “Live a little.”

“Live a little?” he says, smirking. “You know I fly jets for a living, right?”

“Ooh, that’s right. He’s a fighter pilot,” you respond teasingly. You stick your arms out at your sides and start swerving to imitate an airplane.

Bradley laughs, shaking his head.

“You think that makes you cool?” you ask, slowly walking backward to the shoreline.

“Undeniably,” he says, following you up the beach.

You laugh and then squeal as a surge of cold water washes over your feet from behind. You jump toward Bradley, clinging to his t-shirt. “It’s freezing!”

Bradley chuckles, putting his arm around you. “What did you expect?”

You drop your head into his chest. “I thought I’d be drunk enough not to notice.”

You feel the low rumble in Bradley’s chest as he chuckles. His arm tightens around you. “Y/N,” he says gently, lowering his head so that you could hear him over the lapping of the water. “Not that I don’t want to throw you into these cold, dark, possibly crocodile infested waters, but I was thinking – on account of your possibly altered state of mind and all – perhaps we should take a rain check.”

You chuckle, nodding your head against his body, and he starts to steer you back toward the boardwalk. “You think there are crocodiles here?” you ask, picking up your pace. “I’m barefoot.”

Bradley laughs. “You think your heels could save you?”

You shriek and start to run ahead.

“What?” he calls, jogging after you.

“I felt something on my leg!” you yell.

“It was probably just grass. If it were a crocodile, you wouldn’t be running anymore,” he responds with a laugh.

“Bradley!” you screech as he catches up to you. “Stop freaking me out!”

“Come here,” he mutters, squatting quickly to wrap his arm around your legs and lift you off the ground.

You let out a yelp and he chuckles, carrying you upright as if it’s completely effortless. Your head spins and you bend at the hip to lean forward over his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you don’t throw up all over his back.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I think I’m dying,” you croak.

“We’re almost there,” he says.

When he walks up to your door, he sets you down gingerly, holding his arms out as he rises to ensure that you don’t fall. You’re so dizzy that you have to grab his forearm to steady yourself as he reaches for his key with the other hand.

He’s watching you carefully as he sticks his key into the lock. “What did he do?” he asks.

You look up at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Bradley sets his jaw, turning the key. “Did he do something to you?”

“Not enough to warrant the pepper spray, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you respond.

“Stalking you is enough, if you ask me,” he says gruffly, pushing into the door and guiding you to go ahead of him.

You make your way inside, swaying from side to side. Bradley keeps at least one hand on you at all times, making sure you don’t trip over anything. “He just pisses me off,” you say, heading straight for the bed. You collapse onto the mattress sideways, closing your eyes. “Can we not talk about him?” you ask quietly.

Bradley walks over to the minifridge and pulls it open as you prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. You aren’t exactly in the condition to analyze the state of your relationship but, nonetheless, you try to remember the last time a friend carried you home when you were too bombed to walk straight and displaying an irrational fear of reptiles. Then again, Bradley is one of the nicest people you’ve ever met, so you imagine that he’d probably carry your aunt home if she were a drunk enough, lizard-fearing mess.

Bradley approaches you, holding out a water bottle. “Drink this,” he says. You sit up and take the bottle from him as he extends his other hand to drop two tablets into your palm. “And take this.”

“I don’t have a headache,” you say, examining the pills in your hand.

“You will,” he says.

You look up at him, smirking. “Speaking from experience?”

He gives you a soft smile before backing away to remove his jacket. He hangs it on a clothes tree and digs his wallet and car keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, setting them down on the dresser. He glances over at you, presumably checking if you’re following his advice. You take the cap off the bottle, realizing that he’d already unscrewed it for you, and bring it to your lips. He studies you for another moment before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You drink the entire bottle as instructed and then lay your head onto the pillow with a sigh, replaying every word Bradley has said to you over the course of the evening. Most of it had been for the benefit of your sister – the anger, the curled-up fists – but there were moments where you felt that he was genuinely upset by Steven’s actions. Regardless, his aversion to Steven doesn’t necessarily indicate that he has feelings for you. Before you could continue speculating on Bradley’s sentiments, he returns from the bathroom.

He approaches the bed, crouching down at your side and resting his hand by your head. “How’re you doing?” he asks.

You blink at him sleepily. “Everything is spinning,” you say weakly.

His eyebrows converge sympathetically and he lifts his other hand to brush some hair out of your face. You stare into his dark eyes, wondering how the fuck you’d never fallen for him before this godforsaken trip.

“Hey, Rooster,” you murmur as your eyelids become increasingly heavy.

He cocks his head slightly. “You’ve never called me that,” he says.

“Only because it’s so ridiculous,” you say with your eyes closed.

“You think my callsign is ridiculous?” You can sense the smile in his voice.

“Well,” you reason groggily. “Roosters don’t fly.”

Bradley chuckles. “They shouldn’t,” he agrees. “I guess I’m the exception.”

You open your eyes to find him watching you wistfully. “Please don’t sleep on the couch,” you say. “You’re going to damage your spine.”

Bradley lifts an eyebrow skeptically, biting into his lip in amusement. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Don’t argue,” you say.

“I’m not arguing.”

“We can be adults about this,” you say. “We can make a pillow wall if you think the temptation will be too unbearable,” you add, smirking.

Bradley chuckles. “A pillow wall is the most adult thing I’ve ever heard.”

You smile. “Good. Now, come to bed because I’m falling asleep,” you say, closing your eyes again.

Bradley gently runs his thumb over your forehead before removing his hand from your pillow as he rises. You open your eyes slightly as he lifts his shirt over his head and goes to turn off the light. You gulp, wondering why you’re putting yourself through this agony. What you should be doing is ignoring your feelings – which are merely the result of you needing a good lay – until the weekend is over and you could go back to being just friends with Bradley Bradshaw. Instead, you’re taking every opportunity to get closer to him, even if it’ll never truly be close enough.

Bradley climbs into the bed and you decide to continue ‘sleeping’, until you feel the movement of pillows against your back. You turn around slowly, eyeing Bradley as he arranges a wall of pillows in between the two of you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask.

He looks up at you pointedly. “The pillow wall,” he replies.

You start giggling. “I was joking.”

“I believe you said something about temptation,” he says, his voice slightly husky as he leans into his elbow on the bed.

Your heart flutters at his words, but you internalize the sensation and move on. “I’m still in my dress,” you say, glossing over the topic of temptation as if it hasn’t been consuming you for the past two days. You lift the covers and sit up quickly, groaning when the dizziness catches up with your head due to the sudden momentum. “Look away for a sec,” you say, hanging your legs off the bed.

You hear a shuffle behind you as Bradley turns in the other direction. You hop out of bed and stagger to your bag, nearly falling over as you bend down. You let out a small cry and Bradley sits up in the bed. “You okay?” he asks. “Do you need help?”

You look over at him reproachfully. “Changing?”

He chuckles. “Walking.” He’s wearing a half-smile and you can hardly handle the fact that he’s sitting shirtless in your bed. He looks so sexy, you could die.

You plop yourself down on the floor clumsily, still rocking from your excessive alcohol consumption, and dig through your bag for your pajamas. “I’ll crawl back.”

Bradley laughs, lowering himself back onto the bed and turning away again.

You change out of your dress and return to the bed. You pull the blanket over yourself while Bradley rolls onto his back and turns his head to look at you. “How’re you feeling?”

“Cold,” you say. “I should’ve put on some socks. But I’m not getting up again.”

Bradley cringes. “You wear socks to bed?”

“If the situation warrants socks, I wear socks,” you say, lying on your side, facing him.

Bradley turns his body to face you too, keeping a strict foot of empty space in between your bodies despite the absence of a pillow wall. “I like your pjs,” he says.

You smile at him in amusement. “You like my pjs?”

He nods. “They’re cute.”

