#Dragon Springs Road

[skyhe-art]

Day and night versions of the same map. It's meant to be a road heading into a city, which is why it is well-lit. Made for springtime. Horse and cart in case you'd like to have a merchant encounter. 20x20.

Made with Dungeondraft.

All my maps are free to use!

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: Heavy violence in the last part, throat cutting and gutting of human people, mentions of rape (no visual description!), swearing

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2

Series Masterlist

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People don't dare to speak about them out loud. Afraid that it would manifest them. They would only speak about them only in whispers behind closed doors. Fathers would tell their sons that it's better to flee than to fight. Don't play the hero. You can't win a fight against them, no one can. Mothers tell their daughters about the horrors they commit. You'd rather be dead than be captured by them. The women they don't kill after they're done, don't last more than a week. Y/n heard all the stories growing up. Some are more horrifying than others. Y/n has never lived in one place for too long. Her people have always been wanderers, offering their services and wares to the villages they pass through. So, she's come to hear a great deal of stories in her lifetime.

In the past two years, life has been unfortunate for y/n. The wandering folk have always been victims of bandits waiting on the side of the road. They've found ways to defend themselves but bandit activity has risen in the past years due to the barbarians attacking and raiding places all over the kingdom. Like sharks smelling blood, other low-life criminals start to crawl out of their holes, sensing an opportunity to gain some coin and women for themselves. Y/n's group has been attacked quite a few times over the last two years, decimating their numbers bit by bit. Having lost people, coins and wares, the last winter was harsh. Those, who didn't starve to death, died due to the harsh cold or infection that followed soon after. After that winter, there weren't many left of them and the survivors started to question if their way of life was still liveable in the current condition. Eventually, the group dismembered. Not all at once, but one by one. People found other work or opportunities in the villages they passed through. A better prospect of life. Even y/n's elder brother, her only surviving family member, left this spring and enrolled in the military service of the king. He tried to convince her to come with her and settle down in the capital. But y/n can't imagine such a life. Being used to living in the open, in tents and wagons, she developed a distaste for sleeping in houses made of stone. It gives her nightmares. The thought that the house might crumble and its stones burying her alive, scares her to death.

Eventually, y/n ends up alone. Only her, her tent, and a wagon her parents left behind. She tried keeping up the life of a wanderer until her donkey died of old age and she had no coin to buy a new one. Having no opportunity to continue to pull her wagon, she was forced to settle closeby to a small settlement. Here's the thing. Villagers are usually nice to the wandering folk. They're happy to trade with them and the change of pace and stories they bring with them. However, they are not keen on having them in their life permanently. It's nice to have them around for a couple of days, but it's also good when they move on. Then there are the prejudices. Often people put y/n's kind into the same box as other people without a permanent residence like bandits, homeless people, or moving brothels. So, people weren't too happy when y/n put up her tent close to the village entrance.

You see, most people don't treat y/n unkindly as long as she keeps her distance and has the proper coin when she needs to buy something. They even trust her enough to buy her wares but they're not very inclusive. So y/n does not really find any friends or social connections and she is aware of the demeaning glances and sneers people give her when they think she's not looking. She's trying to save up coins for a new donkey and hopes to find her brother. Maybe convincing him to leave the military. Or at least to find a more inviting place than where she is now.

Today's the celebration of the long day. It's the longest day of the year and the people celebrate the daylight for blessing their fields and fruits. There's a festival in the village with dances, beverages and lots of music. It gives y/n some consolation that the village people are celebrating this day. It's a big festival for her people with different traditions and rituals that are held all day and night. This year y/n tried to do as many of them on her own, but it's just not the same without your family around. So, she's glad she can go into the village and take part in the buzzing celebration. Though 'take part' is probably a bit too much. She probably will buy a cup of fruit wine and watch the hustle and bustle of the villagers. It's not like anybody would want to dance with her. After all, she has no real prospect of marriage around here. Nobody would let their son court and marry a woman like her. Not that y/n is interested in any of the young men she's seen in the village. She finds most of them quite close-minded and not very driven.

Y/n wears a flower crown she's woven today and one of her mother's dresses. It actually might be the one she got married in. She wanders the town square and watches old men toast with full jugs of beer and young couples sneaking around, waiting for the music to start. She gets herself a cup of wine and a sugary piece of cake and settles on the ground next to the bakery stand. Cross-legged, she bites into her cake and takes notice of some middle-aged women looking in her direction and whispering behind raised hands. Y/n shrugs it off as the music starts to play and people start to dance. She watches the commotion and whips her feet to the music. She really would love to dance. At midnight, the villagers dim the lanterns and lit a fire in the middle of the square. Curiously, y/n blends into the mass that gathers around the fire. She bumps into a man her age. She apologizes and gives the man a small smile. The man looks at her in bewilderment and his friend gives her a mean look, pulling the man away from her. Slowly, silence befalls the square and the old storyteller of the village makes his way to the middle of the square, next to the fire. Y/n buzzes with excitement. She loves stories. Before starting his story, the man lets his gaze wander through the people and takes a deep breath.

Far away from here, behind the mountain range we call bear fangs, lays the territory of the dragonblood tribe. These beasts of men managed to tame the greatest monsters known to mankind: the dragons. Over 12 feet high, spewing raging fire, these creatures are nothing more than steel-hard scales and razor-sharp teeth. While normal people, like us, would fear for their lives encountering these monsters, the dragonblood tribe has lived together with them for centuries in what they call harmony. There's no doubt you have to be a special kind of person to survive an encounter with such a monster, let alone live with them. Tall, strong, cunning and unafraid of death. All characteristics the men of the tribe possess. Some say they even mixed their blood with their dragons and gained impenetrable skin and superhuman strength.

A strength that they still use today to bring terror and fear into our lands. However, a few winters ago, a horrible sickness befell the women of the dragonblood tribe. Most of them didn't survive the season. Having lost their women, the dragonblood men lust for female flesh. Flesh that they seek nowadays in our lands.

We've all heard stories. From an aunt or uncle living in other parts of the kingdom, from passing merchants or the wandering folk about them. They do not care for day or night, they attack whenever they feel like it. There's no plan or logic to their attack, just chaos and violence. They burn houses, skin men alive, put children on spikes and do unspeakable, terrible things to our women. We should fear every single one of them but... there's one we should fear the most. Their leader: Bakugou Katsuki. He's the cruelest, strongest, and meanest of them all. He managed to tame the biggest and most dangerous dragon of all kinds: A hellfire dragon. With scales red as blood and fire as hot as a hundred forges, no one can escape this beast. And no one can escape its master either. With an insatiable hunger for coin, gold and women, their leader and his men continue to invade this country and raid its villages and towns. Greedily acquiring riches and kidnapping and taking our women whenever they please. You never know when they strike, but when you see a sliver of burning red in the sky... Take your little siblings, put your old mother on your back and leave farm and home behind, and run as fast as you can. If you're lucky, and cunning yourself, you might just be able to escape the terror of the dragonblood tribe and live another day to tell the story.

As the storyteller finishes his story, the market square lies in eery silence. Nobody dares to even move. Only when the musicians start playing again and the lanterns are lit again, the tension eases and the gathering around the fire dissolves. Y/n gets up from the place she was seated in and rubs her arms. There are goosebumps all over her body. What a creepy story to tell during such delightful festivities, she thinks. She grabs her cup to return it to the vendor. In passing, she hears someone say: "Why on earth would he speak of this? Doesn't he know it's a bad omen to speak it out loud?". She returns her cup and lets her gaze wander over the square once more. Some couples picked up dancing again but it's obvious that the atmosphere has shifted. Y/n notices the man she bumped into earlier watching her from across the square. She gives him a nod and then turns around to leave.

Y/n set up camp not too far away from the village, but far away enough to have some peace and quiet. The wandering folk often set up camp in a forest or closeby a river, living off the land around them. So, y/n has a short walk by foot back to her tent. The moon stays high in the sky, illuminating her surroundings enough for her to comfortably find her way home. Deep in her own thoughts, y/n doesn't notice the dark shadows following her. She's been walking for a while when she finally hears the snickering of male voices behind her. She looks over her shoulder and sees three male silhouettes following her. "Hey, y/n, wait a second!", she hears one of them yell. The voice is familiar. One of the villagers. She stops for a second, a stupid mistake on her part. One of the men jog up to her, the others following closely. "I'm sorry, can I help you with anything?", y/n says calmly. "Actually, there's something huge you could help me with.", the man she bumped into earlier grins. Y/n pretends not to catch on the allusion. "If you need help with something, it's best to work on it tomorrow. Also, we probably should talk to your father first since he handles business in your family.", she states. She hopes the mention of his father will intimidate the guy. "Oh, I think it's best to work on it tonight.", the man answers and his friends snicker behind him. "Sorry, I'm tired. Let's talk about it tomorrow.", y/n tries to advert him once again. "It won't be any work for you at all. You'd just have to lay down. Or stand up, depending on how you like it.", the man says and leans close. "I'd like to go home. Alone.", she tells him and turns to leave. "C'mon don't be like that!", one of his friends grins behind him, as the other one grabs her arm. "You're drunk. You should all go home, too. It's best to sleep it off.", she tells them and pulls on her arm. "Why are you like that? You don't think we're worth your time?", the third one coos. Y/n pulls on her arm again. "I'm sure you're all great and we can talk about everything tomorrow. Right now, however, I'd prefer to go home alone.", she tries again. "Not even for some coin? I heard your kind does everything for a little bit of gold.", the man holding her arms sneers. Not for any gold in the world, y/n would like to say. She knows better than to offend them. It's already a dangerous situation she's in. No need to escalate it further. "C'mon, babe. At least let me feel you up a bit.", the guy says and tries to pull her closer. Y/n decides that she has had enough of this. She balls her fist and swings it right into the man's face. Not expecting the blow, he lets go of her arm and stumbles back. Y/n doesn't waste a second and makes a run for it. Immediately, she leaves the well-known path and darts into the woods. She hopes that the trees give her enough cover to keep out of their sight. She runs in a zigzag, changing her direction multiple times. She hears the man behind her, trying to keep up with her. Unfortunately for her, they are bigger and faster than her and it's hard to shake them off. Eventually, y/n loses them. She climbs up a tree and stays unmoving for a long time. She doesn't hear them anywhere close by and her heart slows down a bit. It's not the first time she had to run away from men with bad intentions. She knows it's not a smart idea to return to her tent immediately. So, she stays up on the tree for most of the night. Her eyes fall close a couple of times but after she almost loses balance one time, she stays awake for the remaining night listening closely into the woods.

Only when the sun starts to rise again and wafts of mist waver over the cold forest ground, y/n climbs down from her spot. Her joints are stiff and she's chilled to the bone. Cautiously, she starts her way back to her tent. Of course, she did not watch where she was going last night and it takes her multiple hours to find her way back. When she arrives at her campsite, chills run down her back. Apparently, these men were not only relentless but also petty. Her entire campsite is destroyed. They absolutely trashed the place and set fire to her tent and wagon. Y/n takes in the sight. She tries to stay calm but her blood is boiling. It's not like she cared much about the possessions. The wandering folk always packed lightly and only what they could carry. It's the disrespect for her. Also, the little things that she did own were necessities. It's still early in the morning, so y/n decides to salvage what she can and take her leave. She knows men like this. When they don't get what they want, they don't rest until they absolutely destroy everything.

Unfortunately for y/n, the devil works fast and these men work faster. She just started piling up things that were still usable when she hears clamoring just a mile away. "Let's go! She must be back by now! No way she leaves her witchcraft stuff behind!", she hears a man yell. Y/n debates for a few seconds whether or not to stand her ground but decides it's better to avoid confrontation. She quickly grabs a small bag and retreats to the forest. However, she doesn't make it far. Only a few meters into the woods, an arrow flies by her head. "There she is! I saw her just beyond the tree line!", she hears a yell behind her. Immediately, y/n breaks into a sprint. She tries to lose them by zigzagging again but the broad daylight makes it easier for them to spot her. Being used to walking all day, y/n has quite the stamina and hopes to tire them out. However, she didn't sleep all night and the men seemed to have prepared for a longer hunt. 'Hunt' is the appropriate term here. They keep shooting arrows at her and seem to track her trails.

The forest no longer looks familiar to y/n as she keeps pushing on. Her heart feels as if it's about to explode. In a bad way. She's sure the men on her tail can hear her heavy breathing from a mile away. She's also sure that they start to catch up to her. She can hear them closer and closer behind her. They are whooping and whistling as if they are making fun of her. So sure that they can catch up to her. Suddenly, an arrow flies close to her face again, cutting her ear. She can feel blood dripping down the side of her face. "Come out, come out, wherever you are! You can't hide forever, you little bitch!", she hears one of them call out behind her. She gathers all her strength and pushes her legs to run even faster than before. Panic sets in and she hears an arrow hit the ground behind her. Trying to look back in order to estimate how far they are behind her, she stumbles over the roots of a tree and falls to the ground. "Over there!", a voice yells closely behind her. She gets up as quickly as she can and a piercing pain jolts through her. She must've torn or broken something in her joint as she fell. She limbs on trying to use the trees for cover. Another arrow hits the bark of the tree right next to her. She pushes herself off the tree, trying to bring more distance between herself and the men hunting her. Suddenly she loses her footing and finds herself sliding down a slope. Thorny bushes cut her legs, arms and face. The impact leaves a ringing tone in her ears. Her entire body hurts now. For a moment, she's tempted to just lay there and accept her fate. But when she hears the howling men above her, she fights to get back onto her feet again. Her bones feel heavy as she staggers on. She can hear some of the men sliding down the slope as well. Suddenly, she smells smoke in the air. Somebody must be close by!, she thinks. This thought cost her a valuable second and suddenly a pointed force to her right shoulder knocks her down again. Next, she feels a soaring pain from the very same place. When she turns her head to her side, in terror she realizes that an arrow is stuck in her shoulder. She can barely lift her arm now. On her hands and knees, she frantically looks for smoke in the air. Y/n fixes her eyes on the dark clouds of smoke rising into the air just a yard or so from her. It's my only chance, y/n decides. These people might be able to help. They can't be worse than the men that are hunting her. Little did she know, it was quite the opposite. Having found new hope, y/n gets back onto her feet. She starts sprinting again. Ignoring the pain in her foot joint, she pushes her body to the limit. Avoiding arrows out of sheer luck, she manages to avoid getting killed. Finally, she stumbles onto the clearing where the smoke was coming from.

Her eyes fall onto the fireplace first, then at the man sitting next to it. The man only wears dark pants and a pair of boots. He's got blonde spiky hair that stands up in different directions. Necklaces of teeth hand from his neck. All things y/n doesn't register in her panic. That and the giant, red dragon sleeping at the other side of the clearing. The man gets up immediately and grabs a sword that laid across his lap just seconds ago. He looks at y/n angrily, ready to yell or behead her or both. However, he does not get a chance to speak. Y/n's body gives out and she falls onto her knees. "I'm begging you!", she yells out, tears streaming down her face. "Please help me! If you have just an inch of good in you, please find the mercy to help me! They are going to kill me!", she continues to yell. The man looks at her in bewilderment. Nearby, the village men yell in her direction. In horror, she pushes herself up once more and stumbles in the direction of the strange man in front of her. She falls straight into his chest, clinging onto his arm. For a moment, the man looks as if he wants to push her back to the ground again but he doesn't get a chance to do so. One of the men hunting y/n stumbles onto the clearing with a knife in his hand. "There you are, you little slut!", he yells. In fear, y/n clings to the man in front of her. Suddenly, the stranger grabs her right arm. Pain shots from the arrow wound into her fingertips. She looks up and sees the stranger look at the wound with narrowed eyes. Another villager reaches the clearing. This one carries a bow and arrow. The stranger quickly makes the connection between the arrow stuck in y/n's shoulder and the arrow in the man's hand.

The stranger yells something non-understandable and pushes y/n to the side who falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The impact sends more pain through y/n body. "Who the fuck are you? That one belongs to us, find your own toy to play with!" the knife man says and raises his weapon. The stranger exclaims something loud and angry. Again y/n can't understand him. He must speak a different language than her. Suddenly a rumble pierces the air. Y/n's head whips around and the dragon rises to his feet. Y/n's mouth hangs open in disbelief. The man with the arrow yelps in surprise and lets go of his arrow sending it flying in an arbitrary direction. The stranger in front of her doesn't waste a second and uses the distraction to cut the knife guy's throat in a swift movement. In horror, y/n watches as blood gushes out of the horizontal wound and the man chokes on his own body fluids. The man with the bow stumbles backward onto his butt. His eyes are still fixated on the dragon to his right. The stranger harshly steps onto the man's foot. The disgusting sound of breaking bones rings through the air. The man yells in pain and throws his head back. The stranger grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head forward. Angrily, he yells at the villager and when the man only groans in pain, the stranger sticks his sword into his side. The villager lets out a bone-chilling scream. When the villager continues to not answer him, the stranger starts twisting his sword in the wound. The villager throws up on himself and his eyes roll into the back of his head. Y/n can't advert her eyes. She doesn't really comprehend what's happening in front of her. When more yelling is heard at the edge of the clearing, the stranger pulls his sword diagonally through the man's abdomen, creating a wound that makes squishy red things fall out of the man's body. Y/n feels like throwing up. The stranger drops the twitching man and makes its way to the edge of the clearing. What happens next is not registered by y/n who can't help but stare at the gutted man in front of her who keeps twitching until the light has left his eyes. She doesn't hear the screams of terror and death from the other side of the clearing. She doesn't even see the giant beast watching her every move.

Only when the stranger returns with blood dripping down his sword and chest, y/n's consciousness finds its way back into her body. The stranger looks as angry as he has since she entered his clearing. He sounds angry too. He's saying something to her. Looking at it backward, y/n is sure that she wouldn't have been able to understand him even if he spoke her language at this very moment. Only when he stomps closer to her with a raised sword, y/n springs to action and pushes herself backward with one leg, still sitting on the ground. This is it, she thinks, I'm going to die. The man grabs her uninjured shoulder and shakes her. She stares up at him with wide eyes. Suddenly, her vision starts spinning and her hearing starts to fade. Before she understands what is happening, her world fades to black.

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[Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters]

[galedekarios]

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

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

[from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion]

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

dock ward

castle ward

north ward

sea ward

southern ward

trades ward

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

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

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

the dock ward in spring

map of the dock ward, 1491 dr [source]

dock ward ambience by dungeon crawler audio

general

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

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

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

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

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

neighbourhoods of the dock ward

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

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

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

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

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

[source: waterdeep dragon heist]

landmarks and notable locations in the dock ward

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

mistshore

mistshore is part of the northern harbour:

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

notable locations within mistshore include:

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

guildhalls, inns and taverns in the dock ward

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

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

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

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

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

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

listing out the following places of note with short descriptions:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

other notable locations are:

ilmater's safe harbour

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

stinking sands

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

starry cradles orphanage

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

wavehall of valkur

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

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

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

[monstersandmaw]

Male drider x trans male reader (nsfw)

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

Commission number three! This one got away with me, for sure. Hope you folks enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!!

Content: trans male reader, some afab language to refer to the reader’s lower parts during non-penetrative, oral sex; chest area not mentioned. Kidnapping, some threat to life and mild injury (not from drider), brief mention of blood and stitches. Reader has submissive tendencies, enjoys being restrained, and the drider is gently dominant. 

Wordcount: 10,123(!)

Running headlong into the dark pines that made up the forest which, according to your captors, had acquired such nicknames as the ‘The Bone Garden’, ‘Spectre’s Haunt’, and the ‘Blood Wood’ was probably not the wisest decision you’d ever made, but you’d been held by these thugs for four days of hard riding, and you were ready to risk it all to escape.

Had it really only been four days since you’d locked the door to your tidy little cottage on the edge of the village? With a gleaner’s bag slung over one shoulder and a basket in hand, you’d set out in search of the mushrooms that only grew at this time of year when the conditions were perfect — not hot and dry, not yet frosty, and just rainy enough. They loved the misty turn of the year almost as much as you did.

Without a care in the world, you’d stepped out along the weed-strewn gravel path that led through your herb garden, latched the wooden gate behind you, and meandered through the houses as the sounds of the village waking began to fill the air.

Gwyn had recently lit his forge and the rush of the bellows to stoke the heat reminded you of a dragon’s steady breathing; in and out, in and out. You’d snaked past the bakery just to swipe a fresh cinnamon roll before Garrick or Mercy or any of the woodcutters who also tended to rise early could finish them all off, and the orc behind the counter gave you the biggest one he had and a wink that made you just a little gooey inside yourself. “You’re a shameless flirt, Thom,” you said as you slid your coppers across the counter to him with two fingers.

“Hey, a man can dream, right, gorgeous?”

He was pretty fine himself, but he wasn’t really your type, and you’d made that clear when he’d asked you to dance at the first Spring Equinox dance you’d attended after moving to the village, then just a lowly herbalist’s apprentice. Ever since, you’d fallen into an easy banter of flirting that was destined to go nowhere, and it was harmless fun for both of you. You left the bakery with a smile on your face, and headed past Gwyn’s forge as you made your way north out of the village.

The smith, a colossal centaur with a dapple grey coat and a thick, white mane and tail that made anyone with long hair in the village green with envy, called after you and beckoned you over. “Headed north?” he asked with an uncharacteristic scowl.

“Yeah, why?”

“Take care, alright? Mercy said she’d seen sign of bandits in the area, and Willem said he’d heard talk of people being snatched when he took those fleeces to market last week. You shouldn’t be going out alone. None of us should really, not til things calm down.”

A little growl of frustration left you and you adjusted the gleaner’s bag on your shoulder. “I really need these supplies, Gwyn,” you said. “They’re ingredients I need to help fight off winter fevers, and if I don’t have enough, we could be in trouble come the cold in a few weeks’ time…”

“Can’t you take Garrick or Mercy with you? A good woodsman’s felling axe’ll do a hell of a lot more damage than that little sickle you’ve got on your belt…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you breezed. “I’m not going to be on the main road anyway.”

“Please take care,” he rumbled, and you smiled up at the enormous blacksmith. He might have had the shoulders of a rock troll and iron-shod hooves big enough to knock down a castle door, with a big burn mark all up his left arm from an accident at the forge a decade ago, but he was the gentlest and most softly-spoken person you knew.

You cursed yourself three hours later when your basket of rare, purple mushrooms lay trampled to a slimy paste on the floor of the clearing and a nasty looking wood elf with a sneer and a cruel glint in her eye had her bow trained on you, while a second elf trussed you up like a solstice bird. Your head was ringing from the surprise blow they’d dealt you to the back of the skull, and you were lucky you didn’t have a worse concussion.

“You’ll make a nice little offering for the mage,” the female elf purred while her companion straightened and marched you on unsteady feet back towards the road. “Humans like you always fetch a decent price. Something about your blood being universal for most rituals, I think…”

There on the dirt road, four horses were waiting, three of which were a normal size while the last was built like a castle wall and large enough to carry the orc sitting astride it. The orc had one milky eye and the brand of a murderer across his right cheek. “Shit,” you hissed when you saw that, and the male elf laughed cruelly when you flinched as the orc swung down and prepared to heave you onto the back of the spare horse.

Normally, if you were going to be tied up and bent over something for some rough treatment, this was not how it went. There was absolutely nothing fun or consensual about the way these bandits chucked you over the back of the horse and lashed your hands and feet to the tack so you didn’t slide off. The orc guffawed and spat off to one side when you cried out on impact as your ribs creaked and your lungs expelled all the air they’d ever contained in one ugly grunt. After that, you did just about everything you could to move with the rhythm of the cantering horse, but it was probably the most miserable experience of your life. When the group slowed to trot, the motion was so painful that you actually slipped into unconsciousness for a while, only to be jounced back some time later.

At the crossroads about ten miles north of your village — the furthest north from your little patch of paradise you’d ever roamed — they met up with a couple of other riders who had apparently been on a recce of their own to look for more people for this blood mage or whoever, but they got laughed at by the orc on his enormous, cantankerous horse for not finding any victims and rode off again without joining the party.

So, it was just you, alone in the wilderness, being taken gods-knew-where, by two feral elf siblings and a murderous orc. Stowed like a sack of potatoes over that rangy, stinking horse for five hours of hellish riding, you were barely conscious. When they eventually stopped to make camp that night, they did let you relieve yourself in relative privacy, but once you were done, they hauled you back to their pack animals and lashed you to a tree next to them so that you couldn’t hope to escape. You could still smell the stink of them though, and it was enough to turn your empty stomach.

Their food was revolting, and their company equally repulsive. They joked loudly about all the cruel things they’d done to people in the past, and you sat there wondering why you hadn’t let Gwyn talk you into going out with the woodcutters. There were mushrooms where they were currently coppicing hazel for the winter, but no. No, you’d decided to be adventurous and clever, and to collect only the best mushrooms for your salves and tonics.

Four days later, you were almost ready to give up.

The mage’s castle they were taking you to was legendary in the northern reaches, and no one who was taken there against their will ever returned. Tales of blood magic and horrific rites involving chimera and creatures brought back from the dead had entered the local lore, and now apparently you were going to be drained of your precious blood for whatever this necromancer had planned next. And the price of that precious blood had been discussed and debated by the bandits for the last day.

Personally, you agreed with the female elf and thought you were worth more than a couple of weeks’ wages in gold, but you had no intention of allowing yourself to be squeezed dry like an orange for your blood. So, after the group stopped in a dark and snow-mottled pine forest after the fifth day of hard riding, you enacted your plan. You’d been plotting it all day, and hoped you weren’t too delirious and weak to pull it off.

When they’d let you relieve yourself the previous night, they’d not bothered to tie your hands together or watch you, since there was nowhere for you to go. You knew woodlands though, and you were pretty confident that if you gave them the slip in the dark, you could take care of yourself in the wild for a few days. Long enough to get back home anyway.

So when they started their daily round of bragging and trading boasts about how many vampires they’d killed or how they’d survived the venom of three different nagas in the same attack, you made your move.

If that darned twig hadn’t snapped, you might have got away with it, but when the male elf barked, “Oi!” into the gathering dark and swung his lantern around, you knew you’d messed up.

Breaking cover completely and legging it into the endless ranks of black-barked pine trees in the fading light of day seemed like the only option now, so you began crashing through the debris and dead branches that had gathered beneath the choking canopy of dense pine needles overhead. 

These woods were different from any you’d known before, and something dark and foreboding lingered there like a shade above a gravestone. These woods were not kind. The air was not fresh and sweet like it was between the beech and oak back home. It pooled and festered, stagnant between the rough sentinel trees, and the lower branches seemed to reach their sharp, bare fingers towards your face as you ran like a rabbit from the pack of hunting dogs behind you.

Your toe caught a root and you stumbled, and in the space where your head had just been, an arrow whizzed through the air and sank into the tree ahead of you with a thunk that almost made your heart stop. Your lungs were burning already and your legs felt shaky and weak after your rough treatment and half-rotten rations, but a brush with death that close shocked you to the core. The water they’d given you had been rancid, and your stomach churned as adrenaline curdled in your gut, but somehow you forced yourself on into the darkness.

Their voices dwindled, muffled by the carpet of fallen pine needles, until a shout went up and another arrow flew past you. This time, it left a searing pain in its wake and you clutched at your ribs where the hunting broadhead had torn through your skin. Luckily, it was superficial, but it hurt like hell and it was bleeding. Blood might draw predators out of the darkness, if your blundering and their bellowing hadn’t already.

Shit, you hadn’t thought about the horrors that probably dwelled in a place like this.

The bandits had been crowing about the ghouls and rabid cannibals that supposedly haunted these woods, and you’d passed plenty of skeletons along the roadside on your journey, your down-turned head providing you with a first-class view of them as your half-lame horse had jolted past them at its permanent, slightly-panicked jog. They hadn’t all been pack animals and horses lying in the ditch either. Some of the skulls had been humanoid, and there had been the horns of a minotaur at some point. This was a place where living things entered unwillingly, and most of them never left.

Forcing yourself onwards, you clutched your stinging side, but they were closing on you. The orc was thundering through the forest like a boar on a rampage, and the elves were quick as shadows.

“You little shit!” the female shouted from right behind you. Something heavy hit you across the back of your knees and you tripped and fell hard onto your palms as a flung tree branch rebounded off onto the forest floor. The force of the fall sent your cheek smashing into the muddy ground and you cried out as she landed triumphantly atop you and turned you over, smacking you full in the mouth out of sheer frustration.

“Gotcha,” she grinned. “You’re gonna pay for running, little rabbit,” she added with a laugh as she hauled you to your feet.

You kicked her knee from the side as hard as you could and she yowled like a cat dropped into a bath, letting go of you to stagger sideways, limping. The thing about being a healer is that you also know the weak spots where it can hurt most.

Before she could turn on you again though, something moved in the trees behind you and you all froze. The orc crashed to a halt nearby breathing hard, and the elf’s brother came over to help her stand while she spat curses at you that would have made a pirate’s ears bleed.

“What is it?” the orc growled, low and tense.

“Fuck knows. Tie him up again and let’s get the fuck back to camp,” the female elf wheezed. “I’m gonna drag him behind my horse for the rest of the way there. Shit that hurts!”

“Quiet,” her brother hissed. “Something’s out there.”

“Then let’s get fucking moving!” she countered.

You turned to glance over your shoulder and caught the shape of something white drifting in the distant trees just as the orc spotted it too. His grip tightened on the haft of his huge war-axe, and he took half a step back. Until then, he’d been the one who’d seemed steadiest; unshakable and immovable as a cannon, and he hit just as hard. Now though, he looked spooked and scared.

“They say the Death-Spinner hunts in these parts,” he said, eyes wide as he looked from side to side. “A massive white drider that strikes from the shadows and wraps you up in his web and sucks you dry…”

“It’s been too long since someone sucked you dry,” the female elf sneered at him, though the remark came out feebly and she looked around her in a twitchy, nervous motion. “Your blue balls are making you hallucinate. Come on. What are you waiting for?”

“He’s got other names too, you know,” her brother interrupted, reaching for you with a jerky movement that halted when the steady rhythm of something moving nearby rose above the whispering of the wind in the canopy. “Soul-Eater, The Weaver Ghost…”

“Please, the Death-Spinner is just a myth…” the female on your right hissed.

“Decidedly… not,” came a thin, harsh voice from the trees ahead, and your captors just bolted.

The supposedly tough bandits – the ones who had been talking about selling an actual person to a bloodmage to use in some disgusting ritual; who had joked just the previous night about flaying a minotaur like a cow on a butcher’s block; who had told you that there was nothing out here that would give a single, flying fuck about you – had fled with no more than a shriek and the clatter of boots in the dead underbrush, and left you alone with the being they called ‘Death-Spinner’.

“Better and better,” you spat, still tasting blood in your mouth from where the elf had cracked you across the mouth. “First it was ‘sold to a blood mage’ and now it’s ‘death by drider’.”

A pearlescent pale leg speared down out of the gloom that gathered between the black pines, its ivory chitin shining softly. Shaped like a thin, curved shard of polished bone, the limb moved with slow, silent grace, and it was joined by a second, needle-slender limb, then a third and a forth, until the white underbelly of the creature loomed large into your limited pool of light, followed finally by the lower part of a humanoid torso, and the large, armour-plated abdomen of the creature.

The whole of the eight-legged being was utterly colourless.

White and pendulous as the moon, the drider’s chitinous body looked like drifts of wind-blown snow that had then set into solid ice, swirling and churning across its body to rise in small peaks and troughs at the joints and high points of its legs and over the swollen curve of its abdomen.

The humanoid torso melted upwards at the hips from the body of the spider, and two, smaller, pincer-like limbs — pedipalps — were angled slightly inwards, both ending in single, wicked talons and looking like they were ready to spear you through the middle in the blink of an eye.

The drider wore no clothes, and patches of white chitin formed a kind of armour up its humanoid torso: over the hips but skirting around its lean belly, then up over its shoulders like pauldrons and creating natural bracers and gauntlets along its long, wiry arms. Its hands, you saw as it dipped a little lower into the faint glow from the elves’ abandoned lantern, were clawed, but its slightly curved talons weren’t like those of a mammal. They were simply an unbroken extension of the chitin that covered its hands and forearms.

Its face remained mostly out of sight, wreathed in the upper shadows of the trees, but you got the impression of two reddish eyes glinting at you in the dark, and long, silk-white hair flowing down its back.

“You’re bleeding,” came the slightly hoarse tenor that made your skin prickle. A creature that large should have a deeper voice, but the mellifluous timbre of the drider’s tone made you think of sirens luring sailors to their death with sweet songs and empty, deceitful promises.

“Only a bit,” you choked out, stepping back and catching your heel on the branch that the female elf had used to trip you. When you fell hard onto your backside, you caught the glint of steel in the sea of rust-red pine needles all around you, and realised that one of the elves had dropped their precious sword in their haste to escape this creature.

In a rush of blind panic, you snatched up the unfamiliar weapon and held it aloft. “Stay back!” you barked.

The laugh that rippled out of the drider chilled your blood.

“Please,” it crooned, and then it loomed down out of the shadow and into the light, squinting its two scarlet eyes against the sudden brightness. “As if a little stick like that could hurt something like me.”

The sword fell from your fingers as weakness washed through you, and you bit back a sob. “Please,” you said instead. “Please, they brought me here to sell me to a necromancer, but I… I don’t want to die like this either.”

“Die?” the drider said, and its red gaze flickered to the wound in your side. “You won’t die from that. A few silk stitches and a rest, and you’ll be good as new…” It frowned again, its white eyebrows pulling in like a loose thread in a perfect tapestry. “You’re filthy,” it said, and you noticed a diagonal scar cutting across its pale mouth as its lip pulled up on one side in a gesture of revulsion.

“Yeah, well, you try being thrown over the back end of a bandit’s horse for five days and see if you’re still that pretty at the end of it,” you retorted, exhaustion making you bold and just a little bit stupid.

The drider laughed, the sound like autumn leaves rolling down the road, and you paused. It sounded genuinely amused.

“Come, human,” it said, holding out a clawed hand. “Let’s get you somewhere where you can rest in safety.”

“Safety? What… What about… all that ‘Death-Spinner’ stuff?”

The drider paused, its huge body hanging in the twilight like a pearl. “I have no interest in consuming sapient creatures, but the rumours help to keep people out of my forest. It’s as much for their safety as mine,” it went on. “There are nastier things even than me in these parts.” The self-deprecating venom in its tone drew you up short.

“You don’t seem so bad…”

“Thank you,” it replied with flat sarcasm.

You took three more steps towards the drider before your legs gave out. In a flash faster than thought, the drider darted at you, and before you could even flinch, strong, armoured arms had caught you and lifted you up.

“You poor thing,” it crooned, and you looked up properly into its face for the first time. “You’ve really been through it, haven’t you? Easy now. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why?” you breathed, trying not to let your treacherous muscles relax into the solid frame that held you. You felt the chitin of its chest against your shoulder as it bore you along in a strangely smooth, gliding motion, the dark trunks of the trees whipping past in a blur.

“Evidently I have a soft spot for brave and lost creatures,” the drider smiled. “My name is Feluän, by the way.”

You exhaled your own name in return, and then said, “Isn’t Feluän an elven name? Some prince or something…?”

“You know your history,” the drider chuckled. “Yes, he was a prince of the snow elves a long time ago. I came across it in a history book I picked out of a caravan that was destroyed by a band of gnolls once. Their tastes run more towards beer than books…”

“I chose my own name too,” you said, the consonants feeling thick and slurred as the tiredness seeped throughout your whole body and the pain in your side mounted. “You’re a male drider then? If you named yourself after a prince, I mean. I don’t know anything about your kind really. Never… Never met one before.”

“Hush for now,” he said, squeezing you a little more tightly into his arms and drawing a moan unbidden from your lips. Gods, even in these circumstances, it felt so good to be held like this. “But yes, I am.”

The journey through the dark forest passed in a hazy blur, until you had the vague impression of torchlight and soft firelight and you were laid down on the softest surface you thought you'd maybe ever touched in your life. A long, deep groan left you and you suddenly didn’t care what happened to you.

“I’m going to stitch you up,” came the drider’s voice from somewhere nearby. “It might hurt. I can use a little of my venom to numb the area if you like…”

You nodded, not wanting any more pain, and out of the corner of your eye, you watched the drider’s white body move in the blurry shadows of the cave. He loomed over you and pressed the tip of one clawed finger to his upper canine, before bringing it to your side where he’d hitched up your shirt just enough to access the glancing wound from the arrow. A blissful numbness crept like winter ice across your skin, and you let the drider tend to you.

Tiredness claimed you not long after, but you had the distinct impression of a warm cloth being wiped gently across your face and hands before blackness washed in and you slept.

Over the course of the next few days, Feluän tended to your wound, and you forgot to be afraid of the strange creature. Centaurs had always held a fascination for you, with their animal lower halves and their humanoid upper bodies, and the way the drider moved was no less fascinating. When he wasn't tending to you, he was weaving linen and silk into the most wondrous bolts of fabric. His cave was dotted here and there with trinkets that he’d clearly pilfered from the sporadic ‘visitors’ to his part of the world, but aside from that, the cave was just that: a grotto carved out of a rise in the ground in the middle of a dank, desolate forest.

“You live alone?” you asked on the first evening you felt strong enough to get out of bed without his help. Until then, he’d forced you to stay still, and honestly, you’d been only too happy to let him boss you about and carry you around. He was sweet, but he didn't take no for an answer, and he didn’t let you wheedle your way out of anything either. Your best ‘puppy-dog’ eyes had crumbled his iron resolve a bit though, and finally he’d let you get out of his soft, cosy bed to join him by the gentle light of flames in the fire pit at the centre of his cave.

Feluän nodded. “Yes. I have spent my whole life alone. Driders are not sociable with each other by nature, and most people fear us too much to want us anywhere near them, as you saw yourself when your captors realised I was there.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you said as you took the carved wooden cup he offered you. It had some kind of sharp, pine-needle tea in it and he looked embarrassed that that was all he could offer you to drink apart from water. In the few days you’d been there, you’d had some kind of game broth which, while nutritious, hadn’t been particularly flavoursome. “I didn’t think I’d find anyone out here more intimidating than that orc, but you managed it.”

Across the fire, his ruby red eyes glittered and he laughed, tilting his head in your direction. He didn’t always meet your eye, you realised, and you wondered if his albinism affected his eyesight. “I live to serve,” he purred.

“The way you behave, I’d say you live to be served, but what do I know?”

Again, he laughed. “You offering, little human?” he said, cocking a white eyebrow in a way that made you feel a little dizzy.

“I might, if the rewards for service were worth it,” you replied archly, sipping the sharp tea. Its flavour reminded you of the tinctures you brewed at home, and of the people who would need you as the autumn drew to a close and winter began to coil around the edges of the village. Your shoulders dropped, and you sighed, steam from the cup swirling in front of your eyes for a moment.

“You clearly don’t think I could offer you much,” he said dryly.

“It’s not that,” you said. “It’s… I have a responsibility to the people in my village. I’m a herbalist, and the whole reason I was captured was because I was out looking for ingredients that would help fight winter fevers. If I don’t get home before the snows settle in, they’ll suffer.”

He shifted his weight where he was resting casually with all his long, spiny limbs tucked close to his pendulous body, and you realised he was feeling uncertain. “It must be nice,” he began in a new, faltering voice that you’d not heard from him before. “Nice to have people… who need you. Who… Who look to you for protection…”

You laughed softly and shook your head. “I wouldn’t say I provide any kind of protection — you want an orc or a centaur like Thom or Gwyn for that — but I help people where I can, and they’ve been good to me. I was apprenticed with their previous healer, and when he passed, I took on his mantle.”

“Tell me about them?” Feluän asked, red eyes blinking slowly in his frost-pale face. His long, white hair fell down loose to frame his high cheekbones, and the scar on his mouth was the only element in his face that interrupted the otherwise perfect symmetry of him, and it made you want to press your lips to it and see what it felt like beneath your kisses.

You looked away.

“Tell me about them before I take you back tomorrow?”

“Wait, take me back? You’re coming too?”

“You’ll never make it out of these woods alive without me,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t go to all this effort to keep you alive just to turn you loose for the ghouls and shadow wraiths to tear you to pieces when the sun sets tomorrow night.”

“Shadow… wraiths?” you croaked, eyes flitting to the cave entrance where the dark night pressed in against the tiny light of the fire. You shuddered and Feluän smiled to reveal his double set of canines, the larger, outer pair of which were actually hollow fangs that could inject his paralytic venom into his prey.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said with a rumbling, seductive purr in his tenor that went right through you to your core. “I’ll protect you. You’re safe here anyway. It’s warded.”

“Right.”

“Your people?” he prompted, and you started with Gwyn the dappled centaur. By the time you’d listed almost everyone in the village, your mind was slow and your eyes gritty with sleep. 

Some time earlier, Feluän had moved behind you so that you were resting your weight between his lethally-taloned pedipalps, buttressed up on either side by something that could skewer through you in the blink of an eye, and his hand had recently moved to card idly through your hair.

The world tilted slightly as you dozed off halfway through a sentence about Thom the orc who ran the bakery and made the most incredible fruit pies in autumn, and you realised that Feluän had picked you up again and was carrying you towards his wide, soft bed of silk webbing.

As he drew a feather-filled silk duvet up around your ears and you hummed with deep satisfaction, you heard him murmur, “I wish I could live somewhere like the place you described for me tonight. I wish I could know ‘home’ as you do, but I fear I would never be welcome somewhere like that.”

“They’d love you,” you mumbled. After all, you were half in love with him already and it had only been a few days.

The journey south took about a week. On the first day, you were forced to ride on his back after only a few miles due to the lingering ache in your side. “If you don’t get aboard, I will refuse to take you anywhere at all,” he said sternly, and a thrill of heat shot down your spine at the steel in his tone. “Do as you’re told, human.”

“Fine,” you croaked, ignoring just how much you liked the way he seemed to mingle concern, respect, and command in a single sentence. “Bossy.”