You snort, although you have to agree. Your pajamas are space themed, and the shorts are sprinkled with stars while the top features a cluster of the Solar System’s planets, with Pluto sulking in the corner as if it’s been excluded from the party. “They’re comfy,” you say.

“They look comfy,” Bradley replies.

You pull the covers all the way up to your neck and clutch them under your chin, shivering.

Bradley, whose upper body is completely uncovered, reaches across no man’s land to find your hands as they cling to the edge of the blanket. He wraps his fingers around your fists. “How are you cold? It’s like a million degrees in here.”

“It’s freezing!” you respond, your teeth chattering. “We should turn down the AC.”

Bradley’s eyes scan your face as he considers whether or not to say what he’s about to say. He squints his eyes, speaking hesitantly, “I could warm you up.”

You blink up at him, your mind racing through all the possibilities of what that could mean. Whatever it does mean, you’re probably up for it. “Okay,” you respond cautiously.

He releases your hands and brings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you forward as he shifts closer to you. You lift the blanket to cover the both of you, already feeling the heat of his body as you tuck your head underneath his chin. Your legs find his under the blanket and you slide one of your legs in between his, sighing softly as your body starts to warm up. He runs his hand up and down your back before finally resting his arm over your side. Your arms are squeezed in between your bodies, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as well as the frantic beating of your own heart.

You wonder vaguely how you’ll ever go back to being just friends with Bradley Bradshaw when you’ve become so deeply infatuated with him. Every one of his touches accelerates your heartbeat, every one of his glances makes your head spin nearly as much as the Grey Goose that’s currently filtering through your veins. His smile consumes your thoughts even when he’s nowhere near you, and you could probably listen to him talk indefinitely just to have his pleasant baritone playing in your ear.

You close your eyes and take a shallow breath. Bradley’s chest smells like a mixture of pine trees and cologne. His skin is smooth and warm, and his steady breathing is so soothing that you could get lost in its rhythm forever. This entire weekend may be a sham, but somehow it feels more real than anything you’ve ever experienced.

Read Part V

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[the-fiction-witch]

The Snow P2

Media House Of The Dragon

Character Jacaerys Velaryon

Couple Jacaerys x Reader (Bastard Stark Girl)

Rating Sweet

Part One

Jacaerys remained in Winterfell for several days taking in the northern customs and sights even if most of it was mostly snow, he has made fast friends with Cregan Stark as his mother suggested he might. The two sat at a table in Winterfell's great hall, enjoying a flagon of mead each finally getting to the true meat of the discussion he had been sent here to discuss, they had been chatting about it intermittently during his time here but now was the real talks, they sat and discusses plans, oaths and the choices ahead.

Even if admittedly Jacaerys often glanced across the room to where Y/n sat in a beautiful silver dress that hugged her so perfectly and snugly his eyes often wonder to her, her eyes at times met his own which made him blush as admittedly her had an effort to appear more handsome tonight as he knew he would be seeing her. Over the days he had been here so far he had really grown interested in Y/n and he had a feeling she was interested in him too. 

But he forced his attention back to Lord Cregan Stark, 

“You’re mother wishes to start a war, with her own half-brother for the throne no less. Tell me… The Iron Throne and Kings Landing are thousands of miles away from the Winterfell walls, it would take a good two months to march an army down there and that’s without complications of the twins and any other issues in the Riverlands,” He explained, “Why should we involve ourselves in a war so far from our home? It makes no difference to us up here, so why should I risk my kin and my house in a war for who’s ass sits in a chair halfway around the world?” He asked, 

Jacaerys nodded and he understood Cregan’s thoughts he had a good point and it was hard to disagree with him. The North could just stay out of this and be untouched by the war in the South, “You’re words have quite a bit of wisdom, but this war will not simply be contained beyond your borders, who sits on the throne will affect all of us from old town to the wall.” He explained, “And regardless your family swore to my mother, do your oaths not mean anything?”

“Oaths mean everything in the north,” He nodded, “There has never lived a stark who forgot an oath,” 

“Then you cannot sit cosy in your castle while he sits on the throne.”

“But you see my concerns, by the time I walk my army down the war could be over. And what happens when we arrive at Kings landing in a war that's over, to fight for a side that lost? They would massacre us. And as much as our oaths are our law… you cannot expect me to allow my house, and the houses of my noble lords to be snuffed out,” He explained, “The Targaryen dynasty has already taken so much from us…” 

“And he may take more from you still, you know your peace is my mother's greatest hope.”

“That is true, we do not know the man this king will be. But your mother… we know her ways and means, she is her father's daughter and her father was a man of peace and understanding.” 

“Sometimes the best way to peace, is war.”

“Let us talk no more of it tonight,”

“Of course,” Jacaerys nodded, “May… My lord may I speak of something else?”

“Go on,” Cregan nodded sipping his drink, 

“May I ask… about your kin?”

“Oh?”

“Y/n specifically,”

“She is a snow. But she is my sister. My blood. No matter what the laws of this land are she is my sister.”

“That is Honourable of you,”

“You know… there are rumours I have heard about your family-”

“It is… lies.” Jacaerys lied, he knew the truth but he knew best not to speak of it, 

“Lies?” Cregan nodded with a smile, “What is your question in regards to my sister?”

“... Is she promised?”

Cregan snickered, “Why?”

“I… I admit, I have… I have caught her in my eyes and I would like to ask permission to court her,”

“you think you are the first to ask me that? I have been buried under marriage proposals for my sister. You are not the first nor will you be the last to ask to court her. The answer to you is the same as the answer to the rest I will not allow anyone to court Y/n. If a man wishes her hand he will bring a proposal and I'll wed her to the best proposal I am given.”

"So, then the question now is… what kind of proposal is sufficient for you?"

“I will make you a deal. We will join your mother's war the Starks and all the banners of the north with be on the side of her crown we will keep our oaths and back her. And as payment for all this war will cost us. And when your mother's ass is sat on that throne you will be her heir, so you will marry Y/n and have a stark as your queen,” 

“I… I…” he stuttered, he knew this was a big thing to promise, the hand of an heir to the throne is not something to be given away so likely but he knew he had to return to his mother with the Starks alliance and… he wanted to return with Y/n in his arms, 

"You drive a hard bargain, my Lord. Is this your full request?"

"it is. And when she gives you a son stark blood will be your heir. I will legitimise my sister and wed her to you in the godswoods and our oath, and alliance will be set as your vows.”

“You will support my mother, march to war with us, spill blood for us. And you will wed me your sister?” Jaracerys asked, “You give me your word in this?”

“You have my sworn word,” He offered his hand.

"Then, I accept your deal, my Lord, on the condition that she too agree to this proposal." he took this hand and shook it. 

[merymoonbeam]

Light and Dark

Cc3 spoilers. You have been warned. 🫡

My obsession with this connection started when I saw @silverlinedeyes post about the six-pointed star in hosab and I added how I thought it resembled the TT scene elriel has.

We have the six pointed star in hosab and ithan-Hypaxia explained it like this.

Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center. “It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.”

And we have the Elriel TT scene.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

So as you can see by the same color highlighted parts. It matches quiet well. But we are gonna focus on the green highlighted part now.

As you can see ithan thinks that it resembled a six-pointed star when bryce made the drop with the Heart Gate.

Hypaxia said, “Look at the Gates.” The quartz Gates across the city began to glow. Red, then orange, then gold, then white. Firstlight erupted from them. Lines of it speared out in every direction. The lights flowed down the ley lines between the Gates, connecting them along the main avenues. It formed a perfect, six-pointed star. The lines of light began to spread. Curving around the city walls. Cutting off the demons now aiming for the lands beyond. Light met light met light met light. Until the city was ringed with it. Until every street was glowing. And Bryce was still making the Drop. It was joy and life and death and pain and song and silence.