You did enjoy having your arms around his middle as you rode behind him though. And he was quick when he got scuttling along. 

Your pride did have you walking the next day, and before too long, you got to see the ‘Death-Spinner’ in action. In the rocky lower slopes of the pine forest, before it melted into a dewy, autumn meadow, a roar shattered the silence and a bear reared up from the thick grass, as surprised by your exit from the trees as you were by her.

Feluän hissed like a snake and immediately drew himself up, lashing out with his long front legs. Like twin swords, the lowest section of his legs flashed in the misty air and the bear threw herself up onto her hind legs with another bellowing roar.

The drider jabbed at her faster than your eyes could follow, nicking her ear and her shoulder in turn with left and right forelegs, his huge body filling the space between you and the threat like a bulwark. The bear turned on the spot and thundered away, and he dropped silently back to all eight legs and looked down at you. In the starker light of the meadow, he was squinting and his red eyes didn’t quite land on your face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bare marble chest heaving. His clawed hands were curled at his sides and his arms looked incredible, and suddenly it was very hard to focus on anything but how gods-damned beautiful this creature was. He barked your name and lowered himself down, still squinting. “I can’t see very well in full daylight like this. I need you to tell me if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you croaked at last, trying to swallow your inconveniently-timed arousal. “Are you? I’ve lived in the woods a long time, but I’ve never been that close to a bear before.”

“She really didn’t want to tangle with me,” he laughed, and you caught the way his articulated joints sagged in relief as his white hands found your shoulders and he squeezed you tightly for a second.

“You can’t see very well? What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly and let go of you. “As I understand it, people born like me, without pigmentation, often struggle with their vision, and bright sunlight in particular. I do anyway. Why do you think I chose the darkest place I knew of for my home?”

“I… I hadn’t really thought about it. You sure you want to be out here then? You didn’t have to walk me all the way home you know?”

“I want to,” he said, gesturing for you to continue on your way across the open meadow.

The overnight frost had melted a little, but it still lingered at the foot of the thicker tufts of grass and it crunched softly as you walked through it. Not Feluän though — he moved as silently as his spectral nickname suggested, but you did catch him tilting his head a little and inhaling, as though scenting the wind. His lips parted softly and you caught your best glimpse yet of his double set of canines. His tongue shifted a little behind his teeth, as though he was tasting something on the air, and you looked away. Everything about him was sensuous and it made you want to touch.

You were perhaps a day’s walk from the village now, but he still hadn’t turned back even though you’d told him you could manage alone from there.

That night at camp, you sat together as you had back in his cave, with you resting between the two smaller limbs that jutted out from his spider’s shoulder area. They twitched from time to time as he ate the now-roasted rabbit he’d skewered earlier for dinner with the talon at the end of one of them, and when you’d finished your meal, you reached out without thinking and ran your fingers down the chitin that covered them.

He jumped slightly and then went very still, but as you brought your hand closer to where the limb met his chest, he drew in a shuddering breath that made his whole body rock.

“Does that tickle?” you asked, wondering how much sensation he had with all that natural armour.

“Not exactly,” Feluän rasped. “It’s… It’s been a while since I’ve… since anyone’s — ah…” he gasped and his chest heaved. The little bone he’d been idly cleaning with his tongue dropped from his fingers to land in the carpet of beech and oak leaves around your feet.

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Gods, don’t you dare stop.”

“Alright.”

You stood and faced him, and ran both hands up his ‘hips’ at the base of his humanoid torso. He shuddered again and sucked in another sharp breath. Gradually, you moved your touch up over the marble contours of his abs and ribs until you could reach no higher. “Come down here then,” you said quietly.

His scarred upper lip twitched and he surged down towards you, snatching you up in his hands and lifting you away from the fire. He pinned you against the smooth bark of a nearby beech trunk, and held you there four or five feet off the ground. His hands were secure around your waist as the spears of the two pedipalps lanced into the tree on either side of your face and you gasped, feeling heat rushing to your groin.

“The things you make me want to do to you, human,” he purred around a snarl, red eyes glowing in the night. His huge body was pale, standing out starkly against the darkness, and you felt a familiar, tingling weakness washing through you as he held you pinned there and growled those lustful words into your ears. You wanted him to take control. You wanted to submit to whatever pleasures he had in mind. It made your head go vague.

“What’s that then?” you slurred softly, dangling blissfully in his hold. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to tie you up with my silk,” he said, leaning in so he could kiss up your neck. He nipped at you, but not enough to break the skin or inject you with his numbing, paralytic venom. The trail his kisses left was cold though, and your flesh tingled. “I want you trussed and immobile for me while I give you every pleasure I can think of. Your body is so soft compared to mine. So vulnerable. I want it all. I want all of you.”

“You can,” you smiled. “Please.”

His lips twitched into another little snarl and he kissed you again. Your tongue tingled and you swallowed, realising a drop of his venom had landed there. “I can’t,” he said, stepping back and lowering you slowly to the ground. Your knees were too weak to take your weight at first and he steadied you.

“Why not?” Disappointment stung through the creeping haze in your head and helped to clear it a bit.

You glanced along his curved, spider’s abdomen and saw that a clear fluid was dripping slowly from a point on his underbelly. His obvious arousal looked obscene, and your core tightened at the sight of it. When he saw where you were looking, he shivered. “That’s what you do to me,” he croaked. “But I’ve lost too much control of myself tonight. I might hurt you.”

“Kiss me again?”

“No. My mouth is full of venom.”

Your breath caught and you bit your lip. “Please?”

“No.” He sounded angry now, and you looked away, ashamed of still wanting something he didn't want to give. When he saw the expression on your face though, his whole demeanour changed and he softened. “What is it?” he asked.

You shook your head, stepping back. “Forget it. You’re going home again tomorrow anyway. You’ll forget about me in no time.” But you wouldn’t forget about him.

Feluän’s lighting-fast reflexes left you breathless all over again as he snatched for your wrist when you turned away from him. “I will never forget you,” he hissed fiercely. “I can’t. You think I give every lost wanderer I find in my forest a personal escort home? If I had my way, I’d never leave your side again.”

The grip he had on your wrist was tight enough that it was just shy of painful, and you gasped, eyelids fluttering. You glanced down at where his claws were pricking into your skin and then slowly raised your gaze to his face. “Not helping…” you smirked softly.

He closed his eyes slowly and eased his grip just a fraction, and then he opened his eyes again, moved both hands to your face, cupped your jaw, and kissed your forehead. “Best I can do for the moment,” he said apologetically.

“You don’t have to go back, you know?” you said, giving voice to the idea that had been floating around your mind for a few days. “I mean, I know all your stuff is back there, but there’s a really cosy place that’s only a hundred yards or so from my cottage on the edge of the village. I think it would be perfect for you. You could… You could live there? If you wanted…”

Feluän raked his claws gently across your scalp and you shuddered. “And what of the rest of the village? What would they say about a monster taking up residence in their midst?”

“You’re not a monster,” you hissed, grabbing for his wrists and clinging to him while you glared up into his face. Gods, he was so beautiful, with his sharp features and red, gemstone eyes and his silver-white hair. “You’re not. How could they not love you once they got to know you?”

His throat worked and he lowered his spider body down, drawing his legs in so that he was as close to your eye level as he could get. “Do you really want me to stay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please. I — The thought of you going back to that horrible place with all those bones scattered everywhere, and no life — there’s no life in those woods, Feluän. It’s —” He silenced you with a kiss.

Your lips turned numb almost immediately but you felt his tongue brush yours as he growled and reared over you, overpowering you with just his presence. “The way you said my name,” he said. “No one’s ever spoken my name before. Say it again. I want to hear you say it again.”

“Feluän.”

“When we’re not camping in a forest, I’m going to take you apart, my beautiful human. I’m going to tie you up and take you to pieces when my mouth isn’t dripping with venom.”

“Could be fun for you to have your way with me while I can’t move…” you said.

“You wouldn’t be able to feel it either,” he said, deliberately moving away from you and breathing hard. “Gods, I’m a mess,” he chuckled. You glanced down and saw that he was leaking a little webbing too from the gland at the tip of his abdomen.

“So am I,” you said wryly, because you absolutely were.

“I know. I can smell it,” he said. “Taste it too.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. He’d smelled it earlier as well then, back in the meadow after he’d protected you. “You’d better live up to your promise, Feluän. I’m not letting you go home without feeling some of that silk around my wrists first.”

“Say my name again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

Getting to sleep that night proved difficult to say the least, but it helped that you both talked quietly, with you lying in his arms again, and when you woke to the gentle caress of his knuckles against your cheek, you blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, awestruck by the creature looming over you. Honest delight lit up his whole face and he laughed quietly, helping you to your feet and brushing the dry leaves from your clothes and the borrowed cloak he’d lent you.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked as you kicked the cold ashes of the fire apart and made sure you left the forest as you’d found it. “You said we’re within a day’s walk of your home now?”

You nodded. “We’ll probably meet a few of the woodcutters on our way in — they’re working about three or four miles from the village at the moment, cutting hazel for fences and ash for firewood. If we meet anyone, let me do the talking?”

Feluän agreed, and you set off along the main road together.

“I’ll introduce you in the village if you like, and explain where I’ve been, and then I’ll say I’d like you to stay. If… If you want to.”

“I do,” he said. “I don’t have anything in that cave that I would particularly miss, but I could still go back and fetch it if I wanted to.”

The first people you met were indeed Garrick and Mercy, and when the satyr and the half-orc-half-elf saw the drider, they hefted their axes in their hands and stepped warily into the clearing they’d made beside the road. Mercy spotted you and called out your name, and you and Feluän held up your hands.

It took some persuading to let the two of you approach, but when you were close enough, Mercy dropped her axe and hugged you. “We’ve been so worried,” she said, squeezing you tight. With her muscles, it was enough to make you wheeze. “Gwyn and Thom and Gale searched for you for days but even Gale’s werewolf nose lost your scent when it rained. Gods, they’ve been beside themselves.”

“I’m only alive because of Feluän,” you said, gesturing to the pale drider who was waiting on the road. All his eight legs were drawn up tight and he looked tense and wary. At that distance, and in the clear, wintry light, you suspected he also couldn’t see very far, and for someone so powerful, he was probably feeling quite vulnerable. “I’d like him to live here with us. He was living alone in that dark forest, and I don’t think anyone should have to live alone like that. Not if they don’t want to.”

Garrick jutted his small tusks and said, “Driders aren’t exactly sociable creatures. What’s he gonna do around here?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you said a little defensively. “While I was recovering in his care, he was processing and spinning flax and weaving bolts of cloth, so he could help Rowan, but I don’t think his place here should be determined by what he can do for us, do you?”

Garrick’s eyes darkened with shame, and he shook his head.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Right now, all I want is a bath and a change of clothes.” Your own shirt had been washed while you’d been recovering, and Feluän had stitched it up, but it was still stained with your blood and more than a bit travel-worn now.

The approach to the village was deserted, but when you stepped out from the shady road and into the brilliant, afternoon sun that bathed the thatched houses in stark light, Feluän grunted and closed his eyes, shielding them with one hand and wincing.

“You alright?” you asked.

“It’s so bright,” he rasped. “I… I can’t even see you and you’re right next to me.”

You paused and said, “This way. We’ll take the side road and go along one of the deer paths through the trees to the cave home I’ve got in mind for you. You can meet everyone tonight when the sun’s gone down.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shaking your head, you frowned. “No, Feluän. You have nothing to be sorry for. Let’s go.” You laid your hand on his foremost left leg, and changed direction, heading for the tall oak and beech trees that bordered the village.

You passed by your cottage, though you did point it out to him, and continued up the slope to the small, rocky outcrop where the old cave had sat empty since its previous occupant had moved to be nearer to her relatives. “This used to belong to Dinara,” you said. “She’s a dwarf, but the cave isn’t at her scale, don’t worry.”

He laughed, and now that you were in the shade, you noticed that his eyes were meeting yours again, and he wasn’t squinting so much. “Come here,” he said, and he lowered himself down to kiss you. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

“If it’s not, I know people will help you alter it. They helped me build my house when I moved here, so you could always just build something new if it doesn’t suit.”

“You make them sound like good people,” he smiled.

Squeezing his hand, you said, “They are. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“So long as they don’t try to hack me to bits with their axes… The one you called ‘Garrick’ sounded ready to cut my legs off earlier.”

“He’s protective, not unlike you,” you said wryly. “Come on. Let me show you the cave and see if you want to live there or not.”

“If you’re nearby, it’ll be perfect,” he said smoothly, and you immediately tripped, making him laugh.

In the end, the empty cave house suited him perfectly, and, as you’d predicted, people were wary to start with, but when they heard how he’d saved you and taken care of you, and brought you home, they welcomed him like a long-lost relative — something that clearly moved him deeply. He did bristle when Thom swept you up into his bone-crushing, baker’s arms outside the village inn that night and nuzzled his tusks against your neck and expressed just how worried he’d been about you though.

When you returned to Feluän after Thom had set you down and promised you a week’s worth of free pies and cakes, Feluän was prickly and distant, until you grabbed a hold of his pedipalp and refused to let go as he turned. The moonlight flashed along the polished chitin and the limb straightened as he turned away while you held it, but he twitched back to look at you with his red eyes blazing quietly.

“Feluän…?” you purred. Oh, you liked the way he clearly wanted to be possessive of you but was forcing himself to behave. It made you flush hot all over.

“What?” he hissed, still scowling.

You caressed your hand up the limb to his shoulder and splayed your fingers wide. He gasped.

“You promised me something…”

“What was that?” he said, spreading his legs a little wider, as though he needed the extra stability to brace himself upright all of a sudden. You enjoyed seeing that the effect you had on each other was mutual.

You drew back your hand from him and he rocked forwards as if seeking the contact again. You brought your wrists together and held them out as though waiting to be tied up before looking up into his face.

His white eyelashes fluttered and his red eyes rolled closed for a moment. “Where?” he asked in a whisper. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure you’ll fit easily in my cottage…”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, “But I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have any furnishings in my new home yet.”

“You can sling me a silk hammock,” you said boldly and he groaned audibly. “You like that? You like the idea of me lying on your silk?”

He choked softly and nodded, jaw working.

“What?”

“I’m trying to keep my venom to myself this time,” he said carefully. “If I don’t let it out, I can put my mouth wherever I want to this time.”

“And where’s that?”

“Let me tie you up and you’ll find out,” he snarled, baring his double canines, patience fraying.

“Take me home then,” you whispered.

He picked you up, letting you loop your legs around his humanoid hips and holding you there with his arms and his two pedipalps while he scuttled away from the village and up the hill to the cave where an oil lamp was already burning softly on a shelf. 

The cave wasn’t so much a cave as a rock-hewn home, with an additional masonry front covering the opening from the elements, and stone shelves cut into the rock inside for storage, and a shelf at the back for a bed and a huge stone bath as well. Spring water was plumbed directly into a copper cylinder for hot water beside a fireplace with a chimney built into the mountainside. It was a vast improvement on his former, tunnel-like home in the forest, and someone had brought up a load of firewood for him.

Before he’d left his new home to greet the rest of the village earlier that evening, Feluän had lit a fire in the grate and it had since filled the space with warmth, driving away the lingering damp of disuse, and as he made his way on his long, skittering legs to the back of the cave, you kissed the chitin of his shoulders and watched the firelight lick along the sculpted shape of his natural armour. He shivered and then rose right up, tucking his abdomen under him and slinging a web across the shelf where the mattress would be when you eventually found him one. For now, a low, secure hammock of web would more than suffice.

He pitched you back onto it and you bounced softly while the drider’s huge body filled the air above you. The power and ‘otherness’ of his body made you hot beneath the skin and set your core burning, and you squirmed softly while he lowered himself down around you, all four right limbs braced on the wall to your left to give him the best angle. It was unnatural and eerie and creepy and wonderful and strange and everything you wanted in that moment, so you raised your hands above your head and crossed your wrists invitingly.

“You’re so good for me,” he purred and you arched upwards. The web hammock was substantial enough that you didn't feel in the least like your bodyweight was going to tear through it, but it left you feeling exposed and at his mercy. He undressed you carefully, his claws peeling the fabric back until you were as naked as he was. His spider’s body twitched and that clear fluid dripped down onto your shin, betraying his own arousal even as your own was made all the more evident to him.

He parted your legs with one clawed hand and carefully pressed the heel of his palm against where you were soaking wet. “Look at you,” he smiled, eyes glinting. “I can smell you. I can’t wait to taste you properly.” Then he licked his hand clean and your brain went blank for a moment as you watched and heard him groan.  

His silk was cool as he wrapped your wrists tightly enough to immobilise your arms and then he secured the line to one of the others, pinning you in place as securely as any rope tied to a headboard ever could be.

“Fuck…” you cursed, arching your spine and spreading your legs. Your clit was swollen and sensitive already, but when he slid his arms underneath your thighs and brought his face close enough that his breath shivered across your wet skin, you gasped and bucked.

Feluän’s tongue teased you to start with as he simply savoured the taste of you, but when he got to work in earnest, his claws pricked your skin and he held you down while you tried to writhe and squirm. You weren’t shy about the sounds you made, and when you saw the way his abdomen was moving in time with his tongue on your body, you realised he was every bit as turned on as you are. You knew that driders didn’t mate the way humans did, and that when he came, he was most likely going to make a mess all over you. The thought of it made your eyes roll.

His nose nudged against your clit as he delved deeper into you with his tongue, moaning and kissing and sucking and devouring. 

“I’m getting close, love,” he whispered in the tiny silence that blossomed around you when he drew back to adjust his grip on your legs. You’d never been rendered immobile like this by a partner before, with your hands tied and your legs clamped in his grip, and you felt your body clench in the absence of his tongue. He laughed, low and seductive. “So are you, aren’t you?”

Mind a blur with pleasure, you just nodded and keened.

“When I come, can I come over you?” he asked, and he sounded utterly wrecked.

“Gods, please,” you gasped, bucking weakly. “Please, anything, Feluän. Please… I need… I need you to… please…”

“Need me to do what, love?” he asked, licking teasingly over you with the tip of his tongue, savouring you without returning to his earlier endeavours to make you come. It was too much and nowhere near enough and you let out a broken sob. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t do it,” he said provocatively.

With a growl of frustration and effort, you wrangled the words into the right order in your hazy mind. “I need you to make me come, Feluän.”

“That’s good,” he praised and you arched upwards, legs parting a little wider for him. “Gods, you’re everything,” he whispered as he leaned back down and closed his mouth around your clit.

You gave another wild yell at the barrage of stimulation, and under a minute later you came with a heaving shout against his mouth. Waves of pleasure swept through you, and only a second after you stuttered out his name again, you heard him give a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise before he reared up, his whole body tensing and starting to shake, before his own release gushed over the spot where his mouth had just been. The heat of his come against you there sent you over the edge again and you thrashed beneath him. He was still coming when he lowered his humanoid torso down atop yours again and pulled you close, one clawed hand around the back of your head.

“Oh gods,” he said, his whole body twitching and coming while he cradled you beneath him. “Oh gods, you’re everything. You’re perfect… gods… oh…”

Eventually, his orgasm faded and he staggered, all his legs moving out of sync as he tried not to crush you while the strength fled his limbs and he collapsed onto the webbing.

You’d never been such a mess after sex, and you’d also never come quite so hard.

He reached dazedly out with one of his taloned pedipalps and carefully slashed through the silk holding your wrists together, then he raised his head a little more to regard you. “Are you alright?” he asked. “That wasn’t too much?”

“Perfect,” you mumbled. “You made a big mess though,” you said when you felt his release sliding over your thighs and hips.

“I’ve never made that much mess,” he said and he looked genuinely embarrassed when he pushed himself upright.  

“Good job there’s a bath over there,” you said, eyeing the basin that was practically a small swimming pool. It was certainly big enough for a drider to soak himself in relative comfort too.  

Feluän staggered over to it and turned the bronze tap that started a flow of hot water from the gigantic cistern beside the fire and then returned to you. “Can I carry you?” he asked, looking shy for the first time in your relatively short acquaintance.

“You’re going to have to. I can’t feel my legs,” you said.

“I didn’t — My venom —” he sputtered in horror. “I —”

“Oh, it’s not you,” you chuckled as you floundered to sit upright. “I mean, it was you, but not your venom.”

He deflated comically in relief and laughed as he scooped you up and bore you towards the tub. Glancing back, you saw that his come was all over the webbing and had dripped through onto the floor.

Feluän set you down on the shelf that ran around the edge of the bath washed you off while it filled. The gentle action of his caring, attentive hands on your body soothed you and worked you up again, and when you moaned and bucked weakly into his hand, he raised an eyebrow. “Again?” he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe it.

“Please?” you whispered, eyes half-closed where you floated in the warm water.

He was careful with his claws, using only the pad of his finger against you, and when you came with a little sigh and heaved into his arms a few minutes later, he smiled at you and leaned down to kiss you. 

“I want to do that to you every day,” he said over the rush of water into the bath. “I don’t want a day to go past where I haven’t seen you make that face for me.”

How could you refuse an offer like that when it was so generously made?

__

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[senseearly]

Always thinking that this is the moment that Kabru fell for Mithrun:

Kabru doesn't realize it immediately. But he knows that he feels warm, proud, when Mithrun smiles. A little perplexed, sure, but the surprise comes with the urge to mirror Mithrun, to smile. And he offers to wipe Mithrun's tears, just because it feels right.

When the Canaries leave, a part of his heart goes with them.

Kabru doesn't think always of Mithrun. He is busy these days - helping Laios with establishing the court; overseeing the construction of roads and infrastructure; mapping out monster-infested areas and dangerous locations; so on and so forth. But when Kabru does - and it's when he eats, tucks his body under the blankets to sleep, sees a sliver of bright silver hair - he thinks of Mithrun's smile. The slight curve of flat lips, the rosy cheeks, the teary eyes. The hitch in his voice as if this is his first time breathing after a long time. Kabru surprises himself by how much he wants to Mithrun again. He's only known the elf for, what, several days. How come he misses him like Kabru misses home?

Could it be that he...No, there's no way. He doesn't see elves that way elves won't look at him that way.

But then Mithrun returns, and it's as if they're back at the feast. On top of the frozen dragon carcass in the aftermath of a foiled demonic apocalypse. Just the two of them, no masks, no lies. When Mithrun steps out of the boat and onto the shore, Kabru feels like not a minute had passed since that moment. The seagulls cry, the wind howls, the sales flutter, like a pair of a skylark's wings on spring, and then Kabru sees it --

"Kabru." Mithrun says, smiling. And Kabru realizes, then and there, that he's fallen in love with him.

[pokeshippingweek]

POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life  A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays  Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters  Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air” Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates  Disney AU Double dating Elder years  Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter  Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist  Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash  Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element  Overprotective Misty  Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance  Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain  Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences)  Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch  Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (to ignite an ember)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. The story gets progressively worse with each chapter. You have been warned.

- Summary: It started with Harrenhal and the year of false spring, where you danced with a dragon trying to calm his flames.

- Paring: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: to wake a dragon

- Next part: to drink poison

The road back to King’s Landing stretches ahead, dust rising as the royal party moves in a long, winding procession. The capital is still a day’s ride away, but the dread that lingered in Harrenhal hasn’t lessened; if anything, it’s grown thicker with every passing mile. You ride beside Aerys, as he insisted, ahead of the convoy, while the rest of the royal family travels behind in carriages. Rhaella, fragile as always, is with Elia, who holds her children close, her eyes still downcast since the tourney. Rhaegar rides just behind, his indigo eyes ever-watchful, his presence steady but concerned, alongside Ser Barristan Selmy.

Aerys, on the other hand, is animated, more so than you’ve seen him in weeks. His mood seems lighter, and though his words carry the same sharpness, you can tell he’s indulging in the thrill of riding ahead, commanding the attention of his family and his court. His silver hair, wild in the wind, gives him an otherworldly appearance as he rides with you at his side, his grip tight on the reins of his horse.

You do your best to indulge him, as you always do, listening intently as he talks of the past, of old Valyria, of the dragons and their fire. He speaks of conquest, of power, his words becoming more fevered the longer he talks, and you nod in agreement, offering soft reassurances when he looks to you for validation.

“Do you see it, Y/N?” he asks, his voice growing louder as his eyes blaze with fervor. “We are the last dragons. The only ones who can bring this realm to heel. Rhaegar doesn’t understand it, but you… you’ve always known.”

“I see it, Father,” you say, keeping your voice steady, despite the unease that rises within you. “We are the blood of the dragon.”

Aerys smiles, but it’s not a kind smile—it’s twisted, hungry. “Yes. The blood of kings and conquerors. You and I, we are bound by it.”

You glance back over your shoulder, catching Rhaegar’s gaze for just a moment. He’s watching closely, his expression unreadable, but you know he’s listening. He has to be. He’s always listening, always watching, worried over you in ways that he cannot express openly.

But before you can think further, Aerys shifts in his saddle, his voice rising above the steady clatter of hooves and wheels. “Rhaegar!” he calls suddenly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Come closer, boy. There’s something I wish to discuss.”

The entire royal procession seems to slow, the murmurs of the court growing quiet as they sense something in the king’s tone. Rhaegar, hesitant at first, spurs his horse forward, coming to ride beside you and Aerys. His expression is wary, but he hides it well, his posture composed as he falls into step with his father.

“What is it, Father?” Rhaegar asks, his voice calm, though you can hear the underlying tension.

Aerys looks at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing as though he’s weighing something in his mind. Then, without warning, he shoots the question that freezes the entire procession.

“Tell me, Rhaegar,” Aerys begins, his voice deceptively casual, “do you think your sister is beautiful enough to warm a king’s bed? Perhaps she should stay in mine, where she belongs.”

The words hang in the air, as sharp and shocking as the crack of a whip. The entire royal procession comes to a halt, horses shifting uneasily, the courtiers whispering in stunned disbelief. You feel the blood drain from your face as Aerys’s words sink in, their meaning as clear as the madness in his eyes. He isn’t just making an offhand comment. He’s staking a claim—publicly, in front of his court, in front of Rhaegar.

Rhaegar’s face tightens, his hands clenching the reins of his horse, though he doesn’t speak immediately. You can see the fury in his eyes, the way his jaw works as he struggles to control his temper, to keep himself from doing something rash. But the anger is there, simmering beneath the surface.

“Father…” you begin, trying to defuse the situation, but Aerys’s eyes are on Rhaegar, waiting for his response.

Rhaegar’s voice is cold when he finally speaks, his words measured but sharp. “My sister deserves respect, as does my mother.”

“Respect?” Aerys laughs, the sound brittle and harsh. “Is that what you think this is about, boy? Respect? She belongs to the dragon’s fire, just as I do. You think you can protect her from that?”

“Y/N is your daughter,” Rhaegar replies, his voice hard, though he remains outwardly calm. “You should treat her as such.”

Aerys’s smile fades, his expression darkening as he stares at Rhaegar, his eyes gleaming with the dangerous edge of his madness. “You forget yourself, Rhaegar. I am the king. I will take what is mine, and Y/N… she is mine.”

The words send a chill down your spine, and you realize, with a sickening twist in your stomach, that this is no longer about a father and daughter. Aerys’s madness has twisted even that bond into something warped, something dangerous.

“Father, please,” you say, your voice soft but firm, hoping to calm him as you’ve done so many times before. “Let us continue the journey. We are almost home.”

Aerys doesn’t look at you, his gaze still fixed on Rhaegar, but after a moment, he seems to relent, though his smile is cruel. “Very well,” he says, his voice low. “But remember, Rhaegar… the blood of the dragon runs hotter than you think.”

He spurs his horse forward, leaving you and Rhaegar behind as the convoy resumes its pace, the court still buzzing with the shock of what they’ve just witnessed.

You glance at Rhaegar, your heart heavy with the weight of what just happened, but he says nothing, his jaw clenched in silent fury. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the anger he’s trying so hard to keep in check.

You wish you could say something, anything, to reassure him, but the words catch in your throat. There is no easy answer to the madness that grips your father, no way to untangle the twisted bonds that now bind you both.

Then you decide to urge your horse forward, the dust rising behind you as you ride after Aerys. Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, fall in beside you, their expressions stern but unreadable. Behind you, you can still hear Rhaegar’s voice, tight with frustration and anger.

“Y/N, wait!” he calls, spurring his horse forward to catch up with you. “Don’t go after him.”

You pull your reins slightly, slowing your horse enough to turn and meet his gaze. Rhaegar’s indigo eyes, so like your own, burn with worry and a hint of helpless anger. He knows, just as you do, what Aerys is capable of when left unchecked, but he hates that it’s always you who has to go to him. Always you who must step into the fire.

“I have to,” you reply, your voice soft but steady. “You know how unpredictable he is, Rhaegar. And he left unprotected. Jaime and Ser Gerold will be with me.”

“He’s dangerous, Y/N,” Rhaegar says, his jaw tight. “Every time you go to him, you’re putting yourself at risk.”

“I know,” you say, your heart aching at the way his concern hangs between you like a heavy weight. “But if I don’t go after him, who will? He’ll only grow worse.”

Rhaegar’s hands tighten around the reins, his frustration visible. He opens his mouth as if to argue again, but he knows you’re right. You’ve always been the only one who can calm Aerys when his insanity flares, the only one who can talk him down when his mind spirals out of control.

“I’ll be careful,” you assure him, your voice softening. “I promise.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “None of this should have happened.”

You offer him a small, sad smile before you turn your horse and ride after Aerys, Jaime and Gerold at your side. The dust from the convoy rises in the distance, but you push forward, your heart heavy with the knowledge that you’re walking a dangerous line—one that grows thinner with each passing day.

Rhaegar watches you ride away, his heart twisting with a mixture of anger and regret. He stays behind with the convoy, Ser Barristan Selmy riding beside him. Rhaegar’s face is set in a grim frown, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, still dwelling on what just transpired.

“She shouldn’t have to bear this burden,” Rhaegar mutters, mostly to himself. He shifts uncomfortably in the saddle, his mind racing with thoughts of you. His twin. His other half. “It’s my fault.”

Ser Barristan remains silent for a moment, ever the stoic knight, though his expression is one of quiet concern. “Your Grace,” he says finally, his voice low but calm, “the king’s actions are not your doing.”

Rhaegar lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Perhaps not directly, but everything I do seems to lead back to him. This… this madness has always been there, sleeping just beneath the surface. I should have known.”

Ser Barristan watches Rhaegar carefully but says nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“When I crowned Y/N as the Queen of Love and Beauty,” Rhaegar begins, his voice softening as he speaks, “I didn’t think… I didn’t anticipate he would react like this. I only wanted to honor her. She is my twin, Barristan. My other half. The bond between us is deeper than anything, despite my marriage to Elia.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “I had to do it. It wasn’t about Elia, or even the court. It was about us. I had to honor her in that moment, to show the world what she means to me. But I didn’t think… I never thought Aerys would take it as some kind of challenge. As if I were flaunting her before him.”

Ser Barristan’s brow furrows, his gaze steady as he listens. “The king’s mind is… difficult to predict, Your Grace. No one could have foreseen how he would react.”

“But I should have,” Rhaegar says sharply, his frustration boiling over. “I know how he looks at her, how he treats her. I’ve seen it for years now. And yet, I still made her stand in front of the entire court, in front of him, with that crown of roses on her head. As if I were offering her up to him.”

He shakes his head, his hands tightening on the reins. “I should have known better.”

Ser Barristan watches him closely, his expression thoughtful. “Your Grace, you acted out of love for your sister. There is no shame in that.”

Rhaegar meets Barristan’s gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and anger. “And what good did that love do? It only put her in more danger.”

The silence between them stretches, and Rhaegar turns his gaze back to the road ahead, watching the dust settle in the distance where you’ve disappeared after Aerys. He feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a cloak of iron, the knowledge that every decision he makes seems to bring more chaos, more danger to those he cares about.

“Love should protect,” Rhaegar says quietly, more to himself than to Barristan. “But all it’s done is place her in harm’s way.”

And as he rides in the wake of the royal procession, Rhaegar wonders how much longer he can watch you carry the burden of keeping their father’s instability in check before the fire consumes you both.

You ride through the thickening woods, the trees casting shadows over the path as the light begins to wane. Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gerold Hightower ride close beside you, their faces grim as they scan the forest for any sign of Aerys. The king’s horse had been found abandoned not far from the convoy, its reins tangled in a low-hanging branch. But Aerys was nowhere to be seen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a mixture of fear and worry for your father—no matter how dark and manic he has become. He’s unpredictable at the best of times, and the thought of him wandering alone in the woods fills you with a deep sense of dread.

“Princess,” Ser Gerold calls from ahead, his voice laced with concern. “We should stay together.”

“We need to find him quickly,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, though you feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “He can’t be far.”

The Kingsguard dismounts with you, their eyes scanning the darkening woods, but there is no sign of Aerys, no sound of him. Just the rustle of the wind through the trees and the occasional distant cry of a bird. The stillness makes your heart race with unease.

“Princess, we should call for more men to aid in the search,” Jaime says, his usual confidence tinged with a hint of worry. “The woods are vast, and if he’s wandered too far—”

Before he can finish, you shake your head, your eyes searching the trees ahead. “There’s no time. We’ll find him ourselves.”

Ser Jaime exchanges a glance with Ser Gerold, but they don’t argue. They know better than to question you in a moment like this.

You push forward, dismounting from your horse and moving into the thick of the woods, the underbrush cracking under your boots. Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold follow close behind, calling out for the king, but their voices echo unanswered in the quiet.

“Aerys!” you call out, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm. “Father, where are you?”

No response.

The silence presses down on you, your worry deepening with each passing moment. You quicken your pace, desperation creeping into your voice as you call for him again. But the woods remain still, almost eerily so.

Eventually, the search becomes more urgent, and the three of you spread out, though you stay within earshot. The trees loom taller, casting deeper shadows, and the air feels heavier, as if the forest itself knows something is amiss. You push through the thick underbrush, your heart pounding, your mind racing with worry.

Then, just as you begin to lose hope, you catch a glimpse of silver through the trees.

Aerys.

He’s standing in the middle of a small clearing, his back to you, utterly still. His long, wild hair stirs faintly in the breeze, but otherwise, he doesn’t move.

“Father?” you call out softly, your voice barely a whisper as you take a cautious step toward him. There’s something off about the way he’s standing—rigid, almost contemplative, as though he’s lost in thought.

He doesn’t respond.

You swallow hard, glancing back toward where you left Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold, but they’re too far behind now. You’re alone with him in this clearing, and a strange, heavy feeling settles in your chest.

“Father,” you call again, louder this time, trying to keep your voice steady. But still, he doesn’t respond. He stands there, staring at something unseen, lost in a world you can’t reach.

A chill runs down your spine as you approach him carefully, your footsteps soft against the forest floor. You hesitate just a few feet away from him, watching him closely. He seems… different. Calmer, almost, but there’s a stillness about him that unnerves you.

Gently, you reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you touch his arm. The fabric of his sleeve is rough under your fingers, and for a moment, he doesn’t react at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head, his eyes meeting yours.

His gaze is clearer than it has been in months, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you see the father you once knew. The man who loved you, who was proud of you. The madness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something almost… contemplative.

“You came,” he says softly, his voice low and distant. “Of course, you came.”

You nod, your heart aching at the sound of his voice, at the way he’s speaking so lucidly, so unlike the erratic, dangerous king he has become. “I’m here, Father,” you say gently, trying to ground him in the moment, to keep him tethered to reality. “Let’s go back. Everyone’s worried about you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting away from you, back to the trees ahead. “Do you ever think,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “that the blood in our veins isn’t enough?”

You blink, confused by his words, but you don’t interrupt him. He continues, his voice soft but laced with something darker. “The dragons are gone, Y/N. The fire is gone. All that remains is the ash. And we… we are nothing but the last flickering embers.”

“Father,” you say softly, stepping closer, “you’re tired. Let’s go back to the others. We’ll—”

But before you can finish, he turns to you again, his gaze sharp, cutting. “Do you think I can still bring the fire back?”

Your heart clenches at the intensity of his words, the weight behind them. There’s a lucidity in his voice that sends a chill through you, as though he’s reached some clarity of thought that you aren’t sure you want to understand.

“I—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You don’t know what to say, how to answer him.

Aerys reaches out, his hand brushing against your cheek in a gesture that once might have been tender, but now feels too heavy, too intense. “I’ve seen it,” he whispers, his voice growing darker, more insistent. “In my dreams. The fire, the dragons, the flames consuming everything. You and I, we will bring it back.”

The dread creeping up your spine becomes impossible to ignore, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sink in. The madness is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but this… this feels different. This feels more menacing.

“Father,” you whisper, your voice trembling, “we can’t bring back what’s lost.”

He leans closer, his eyes gleaming with something dark and terrible. “Oh, but we will, Y/N. The dragons will rise again, and the world will burn.”

You feel a coldness settle in your chest, your body frozen as you realize just how deep his madness runs, how far he’s willing to go to chase the fire he’s lost. And as his hand lingers on your cheek, you know that you’ve given him the one thing you never should have—hope.

And that hope will burn you all.

Aerys’s hand, once resting on your cheek with the faintest memory of tenderness, suddenly tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as his grip turns rougher. Alarm flares in your chest, your pulse quickening as his mood shifts with terrifying speed. The madness in his eyes, the lucid clarity that had given you hope moments ago, is gone.

“Father, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm. “We should go back to the others. The court is waiting—”

But he doesn’t release you. Instead, his other hand reaches out, grabbing your arm with a strength that leaves you no room to pull away. His face is inches from yours, and the gleam in his eyes has shifted into something more sinister, something possessive and far beyond the bounds of fatherly affection. His breath is hot against your skin, and dread coils tighter in your gut.

“You think you can calm me, don’t you?” he mutters, his voice low and rough, his lips dangerously close to yours. “You’ve always known how to soothe the dragon. But what if the fire can’t be tamed anymore?”

“Father, stop—” you try, but the words die in your throat as his grip tightens even more, pulling you closer until there’s no space between your bodies.

Aerys leans in, his breath ragged, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. “I could take you right here,” he whispers, his voice laced with a crude, possessive hunger. “And no one would stop me. Not even your precious twin.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, terror flashing through you as you try to pull away, but Aerys’s hold is iron-strong, his fingers bruising your skin. His lips crash against yours, rough and forceful, his kiss searing in its intensity. You struggle against him, pushing at his chest, trying to break free, but it’s no use. His grip is too strong, his body too close, trapping you.

Panic rises inside you, your mind racing as you try to think of a way out. But then, something shifts. Something inside you stirs, something you don’t understand, but it terrifies you.

A warmth spreads through your chest—a fire, a flicker of something ancient, something primal. You feel it in your blood, a strange heat rising as your struggles falter. The fire pulses beneath your skin, and for a terrifying moment, you wonder if Aerys is right. If the blood of the dragon truly burns hotter in you than you ever realized.

But you can’t let it consume you. You can’t let him take this from you.

With all the strength you can muster, you wrench your face to the side, breaking the kiss as best you can, though Aerys still holds you tight, his breath heavy against your ear.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice dripping with manic glee. “The fire inside you. You can’t deny it.”

You shake your head, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to regain control. “Father, let me go,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Please…”

But he doesn’t relent. His grip remains firm, his body pressing into yours with a possessiveness that makes your stomach churn. You try to push him away again, but your strength is fading, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and the strange fire that continues to stir inside you.

And then, just as you feel like you might break, you hear it.

“Your Grace! Princess Y/N!”

The voice is distant but loud enough to cut through the haze of terror and confusion. Ser Gerold. His shout echoes through the woods, drawing nearer, and for the first time since Aerys’s grip tightened around you, you feel a flicker of salvation.

Aerys stiffens slightly, his grip on you loosening just a fraction as he hears Ser Gerold’s voice. His eyes, wild and fevered, flicker with something—hesitation, perhaps—but the madness remains.

Slowly, reluctantly, Aerys pulls back, though his gaze never leaves yours. His lips curl into a twisted smile, and for a moment, you see a flash of the man who once ruled a kingdom, the man who had once been your father before the insanity consumed him.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice low and sinister, his fingers brushing your cheek one last time before he releases you completely.

You stumble back, your breath coming in sharp gasps as you try to steady yourself. Your heart races, your skin burning from the fire that still lingers in your blood, but you force yourself to stand tall, to not show weakness. Not now. Not in front of him.

Ser Gerold bursts into the clearing, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene before him. His gaze flicks between you and Aerys, concern etched deeply into his features. “Your Grace,” he says, his voice steady but firm, “the procession is waiting. We should return to the others.”

Aerys turns his gaze to Ser Gerold, his smile widening into something cruel. “Of course,” he says, his voice calm, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. “Let’s not keep the court waiting.”

He strides past you, his presence still looming even as he moves away, leaving you standing in the clearing with Ser Gerold.

You feel the weight of what just happened pressing down on you, the fire still simmering beneath your skin. But there’s no time to dwell on it. Not here. Not now.

You glance at Ser Gerold, your heart still pounding in your chest. He says nothing, but his eyes tell you enough. He knows something is wrong. He knows what Aerys is capable of.

But for now, all you can do is follow. Follow the man who was once your father but has now become something far more dangerous.

And as you walk back toward the procession, the fire inside you flickers, a reminder of the danger that still lies ahead.

The towering walls of the Red Keep rise before you, imposing and familiar, but today they feel like the walls of a prison. The royal procession halts at the gates, the long journey from Harrenhal finally at its end. The wind carries the scent of the sea from Blackwater Bay. Every member of the convoy can feel it—the unspoken weight that has hung over the journey since that moment in the woods.

Rhaella is the first to emerge from the carriage, frail and silent as she always is, her eyes lowered to the ground. Elia follows, her face calm and composed, though there is a sadness in her gaze as she watches over her children, who are led by their attendants into the Keep. The soft murmurs of the court are drowned by the creaking of the gates as they open to welcome the royal family back home. Yet there is nothing welcoming about it. Not today.