The important part is here that it was the Heart Gate. The center of the crescent city. Map:

One of seven in this city, all carved from enormous blocks of quartz hewn from the Laconian Mountains to the north, the Old Square Gate was often called the Heart Gate, thanks to its location in the dead center of Lunathion, with the other six Gates located equidistant from it, each one opening onto a road out of the walled city.

So it is the...heart. you know what is described as heart in acotar? RAMIEL.

Ramiel. The sacred mountain. The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court.

A little elain quote:

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?”

And in my wild hunt post I theorized that Ramiel felt like the gates in a way. Because I think sarah took inspo from the Lia Fail stone from myths. It is one of the four treasures of Tuantha De Danaan. I went into more detail in my wild hunt post I link so Im not gonna add everything here again.

So Lia Fail.

The Lia Fáil was thought to be magical: when the rightful High King of Ireland put his feet on it, the stone was said to roar in joy. The stone is also credited with the power to rejuvenate the king and also to endow him with a long reign.

And we know that ramiel stone heals.

“Who healed you?” Nesta pulled back to survey them. “How are you even here?” “The stone,” Emerie explained, features soft with wonder. “It healed every wound on us the moment it brought us out of the Rite. We arrived here, of all places.”“I think it knew where we were needed most,” Gwyn said quietly, and Nesta smiled.

And we know that with firstlight you can heal. Does the ramiel stone consist firstlight and it works in a gate like way? It literally teleported them? How can it do that?

In hosab we have this:

“Your power came from the Gate—with a shit-ton of firstlight mixed in. So your magic—beyond the light, I mean— needs to be powered up. It relies on firstlight, or any other form of energy it can get. You’re literally a Gate: you can take in power and offer it. But it seems the similarity ends there. The Gates can store power indefinitely, while yours clearly peters out after a while.”

So a gate can take power and offer it and it can store indefinitely. If we take the ramiel as a first light storage of daglan with the ramiel stone it is working like a gate would?? Because in hofas the daglan under prison said they hid many things...under mountains as well.

Vesperus backed up a half step, hissing at the gleaming weapon. “We hid pockets of our power throughout the lands, in case the vermin should cause … problems. It seems our wisdom did not fail us.” “There are no such places,” Azriel countered coldly. “Are there not?” Vesperus grinned broadly, showing all of her too-white teeth. “Have you looked beneath every sacred mountain? At their very roots? The magic draws all sorts of creatures. I can sense them even now, slithering about, gnawing on the magic. My magic. They’re as much vermin as the rest of you.”

We have another light and dark scene with important sword and dagger. The dagger that was in the elriel scene—TT and Gwydion.

They are white and dark light—Alpha and Omega.(I have a post about this)

The male drew it, and Bryce flinched.

Flinched, but—“What the fuck?” The knife could have been the twin of the Starsword: black hilted and bladed. It was its twin. The Starsword began to hum within its sheath, glittering white light leaking from where leather met the dark hilt. The dagger— The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer. Alpha and Omega. “Gwydion,” the dark-haired female whispered, indicating the Starsword.

And whats important is that with her power bryce can unite them to open a portal to nowhere.

Polaris’s eyes widened as Bryce plunged the blades into her chest. And as those blades thrust through skin and bone, the star in Bryce’s own chest flared out to meet them. It collided with the blades, and both sword and knife blazed bright, as if white-hot. The light extended up through Bryce’s hands, her arms, her body, turning her incandescent— Into a star. A sun.

What's important is that as bryce collects Theia's power that was parted into three parts she starts to realize it is taking a touch of darkness...

Bryce rolled her eyes, but for a heartbeat, Hunt wondered if Thanatos was right: Bryce had explained how the prism in the Autumn King’s office had revealed her light to now be laced with darkness, as if it had become the fading light of day, of twilight—

And we go to that scene...

With a prayer to Cthona, she sent twin beams of light arcing around the prisms, shooting straight into them.Twin bursts of that light flared from either prism, gunning for each other. Bands of light falling into darkness, her power stripped to its most elemental, basic form. They shot for each other, and where they met, light and darkness and darkness and light slamming into each other—Bryce stepped into the explosion in the heart of it. Stepped into her power.It lit her up from the inside, lit up her very blood. Her hair drifted above her head, pens and papers and other office detritus flowing upward with it. Such light and darkness—the power lay in the meeting of the two of them. She understood it now, how the darkness shaped the light.

And the purple highlighted part...it is exactly the same as the six pointed star.

Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center. “It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.”

And if we go by the elriel scene...

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

Can you see the connection?

Also that elemental part in bryce's scene. we learn about that in acosf.

Cassian forced himself to sit perfectly still as Rhys dragged a hand through his black hair. “Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power.”

And we know how theia and her line can use the TT and Starsword bc she helped them make them.

Theia extended her hands toward the water, the offered blades. And on phantom wings, sword and dagger soared for her. Summoned to her hands.Starlight flared from Theia as she snatched the sword and knife out of the air, the blades glowing with their own starlight. My mother returned that day with only Pelias and my father’s blades. As she had helped Make them, they answered to the call in her blood. To her very power.

So maybe Azriel and Elain have some kind of elemental magic as well?

Also the stone on top of ramiel...sings.

But when he’d touched the onyx monolith, when he’d felt that ancient force sing into his blood in the heartbeat before it had whisked him back to the safety of Devlon’s camp … It had been worth it. To feel that. With a solemn bow of his head toward Ramiel and the living stone atop it, Cassian caught another swift wind and soared southward.(acofas)

TT and Gwydion also sing.

“Let’s go,” Azriel said, and released her hand. Because the sword and dagger weren’t merely tugging now. They were singing, and all she had to do was reach out for them—

What's more interesting is @icedflames made a post about Fragarach and about the connection between gwydion and tt which came true in cc2 as we learned they were connected.

You have to stand on top of Lia Fail stone with Fragarach.

In Irish mythology, Fragarach (or Freagarthach), known as "The Whisperer", "The Answerer", or "The Retaliator", was the sword of Nuada, the first high king. The sword was forged by the gods and was meant to be wielded only by those who posed above the stone of destiny (the Lia Fail) which roared and the sword whispered in response.

So do we need to take Gwydion and TT to Ramiel? To that Stone? We need Elriel to do it bc all of them are "light and dark"? What will happen if they are all there?

Also dont forget about book of breathings prophecy.

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me.

Also Fionn dipped the Gwydion to Cauldron.

Another shift of memory, and Fionn pulled a long blade from the Cauldron, dripping water. A black blade, whose dark metal absorbed any trace of light around it. Bryce’s knees weakened. The Starsword. Two other figures stood there, veiled in the thick snow, but Bryce hardly got a chance to wonder about them before Silene’s narration began anew.

And Cauldron sits upon Ramiel.

“The Cauldron,” Nesta said hours later, pointing to yet another carving on the wall. It indeed showed a giant cauldron, perched atop what seemed to be a barren mountain peak with three stars above it. Azriel halted, angling his head. “That’s Ramiel.” At Bryce’s questioning look, he explained, “A mountain sacred to the Illyrians.”

So we are going to ramiel with gwydion and tt? 🫡

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Question for Jon stans: so I think a lot of us expect Jon to leave the watch at some point in his story, whether in Winds or sometime in Dream. I tend to think he’s going to straight up desert the Watch, like going ‘fuck it I’m done here’ much like Bloodraven and Mance, instead of leaving on a technicality (i.e., a ‘he’s dead so he’s technically done his service’ type of thing). 

BUT the question is, does he go north or does he go south? I think it’s reasonable to assume either direction works narratively.

We have this:

Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

Plus he’s been set up to parallel Bloodraven and Mance both of whom go north, and there’s this quote from AGOT that could be foreshadowing:

Far off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another. Ghost cocked his head and listened. “If he doesn’t come back,” Jon Snow promised, “Ghost and I will go find him.” He put his hand on the direwolf’s head.