Rhaegar hasn’t taken his eyes off Aerys since the moment you, Jaime, and Ser Gerold rejoined the convoy. His indigo eyes, once filled with only concern for you, now burn with barely contained fury. He rides just behind Aerys as the procession makes its way to the Keep, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid. He doesn’t speak, but the silent intensity in his gaze is enough to communicate his feelings.

He knows.

Perhaps not everything, not the full weight of what happened in the woods, but he knows enough. He’s seen the change in you since you returned. You, who once carried yourself with quiet grace, who always managed to keep your head high no matter how dark things became. Now, as you sit atop your horse, your gaze is distant, lingering on places far beyond the Red Keep, far beyond the court. Your thoughts drift to moments you can’t quite shake—the feel of Aerys’s hand on your skin, the fire that stirred inside you, the kiss that still burns on your lips.

You had tried, on the ride back, to keep yourself composed, to be the same person Rhaegar has always known. But something shifted in the woods, something that cannot be undone. And now, as the convoy comes to a stop, the weight of it presses down on you, suffocating.

Aerys, for his part, seems almost amused by his son’s scrutiny. He dismounts with an exaggerated flair, his robes billowing behind him as he strides toward the entrance of the Red Keep, his lips curled into a smirk. The madness in his eyes, ever-present now, seems to gleam brighter as he turns to look at Rhaegar, who still sits atop his horse, his fists clenched tightly around the reins.

“My son,” Aerys calls out, his voice loud and mocking, “you’ve been so quiet on our journey home. Have you nothing to say?”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze flickers briefly to you, and you can see the silent question in his eyes, the concern that he’s held onto since you rode after Aerys. But now, with the court watching, with Aerys looming over them all, he remains silent. There is nothing he can say that will change what has happened. Nothing that will fix what’s been broken.

Aerys laughs, a sharp, brittle sound that echoes against the walls of the Keep. “Ah, but of course. The dragon prince is brooding, as always. So serious, Rhaegar. So noble.” He takes a step toward his son, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But do not worry, my boy. I’ve taken good care of your sister. She’s quite… precious to me.”

The words hang in the air like a blade, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. Rhaegar’s fists tighten around the reins, his knuckles white, but still he says nothing. He can’t. Not here, not now, not with the court’s eyes upon you.

But you can feel the anger in him, the barely contained rage that is fighting to break out. It’s there in the way he holds himself, in the way his eyes burn as they flicker between Aerys and you. He wants to confront Aerys, to demand answers, to protect you from the twisted madness that has consumed your father. But he knows—just as you do—that there’s nothing he can do. Not without setting the entire court aflame.

Aerys, seeing that his son will not rise to the bait, turns his attention back to you. His smirk softens into something that might have once been affection, but now feels like a cold mockery of it. “My daughter,” he says, his voice softening just enough for the court to sense something wrong, “you look so far away. Is the journey weighing on you, or perhaps something else?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice feels trapped in your throat, the words tangled in the weight of what has happened. Instead, you lower your gaze, avoiding the eyes of the court, of Rhaegar, of Aerys himself. You want nothing more than to disappear, to escape the suffocating gaze of your father and the haunted look in your twin’s eyes.

Aerys chuckles to himself, as if your silence is all the answer he needs. He turns back to the Red Keep, his madness gleaming in every step he takes as he strides toward the entrance. “Come,” he calls over his shoulder. “There is much to discuss. The dragons are stirring, and the fire is not yet done with us.”

The court begins to move again, following the king into the Keep, their whispers rising like a swarm of bees. You stay where you are for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you, before finally dismounting your horse.

Rhaegar is at your side in an instant, his voice low and urgent. “Y/N, what happened?”

You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. “Not here,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Not now.”

Rhaegar clenches his jaw, frustration and concern mingling in his expression, but he doesn’t push further. He knows you well enough to see that something has changed, that whatever happened in the woods has left a mark on you that won’t easily fade. But he also knows that here, in the heart of the Red Keep, with Aerys watching, there is nothing either of you can say that will make a difference.

And so, as the court files into the Keep, you walk beside your brother in silence, the weight of the past few days hanging heavy between you.

Inside, Aerys’s laughter echoes through the halls, a sound that chills you to the bone.

The night air in the Red Keep is cooler than usual, a slight breeze slipping through the cracks in the stone walls, carrying the faint smell of the sea. Rhaella sits quietly at the edge of her bed, her posture weary and her eyes distant, as if lost in thought. The flickering candlelight casts uneven shadows over her face, deepening the lines of stress and sorrow that have long etched themselves into her features. You stand beside her, helping her handmaidens prepare her for bed, each movement methodical, as though the routine itself might bring some small sense of peace to the both of you.

Her handmaidens work silently, loosening the ties of her gown and brushing her hair with gentle care. You assist where you can, your fingers nimble as you fasten the ties of her nightdress. There’s a heaviness in the room, the kind of weight that clings to every breath, pressing down on your chest. It’s more than just the usual sadness that follows Rhaella. This time, it feels sharper, more personal.

Rhaella looks up at you suddenly, her voice quiet, almost fragile. "My sweet daughter... I never wanted this for you."

You pause, the sound of her voice catching you off guard. You glance at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes filled with a grief that you hadn't fully seen before. You continue brushing her hair, though your mind lingers on her words.

"It won’t be, Mother," you say softly, your tone firm despite the undercurrent of doubt tugging at you. "I won’t let it."

The room feels colder, more oppressive, as if the very walls are listening. Rhaella's eyes shift to the floor, her hands resting limply in her lap. “You don’t understand,” she whispers, barely audible. “I’ve known for a long time.”

Your hands still in her hair, the brush halting mid-stroke. A chill runs down your spine, and you lower the brush, setting it aside. The room seems to narrow in focus, the weight of her words settling heavily between you.

“Knew what, Mother?” Your voice is low, but steady. You’ve always sensed there was more to her silence, more to the way she looked at you after Aerys’s moods turned. But this… this feels like a confession.

Rhaella lifts her gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He’s… always been like this. Since before you were born. I knew what he was capable of. I hoped… I prayed it wouldn’t fall on you, that you would be spared from it.” She swallows hard, her throat tight with emotion. “But I saw the way he looked at you when you were young. How he doted on you. And I did nothing.”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. You take a step back, your mind racing to catch up. She knew. She had known for years, perhaps all your life, and yet she had said nothing. Done nothing. The realization stings in a way you weren’t prepared for, your trust in her, in the safety of her presence, beginning to fray.

“You knew he’d—” You can’t finish the thought, the reality of it too harsh to voice.

“I tried,” she says, her voice cracking. “I tried to protect you, but I was too weak. I’ve always been too weak.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding, your throat dry. The pieces begin to fit together in ways they hadn’t before—the long, silent looks, the way she never interfered when Aerys’s madness would turn toward you. She had known all along, had been watching it happen, and still, she had stayed silent.

You want to be angry. Part of you is. But another part of you feels something far worse: sorrow. For her. For what she’s endured in her own right.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though the question feels heavy, like it’s been years in the making.

Rhaella’s hands tremble as she grips the edge of the bed. “Because I thought… I thought I could manage him. That if I could survive it, so could you. That maybe, just maybe, he would spare you from the worst of it.” Her breath shudders as she exhales. “But he never stopped.”

Her words hang in the air, suffocating in their rawness. You sit beside her, unsure of what to say. There’s a silence between you, but it’s not empty. It’s filled with years of unspoken truths, of a shared pain that you both have carried in different ways.

“I won’t let him take me,” you say again, but this time, it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as her. The weight of what she has revealed, of what you now know, is almost too much to bear.

Rhaella turns toward you, her hand resting lightly on yours. “I know you’re strong,” she whispers, her voice soft. “Stronger than me. But the fire in him… it consumes everything. And I fear it will take you, too.”

You squeeze her hand gently, but your gaze is still distant, your mind wandering to dark places. You’re no longer sure what the future holds, no longer certain of how to protect yourself from the fire that burns in your father, that burns in your blood.

The silence stretches between you both, filled with the weight of her revelation and the uncertainty of what comes next. The candles flicker, casting shadows that seem to dance along the walls, and for the first time, you truly feel the enormity of what you’re up against.

And what you might yet become.

The heavy doors to Aerys’s chambers creak as they swing shut behind Rhaegar, sealing him in with the man who once commanded kingdoms, and now rules over nothing but ruin and fear. Aerys is sitting at a large table near the far side of the chamber, his silver hair catching the flicker of the flames as he absentmindedly twirls a goblet in his hand. He doesn’t bother to look up when Rhaegar enters, but a low chuckle escapes him, as if he’s been expecting this confrontation all along.

"So, you've come, my brooding son," Aerys says, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’ve been glaring holes into my back ever since we returned.” He doesn’t look at Rhaegar, doesn’t acknowledge the burning fury that sits beneath the surface of his son’s calm demeanor. Instead, he tilts the goblet back and takes a slow sip of wine, savoring the moment. “And here I thought you’d lost your nerve."

Rhaegar stands in the center of the room, his hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. He’s been waiting for this moment ever since they returned to King’s Landing, ever since the ride back when he saw you, his sister, his twin, returned from the woods changed in a way that terrified him. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge of controlled fury in it as he speaks.

“I came for answers, Father,” Rhaegar says, his gaze locked on Aerys. “This can’t go on.”

Aerys finally looks up, his eyes gleaming with something sharp, something mocking. “Answers? From me? How quaint. What answers could I possibly give you, my dear boy, that would satisfy your precious sense of honor?” He leans back in his chair, still twirling the goblet, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve always been so noble, Rhaegar. So virtuous. It’s tiresome.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, his patience wearing thin. “This is not about me,” he says, his voice firm. “This is about Y/N.”

Aerys’s smirk falters, just for a moment, and something flickers in his eyes—something darker, more dangerous. His grip on the goblet tightens, and he slowly sets it down on the table, the air in the room growing heavier with each passing second.

“Ah, Y/N,” Aerys says, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “My daughter. Your twin. So precious, isn’t she?”

Rhaegar feels the weight of Aerys’s words, the way his father speaks of you not with affection, but with something twisted, something possessive. His heart pounds in his chest, and for the first time since entering the room, he feels a thread of fear for what comes next. But he pushes it down, refusing to let Aerys see it.

“She is my sister,” Rhaegar says, his voice low, controlled. “And you… you’ve gone too far.”

Aerys’s mood shifts instantly. The amusement that had colored his voice just moments ago vanishes, replaced by something far more volatile. He rises from his chair, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving Rhaegar’s.

“Too far?” Aerys repeats, his voice dripping with venom. “I am the king. I decide what is too far.” His face twists into a sneer, and he takes a step toward Rhaegar, the air between them crackling with tension. “You think you can dictate to me what I can and cannot do? You, with your brooding silences and your pretty songs? You are nothing compared to me.”

Rhaegar stands his ground, though every instinct tells him to step back. “She is your daughter,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with anger. “And you’ve defiled that bond. You’ve—”

“Enough!” Aerys’s voice thunders through the room, his fury boiling over in an instant. He closes the distance between them with terrifying speed, his face inches from Rhaegar’s. His breath is hot, his eyes wild with the insanity that has been growing for years, and now seems to burn brighter than ever.

“You dare speak to me of bonds, boy?” Aerys spits, his hands shaking with rage. “You, who crowned her as Queen of Love and Beauty in front of the entire realm, as if she were yours to give? You think I didn’t see it, Rhaegar? The way you look at her? She may be your twin, but she belongs to me.” He grabs Rhaegar’s tunic, pulling him closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “She is mine, and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

Rhaegar’s blood runs cold at his father’s words, but he doesn’t flinch. He refuses to let Aerys see the fear rising in his chest, the rage that threatens to consume him. Instead, he speaks, his voice trembling with barely controlled anger. “She is not yours. She never was.”

Aerys’s grip tightens, his eyes gleaming with unhinged fury. “You think you know what power is, Rhaegar? You think you understand what it means to be a dragon?” His voice is laced with sharpness now, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “But you don’t. You never have. You’ve always been too soft, too weak. And now, you’ll see what true power is. The fire burns inside her, and soon, it will burn the whole world.”

Rhaegar’s eyes narrow, his heart pounding in his chest. “You’re mad.”

Aerys releases him, stepping back with a manic laugh that echoes through the chamber. “Mad?” he repeats, his voice rising. “Mad? No, my son. I am the last dragon. And soon, all of Westeros will see it. The fire will rise again, and I will be the one to bring it back. With her by my side.”

Rhaegar’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his entire body trembling with anger. He had come here to confront his father, to demand answers, but now, standing in the face of Aerys’s instability, he realizes just how deep his father’s delusions have gone. There’s no reasoning with him. No calming him.

But he won’t let you be consumed by it.

“You won’t touch her again,” Rhaegar says, his voice low and filled with quiet fury. “I won’t let you.”

Aerys’s laughter dies in his throat, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer once again. “You?” he sneers, his voice filled with contempt. “You think you can stop me?”

Rhaegar holds his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

But he won’t back down. Not now. Not when you’re the one at stake.

“I will,” Rhaegar says, his voice steady. “I will protect her. Even if it means protecting her from you.”

You were on your way to your chambers when the unmistakable sound of shouting reached your ears. It started as a distant noise, but the more you walked, the clearer it became—voices raised in anger, the unmistakable clash of something breaking, perhaps glass or furniture. Your heart lurches in your chest, the unsettling feeling of dread creeping up your spine as you realize the sound is coming from the king's chambers.

And then you hear Rhaegar’s voice.

Without thinking, your feet carry you toward the source of the commotion. The hall outside Aerys's chambers is a flurry of panic, servants moving quickly with wide, frightened eyes, whispering to one another in hushed tones. Some look on in horror, while others keep their heads down, too afraid to even glance in the direction of the king’s door. You push past them, the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

"Princess, it's not safe—" one of the servants tries to warn you, but you barely hear him as you push through the entrance, your mind focused on the chaos unfolding before you.

Inside the king’s chambers, the scene is far worse than you could have imagined.

The room is in disarray. A chair lies shattered against the far wall, its pieces scattered across the floor. The bed curtains are torn down, ripped apart in fury. Glass from a broken decanter glitters like stars on the stone floor, and there’s a dark stain where wine has soaked into the rug. But it’s not just the destruction that sends a jolt of fear through you—it’s the sight of your father and brother at the center of it.

Aerys stands near the far end of the room, his face contorted in fury, his hands covered in blood, streaked from where he’s clearly cut himself during his rampage. His hair, wild and tangled, sticks to his face as his chest heaves.

Rhaegar stands a few paces away, his face equally flushed with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He looks like he’s barely holding himself back, his body trembling with the effort it takes to restrain his rage. The anomasity between them crackles in the air, thick and suffocating, as if the entire room could erupt into flames at any moment.

"You’ve gone too far!" Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and filled with fury. "You’ve disgraced us all!"

Aerys lets out a high, mocking laugh, but it’s tinged with something far more dangerous. "Disgraced? Me? You dare speak of disgrace, boy? I am the king!" His voice is a rasping snarl, filled with venom as he hurls something across the room—a golden goblet that crashes into the wall just inches from Rhaegar’s head.

Rhaegar doesn’t flinch, but the sight of it, the unhinged aggression in Aerys’s every movement, sends a chill down your spine.

Rhaegar takes a step forward, his voice low and filled with barely controlled rage. "You’re not a king anymore," he says through gritted teeth. "You’re a madman."

Aerys's face twists in rage, and before you can stop him, he lunges at Rhaegar, his hands reaching out as if to strike him. But Rhaegar is quicker, stepping back just in time to avoid the blow. The movement sends Aerys off balance, and he stumbles, his bloodied hands catching the edge of a table before he rights himself, breathing heavily, his eyes wild with fury.

Rhaegar turns on his heel without another word, storming out of the room and pushing past you, his expression dark with anger and frustration. His shoulder brushes against yours, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back. The door slams behind him, the echo of it ringing through the now-silent room.

Aerys stands alone in the wreckage, his hands trembling as he looks down at the blood smeared across his palms. For a moment, the room is eerily still, and you can see the madness flickering in his eyes, the rage threatening to explode again.

The instinct to leave, to flee from all of this, rises within you. Every fiber of your being tells you to go, to follow Rhaegar and escape before Aerys’s temper turns on you. But something else keeps you rooted in place, a sense of duty, of love tainted by years of pain and suffering. No matter how far he has fallen, Aerys is still your father.

“Father,” you say softly, taking a step toward him, though your heart races with fear.

Aerys doesn’t respond, his eyes still fixed on his bloodied hands, his breathing uneven. He’s shaking now, not just from anger, but from something deeper, something broken inside him. You move closer, reaching out tentatively, your fingers brushing against his arm.

“It’s over now,” you murmur, your voice gentle as you try to bring him back from the edge. “You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

At your touch, Aerys’s body jerks, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns to you, his wild eyes meeting yours with an almost childlike desperation. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, and for a moment, you see the man he once was—lost, confused, clinging to something that no longer exists.

His bloodied hands, trembling, reach for you, his fingers tangling in your hair, smearing crimson across your face. He clings to you as though you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, his grip tight, almost painful.

“You’re all I have left,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Don’t leave me.”

Despite the way your instincts scream at you to pull away, to escape, you remain still, your heart aching for the man who used to be your father. “I’m here,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his blood stains your skin, your hair. “I won’t leave.”

Aerys leans his head against your shoulder, his grip tightening as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has long since crumbled around him. His blood smears across your cheek, warm and sticky, but you say nothing, simply holding him as he clings to you, his body shaking with the remnants of his fury.

And in that moment, despite everything—despite the fear, despite the madness—you are his daughter. You are the only thing he has left, and though it terrifies you, you cannot abandon him.

Not yet.

Aerys’s breathing gradually slows, the trembling in his body subsiding as he clings to you, his bloodied hands now steady but still tightly gripping you as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. His head rests heavily against your shoulder, his matted silver hair brushing your cheek, and for a moment, the rage and madness that have consumed him seem to fade, leaving behind only a broken man.

But his touch, once erratic, becomes more intimate, his fingers slowly trailing from your hair down to your neck, where they linger for a moment too long. The warmth of his blood is still sticky on your skin, the sensation making your stomach churn, but you remain composed. His fingers brush lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and for a brief, fleeting moment, a chill runs down your spine, as if the very air around you has grown cold.

You can’t help but imagine the weight of a blade there, the sharpness of metal slicing through the delicate skin of your neck, blood pouring freely. The thought lingers, unbidden, like a shadow of something yet to come. You push it away, forcing yourself to stay focused, to remain calm.

“Father,” you murmur softly, your voice a soothing lull in the quiet of the room. “You need to rest.”

Aerys’s grip loosens slightly, but his hand remains at your neck, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the pulse point there as if seeking comfort in the rhythm of your heartbeat. The sensation is unnerving, but you do not flinch. 

The servants finally enter the chamber, their footsteps careful and silent as they move to clean up the wreckage. None of them dare to look directly at you or Aerys, their heads lowered as they step around the broken glass and overturned furniture. The room is a mess of destruction—wine spilled across the floor, splintered wood, and blood smeared on the walls from where Aerys had lashed out in his rage.

You remain still as the servants work, Aerys still clinging to you, his hand now resting on your shoulder, his touch too familiar, too intimate. You can feel something stirring inside you again, that strange, unsettling warmth that rises whenever you are near him, like a flame waiting to be ignited. It’s the same fire you felt in the woods, the same fire that terrifies you.

But now, you use it, channel it to keep your composure.

Aerys’s hand moves from your shoulder, his fingers trailing down your back in slow, deliberate strokes. His touch is no longer frantic, no longer violent, but it is far too intimate for comfort, far too close. You fight the urge to pull away, to distance yourself from him, but you know better. You must keep him calm. You must be the one who controls the situation.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aerys begins to relax completely, his body sagging against yours as exhaustion overtakes him. His grip on you loosens, and his breathing becomes deeper, more rhythmic. You continue to whisper soothing words to him, your hand gently stroking his hair as you coax him into a peaceful sleep.

His eyes close, and after a few more moments, you are certain he is asleep.

Carefully, you extricate yourself from his grasp, your movements slow and deliberate so as not to wake him. You feel his blood still staining your skin as you rise from the bed, sticky and warm against your face and neck. You glance around the room, the servants still cleaning in silence, their heads bowed, and you make your way toward the door as quietly as possible.

Just as you reach the door, one of the servants finally lifts her gaze, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the sight of you—your face smeared with Aerys’s blood, your hair tangled and stained red. For a moment, she looks horrified, but she quickly lowers her gaze again.

“I’ll draw a bath for you, Princess,” she says quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

You nod, though you say nothing. The weariness in your bones is overwhelming, the weight of the night pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You leave the chamber without a word, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors as you make your way to your own chambers.

As you walk, the sensation of Aerys’s touch lingers on your skin, and though you’ve done your duty, you can’t shake the feeling that something dark and terrible is creeping ever closer.

[wonderjanga]

I love your headcanons!!! Do you think that with Fawcett being a time bubble and magical influence and when new technology is introduced to the city that it changes? Like the engineers study magic as well due to the proximity to the Rock of Eternity? I'd imagine like perpetual motion machines do exist and parts of the plumbing system are fantastical magic animals. Like the old telephone wires are autonomous snake-like entities that Marvel has to untangle sometimes. (They do get tangled up). It's all very surreal and dream logic stuff.