“I believe you,” Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He shivered.

(Tyrion III)

There’s also symbolism in him embracing the name “Snow” and living in the snowy north….

But then we these quotes from AGOT as well that’s essentially about him finding the Wall to be stifling and equating freedom with the south:

“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”

“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

(Jon III)

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

(Jon V)

And if Jon is to live his best wildling/crow-deserter life, it’ll be about finding freedom - just like Mance.

Plus there’s the whole thing with him seeing three different trees which could serve as representing his arc in the series, and the final tree faces south… 

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

(Jon V, ADWD) 

So which one is it?

Also if you think he goes south, where does he end up? 👀 

[wardenparker]

The Viper’s Bride - ch 2

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.  

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol* References to general Joffrey fuckery, internalized guilt, fingering, hand job, vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: A walk with the future queen, a moment with Raeden, and a clandestine meeting all make your first day in King’s Landing a memorable time indeed. Notes: We are creeping closer to that fateful first meeting!

Ch 1

The invitation that is delivered to your chambers several hours later is a note from Lady Margaery, addressed explicitly to you and asking you to meet her in the gardens an hour hence, that you might walk together. It is incredibly polite and deceptively friendly, but when you nod to the serving girl who delivers it you can't seem to muster any enthusiasm beyond good manners. Lit with the orange sun of the afternoon, you appear at the mouth of the gardens freshly bathed and in a clean gown, still not having eaten a morsel for days. You doubt very much that you will be able to stomach more than a few bites at dinner but since you will also be dining with the future queen, you have to at least try.

“Isn’t the evening beautiful?” Margaery asks, appearing beside you as her lady in waiting falls back so that it is just the two of you.

"It's very...warm." That isn't quite the reply she was hoping for, you know what, but nothing at all in the world seems beautiful right now. And King's Landing is significantly warmer than where you grew up in the Vale, so at least you're being honest.

Her laugh is light, tinkling out and capturing the attention of anyone nearby. Her arm is linked with yours and she tugs you forward to propel you into the gardens. “It is warm. Although the breeze along the sea wall is quite refreshing.”

"The sea is always refreshing." Your windows in your family's estate faced the cliffside, overlooking the Narrow Sea at the very tip of the Vale's Fingers. The sound of the crashing waves has long been your favorite lullaby. "Thank you for the invitation." Remembering your manners, and the fact that this woman will be queen in two days, you do manage to offer her a smile. "You must know that I have not been to King's Landing since my presentation at court, so I truly know very few in the capital."

“You are not missing much.” Margaery leans in and whispers, although it is loud enough that the lady in waiting that is walking three steps behind the two of you giggles softly. “As a future queen and princess, we must stick together, you and I.” She knocks your shoulder softly, friendliness in the gesture. “Otherwise we might expire of boredom.”

"I cannot imagine you are very bored here." Margaery Tyrell seems very fixated on the fact of who you are supposed to marry, and it makes you shudder. Surely she has better things to do than be focused on your own arrangement?

“You would be surprised.” Margaery is terrified here, afraid of misstepping but her grandmother assures her that you would be a strong ally to make. “There is not much I am in charge of…yet.” She decides to switch topics. “Have you already started planning your own wedding? Will it be in Dorne? I have never visited, however, I’ve always wished to.”

You swallow, barely keeping from biting your lip as she steers you through the lush garden. "I have not even met him yet," you admit quietly.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in surprise, her hand tightening ever so slightly in comfort and she nods. “I see.” She hums, lowering her voice slightly. “He is quite handsome and despite what his reputation portrays, my grandmother says he is an honorable man.” She informs you, seeking to comfort you some. “He does not have rumors swirling as some do.” Her own husband-to-be, for example.

"Our family has a good relationship with Dorne. They are...quite positive that it will be beneficial to both families." There has been no regard for your happiness whatsoever, no reassurance of anything besides the fact that the Prince of Dorne will no doubt give you children as quickly as he desires. "I think, perhaps, that you know far more about the man my father promised me to than I do myself."

“I have met him.” It was long ago, when she was far younger and unconcerned with the dealing of adults and kingdoms. He had come to see if the Tyrells could be persuaded to send money and men across the sea to find the Targaryen prince and princess that were rumored to be alive. Her grandmother had declined but she had privately commended him for his efforts.

"Then you know much more than I do." When it came down to it, your father did not even have a portrait of the man to show you. All anyone can seem to say is that he is handsome, which is not at all helpful if he is a monster in some other way.

“He brought his small daughter with him.” She confides. “My father was furious because she was a Sand, but Oberyn ignored him. He had just taken the girl from her mother.” She bites her lip and leans closer. “The mother was a whore. And he was only a lad himself. Yet he did not employ a nurse for her. She went where he did.”

"I understand he has...several children?" The figure your mother had hissed at you was eight but surely that cannot be true. He would either have to be quite a lot older than you or incredibly promiscuous for that to be the case.

“From my recollection he now has eight daughters.” Margaery confirms with a small laugh. “You will be carrying your own child quickly, no doubt.”

"A fact which everyone has seen fit to assure me of." For the first time, when you turn to look at her, she seems much less a beautiful noble daughter and simply a girl. She may have met her groom already, but her situation is just as arranged as yours is and even more influential. "Forgive me if I seem less than excited," you admit, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your gown. "The arrangement is still so new to me."

“I understand.” The fact that she had been married to Renley Baratheon before his untimely death is not mentioned. Her grandmother had gone to great lengths to have that swept under the rug. She isn’t excited about marrying Joffrey. She’s dreading it, but she can’t show that. There are too many eyes and ears here in the keep. “At least his rumored skills shall bring you pleasure. There are worse things.” She shudders delicately, thinking of the time her betrothed had tortured one of the chambermaids.

"There are also more important things." For all his supposed prowess, you have yet to hear anyone claim that Prince Oberyn is a kind man or an intelligent one. "At least you know the man you are meant to marry. For all I know, I have been sold to a man who will infuriate or despise me." Love does not even cross your lips, knowing that it will be impossible. There is simply no chance that you will ever love this man. Not when your heart already belongs to Raeden.

“Prince Oberyn…admires beauty in all forms.” Margaery murmurs delicately, aware of her brother’s own interest in the man. “He loathes the Lannisters, yet Myrcella Baratheon is fostered in Dorne.” She reveals. “Where the girl is quite happy and not one hair on her golden head is molested. Plays with his younger daughters.”

"Why is Princess Myrcella in Dorne if he despises Lannisters so?" This is more information than you have ever been able to get about the man at once before and from a person that you cannot let know that you do not want to marry him. Curiosity is a virtue that you can afford to have – simply gathering information without ever expressing your own opinion on the matter.

“Peace treaty.” Margaery’s brow raises and she wonders how much you know about the history between Dorne and King’s Landings. “It was promised years ago.”

"I see." Apparently being in the Vale has left you out of a great many things as far as the ways of the world go. But then, you have never been one to enjoy politics and your father afforded you the freedom to avoid such conversations. "So it is his brother who affords her safety, then? The elder Prince of Dorne, I mean." The intricacies between brothers, at least, you understand perfectly.

“No.” The queen-to-be shakes her head, her hair swinging softly behind her. “He does not blame the child for things that happened before her birth. Or for who her parents are.”

“I see.” This time you nod when you say the words, chewing on the information you have been given. It does not make you like the man necessarily, but it is oddly comforting to hear that he is not outwardly cruel, as some men in power can be. “Well…” A stolen glance is met with Lady Margaery’s wide eyes staring back at you, as if she is trying to pull information from deep in your soul. “Mercy is a virtue,” you offer, not quite knowing what else to say.