I would love to see what's under the hoods of their cars. Do they run on pixie dust or dragon tears? Are there small sprites keeping it all together?

I’ve actually never really thought about this but here are some ideas! I think they would study magic when getting engineering degrees cause I’m pretty sure they’d just think of it as apart of engineering maybe. Like for example, when building houses they’d make fairy doors in certain places. I also think that instead of Lightbulbs for street lamps they hire fairies every night to make themselves light up. They get payed in pretty stones. Detectives can hire ghosts to help solve crimes. I think their cars run on either, but they’d be higher quality gas so most people would use normal gas. I also think there would be lawyers who work specifically with cases about fae. There’s gonna be lawyers to get that first born back. People might use magical herbs in everyday cooking too. Like someone might get a dried leaf called mystic petals because when ground up, they taste similar to sugar. (The plant makes hair, skin, and eye color more vibrant) One of the teachers at an elementary school is a Lich that has nothing better to do but teach. Or a Centaur works as a PE teacher. I also think that Fawcett could be so affected by magic that the buildings and sidewalks could be sentient. Like a little kid’s about to trip on a crack and the pavement moves the crack out of the way. Or someone who’s vandalizing a building gets hit in the face when the building pushes a brick out. Certain roads seal up their potholes, and maybe Billy is running down an alley being chased or something and the alley walls close up behind him cutting his pursuers off. The flowers grow all year around in a certain part of a city, it could be hot all the time in another, it could snow frequently in another, and trees could start turning orange and letting leaves fall in another because of the presence of spring, summer, fall, and winter fairies who split Fawcett up into small kingdoms. Billy oversees their diplomatic affairs. You find Santa at the grocery store buying cookie mix because “it’s cheaper here than at the North Pole”. The Spirit of Halloween would start pestering people in beginning of September to put up their Halloween decorations. The Easter Bunny would be a local attraction to go see, as it would be in a meadow every Easter making eggs and giving them to other bunnies to go hide. There’d be tones of restaurants in Fawcett with from from multiple creatures. You can go to a small place on 45th, where you can order from fairies who make sandwiches and soups using traditional fairy recipes and herbs. Or a small stand ran by orcs who sell Owlbear on a stick and roasted Blood Hawk legs. There could be a pair of yetis who sell snow cones using snow from the Himalayas. They have human flavors like grape, and yeti flavors using fruits grown from their tribes. When zombies crawl out of their grave, there’s insurance for both the damage to the coffins and the ruined grave and for people who get bitten. Doctors tweaked the polio vaccine for zombification. Wind elementals help people they favor when they fall. Water elementals help move snow from roads. Earth elementals help with construction. Fire elementals help melt down metals for jewelry stores and factories. Harpies sing for crowds. Gelatinous Cubes can be used as lubricants for machinery and extremely strong glues. I also think the rock messed with time. There are dinosaurs displayed at the zoo. Certain buildings look like they’re from different eras. Gothic architecture, favored by vampires. Victorian architecture. Neoclassical architecture. Also there are wyvern. Though they’re all the size of vultures. They’d have multiple different scale colors which have been made into jewelry or bags. Animal rights activists heavily protested that, and did the same thing they would do to mink coats in the 90’s to the dragon scale items. They threw paint on them. Mimics have exterminators to sniff them out. Shapeshifters wear certain tags while in magical form so they won’t get flagged for animal patrol. There’s also a bunch of other races such as lamia, gorgons, lizard people, homuncules, and goblins.

[silentmoths]

Quick-Relief

slides in like I havent not written anything for *squints* several fucking months.

the 'morax horny stick' decided to bonk me out of the blue today and so this was born, its quick, its dirty, take it or leave it, heathens.

Morax x Adeptus! Reader (fem anatomy)

NSFW

Smut, Semi public, mentions of war, Morax is a lil on the rougher side, honestly this is just Porn without Plot.

How long had you been in the field now? Two months? Three? You’d honestly lost count. 

There was real keeping of time during the archon war, at least not for you; you were an adeptus, here to fight for your archon, Morax.

And yet, you can't help but miss the times… before.

When you would wander the halls of his domain, only for a strong, darkened arm to reach out from his study or his chambers, catching your waist, your sleeve, the sash of your hafu, and dragging you in. 

You were…unsure what you were exactly to Morax, a lover maybe? Or perhaps simple stress relief? You did not know, and you did not dare to ask. In the end you were one of his Adepti, and you would fight, serve or fall into his embrace, as he commanded.

Rain pelts against your skin as you slowly trudge up the mountain path towards the nearest encampment, carrying an injured comrade with you. Somewhere in the distance, you see Alatus flit past and you wonder just how he manages to maintain such energy, you don't think you’d seen the general stop for a breather the entire time, at least not until he was somewhat gravely injured…and even then he would only rest as little as he had to.

You pass your comrade off to a more capable healer than yourself before going off in search of food. A bath probably should have been first on the agenda but you just…didn’t have the energy in you for it yet, food first, then bath…and maybe if you were lucky, some sleep.

Yeah things don’t go the way you planned. When do they ever?

As you shovel away a quick meal of rice and vegetables, you cant help but feel eyes on you, but between being too tired to look around, and knowing everyone else sitting around you were just as busy shovelling food into your faces, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. That same feeling lingers as you shamble towards a bathing spring, no time to soak, if you wanted a chance at getting some sleep before you were called to action again, you needed to scrub and go, which is exactly what you do. Violently scrubbed clean of dirt, debris and blood, as much as you want to remain, you force yourself from the warm waters, quickly drying off before making for a tent, you didn't care who was in there, you just wanted somewhere sheltered to rest your head.

A hand, warm, familiar and strong, rests upon your shoulder, but in your tired stupor, you swing, intending on hitting away whomever had approached so quietly until your wrist is grabbed.

You knew the glow of these hands anywhere, the geo resonating softly through his veins, and you look up to be met with smouldering amber.

“Morax…” you whisper.

He’s caught somewhere between dragon and man, he has the human visage you are used to, the one he used most often to interact with mortals, but his horns and tail were also visible; his horns glowing a faint golden in the low light of the chilly mountainside. 

You feel his grip tighten on you, his pupils restricting into slits for a mere moment before blowing wide and you can feel the anticipation beginning to run up your spine. Yeah you weren't sleeping tonight.

A beat passes between you both before he turns, tugging you along, out of sight of anyone, out of the encampment entirely, and all you can do is stumble along as his massive hand grips your wrist. He walks these mountains like a flat road, he knew them better than the back of his own hand, his strides are wide, and quick as he leads you further from camp, down a slippery cliff and before you know it, into a cave, only to be pressed against the cool stone wall as he practically hikes you up it, your legs coming to rest around his waist as he holds you there effortlessly.

“My lord-” 

“Shut up.” Morax all but growls back before his lips crash into yours, long, serpentine tongue invading your mouth in a very quickly lost battle of dominance. His hands claw at your robe, tugging the offending garment apart so he can get at your naked body with ease, your own arms moving to wrap around his neck.

gods, you hadn’t realised just how much you needed this.

The longer you spend pressed between your archon’s warm flesh, and the cold stone of the wall, the more the churning arousal in your gut becomes apparent. You’d been fighting for so long you’d absolutely disregarded your body and it’s signals, and judging by how rough Morax was being, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave bruises whilst the other shoves his own pants down to his knees, he must have been feeling the same.

“My lord-” you try again, your own hands shifting up to his horns, grabbing hold to at least try and pull him away for a moment so you can breathe.”Take a moment-” “No.” He growls, one hand gripping your hips as a pair of fingers push inside your already embarrassingly wet cunt. “The moment I saw you walk into camp, I couldn’t withhold anymore.” he rumbles, smirking dangerously as he watches your face twist with a mix of pleasure and pain as he splays those long, devilish fingers, after so long, you’re glad he at least had the forwithall to stretch you and take some of the inevitable sting off.

“Your body has toned up some more.” He muses as he continues the rough thrust of his fingers, his own body weight keeping you pressed against the wall as his free hand roams the expanse of your body revealed beneath the robe “and yet, despite all the fighting, your skin still feels like silk.” You can feel your cheeks heating at his surprisingly tender words; there was no small amount of pent up lust edging his tone, and yet he still found time to leave a compliment as his lips descend upon your neck, biting and suckling, leaving a small trail of blooming bruises from your jaw to your collarbone, all while he revels in the breathy gasps and muffled moans he draws from your lips.

That same tenderness doesn’t last long though; the moment he begins to feel you clench around his fingers, hear the way your voice pitches higher, he knew you were close, and instead of simply letting you come, he pulls his fingers out and you whine at him, looking to his face desperately, only to be met with a dark smirk before he quickly, harshly shoves his cock into you, burying all the way to the hilt in one single, harsh thrust that has you screaming, the sudden intrusion enough to send you over that edge as you orgasm around him.

“That's it.” he rumbles at you, his voice caught somewhere between a growl and a purr as his draconic tail lashes behind him, he doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath, his hips setting a brutal pace that has any breath you manage to catch leaving your body just as quickly as you moan into his shoulder. You feel it, every ridge of his inhuman cock, rutting inside of you, a dull aching pain mixed with pure, overwhelming pleasure as Morax growls into your throat, his teeth pressing against your skin, but not quite biting down.

His hands grab your waist, shifting your legs until they’re locked around his hips, just so he can get a better grip on you and take a step back, pulling you from the wall so he can all but bounce you on his cock like you were nothing more than a toy for him. He watches as your eyes roll back, and feels your hands, clinging desperately around his shoulders, one of your fingers finally catching in his hair tie and yanking, you did so love seeing his silky hair free and cascading down his back and shoulders.

Usually, before the war, when he’d pull you in for a night of intimacy, it was a slow affair; he liked to take his time, methodical in every one of his actions. 

That was not the case today.

This was a man pent up, stressed, pulled to the very limits and in desperate need of release, and he knew that just as well as you did. His pace was brutal, ruthless, and you cry for it because you needed this just as much as him, something to take your mind off of all the fighting, all the death and destruction, a moment to feel… mortal.

You only vaguely remember the moment he cums inside you, it’s hot, searingly so and it shoves you right off the edge into your second orgasm as your world turns white, a stark contrast to the drizzly grey day.

You wake, the next morning in a tent, re-clothed, rugged up amongst blankets and pillows, your muscles ached, but when had they not lately? Just some…new kinds of ache that made you realise last night had definitely not been a dream.

As if the impressive amount of hickeys you now had to find a way to hide weren't proof enough of your quick foray with the geo archon himself.

You just hoped the de-stressing had helped clear his head a little, after all, you were there to serve him.

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[stupidphototricks]

Some quotes I like from Johnny and the Dead. I'll again recommend the Johnny Maxwell trilogy for any Terry Pratchett fans, it's a bit dated, and lacks witches and wizards, and takes place on a boring spherical planet, but still there's good stuff.

And the sky above it was a glorious blue, which was pretty unusual for Blackbury, where most of the time the sky was that odd, soapy color you'd get if you lived in a Tupperware box. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

"My greatest trick involved getting out of a locked sack underwater while wearing twenty feet of chain and three pairs of handcuffs." "Gosh, how often did you do that?" said Johnny. "Nearly once," said Mr. Vicenti. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

Wobbler was banned from the computers because of an incident involving a library terminal, the telephone connection to the main computer, another telephone line to the computer at East Slate Air Base ten miles away, another telephone line to a much bigger computer under a mountain somewhere in America, and almost World War Three. At least that's what Wobbler said. The Assistant Information Officers said it was because he got chocolate in the keyboard. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

There was a feeling, like-- --like on an airplane when it's about to land, and his ears went "pop." But it was happening with his brain, instead. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

You never knew about people, like you never knew how deep a pond was because all you saw was the top. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

"It's wrong to think that the past is something that's just gone. It's still there. It's just that you've gone past. If you drive through a town, it's still there in the rearview mirror. Time is a road, but it doesn't roll up behind you. Things aren't over just because they're past." -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

"Of all the forces in the universe, the hardest to overcome is the force of habit. Gravity is easy-peasy by comparison." -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

Time passes everywhere. But days and nights are little local things that happen only to people who stay in one place. If you go fast enough, you can overtake the clock... -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

"I believe it's very hard to have fun in Iceland without fish being involved in some way." -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

Making a fuss about cards and heavy metal and going on about Dungeons and Dragons stuff because it's got demon gods in it is like guarding the door when it is really coming up through the floorboards. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

"Anyway, there's four of us, after all." "That just means something bad can happen four times," said Wobbler. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

"Did I see them waving?" said Mrs. Liberty. "And particling, I shouldn't wonder," said the Alderman. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

Johnny blinked. And looked around at the world. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, wonderful. Which wasn't the same as nice. It wasn't even the same as good. But it was full of... stuff. You'd never get to the end of it. It was always springing new things on you... -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

[thelustybraavosimaid]

There is an unfortunately pervasive aspect of this fandom in that people conflate and replace what is established in canon with what is "true" in fanonland. Or they let their biases run wild and come up with a wide array of baseless ideas.

I tire of this.

Was is when a 22 year old adult started showing interest in a pubescent 14 year old?

This is not out of place in a universe where the author turned Daenerys and Drogo into some love story, twisted as it was, or when he had admitted he was playing around with Sandor and Sansa in the books and that "there was something there," or when he has commissioned Sansan fanart hanging on his wall.

The man does not give two flying fucks about age gaps, even problematic ones by our modern standards.

Was it when he trapped her in Dorne with knights outside ready to kill anyone who tried to help her?

Why would they kill anyone who tried to help her? Lyanna was found in a bed of blood and was ill, so she possibly had puerperal fever after giving birth. There was no way she didn't have a wetnurse to accompany her. Was this wetnurse supposed to have been slain by the Kingsguard for daring to assist Lyanna?

Was it when he joined the war to kill her remaining family and Northerners?

He didn't join the war to specifically kill her family. I find it hard to believe that anyone could forget Rhaegar had stakes of his own, and family of his own. Like, if it wasn't for Rhaegar dying, Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon wouldn't have been killed by the Mountain and Amory Lorch.

He didn't deliberately join the war to kill Lyanna's family, he did it so he could win it, return to King's Landing, and depose Aerys. This has been his goal as far back as the tourney at Harrenhal:

His lordship lacked the funds to pay such munificent prizes, they argued; someone else must surely have stood behind him, someone who did not lack for gold but preferred to remain in the shadows whilst allowing the Lord of Harrenhal to claim the glory for hosting this magnificent event. We have no shred of evidence that such a "shadow host" ever existed, but the notion was widely believed at the time and remains so today.

But if indeed there was a shadow, who was he, and why did he choose to keep his role a secret? A dozen names have been put forward over the years, but only one seems truly compelling: Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone.

If this tale be believed, 'twas Prince Rhaegar who urged Lord Walter to hold the tourney, using his lordship's brother Ser Oswell as a gobetween. Rhaegar provided Whent with gold sufficient for splendid prizes in order to bring as many lords and knights to Harrenhal as possible. The prince, it is said, had no interest in the tourney as a tourney; his intent was to gather the great lords of the realm together in what amounted to an informal Great Council, in order to discuss ways and means of dealing with the madness of his father, King Aerys II, possibly by means of a regency or a forced abdication. (The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring, The World of Ice and Fire)

—

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but...well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." (Jaime I, AFfC)

The major wrench thrown in Rhaegar's plans was Aerys attending said tourney.

Was it when he left her to die in a pool of her own blood?

Rhaegar was dead before then, and even as he was dying he whispered Lyanna's name, as was semi-confirmed in the World of Ice and Fire app.

Leading a large host to the Trident, Rhaegar met Robert in battle duelling on horseback in the fording of the river Rhaegar was killed after giving Robert a serious wound. He would die with Lyanna's name on his lips. (Rhaegar Targaryen, AWoIaF app)

She was in his thoughts even while dying.

Was it when she screamed for her brother to save her?

She didn't. And she would never call Ned "Lord Eddard."

As they came together in a rush of steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. "Eddard!" she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.

"Lord Eddard," Lyanna called again.

"I promise," he whispered. "Lya, I promise..."

"Lord Eddard," a man echoed from the dark. (Eddard X, AGoT)

This is based on a fever dream, of which George already said that not all dreams are literal. Rose petals certainly were not blowing across a blood-streaked sky, after all, and by Ned's account, the petals in Lyanna's hold were not blue, but crushed and blackened.

Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. (Eddard I, AGoT)

Moreover:

I might mention, though, that Ned's account, which you refer to, was in the context of a dream...and a fever dream at that. Our dreams are not always literal.

[Source]

So we're still, deliberately, in the dark about the events surrounding the tower of joy.

You'll need to wait for future books to find out more about the Tower of Joy and what happened there, I fear.

————

Was it when she begged to be buried with her family in Winterfell?

About this.

It was already a given that Lyanna's body was going to be returned home, as all Starks are traditionally interred in the crypts.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that. (Eddard I, AGoT)

The only exception to this rule has been Brandon the Shipwright, since he was lost at sea. Rickard and Brandon died in King's Landing yet they were returned to Winterfell, so I doubt she'd truly have to beg Ned for that:

They were almost at the end now, and Bran felt a sadness creeping over him. "And there's my grandfather, Lord Rickard, who was beheaded by Mad King Aerys. His daughter Lyanna and his son Brandon are in the tombs beside him. Not me, another Brandon, my father's brother. They're not supposed to have statues, that's only for the lords and the kings, but my father loved them so much he had them done." (Bran VII, AGoT)

The problem is how frequently this allusion to a promise has been in Ned's chapters. I doubt he would be thinking of it nearly as much if it was solely about Lyanna's bones returning home, so her pleading must narratively carry a deeper meaning. We are talking about a man who has said before that he had lived with lies for fourteen years and how it often troubled him at night.

Jon was fourteen at the start of the series.

Please direct me to the "love story"

Regarding the possible nature of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship, I believe this quote of George's implies it was indeed a romance, in his own preferred telling of one:

It’s interesting, to get back to this issue of romance that you raised earlier. When I was in Spain a few years ago, I had dinner with a woman — a Spanish academic — and a big fan of both science fiction and romance, and she had read a lot of my stuff because people said I was a very romantic writer. And she sort of launched at me and said, “What are you talking about?! You are not a romantic writer, you know. Nobody ever lives happily ever after in your books!” I was defending it, saying, “Well, but that’s a different tradition of romance. I don’t — I’m a romantic writer in the tradition of The Great Gatsby and Romeo and Juliet, and, you know, the Beauty and the Beast. These things don’t necessarily have happy endings, but aren’t the most powerful romances the unfulfilled romances — the romances where people go their separate ways, but they’ll always have Paris, like in Casablanca, one of the films I showed here. You know, they go separate at the end, but they’ll always have Paris.” And she basically said, “No, you’re wrong. They have to be happily ever after together for it to be romance, otherwise it’s just sad.”

[Source: 03:19]

Rhaegar and Lyanna's story is analogous to the tale of Bael the Bard and the Stark maiden; there was a reason why this tale of the blue winter rose was told to Jon specifically. Like the Stark maiden in the story, Lyanna loved Rhaegar so much that she bore him a son.

Bael and the Stark maiden's tale was not a happily ever after, either; both lovers died in the end. But their union did produce a child.

[taylor-titmouse]

I'm Taylor Titmouse, I write and illustrate queer erotica featuring freaks and monsters. I also draw a lot of porn that I can't post here, so those will be posted as crops with links to my various uncensored locations.

You can find my illustrated novellas and artbooks on Itchio. I've published a Lot of them. If you don't know where to start, I recommend the Dragon Double Feature series or Roger Crenshaw, or Spring with the Unicorns--that one's free! I've also written up a guide to all of them here!

Some of my latest releases, try The Long Road if you like gender-based worldbuilding!

You can find the most complete collection of my uncensored art on Patreon and Subscribestar (both are equally served.) I post high resolution art regularly, and everything is neatly organized going back to 2022 (that's longer than I've been posting here!) $5 patrons get access to over 180 exclusive illustrations, and can vote in monthly polls from suggestions made by the $10 tier--who can also commission me at any time with a 10% discount!

Just .05% of the exclusives you unlock by subscribing!

You can also follow me on Twitter or Bluesky, where I post my art uncensored. Below the cut is a list of story tags, which will link you to art and posts about those stories, and provides some context to what they're about. Thanks for checking out my work!