You are not giving her much, practically nothing, and she wonders if you are in love with someone else. Margaery smiles and nods. “Yes it is.” She agrees, looking out over the gardens again, pleased that several other guests have seen the two of you together. “We shall have to visit more during your time here.” She decides. “If you are not too taken with your betrothed.” Her smirk is small and sly, slightly envious of the fact that you will be sharing the Prince’s bed.

“From what I have been told, there is no reason I should not be.” And yet? You know better. You know that every minute spent with the Prince will be one less minute with Raeden and you want to scream about the injustice of it all.

Your turn around the garden leads you straight back to the entrance and Margaery comes to a stop. “There are still several hours before dinner.” She murmurs. “Most of the staff are taking their own meals now so there are not many in the corridors.” Her eyes watch you for a moment before she tilts her head. “I believe I will go to the library and choose a book myself.”

“You have a library?” There is no reason it should surprise you, but the idea of sitting amongst books is delightful and calming, and you can easily picture bringing a borrowed book of poems back to your room to share with Raeden tonight. This is truly the first good news you’ve had all day. “Would it be presumptuous to ask to accompany you?”

Her smile is slow and sincere. "It is not presumptuous," she promises, winding her arm back through yours and starts walking again. "The library of the keep has been studiously stocked by the maesters." She tells you. "Although the Citadel has a more extensive collection."

“I think reading is better than almost anything in the world.” It is truly the most excited she has heard you about anything so far, and the first time you feel like you have truly smiled in at least a week. “But I read all of the books I brought on the journey here. Something new would be wonderful.”

"There is many to choose from." She laughs. "I will have to select a few of my favorites for you to take back to your chambers."

“How very kind of you.” She has clearly found your weakness – or at least one of them – and you cannot help but be relieved at it. So many women at court care only for gossip and fashion. To find someone else with an active mind is an unlooked for blessing. “My father has the greatest library in the Vale, and I will miss it desperately.”

“I have no doubt you will curate the greatest library in Dorne.” It’s on the tip of her tongue to inform you that Oberyn writes poetry, at least according to her grandmother, but she doesn’t want you to feel as if she is pushing the man on you.

“It would be a great pleasure.” Sitting for hours in a stack of books with Raeden and endless pots of tea is perhaps one of your greatest fantasies, but that kind of freedom has simply never existed for you. The ability to fulfill that has never been within your grasp. Still you find yourself clinging to the thought and inadvertently clinging to your companion’s arm. “Have you ever read a book that simply made you feel transformed? It is the greatest magic in the world.”

Her own experiences with magic have not been positive but she understands what you mean. Nodding, she smiles as she leads you inside the keep and towards the eastern wing. “I often lose myself in books of poetry.”

“Poetry is a wonder.” Feeling much more yourself at the prospect of books, you smile a true, broad smile as you pass through the halls of the keep. “I wrote love poems for my brothers when they were courting their wives. They were hopeless at it and begged me to help.”

Margaery laughs and sighs. “I wish someone would write poetry for me.” She admits softly before she presses her lips together. “However the king is more of a physical man.” She corrects quickly.

“Oh.” That was not a revelation you were expecting, but you try to school your expression away from surprise. “Well, there is…there can be no sin in that, can there? As you are to be married so soon.”

“We have not—” She shakes her head and shudders slightly. “The king has not attempted to woo me into his bed as of yet.” She assures you. “He is just not a man to whom flowery words are forthcoming.”

“Forgive me for misunderstanding.” The way she reacts to the mere suggestion, though, surprises you even more. There is almost an edge of revulsion to it that makes you unsure if you ought to be offering her comfort. “I am sure that in time love will help his tongue to find the words he surely feels in his heart.”

Margaery seriously doubts that Joffrey’s tongue will be anything but vile and vicious but she smiles and pretends nothing is wrong. “Love does temper the roughest stones, does it not?”

“I think so.” It brings a warmth through your whole body that could nearly make you sigh if that would not have given you away completely. Instead you clear your throat and affect a demure expression. “My brothers, for instance. They were quite rough once.”

“I see.” Margaery doesn’t ask about the momentarily dreamy expression on your face, needing you as an ally. The large double doors to the library stand sentinel and she stops in front of them. “Here it is.”

The Red Keep’s library is enormous, stretching far above your heads to a vaulted ceiling and far beyond your view to rooms and rooms of volumes just waiting and begging to be perused. The intricately carved banisters and shelves along with the elaborately decorated windows make it lavish and nearly forbidding, but that the familiar scent of old paper and bindings beckons you inside like an old friend. “How lovely,” you sigh out, looking around you with glee. “I swear it is bigger than my father’s library. It must be. I cannot possibly thank you enough for bringing me here.”

“It is my pleasure.” Margaery assures you. In the library, she doesn’t have to worry about her intended showing up here, not even sure if he knows the keep has a library. It was her safe space in a decidedly unsafe situation. “Look around. There is a lot to be offered.”

It is the most welcome invitation in the world, and you find yourself wandering toward the nearest shelf and inspecting every volume you can get your hands on to find just the right one. It doesn’t matter what the right one even is. You will know it when you find it.

******

Slipping inside the keep had been easy enough. Plenty of servants coming and going, and it was obvious that none of the nobles knew the people who served them. Cal keeps his eyes on you, the description given to him accurate down to the unhappy glaze to your eyes. The crumpled letter is in his pocket, unsure of what it says since he can’t read but after hovering outside the double doors to the library, he slips inside and starts to look for you among the shelves of books.

It seemed like not another soul inhabited this place other than you and Lady Margaery right until you nearly walked head on into a nervous-looking young man standing right in front of the next bookcase you had intended to inspect. “Oh! I— ex-excuse me. I didn’t see you there.” There are already three small books tucked into the crook of your arm and it’s a miracle that you don’t drop any of them. “Pardon me,” you murmur again, rocking back with the surprise of seeing another person.

Cal wasn’t expecting an apology, shoving his hand into his breeches pocket and thrusting the folded and sealed letter into your hand. “My lady.” He mumbles, turning around and rushing from the library. He had done as he was ordered. He had delivered the message.

It’s all a little too odd, and you stare after him for a moment before looking down at the carefully folded piece of paper in your hand with its bright orange wax seal. There is no mistaking that your name is scrawled beautifully on the front, so you crack the seal with careful hands and unfold the letter.

The privilege of your company is requested after supper time this evening to share wine and entertainment at the Coachman’s Tavern. We have much to discuss, Ellaria Sand

“Who…?” You breathe the question out loud but realize there is no one to answer you. Who in the world is Ellaria Sand?

******

Raeden’s boots strike the stone floors harshly as he strides towards the library. The lady-in-waiting, mistress Mariana Tyrell, had informed him that you had been shown the library but he needs to speak to you. His position as your guard would not cause too much attention, but he must warn you.

Still standing with a dumbstruck look and a letter in your hand when the library doors open again, you turn from your place in the stacks to look out into the main room. “Ser Raeden.” He is a sight for sore eyes at any time, but as you come out from amongst the stacks of books you can see Lady Margaery emerge as well. “Am I called for?” You ask him, wondering if maybe your parents wanted to know how your walk went and sent him to fetch you.

Pulling himself to a halt in front of you, he bows. “Yes, my lady.” He lies, needing to get you alone. “Your lady mother requests your presence.”

“How unfortunate.” At least your frown is not at all false, and you turn to Margaery with an apology on your tongue. “Lady Margaery Tyrell, this is my guard, Ser Raeden Stone. Come to whisk me back to my mother’s side, it seems. Thank you for your kindness, I hope this time together can be repeated before long.” After all, a walk in a garden and a visit to the keep library is a very pleasant way to pass an afternoon, and she is to be queen. You are not foolish enough to think you should not be kindness itself to her.

“Go.” Margaery nods towards your guard, her lips twisted into a small curve. “We will visit again.” She decides. “Soon.”

Striding from the library at Raeden’s side, you wait until you are well past the doors before looking up at him again. “What is it really?” You ask him as quietly as you can. “You look worried.”

“Not until we are in your room.” Raeden insists, his eyes shifting around as he guides you back towards your chambers.

The tense walk seems to take forever and you find your mind wandering to the worst possible news. Prince Oberyn has decided you will wed immediately being at the top of the list.

He opens the door to your chambers, blessedly one that you do not have to share with your mother or maid. Hustling you inside and barring the door behind him. “Your mother knows.” He rushes out without preamble.

“She only thinks she knows something.” Because you haven’t had a moment alone with him, you haven’t been able to tell him what transpired in the carriage on the way here. “She tried to frighten me into saying something but I swear I didn’t give us away, love. We’re still safe.”

“No.” Raeden shakes his head, taking your books and dropping them on the table where a floral arrangement is sitting so he can take your hands. “She– she called me to her chambers.”

“Gods above.” His fingers laced through yours immediately and you hold them tight. “What did she say?”

“She informed me that she knows that we have the same marks, and she will make sure that I am dragged back to the Vale with her, naked and tied to the wagon if I interfere with your marriage to the prince of Dorne.” He shudders, scowling at the hateful diatribe he had been subjected to.

"I am sure she said a great deal worse than that." And yet that is enough. You pull him into your arms with a deep sigh and hold him there, knowing that this is no one's fault but your own. "She has scared you because she could not scare me. I would not cower before her in the carriage when she threatened to take you back to the Vale if I misbehaved, so she struck out at you instead. I...my love, I am so sorry."

“I am not.” Raeden shakes his head. “Your mother is a vile woman, but I needed to make sure you know what I do.” He sighs, understanding why you had not been able to tell him about the carriage ride, but he wishes you had. He would not have panicked.

"I am sorry I could not tell you. It seems nearly impossible to have privacy here." That, it occurs to you, is no excuse for not finding a way. But at least it is honest.

“How do you think she found out?” He murmurs, frowning slightly. “I do not change in front of the men.”

"The only possibility is my maid." It had not occurred to you that there might be more than just the reason of her family to stay behind, or that she might have lied to you about being pregnant, but she is the only one who knew.

“It is possible your mother threatened her, my love.” He knows how repulsive your mother can act, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Whatever happened, my mother's grasping fingers have dug into our lives with certainty." You sigh, tightening your arms around his waist. "What did you say to her? When she confronted you?"

“Nothing.” He promises you. “I said that my lady was mistaken and as your guard, my duty is to protect you with my sword and life.”

"I think you must be the only truly loyal man in the world." It is a relief to know that he gave your mother no satisfaction in her prying, and you tilt your head back to slot your lips against his gratefully.

The mere act of kissing you does more to calm him than anything else could have. Groaning, he pulls you closer to him and lets his hands roam.

"My love..." Who knows who saw him come into this room with you – if your odious mother has paid off the castle servants to spy already. If some spying laundress is already running off to give her an account of a man's moan coming from inside your chamber. "Rae." It is not often that you stop him from free exploration of your body, but caution is in the air now. "There is something else I must tell you."

“What is it?” He pulls away, confusion marring his handsome face. It has been days since he had been close enough to touch you and he is aching with the need to reassure himself of your bond.

"A messenger found me in the library just before you did." Either for comfort or because you cannot resist, you kiss him once more before fishing the letter out of the pocket of your dress. "I have no idea who it is from, but it is very clearly addressed to me."

“What does it say?” He can read, but it is your letter and he would not pry unless you offered it to him.

"Someone named Ellaria Sand wants to meet me." You press the letter into his hand, wondering what he will think of it. "It is certainly an enigmatic invitation."

“Who is Ellaria Sand?” Raedon asks, taking the letter and reading it carefully. “She’s a bastard. Sand is the surname for bastards in Dorne.”

"Dorne?" Fear flits across your face in equal measure with confusion. "She may be an enemy. Or an ally. There is no way to know."

“Are you going?” He asks, looking up from the letter to you. “To see what this Ellaria Sand wants? I will be with you.”

"I was going to ask you what you thought I should do." His sense of the world is more defined than yours. More informed. There are many things that you have been shielded from in your life, and he has been one of those shields. "I trust you, love. Implicitly. Whatever you think we should do, we will do."

“I think you should see what she wants.” Raeden answers slowly. “There are many games afoot here in King’s Landing, it is best we know which one you will be involved in.”

"And you will come with me?" Going anywhere in this city entirely alone is not only foolish but dangerous. Which is precisely why you have a guard in the first place – for your protection. "Wherever this Coachman's Tavern is, I have an inkling that it is not in the most reputable part of the capital."

He nods once. “I will not leave your side. I will be with you the entire time, my lady.”

"Rae." You tilt your head at him. "We are alone. There is no need for formalities."

Biting his lip, he contemplates pulling away, leaving your chambers – but he can’t. “My love–” he murmurs softly. “Let me touch you.”

"We must be quiet." That is the only warning you give him before tossing the letter aside and moving to the door to bar it. If anyone has seen him come in, large excuses will have to be made. But as long as nothing is heard, you will be safe.

His eyes darken as he reaches for his belt to untie his sword. “My love.” He murmurs quietly. “I have missed you.”

"I despise travel," you declare, firmly but barely on a whisper as you fairly fly across the room to be back in his arms. "I despise anything that keeps us apart." Unbuttoning his great coat, he doesn’t bother to remind you that soon you will be parted. He cannot know how the prince will react to him being your soulmate.

"Too many layers." Your hands may be smaller but they are determined to shed every layer he is wearing, from his coat down to his stockings. Every button and tie offends you by being in your way. "My love..." The request is unspoken, granted as soon as you look up at him and his lips crash against yours once more.

There have been so many times he has prayed to the gods for forgiveness. He knows that he is wronging you by staining your skin with his touch, but he cannot help himself. You are his soulmate, his other half. He feels complete when he is skin to skin with you.

Nothing can make two people faster to bare themselves than the need for reassurance, and this moment is no exception. Stripped down to nothing, Raeden lifts you off your feet and lays you out on the bed like a feast to be devoured. "Love." The term is reverent even when whispered – or perhaps more so this way – and you reach for him even as you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. "Touch me. Please."

Nights spent in your bed, quietly stifling your sounds as he learns your body, has made him an expert on how to touch you. He kisses you slowly, sliding his tongue into your mouth as his fingers delve into your folds beneath the thatch of curls covering your cunt.

He swallows your gasp, humming in contentment that you still make such perfect sounds after so many nights together, and you shamelessly roll your hips down toward his hand in a determined motion. His thick fingers are the only possible preparation for a cock as impressive as his and you relish these early moments of intimacy as much as any other time. Sometimes all you need to be satisfied is to have his fingers or his tongue and then to kiss away your essence from his lips afterward. But today you need all of him. After weeks without being able to so much as touch him, you are desperate for him.

The hard muscles from hours of training and practice bunch and coil under your fingertips as he fingers you. His cock already hard at your hip, pulsing as he continues to kiss you. Breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw.

Every inch of him is worth exploring, but your focus is entirely on pleasing him right now. Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing the base and stroking slowly up and down the shaft with a subtle twist of your wrist that never fails to make him shudder. The game is simple: whichever one of you breaks first will inevitably end up begging for the other, or pushing the other onto their back to be taken with pleasure.

“I love you.” Your name is whispered after his promise, his vow to you. You are so perfect, his hips chase the feeling of your hand as his fingers curl up inside you and he kisses down your chest to take one nipple into his mouth.

"I love you." When your hips roll up to meet his hand you let out a shaky breath and your other hand clutches his shoulder, holding him to your chest while his tongue swirls around your pebbled bud and flicks at it like he's trying to spark magic. Perhaps he is – if that were his goal then it is certainly magical the way he makes your legs shake with an impending climax.