TT Art: my art tag TT Talks Drawing: my tag for talking about the art-making process TT Talks Writing: my tag for talking about the writing process TT Testimonials: my tag for asks reviewing how good my books are :^) TT Asks: my tag for answering asks

Story Tags Barnyard Bound: F/M, human/furry, bondage, breeding kink, Harvest Moon also for some reason. Cherry Brilliant Ryder: M/F, aliens and medical play (The Xenosexuality Conference) Brilliant, Dr. Lindon, Dr. Odonata, Dr. Pinkie, Dr. Menura, Councilman Somato, Zeal-and-Duty Chique: NB/Various, fantasy monsters, elves, nudism, catch/fuck (The Sunken City, The Wild Woods) Chique, Lien, Lutin, Fuck-elves The Dragon Double Feature: M/F, M/M, M/M/F, dragon/human, oni/human, plus size. Fantasy princess/dragon CNC, Edo era Japan (The Dragon Double Feature, The Dragon Double Feature 2) Eveline, Gundrid, Wakatake/Taki, Kenta, Mrs. Arakawa, Jerund Eternella 7: M/M/M, Gundam-inspired space opera erotica. (Eternella 7 Parts 1-3) Risk, Turn, Engel House Gerhardt: F/F/M, vampires, trans women, femdom, male humiliation, 1800s. Lady Cygnet, Countess Gerhardt, Conrad House of the Risen King: M/F, old god, exhibitionism/nudism, sex cult. (House of the Risen King) Vee, Zihbeh Knight of Thorns: M/F, giant faceless knight/petite princess forced marriage. Rosaline, Knight of Thorns Laurestine: Trans unicorns, monsters, bondage/stuck in situations, catch/fuck (Spring with the Unicorns) Laurestine, Barberry, Mazereon, Edelweiss The Leylic Sea: M/M, historical fantasy, pirates, university wizards (The Captain of the Tybaltine, The Boy from Karkutt) Mr. Todd, Oliver Bullock, Lucas, Mirza The Long Road: Goblins, dwarves, bandits, a princess and a knight. Gangbangs, rope bondage, CNC (The Long Road) Tourmaline, Angre, Vanesse, Samwell, Georgie and Markie (the Twins), Jarett, Bingo, Goblina. Lover Rescue: F/F/Genderfluid, magical girls, monsters, plus size, cam girling. Lover Pink (Momoka), Lover Gold (Hikari), Lover Blue (Aozora), Lord Heteracuto (Hiroto) The Masson Circle: M/M, M/F, 1970s crime romance, multiple ships, femdom, trans male character (The Masson Circle) Ezra, Tessa, Leonard, Lionel/Nell, Jean, Mathieu Max and Mortis: M/F, exhibitionism, naturalism, photography, nudism. Max, Mortis/Daisy Monsterfuck Mountain: Fantasy monsters, WIP erotic CYOA (You're A Mage on Monsterfuck Mountain) The Mage, Trolls The Night Guest: M/F, young man/older woman, oni/human (The Night Guest) Mrs. Arakawa, Tōru Objects of Affection: M/F, F/F, robot girls and people being weird about them. Touma, Shima, Mari-ko, Ratna, Mari Mouse, Samart, Marinette Season's Breedings: Gnomes, Imps, and probably other critters, and their biology/breeding habits. Applecore. The Sleeping Garden: M/Agender, alien, science. Dr. Arbor, The Flower Starbuster: M/M, a WIP novel-length superhero romance. Mitsuo, Tom, Starbuster Roger Crenshaw: Trans M/M, monsters, occultism, early 1900s (The Vampires of New Haven, The Wolves of the West, The Shadow in the Shelves, The Dogs at Duskfall) Roger Crenshaw, Professor Reed, Grigori, Mateo, Johnny, Sweet Nate, Jackie-Ralph, Cam Ellis, George Adler, Combe Hooper. Romick: Evil wizards, obedient doll, magical sex, experimentation kink, dungeon bondage, monster sex (The Tenebrous Tower) Romick, The Doll, Cadogan, Madog, Osmund, Vester

[mrs-willow]

"A Raven and a Falcon" benji x oc

Disclaimer: I am not familiar with the Dance of Dragons books or the accurate storyline, so I have decided to change it to fit this story. I could not find an exact or reliable family tree for either House Blackwood or House Arryn, so I just made my own characters.  

The dance never actually happens!!! Viserys doesn’t die until he reaffirms Rhaenyra as his heir, and after that big family dinner, Rhaenyra returns on Dragon back, and she and Alicent talk out everything. There are mutual apologies, tears, laughter, and everyone lives. 

This is a sappy slow burn with angst, fluff, smut later, and everything I make up when I disassociate.  

This is literally my first post on here or any other website, so please be nice. I am writing this solely for my own enjoyment… there needs to be more Benjicot Blackwood material on this app.  However, I would still love feedback, and if there is something that you think would add to the story, message me, and I’ll see what I can do. 

Summary: Lady Lillian of the House Arryn reaches her eight and ten in a fortnight and has yet to be wed or promised to another Lord. After returning from Kings Landing for the coronation of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, she is informed of her Father and brother's plans to wed her to a man she has only seen glimpses of and whose reputation is insanity and bloodlust. Lillian learns to love this new stranger, or will she be forced into a life of loneliness and solitude and made to produce heirs until she dies?

Warnings: smut (later), blood, violence, cursing, period typical sexism, alternating POVs, (idk lmk if I should add more stuff)

Chapter 1

As Caelan strode through the corridors of the Eyrie he pondered the rumors of the castle being haunted just as Harenhall is. The man had grown up running through these halls with his siblings, escaping the septas and playing games of war and duels, and yet he could not remember the strange sound of wind whistling through the columns and doorways, creating the strange feeling that someone was trying to speak with you. That fate awaits one as one grows from boy to man. 

Caelans riding boots echo on the dark stone as he makes his way to the Arryn family's apartments. The decorations adorning the walls turn from mosaic replicas of the vast mountain range the Castle was built in, with striking figures of falcons soaring through twenty-foot billowing clouds to soft tapestries displaying a man, his wife, and four beaming blonde children. Metalwork of falcons and moons adorns the tall arches of doorways, and vases of flows rode in from the reach sit colorfully in vases. 

This deep into the castle, the man and the flowers are protected from the harsh rain and winds whipping through the outermost corridors and open rooms. Still, as he enters Lord Arryns personal study, Caelan finds all four hearths of the great room lit as the aging man cannot escape the chill of a month's travel on the King's Road during winter.

At the sound of someone entering the great room, the old man looks up from the pages he had previously been contemplating. It's funny how a few words can cause so much stress. Robert Arryn was a kind man, loved by his bannerman, and respected in court and on the battlefield. His Knights of the Vale were among the fiercest armies in the Seven Kingdoms and were recently praised by the new Queen Rhaenyra when Robert matched them south as a show of support for the true Queen and a warning for those who mean to harm her. Among his Knights, the Seasnakes Armada, the Blackwood host, and the Northmen showed formidable support for their true queen. Yet, Robert is no longer a twenty-year-old man poised for battle and all manner of foolish, daring adventures, and this long trip has taken its toll on the man's bones.

He muttered as he met his son at the table. 

“The realms delight should’ve lived up to the title and held the coronation in spring to spare all us old men the pain of the cold set into our bones.” 

The young man subtly rolled his eyes away from his disgruntled father. “If you had listened to my warnings of the rain while on horseback, perhaps you would not be in such discomfort, Father,” Caelan teased with a small smirk. 

Robert sent the young man his most fearsome glare, “I will not be laughed at in my own home, boy. Now go get your father a pelt so he might not freeze to death in the damn winter.” 

Calan rose, joking that the “bloody Starks are always right at some point. Winter is Here.” 

The two men sat side by side momentarily, gazing into the crackling fire. One old man sat grateful that he had not been called to fight another war, “so much death and cruelty in the world,” he thought, “thank the old gods and the new that my children will not know war.” The younger man sat gazing at the flames, contemplating his father's reasons for calling him here at such a late hour with the castle all but asleep. His mind immediately drifted to the worst reasons for the summoning, and he prayed his worries would soon be eased when his Lord Father stopped being such a dramatic old crow.

“Father, why have you summoned me at such an odd hour?” Caelan questioned. The man knew better than to press his father for answers and thus sat patiently like a little boy waiting for his father's commands. 

Robert sighed. He then rose and retrieved the papers he had been studying when Caelan first arrived in the study. Wordlessly, Robert handed the letter to his son and resumed his place at the table, once again falling silent.

As Caelan reads the letter addressed to Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale, the reality of getting older becomes present and clear as the childhood he once knew begins to fade into blurry memories filled with love and laughter.

Caelan reaches his father's eyes, “Lillian is to be…” he pauses and lets his father's eyes answer his question. 

“She is to be Married,” Robert affirms. “She is nearly ten and eight; the time has come, and it would do her more harm than good to shelter her here until it truly is impossible for us to let her go or her to let us.”

Caelan leans back in the oversized chair he adorns, “She will be livid,” he warns his father. 

“Aye,” Robert agrees, “but that is the way of things and she cannot hide in these mountains forever.” 

“Father, I agree, but truly to that man?” Caelan questions. “You cannot possibly think that giving Lillian to a psycho would be wise?”

“Mind your tongue, boy,” Robert warns. “His father is one of my oldest friends and closest allies.” Robert reminds his emotional Son.

“Yes, of course, but that does not discredit the news we hear of his son. We mu-”

Robert rose swiftly from his chair, “I will hear none of this. Samwell Blackwood and I were raised side by side. We learned to shoot, ride, and wield swords together, and I trust that the man I grew up with raised a son who is equally honorable and just as he is.”

Caelan slumped forward, defeated. “At least allow me to inform her of this change to her life?” the man asked. “She will be more forgiving if it comes from me rather than you.”

Robert sighed. He felt pride swell in his breast for his eldest son and his three younger children. He was proud to have raised them in a manner that made them friends and confidants rather than enemies. He knew then and there that his eldest son would be equally loved and honored as Lord of the Vale when death came for him. 

“I will allow it, but it must be done in the morning. She will leave the day following her name day.” 

“Thank you, father. If I may retire to my chambers, I sense tomorrow will be a trying day.” 

Robert raised his hand and bid his son a good night, then called after him, “Caelan? Please tell her that I’m sorry.”

Caelan paused and sighed, “Father, you must tell her this yourself. Soon, she will no longer be a short walk from your own chamber.”

With that, the heir to House Arryn headed back toward his chambers and noticed that the howling in the halls sounded sweater, slightly more musical and feminine.

Back in the study, Lord Arryn stood in front of the hearth in contemplation. He reminisced about the times his family was still whole and couldn’t help but feel that he was chipping away yet another piece of his soul in allowing his daughter to leave the safety of her family.   

[exhausted-archivist]

The Foods of Dragon Age: The Veilguard

This covers all the new foods mention in the game, unless noted otherwise, these foods are considered universal as they don't have a specific place of origin mentioned.

New Ingredients:

Alubia carilla - Antivan, aka blacked eyed peas

Antivan Lemon Thyme

Apricot

Cheese Curds

Chocolate, Dark

Clinging Morsel - a hearty fungus that is common in rural cuisine

Cow Heart

Cream, Heavy

Dragon's Bounty - known for its health benefits, it has tough green skin that opens and reveals dozens of tart arils.

Dragon Pepper - Rivain

Dragon Root

Dwarf Spice Collection - contains eight different spices.

Flax Seed

Figs, Purple

Ginger Root - a popular ingredient in Qunari cuisine

Gingerwort Truffle - common in the Anderfels and the Arlathan forest. When made into a tea it can have some magical side effects.

Green Cabbage

Horned Melon

Human Spice Collection - a collection with two spices

Kale

Lineseed

Mangos - Tevinter

Melon

Nocen Bass - a hearty denizen of the Nocen Sea

Nocen Shrimp

Olive Oil - Antivan

Pineapple - Tevinter and Rivain

Potatoes, New

Potatoes, Sweet

Pumpkin, Warty

Rialto Trout - a fish featured in both Antivan and Rivaini cuisine

Rivaini Pitaya - a colourful fruit with a sweet, delicate flavor. Though pitaya refers to dragonfruit family, the fruit doesn't look like dragonfruit.

River Salmon

Saffron

Sea Bass

Seere Peppers - Rivaini

Short-grain Rice - Antivan

Spearmint

Spicy Spice Collection - contains fourteen jars

Spring Onions

Striped Cod

Sugar, Brown

Sweetmelon

Tomatoes, Cherry

Vinegar, Dark

Vinegar, White

Walnut

Yam

New Foods:

Aged Antivan Cheese

Antaam Provisions

Antivan Dressing

Antivan Seafood Soup - uses sea bass, nocen shrimp, striped cod, squid, saffron, and salt

Apple Cake - Fereldan

Apple Cheesy Butter Noodles - Fereldan, a recipe made by Harding

Apple Dumplings - Fereldan

Apricot Liqueur

Armada Special - a Rivaini sandwich comprised of meat and cheese, it can have greens, pineapple, and more meat and cheese added. Or one can make it "Nevarran" meaning vegetarian.

Bran Cookies

Breaded Cheese Wands - Rivain, sticks of cheese breaded

Breadstick

Bronto Steak

Bug-cakes

Candied Sage Leaves - a popular Nevarran snack

Carta Fries - a Riviani dish, served as a side

Cheesy Toast

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

Churro - Antivan

Cider Porridge

Citrus Bagna Cauda - Antivan, a citrus sauce with anchovies

Coffee Ice - a frozen Minrathous treat, served with cream and toffee sauce on top. It is "like snow" but tastes of coffee

Cucumber sandwich

Dalish Seafood Soup

Deep Roads Crispers - a Rivaini dish

Demon-hair pasta

Eel Soup - Qun

Elderberry Pie - served in Ferelden and Tevinter

Elfroot Jelly

Fish Head Stew - Qun

Fish of the Day with Pear Slaw - Tevinter

Fish-fry

Free Marches Mash-up - a Rivaini dish

Fried Bread

Fried Bread with Herbs

Fried Leeks and Potatoes

Fried Peppers

Fry-bread - Tevinter

Gooseberry Pie

Gravy on Fish

Greens - salad

Greens with Antivan, Orlesian, or House Dressing

Griddle Cake

Grilled Fish Kebab

Grilled Halla - Dalish

Grilled Skewerd Squid

Grilled Treviso - Antivan, a fish named after the city

Grilled Treviso with Citrus Bagna Cauda

Hal's Fried Fish - Tevinter

Halla Cakes - Dalish

Ham and Herbs

Ham and Jam Slam - a Fereldan sandwich comprised of toast, butter, ham, and jam. Made by Harding.

Hazlenut Torte - Nevarran

Honey Cake with Figs - Tevinter

House Dressing - a Rivaini dressing

Isskap - a Qunari dish, that uses melons

Jam Pudding - Fereldan

Jam Tart - Fereldan

Jam, Apple

Jam, Cherry

Jam, Strawberry

Khachapuri - Tevinter, there is a three cheese variety

Lavender Cream - Antivan

Mince Pie

Mutton Stew - Fereldan

Mystery Stew

Nevarran Tomb Cheese

Non-Seafood Paella - Antivan

Noodles and Gravy

Nordbotten Cream - made of brined sheep's milk from Nordbotten

Orange Liqueur

Orlesian Dressing

Orlesian Sauce

Pasta Made of Peppers and Oil

Peanut Butter and Sausage Special - Tevinter

Pear Slaw - Tevinter

Peppered Steaks

Poached Crustaceans - Tevinter

Pork Dumplings - Fereldan

Pork Hand Pies with Fresh Herb Sauce - Tevinter

Potato Stew

Poutine

Rarebit - Nevarran

Raw Oysters on Ice with Lemon and Mint - Tevinter

Rhubarb Pie - Tevinter and Fereldan

Roasted Cabbage

Roasted Cabbage and Gravy

Roasted Chicken

Roasted Chicken Salad

Robust Loaf - a crusty, wholesome brown bread

Rolled Noodles

Salted Meat, Halla

Sauced Eels - Qunari

Sausage Sauced with Nut Butter Stuffed in a Bun - Tevinter

Savory Pie with Spinach - Tevinter

Scorpion Pasta - Tevinter

Scrambled Eggs

Scrambled Eggs and Gravy

Sea Monster Kebab - Rivaini

Seafood Paella

Seleny Ham - Antivan

Smoked Trout

Souffle

Spiced Fried Lentils - Tevinter

Spiced Porridge

Spit-Roasted Nug - Tevinter

Strawberry Tart

Street Meat

Sugar-biscuit Candy

Tarta de Limon - Antivan

Taste of Ferelden Bread and Cheese Spread

Tentacle Salad - Tevinter

The Divine's Hat - An Orlesian soft cheese molded to resemble the Divine's crown.

The Revered Mother's Knickers - Fereldan

Treviso Ham - Antivan

Turnip Stew - Fereldan

Vanilla and Nutmeg Tart

Venison Souffle

White Sauce

Wild Meat and Mushrooms - Dalish

Yam and Jam Slam - a Fereldan sandwich comprised of toast, butter, yam, and jam. Made by Harding.

Zeff's Fried Fish

New Drinks

Andoral's Breath - a type of coffee common in Treviso

Antivan Heritage Brandy

Antivan House Wine

Aromatic Coffee - Antivan

Assembly Ale - Dwarven

Cioccolata Calda - Antivan

Daisy Fun-Time Lemon Gin - Antivan, a juniper spirit flavoured with local flowers and fruit.

Dew of the Dales - Elven, Antivan. Spirits for the spirited, an elven elevation of the brewing arts only sold in Antiva.

Dock Town Homebrew - Tevinter

Dragon Piss Ale

Dwarven Stout - an Orzammar recipe, brewed by the dwarven Ambassadoria

Fire Brandy - used to flambé desserts

Ginger Tea

Gingerwort Truffle Tea

Grappling Hook - a white liqueur with hints of elderflower. Served with three coffee beans

Halla Milk

Kirkwall Select 9:36 - after the Kirkwall Rebellion, few barrels survived.

Lavender Tea

Lemon Gin - Antivan

Minrathous Red - hints of plum and spices

Minrathous White - a light and refreshing drink for humid Tevinter summers

Nevarran Red

Pomace Brandy - Antivan, brandy made from the pomace leftovers of wine making

Qun on the Rocks - Antivan, rum is matched with salt water and presumably seasonal fruit from Par Vollen.

Rivaini Moonshine - home-distilled Rivaini moonshine not for the faint of heart or stomach

Starkhaven Lager

Teven Lager - popular Dock Town amber brew

Vint-6 the common Red - thick and sweet, it is served by the sip. Tradition says that the more who partake, the greater the fortune

Vyrantium Brandy

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

a list of some summer movies/series 🌞

hi hi hi!! it's just me, your friendly neighbourhood little organisation freak of a goblin here to give you yet again a list of some seasonal movies and series. this time, say it with me folks, summer! as always, just close your eyes and point somewhere on this little list, or even put the numbers in a generator and go with whatever the result is ♡

autumn | winter | spring

🐚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ movies ⋅˚₊‧

roman holiday (1953)

jaws (1975)

friday the 13th (1980)

Indiana jones (1981-)

dirty dancing (1987)

the princess bride (1987)

paris is burning (1990)

point break (1991)

jurassic park (1993-)

before sunrise (1995)

a goofy movie (1995)

clueless (1995)

birdcage (1996)

boogie nights (1997)

i know what you did last summer (1997)

my best friend's wedding (1997)

parent trap (1998)

bilboard dad (1998)

tarzan (1999)

the talented mr. ripley (1999)

10 things I hate about you (1999)

the mummy (1999)

cast away (2000)

almost famous (2000)

our lips are sealed (2000)

charlie’s angels (2000 + 2003)

holiday in the sun (2001)

the wedding planner (2001)

the fast and furious franchise (2001-)

princess diaries (2001-2004)

lilo and stitch (2002)

blue crush (2002)

crossroads (2002)

how to lose a guy in 10 days (2003)

under the tuscan sun (2003)

the lizzie mcguire movie (2003)

pirates of the caribbean franchise (2003-2017)

sisterhood of the traveling pants (2005-2008)

monster in law (2005)

aquamarine (2006)

she’s the man (2006)

the cheetah girls 2 (2006)

high school musical 2 (2007)

camp rock (2008)

vicky cristina barcelona (2008)

fool's gold (2008)

mamma mia (2008 + 2018)

adventureland (2009)

bride wars (2009)

hannah montana the movie (2009)

the last song (2010)

letters to juliet (2010)

eat pray love (2010)

one day (2011+2024)

a little bit of heaven (2011)

soul surfer (2011)

the impossible (2012)

magic mike (2012+2025+2023)

the big wedding (2013)

lovelace (2013)

endless love (2014)

chef (2014)

the longest ride (2015)

mad max: fury road (2015)

the shallows (2016)

it (2017)

girls trip (2017)

baywatch (2017)

jumanji: welcome to the jungle (2017)

gifted (2017)

call me by your name (2017)

crazy rich asians (2018)

adrift (2018)

ibiza (2018)

every day (2018)

bad times at the el royale (2018)

tomb raider (2018)

the red sea diving resort (2019)

midsommar (2019)

we summon the darkness (2019)

spider-man: far from home (2019)

the devil all the time (2020)

palm springs (2020)

the last letter from your lover (2021)

raya and the last dragon (2021)

luca (2021)

uncharted (2022)

glass onion (2022)

do revenge (2022)

the lost city (2022)

the gray man (2022)

death on the nile (2022)

barbie (2023)

bottoms (2023)

anyone but you (2023)

la passion de dodin bouffant (2023)

road house (2024)

the challengers (2024)

players (2024)

twisters (2024)

🍦 ‧₊˚ ⋅ series ⋅˚₊‧

the o.c. (2003-2007)

america's next top model (2003-2018)

project runway (2004-)

h2o: just add water (2006-2010)

gossip girl (2007-2012)

private practice (2007-2013)

rupaul’s drag race (2009-)

the walking dead (2010-2022)

new girl (2011-2018)

the fosters (2013-2018)

black-ish (2014-2022)

jane the virgin (2014-2019)

grace and frankie (2015-2022)

critical role (2015-)

stranger things (2016-)

the durrells (2016-2019)

big little lies (2017-2019)

she's gotta have it (2017-2019)

the bold type (2017-2021)

queer eye (2018-)

station 19 (2018-2024)

euphoria (2019-)

roswell, new mexico (2019-2022)

valeria (2020-2023)

911: lone star (2020-)

outer banks (2020-)

bridgerton (2020-)

sex/life (2021-2023)

the white lotus (2021-2025)

daisy jones and the six (2023)

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien Wonderful Moments Date English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Lucien boops Snowball's nose, his tone hinting at jealousy.