It is always sweet the way that your body responds to his touch. Making him grin against your nipple as your hand covers your mouth to stifle your sounds. He knows your body so well that it may as well be his instrument, and he strums you as perfectly as any harpist does their strings. It takes biting down on your own fingers tonight to stifle the sound of ecstasy that threatens to bubble out of you, but your body greedily drags him in in every way that it can. Back arching to urge him to devour your tits, cunt clenching to keep his hand from ever leaving your body again, even your hand tensing around his length to promise him how tight you will hold that wondrous part of him inside you when he does eventually take his hand away.

Making you come apart for him is Raeden’s favorite task. If he were a lord, an idle and wealthy man, he would spend all day with you in bed. Or perhaps go about his business with your trembling body responding to his touch. In the darkest, most shameful thoughts in his mind, he thinks about that. Displaying you for others in the great hall while his fingers or cock are buried inside you and your screams of his name are echoing through the halls.

There can’t be any echo here, no cry of his name reverberating through the keep for all to hear, but you still come apart for him as sharply as if you were under command. It isn’t enough. Not tonight, at least, and you squirm under him like a needy beast already begging for more. “What do you need, my love?” He asks, pulling off your nipple with a wet pop. His eyes are onyx from need and desire, staring up at you.

“You.” The answer may be simple, but the need runs deep, and you have to swallow a moan when your muscles tighten around his fingers again and a gorgeous squelching noise comes back as a result. “Will you let me ride you, love?”

“Always.” Raeden groans, loving the sight of you on top of him. He is not exactly dominant and when you take control, he is blissed out by the time he cums. “Have you taken your tea, or do you need to pull off?”

“I have had my tea.” The recipe was taught to you by your septa years ago. The woman was no fool, teaching you to understand that men who seek to control a woman do it very often by controlling her womb. The tea, therefore, has been your constant companion even when you are too sick for anything else.

He groans, enjoying the thought of staying inside you as he finishes. “Ride me.” He begs, rolling over and dragging you on top of him.

“Shhhh.” Playfully chiding him to keep his beautiful groans quiet, you bracket his hips with your knees and rise up to set the head of his cock at your dripping slit. His hands on your back steady you, holding you in position while you sink down on him and your mouth drops open on a silent moan of pleasure to feel every inch of him inside you again.

His fingers dig into your hips and he bites his lips to stifle his moans. “Shit.”

Going two full weeks without this should be considered torture, but the feeling of coming home to him that you feel makes all of the stress and anxiety melt away. This is where you belong, coupled together with this man, and there is no more natural a feeling to be felt. Love may not always be simple or pure, but these moments together certainly are.

Holding his breath, Raeden watches as you start to move. Sex with you has been almost a religious experience for him. The rise and fall is like a dance, hips seeking out every ounce of pressure they can find and chasing every motion that makes his breath hitch. He has learned your body as well as you have learned his and every movement counts for more than just a simple bounce.

It is hard to keep his hips on the bed, grunting softly while you bounce on his cock. Drinking in the vision and knowing that for now, you are his. One hand reaches up and cups your breast, fingers rolling over your pebbled nipple just like you enjoy and he tugs on it gently.

Some nights could be spent forever in his lap like this, while others must be shorter encounters. Today there is some luxury to be had, but the need is too great. Every day that you spent apart had made you more desperate and that second climax tingling at the base of your spine is already so close.

“You are mine.” He needs to claim you, even if it is for a moment. A fleeting sensation that will be overcome by duty. Soulmates didn’t matter among the nobility unless it was an advantage and Raeden Stone was of no use to your father.

"Always." No matter if another man's ring sat on your finger, your heart will always belong to him. And in the face of the terrible reality that your decisions are not your own? At least you can promise him that.

He hasn’t met Oberyn Martell, but he is jealous of him. Jealous that you will be his spouse and bear his name. That he has a name to give you that is respectable. He closes his eyes and bites his lip.

"My love..." Bending down to him does not stop you from moving, only changes the angle, and you press your lips to his with earnest dedication. As much lust as there is in his eyes, it is mixed with a sadness that you know is your fault and your desperation veers away from your own pleasure in order to bring him as much distraction and satisfaction as you possibly can.

“Don’t.” He huffs quietly. “We know what we mean to each other.” He promises, knowing this is not your choice.

"What we will always mean to each other." Dread floods you, sickeningly thick sadness that makes your limbs heavy and washes arousal away like a cold flood. Instead of the twist of pleasure it's just agony, and you can see it painted across Raeden's face as well, so you slip off of him and burrow into his side to cling to him instead. "I will always love you," you promise him through the veil of impending tears. "Nothing will change that."

He can’t think about this, can’t dwell on it. Rolling you onto your back, he parts your thighs and settles between them before pushing back inside you, “Nothing.” He hisses.

The need for reassurance can have many essences to it, and this one rings the edges of your intimacy to make it lovemaking. His thrusts are slow and measured, pushing you steadily to the edge and toppling over it after you like his last night of life.

Raeden can’t make it hard and fast. He needs this to rip apart the very fabric of his being. Gasping your name with every slow rock of his hips, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach.

When the trembling finally subsides neither one of you will let go. If a sinkhole opened under King's Landing in this instant you would fall into it together as one, arms clinging tightly to each other and dreading it less than you dread the eventual meeting with Prince Oberyn. Tomorrow will be a horrible reality, and for all you know, the Dornish woman you meet tonight might only make it worse.

“I love you.” He murmurs quietly, meant for your ears only. “Only you. You are my soul, my entire reason for being here.”

"As I love you." Your fingers graze his cheek and for the moment a sad smile is the best that you can offer him. "To the furthest depths of the ocean and the highest peak of the sky."

“From now until the gods take me.” Raeden promises, pressing a kiss to your lips softly.

******

The Coachman's Tavern is just an ordinary building of white and gray from the outside. It signifies nothing, just stone and plaster with a painted sign that hangs over the door to tell travelers they can find shelter inside. The only thing of interest or note that you or Raeden can find as you approach is the sound of music coming from inside and stamping – perhaps meaning there is dancing to be had. The invitation had spoken of entertainment after all.

Ellaria sits at the table she had procured for this meeting, a carafe of wine and two goblets are already sitting, wine poured into the one in front of her. It’s not Dornish, so it’s not nearly as good as what she usually drinks, but a glass to settle her nerves is necessary right now.

No one seems to pay you any mind when you come into the tavern, seeing you and Raeden simply as hooded travelers seeking food or shelter like anyone else. Sneaking out of the keep had been task enough, but now you have to find a woman you have never met in a building full of strangers. As your father says – it is a search for a needle in a haystack. "Which one do you think it is?" You whisper to Raeden, looking around the tavern to find any women sitting alone. Perhaps she did not come alone just as you did not?

The small oil portrait that Oberyn had been provided was accurate, if dated. You are older, more assured than the slightly meek countenance in the portrait. Smiling, Ellaria beckons the serving wench over and points to you, instructing her to send you and the delectable man following you over to her table.

"Miss?" The girl who approaches you is significantly younger than you but arguably far more sure of herself, and she offers you a keen smile when she catches your attention. "The lady in the corner is waiting for you," she says before swanning away to the attention of a table of men near the instruments being played.

The lady in the corner.

You look to where she has pointed immediately and find a beautifully dressed goddess of a woman with a curtain of pitch black curls cascading down her back, sitting at a table that bears two goblets and a pitcher of something that you have to presume to be wine. "My word..." The breath you take is tight with nerves and you look back at Raeden. "I suppose now we will finally find out what she wants."

"And who she is." Raeden murmurs, nodding once. He will follow wherever you go, and in this moment you are already moving toward the table where Ellaria Sand is sitting.

Her eyes sharpen when you look her way, wariness and apprehension are written on your features, though you are lovely. Humming to herself, Ellaria straightens and waves you forward, smirking slightly at the protective stance of the gorgeously dark man behind you. She wants to know more about him. Instantly heated and her cunt clenching when she imagines this soldier, this protector in hers and Oberyn’s bed.