"You've been praising this little guy a lot."

"Pfft, is Professor Lucien jealous?"

Translation under the cut!

[Notes from Lux: Here’s the CN video link if anyone wants to follow along with his Voice Acting.]

A car moves slowly on the vibrant countryside road, joyful laughter spilling out of its windows from time to time.

Lucien casually rests his hand on the steering wheel, looking ahead, and quickly comes up with a Chinese idiom.

Lucien: The victory is in the bag. (shèng quàn zài wò)

MC: Idiom with wò… crouching tigers and hidden dragons! (wò hǔ cáng lóng! - 卧虎藏龙 - fig. mean talented individuals hiding their talent)

Lucien: Just a reminder to this beautiful contestant, this phrase was already said during our first round of the idiom chain game.

MC: Then, how about… I control my destiny! (wǒ mìng yóu wǒ - 我命由我- a phrase, not an idiom)

Lucien: [chuckles] That doesn't seem to be an idiom. Is Miss Producer starting to cheat?

Lucien tilts his head and looks at me with a smile. I sheepishly stick out my tongue, wracking my brain as I search through my vocabulary.

The gentle spring breeze seeps through the gaps of the car window. Looking at those cunning eyes, I have a sudden inspiration and break into a sweet smile.

MC: I like you~ (wǒ xǐhuān nǐ~)

Lucien's demeanor briefly halts for half a beat as though he doesn't expect my answer. But then, the smile on his lips grows bigger.

The warm afternoon sunshine reflects brightly in his upturned eyes, making them look particularly beautiful.

Lucien: [chuckles, then sighs] This is the most sophisticated cheating I've ever seen, so I concede defeat.

I cheer joyfully, but before I can utter a word, an electronic broadcast interrupts me.

"Distance to the next highway toll booth is 1.5 kilometers ahead.”

I glance at the phone screen and see it shows another hour and a half to the camping village.

Lucien suggested this camping trip to an ecologically pristine village with beautiful scenery, though the only downside is that the journey was a bit long.

I turn to look at Lucien, who appears to be in a good mood, and can't resist asking the small question that's been lingering on my mind.

MC: Lucien, what made you suddenly want to take me to this camping village?

Lucien: It was recommended by a colleague from the research center. I heard the scenery there is nice and worth a visit.

Lucien: I originally wanted to find an opportunity to spend time with you, and just last weekend we went to see a play, which gave me a very legitimate reason to invite you on a date—

Lucien: To create “beautiful moments”.

He deliberately emphasizes the words "beautiful moments", causing me to momentary pause as a recent memory quickly floods into my mind.

—[Flashback Start]—

At the entrance of the theater last weekend.

Lucien and I walked out of the theater hand in hand. I was still sniffling, lost in the storyline of the performance we just watched, unwilling to let it go.

Just as I was about to wipe away the tears at the corner of my eye, a warm hand handed me a tissue and gently dabbed it beneath my eyes.

Lucien: [gently] If this little audience member keeps crying, I'll have to go find the production team for an explanation.

MC: I'm just really moved by the play...

MC: At first, when I saw the protagonist growing up under the shadow of his mother's depression, I thought he would fall into despair.

MC: But he was able to diligently record the beautiful moments in life and ultimately salvaged himself...

MC: I just tried to put myself in his shoes, and it's really hard to be as optimistic as the protagonist, so I couldn't stop my tears.

Under Lucien's gentle gaze, I rambled on and on, completing my "review" of the play. He patiently wiped the corners of my eyes and offered a comforting smile.

Lucien: I actually think the lady by my side also has a pair of eyes that can discover the beauty of life everywhere.

His sincere praise caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but feel a little buoyed by it. My heart, which had been saddened by the protagonist's struggles, also eased a bit.

MC: If I had a "Book of Beautiful Moments," the first thing I would record is how Professor Lucien always generously praises me~

Lucien chuckled softly, and the strands of hair hanging over his forehead swayed gently in front of his thick lashes.

Lucien: [chuckles] I'm just stating facts. She shares the beauty of the sky with me and finds satisfaction in good weather...

Lucien: —Isn't that kind of you very much like the protagonist?

MC: Then next time I discover something beautiful, I'll make sure to record it promptly.

MC: Let's see if I can fill several volumes of "Wonderful Moments" just like the protagonist!

—[Flashback Ends]—

I casually remarked and thought it was nothing but a joke, yet Lucien silently remembered it in his heart. I come to my senses and blink.

MC: So, the reason you suddenly decided to take me out to play is to create more wonderful moments in my life?

Lucien: I wonder if it's because I'm not "competent" enough that you don't have much to record, so I deliberately created this opportunity.

Lucien: Of course, it's also to show myself off a bit.

He adopts a tone of pretended grievance that stirs a feeling of itchiness in my heart, I suppress the curve of my lips, nodding in mock annoyance.

MC: Well, in light of your "timely remedy," I'll reluctantly start recording officially!

✂———————–

MC: ...Lucien takes me camping;

MC: Before we set off, Lucien made me a cup of hot chocolate.

MC: While playing the idiom chain game, Lucien deliberately went easy on me...

As I speak, I open the Notes app on my phone and mutter to myself, recording a dozen or so entries. But as I continue to write, I suddenly feel something is amiss.

MC: Wait a minute, why do all these "wonderful moments" have Professor Lucien's shadow? I'm starting to suspect that I have a “love-brain”*...

[T/N: "恋爱脑" (love brain) is a Chinese internet buzzword that refers to a mindset that puts love first above everything. It refers to individuals who are deeply in love and often become consumed by their emotions, making it difficult for them to think about anything else. This phenomenon is characterized by extreme devotion to their lover, often leading to uncontrollable emotional dependence and intense desires to be with the other person... If anything, from the way Lucien takes her casual remarks seriously and uses them as a reason to hang out with her, this word describes Lucien more LOL]

Lucien: [with a pretending-don’t-to-know-anything tone] Oh, really?

Lucien is amused by my muttering, and a hint of sly self-satisfaction shines in his long and narrow eyes.

Lucien: [chuckles] It seems the Great Producer has already fallen into my sweet trap.

Lucien: Because my goal is to dominate your today's "wonderful moments" list through this trip.

MC: Hmph, then I won't let you succeed. Right now, I'm going to come up with something completely unrelated to you.

As I speak, I catch a glimpse of a white shadow flashing in front of the car. But before I can react, Lucien has already hit the brakes.

[Sounds of the car suddenly braking]

Almost simultaneously, a strong arm instinctively protects me in front of my chest.

Lucien: ...Are you okay?

He removes his sunglasses and swiftly scans me with his gaze as if confirming whether I'm injured.

I stare blankly ahead. After a moment of daze, there's no movement in front of the car, and my heart leaps into my throat.

MC: I, I'm okay...

MC: Lu, Lucien... Did something just rush onto the road?

Lucien: I'll go down and take a look first. Stay in the car and don't move.

He smooths out my disheveled bangs and then gets out of the car after turning on the hazard lights.

Through the windshield, I see him quickly walk to the front of the car. His gaze instantly shifts downward, as if he's spotted something, and he crouches down.

Did we really hit something?

Just as I nervously stretch my neck and am about to get out of the car to take a look, Lucien suddenly stands up, cradling a bundle of white fluff in his arms.

MC: Eh?

I take a closer look and can't help but exclaim in delight—

It's an adorable little Pomeranian!

Under my expectant gaze, Lucien quickly gets back into the car with the little Pomeranian in his arms, then raises the pup's paw and waves it at me.

MC: Hello there, cutie! How did you end up on the road?

Lucien: This little fellow must have gotten lost. I didn't see anyone else outside the car.

I follow Lucien's gaze out the window. The road is very quiet, there's no sign of anyone around.

MC: Is it injured?

Lucien: It wasn't hit just now. When I got out to check, it was still some distance from the front of the car. It's probably just a little startled.

As if understanding, the Pomeranian snuggles its face into Lucien's palm coquettishly. Its dewy eyes shift between Lucien and me, softening my heart.

I tentatively reach out my hand towards its nose, intending to let it get accustomed to my scent before attempting to pet its little head.

However, as soon as I reach out my hand, the little fellow enthusiastically licks my fingers. In the next moment, it leaps over the center console and goes straight into my arms.

MC: Wow, what a good little doggy!

MC: And it looks very clean, not like a stray dog... Could it be lost?

Lucien leans in and turns the collar of the small Pomeranian, discovering a small round tag. On it, it reads "Snowball*" and a string of numbers.

[T/N: the pet name, "雪糕" (xuě gāo), actually means "ice cream bar/popsicle"  LOL. I take some liberty in translating the pup name because “雪” (xuě) word alone means “snow” (while “糕” (gao) means cake). Imagine that this fluffy white bundle looks like a snowball so I give the pup that name :D]

MC: "Snowball"? Is that its name?

Lucien: Mm, below should be the owner's phone number. Let me try contacting them. Maybe the owner hasn't gone far.

Lucien takes out his phone as he speaks and quickly gets connected. After briefly explaining the situation, a wave of gratitude comes from the other end of the line.

??: Thank you so much! I stopped at the service area for a break and took the pup out of the car for a walk. I forgot to bring it back into the car.

??: I've already turned back onto the highway. I'll be there in about forty minutes!

??: Will it delay you?

Lucien doesn't respond, he just looks up at me and gestures with his eyes, as if asking for my opinion. I quickly nod in agreement.

[asking for opinion from the family leader.jpg]

Lucien: No, it won't. Then let's meet at the nearest gas station to the toll booth on the highway.

After a brief conversation, he hangs up the phone and shakes his head at me helplessly.

Lucien: [smiles helplessly] Looks like our journey might be delayed for a bit.

MC: What a careless owner! How could they forget such an adorable little dog?

I affectionately rub Snowball's head. It seems to whimper aggrievedly, then it straightens up, leans against me, and licks my cheek.

The adorable and silly look melts my heart once again. I exaggerate by placing my hand over my heart, then I scoop Snowball into my arms and give it a tight cuddle.

MC: Lucien, it's just too cute.

Upon seeing this, Lucien boops Snowball's nose, his tone hinting at jealousy.

Lucien: You've been praising this little guy since earlier until now for so many times.

MC: Pfft, is Professor Lucien feeling jealous?

Lucien: After all, I was the one who wanted to make a good impression today, but I didn’t expect to be outshone by this "little attention-seeker".

MC: I think, it's actually quite timely that Snowball showed up.

I mischievously wink at him and raise Snowball triumphantly.

MC: Just when I couldn't think of any beautiful moments unrelated to you.

MC: The appearance of this cute little fellow right now just fills that gap perfectly~

Lucien: Is that so?

Lucien presses his lips together thoughtfully, his clean fingertips lightly tapping on the steering wheel. He puts his sunglasses back on and, as if on a whim, starts the car again.

Lucien: Buckle up your seatbelt, let's go.

MC: Huh? Where are we going? Aren't we supposed to wait for Snowball's owner?

Lucien: MC's words just aroused my desire to win.

Lucien: In order not to lose to this little fellow, I have to put in some extra effort during these forty minutes of waiting.

Lucien: Before that, let's go find some more unexpected wonderful moments.

✂———————–

Ten minutes later, Lucien drives us to a countryside field.

The golden sunlight blankets the emerald green grass, while wisps of light mist hover amidst the sea of green.

Excitedly, I hop out of the car while holding Snowball, and find myself unable to tear my eyes away from the beautiful scenery for a moment.

MC: It's so beautiful! Lucien, how did you know there's a place like this nearby?

Lucien: We passed by here when Miss Producer was fully focused on playing the idiom chain game just now.

Lucien: The meeting point I arranged with Snowball's owner is very close to here, so it was convenient to stop by on the way.

MC: [sweats] What? During that intense idiom chain game just now, you still managed to notice the scenery on the sides of the road?

Upon hearing this, Lucien seriously crosses his arms, one hand supporting his chin as if deep in thought.

Lucien: Hmm, after all, even in such a tense moment, Miss Producer didn't forget to use "sweet words" to bribe her opponent.

MC: Pfft-

I can't help but laugh, but Snowball in my arms suddenly wriggles restlessly, as if trying to break free from my embrace.

MC: Do you want to go down and play?

I carefully place Snowball on the ground. It sniffs around with its tiny nose and then happily starts running around us.

MC: [laughs cheerfully] Hahaha, Snowball, you're so fearless, don't you?

MC: Even after such a day full of twists and turns, you can still play so happily!

Lucien: A puppy's mind is very simple.

Lucien: Perhaps in its eyes, it simply unexpectedly took a risk to venture into an unfamiliar place and met with a beautiful and empathetic Jiejie (big sister) who understands it well.

Lucien: And now, this Jiejie has brought it to a playground where it can run freely, so why can't it be happy?

MC: Oh, come on, it's definitely the credit of this reasonable and understanding handsome Gege (big brother).

I jokingly gesture with my hand, but as I watch Snowball's carefree figure, I can't help but ponder Lucien's words with a thoughtful expression.

MC: That being said, it seems like any simple thing can easily make a puppy happy.

MC: Whether it's the company of its owner, a friendly pat from a stranger, a passing butterfly, or even just a small treat...

MC: I often see videos of dogs being scolded by their owners. One moment, they're scared out of their wits…

MC: Then, the next moment, as soon as their owners call their names with a smile, they instantly become happy again.

MC: So, is life filled with beautiful moments everywhere in the eyes of a puppy?

As we talk, Snowball runs around a nearby grassy area and then returns to Lucien's feet, panting. It looks like it's tired from playing and eagerly starts pawing at his pants.

Lucien cooperatively lifts it, and it comfortably stretches lazily in his arms, then leans against his arm and rests.

Lucien pats its head, his expression somewhat resigned.

Lucien: I originally wanted to create a "wonderful moment" for MC, but it seems like Snowball is the one enjoying it more.

MC: Indeed, we should learn from puppies and embrace the spirit of enjoying every moment. I can't let Snowball beat me~

As I say this, I take a deep breath, and the fresh air instantly fills my heart.

MC: So pleasant... If it weren't for the tight schedule and better scenery waiting for us, I'd want to camp right here.

Lucien looks at me upon hearing this, seeming to contemplate something. After a moment, he gently places Snowball into my arms and gives me a mysterious wink.

Lucien: I've received the classmate's wish, please wait a moment.

He walks around to the back of the car, opens the trunk, and folds down all the rear seats, creating a spacious area.

[Lucien’s car being an SUV is really useful in times like this huh-]

Then, he hangs the small decorative lanterns that were initially used for the tent on the roof of the car. Finally, he shakes out a small thin blanket and spreads it on top.

After finishing all this, he bends slightly and makes a gentlemanly invitation gesture.

Lucien: Please, have a seat.

MC: This is...

Lucien: Our time is indeed limited, not enough to set up a proper tent.

Lucien: So we'll have to use this "temporary camping spot" instead, I hope you two* don’t disdain it.

[T/N: He actually uses 小朋友 (literally means: child) as the term of endearment to refer both of them (so the more literal translation should be “I hope the two children don’t disdain it”). I change it for an obvious reason here, but I swear it’s not as bad as the english language makes it to be-]

I stand still for a moment as his intention dawns on me. Pink bubbles seem to bubble up in my chest, making my heart move up and down in the ripples it causes.

I compliantly put on airs, playing along with his gesture as I cradle Snowball and settle into the car.

MC: Can you see a look of "disdain" on our faces?

I raise Snowball, showing a coy and obedient look at Lucien. Snowball, oblivious to the situation, cooperatively wags its tail and barks cheerfully at Lucien twice.

Lucien chuckles softly, then takes off his sunglasses with one hand, his gaze shifting between Snowball and me.

The vast expanse of clouds above his head begins to slowly drift away, revealing the warm and radiant sunshine.

His deep gaze is imbued by the golden sky, revealing a hint of childlike innocence and simple contentment.

Lucien: Indeed, I can't see it, because I can only see two adorable faces.

His doting tone is unreserved, and I satisfactorily squint my eyes, my heart full of joy.

MC: This one-of-a-kind camping area, with Professor Lucien's intention behind it, is priceless and worth more than any amount of money.

MC: I cherish it so much; how could I possibly disdain it?

Snowball seems to understand my words. With a "woof", he jumps down and happily rolls around on the blanket.

Both Lucien and I are amused by its adorable appearance. A gentle breeze blows by, and my entire heart feels light as if it's strolling in the clouds.

Our gazes lock into each other, and this tranquil moment is so beautiful that I truly want to record it in some way.

But I don't take out my phone to make a note. Instead, I instinctively reach out and gently pull Lucien to sit beside me.

The warmth beside me makes me unconsciously lean closer. I nuzzle his shoulder clingily, my heart filled with softness.

MC: Professor Lucien, you've succeeded.

MC: Now my mind is filled with countless wonderful moments, and each of these moments is related to you-

MC: Me leaning on your shoulder, your scent filling my senses, and us sharing this unexpected encounter of scenery together...

MC: And even if these moments aren't intentionally recorded by me, it's okay.

MC: Because every little thing that has been happening with you has already integrated into my world since a long time ago.

The breath above my head becomes even more gentle and elongated. Lucien enfolds me in his arms, his warm breath almost as if it's seeping into the depths of my heart.

Lucien: I am honored to be part of all the “wonderful moments” of Miss MC.

Lucien: As the sole recipient of this “award”, I will remain humble and continue to work hard, bringing her even more happiness.

I smile in his arms, but suddenly, I think of something and pull myself away from him a bit.

MC: But it's not fair, I've listed so many 'wonderful moments' of my own. How come you haven't shared a single one with me?

Lucien seems taken aback by my sudden mention of this. He is struck silent for a moment, then a flicker of wounded expression crosses his face.

Lucien: Perhaps because I thought even if I didn't say anything, MC would know what I’m thinking—

Lucien: My "list of wonderful moments" is very simple, so simple that it has only one item.

Lucien: Now, do you still need me to tell you this one and only item?

He stares steadily into my eyes, with an irreplaceable radiance that ebbs and flows in the depths of his gaze.

I softly laugh, and my entire heart feels as transparent and bright as if it has been meticulously polished.

MC: No need.

I shook my head, the stray hair on my forehead bringing a slightly unbearable itch, gently brushing against my heart along with the gentle spring breeze.

I gently cup his cheek in the palm of my hand, and the world becomes unusually quiet, only the sound of two hearts beating can be heard.

MC: You don't need to say anything.

Because in those beautiful eyes, I only see myself.

————Fin———–

[Bonus Phone Call - Want it Now]

Lucien: Hello? Are you busy?

MC: So, I was about to take a lunch break—I was just thinking about you, and then your call came.

Lucien: It seems like there's always some kind of wonderful little tacit understanding between us.

Lucien: Then tell me about it.

MC: Haha, here's the thing. The company's pet club is planning a charity event.

MC: They plan to sell some handmade items and donate the proceeds to animal shelters. But I don't have any inspiration for what to make at the moment...

Lucien: Mm... I just received a delivery that might be helpful to you.

Lucien: The owner of Snowball sent us some things as a thank you. There are small felt keychains shaped like Snowball, as well as cartoon-style standees and cross-stitch fridge magnets.

Lucien: Looking at the note in the delivery box, it seems that the owner of Snowball designed them personally and also has the same ones at home.

Lucien: Perhaps we can also make some similar small items.

MC: Wow! They actually make these for their pet? The owner of Snowball is so thoughtful.

Lucien: You can tell that Snowball is truly cherished, so its owner makes these everyday little things, wanting its presence to fill every corner of their home.

MC: Hmm... Just like how my phone screensaver is you, and all the photos hanging around the home are of you?

Lucien: If what you're saying is that feeling of 'even when you're not around, I still want to see you first thing’...

Lucien: Then we're the same.

MC: I have another idea, I wonder if Professor Lucien shares the same idea as me.

Lucien: Hm?

MC: Even though my screensaver and chat background are pictures of you... I still want to see you right now.

Lucien: What a coincidence, I was thinking the same thing. So I've already brought your favorite milk tea and the Snowball keychain, and I'm on my way to see you.

Lucien: I checked the navigation, and the route from the research institute to your company is very smooth.

Lucien: In twenty minutes, both of our wishes will come true.