"Ellaria Sand?" If your look of concern gives you away, your voice certainly does not. It is the same voice you use with your mother when she is being particularly combative, or with your oldest brother's wife when she attempts to command you about like a child despite being five years younger than you. It is a voice full of confidence, though right now it is at least half feigned.

Her brow arches up, surprised that there is a spine underneath that robe and dress. Nodding, she motions to the free seat and glances at Raeden. “Apologies, I had assumed this would be a private meeting. Please, pull up another chair for your companion.”

"This is as private a meeting as is possible," you assure her, biting back a smile when Raeden is quick to find his own stool instead of letting you find one for him. "I travel with a guard instead of a lady's maid. Anything that would be said to me can be said in front of him."

Quiet for a moment, Ellaria’s eyes flutter back and forth between the two of you before she nods. Looking past you, she beckons the wench again and smirks. “Another cup.” She asks softly, reaching for her coin purse to offer her another coin.

A cup is procured and wine is poured, but you don't touch the cup. You have no more information now than you did hours ago when her servant sought you out, except that you now know she is exquisite. A fact which does not exactly figure into this clandestine meeting. "Can I know what you have asked me here to discuss?" You ask, trying to be polite but also make the point that you have no wish for this time to be wasted. "Your note made it sound most urgent."

“To the point.” Ellaria smirks, her goblet inches from her lips to take a small sip. “And fuckable. That is a relief. Although you are unhappy about the arrangement.”

"I beg your pardon?" There is shock in your voice and Raeden's seat scrapes against the stone floor, already not liking the way this night is turning despite the woman's self-assured countenance having given him less pause than expected when you walked in.

“You are not prudish, are you?” She tuts, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disappointment at the idea that you would be as boring as the other ladies of the North. “Pity.” Setting her goblet down, the lazy way she unfurls her body is measured. “I am Oberyn’s…lover.” She announces. “And his soulmate.”

That is, without a doubt, the very last thing you expected to hear from this woman, and instantly your eyes widen and you turn back to look to Raeden for some kind of guidance. You feel like your jaw has been unhinged and your heart clenched in a vice, though you cannot tell if it is from dread or relief. "I was..." But whatever you were, or whatever you intended to say, it sticks in your throat.

"My lady was under the impression the prince had many lovers." Raeden recovers his voice before you do, reading your mind as only he is able. The matter of her being the man's soulmate will be next.

“Oh,” Ellaria chuckles huskily, “but he does. Sometimes just the whores we pick out, sometimes a lover that is with us for some time.” She smirks and eyes Raeden and you both with equal interest.

“If your intention was to try to make me jealous, I’m afraid you will not be satisfied.” Confused, more like. As you do not know why she keeps looking at you like a roast beast at banquet. “You must be well aware that I have not even met the prince yet.”

“I know. Just like I know your own lover sits beside you.” She murmurs, smirking slightly at the way you frown and bite at your lip.

“What is it you want?” Raeden bites out, when you do nothing to refute the woman. If word about the two of you has gotten out, it could spell ruin for both of you – putting both your reputation and his life on the line.

“To see what kind of woman my lover will be chained to.” She admits very bluntly, picking up her own wine again. “He had no desire to marry your…soulmate? Or just a lover?”

“I have no desire to marry him, either.” That, at least, you have in common and it makes you sit up a little straighter. “Do you mean to tell me that we were both strong-armed into this match?”

“The problem with nobility is that you are bound by the rules that make you better.” Ellaria shrugs slightly, unconcerned with that since she had always been a bastard. “Whereas I and your lover are not.”

“You presume to know quite a lot about us.” Something which troubles you much more than you are willing to admit. Have you truly been so blinded by love that you did not see the signs you gave to the world? “Spies in the Red Keep, I assume?”

“It is obvious.” Ellaria sends you a tight, woman-to-woman smile. “Oberyn has no issue telling the world that I am his lover, I have birthed four of his children. Though I can see why you would keep your affair a secret.” She flicks her hand in annoyance. “If you were a whore, no one would care who you fuck. But because your person was pushed from a noble woman’s cunt, your existence is monitored, judged.” Her smile turned acidic. “It is a man’s world. Unless you know how to move in it.”

"And yet the only thing I can protect her with is my sword." Raeden cannot explain the feeling, because he would normally bristle at the sort of attitude this woman is displaying, but aside from knowing that she is right, there is a surety somewhere deep in his soul that she can help. Or at least that she is not actively seeking to hurt you, which is far more than you have been afforded by your own mother.

“Protect her?” Ellaria hums and takes another sip of her wine as she contemplates the two of you. “There is no need in Dorne.” She assures him. “Unless your sword is your cock–” she chuckles. “And then I hope you will share.” Draining the rest of her cup, she stands and sets down four more gold coins. “This was much needed.” She tells you. “Now I must return to my lover’s arm.” She smirks. “Good eve to you both.”

______

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[thenorthsource]

The Wildling and the Lost Boy (for anon)

AGOT – Catelyn III

"Rickon needs you […] He's only three, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him”

AGOT – Bran VI

"What are you doing here?" [...]

"They are my gods too," Osha said. "Beyond the Wall, they are the only gods."

[…] “The cold winds are rising, and men go out from their fires and never come back … or if they do, they're not men no more, but only wights, with blue eyes and cold black hands. Why do you think I run south with Stiv and Hali and the rest of them fools? Mance thinks he'll fight, […] but what does he know? […] He's never tasted winter. I was born up there, child, like my mother and her mother before her and her mother before her, born of the Free Folk. We remember." Osha stood, her chains rattling together. "I tried to tell your lordling brother. […] But he looked through me […]. So be it. I'll wear my irons and hold my tongue. A man who won't listen can't hear."

AGOT – Bran VII

"I lived my life beyond the Wall, a hole in the ground won't fret me none, m'lords," she said.

[…] Ser Rodrik had ordered Osha's chain struck off, since she had served faithfully and well since she had been at Winterfell. She still wore the heavy iron shackles around her ankles—a sign that she was not yet wholly trusted—but they did not hinder her sure strides down the steps.

[…]

Rickon patted Shaggydog's muzzle, damp with blood. "I let him loose. He doesn't like chains." He licked at his fingers.

ACOK – Bran V

"Osha," Bran asked as they crossed the yard. "Do you know the way north? To the Wall and . . . and even past?"

ACOK – Theon IV

Osha would need to carry Rickon; his little legs wouldn't take him far on their own.

[…]

Theon Greyjoy knew he was beaten […] Osha had deceived them with some wildling trick.

ACOK – Bran VII

Bran heard fingers fumbling at leather, followed by the sound of steel on flint. Then again. A spark flew, caught. Osha blew softly. A long pale flame awoke, […] Osha's face floated above it. She touched the flame with the head of a torch. Bran had to squint as the pitch began to burn, filling the world with orange glare. The light woke Rickon, who sat up yawning. […]

There stood Osha holding the torch, […] and the double row of tall granite pillars and long dead lords behind them stretching away into darkness . . . but there was Winterfell as well, grey with drifting smoke, the massive oak-and-iron gates charred and askew, the drawbridge down in a tangle of broken chains and missing planks.

[...] "Are we going home?" Rickon asked excitedly.

[…] Osha carried her long oaken spear in one hand and the torch in the other. A naked sword hung down her back, one of the last to bear Mikken's mark.

[…]

"Take me home!" Rickon demanded. "I want to be home!" […] They stood huddled together with ruin and death all around them.

"We made noise enough to wake a dragon," Osha said, "but there's no one come. The castle's dead and burned, just as Bran dreamed,” […]

"Hodor must stay with Bran, to be his legs," the wildling woman said briskly. "I will take Rickon with me."