#Hairline Embroidery

[hikarinokusari]

Somehow I managed to draw the portrait of VR for my game, his receeding hairline now that my players won’t see him because he left the tower for who-knows-where. I headcanon the man to wear little glass-chains instead of the classic holds that remains behind the ears. Anyway. I'm back to drawing the the remaining members of Ravenloft so maybe see you with them, if I stay motivated.

Coat's design is taken from DDO's design because I spent too much time trying to understand and redraw the coat from the portrait (._. )

Feel free to use in your own game,

[mistiell]

Ok so, maybe you knew this already or maybe not, but... In the game, if you hover over Astarion's original outfit it says that it looks rather old and mended over several times. The running theory is that he's been reparing his own clothes (explains the cheeky embroidery in his underwear) , since we damn well know that Cazador would not give two hoots about it, and that poor baby has been running around in a 200 year old shirt and probably doesn't have much clothes with him. I just want something fluffy... maybe the reader always let's him have first dibs on whatever they find or even gets him new clothes. I just imagine him finding a brand new shirt on his tent that is soft and comfortable and I just want to weep in a corner 🥺

Can you help a sister out?

Here you are <33 (also, I'm so sorry this took so long lol) WC: 1.3k Also CW for potential spoilers

---

Astarion is slow to wake this morning, fully intending to lay with you in his tent as long as you’ll allow. Rolling over with his eyes still closed, he reaches to hook his arm around your waist only to grasp at nothing but air.

He’s certainly awake now.

It’s unusual to find you missing given he’s usually the first to wake between the two of you; two hundred years of living in The Underdark and only ever surfacing at night having apparently made him a little sensitive to light.

Sitting up and shifting onto his knees, he reaches to pull the tent flap back and peer out at the campfire. A small gust of the cool morning air sweeps over his bare torso, raising goosebumps over the skin of his arms despite the fact that he’s not really bothered by the cold. That little spike of anxiety dulls when he finds you haven’t strayed far; standing maybe fifteen feet away in conversation with Karlach.

As if you can sense him, you glance over and light up when you spot him peeking out of the tent, excusing yourself from the tiefling. He expects you to come straight over, but instead, you turn to grab a basket he hadn’t seen first.

He shuffles back to let you come inside, flushing a bit when you brush a few rogue curls from his face and bend to peck his hairline, “Good morning, handsome.”

“I- Good morning.” Is all he manages, still tired and a little stunned. Shifting off of his knees to sit cross-legged, he peers into the basket as you set it down in front of him and cocks a brow, “What’s this?”

“Clothes.”

“Well yes, I can see that, darling.” He sasses and you chortle, “But why have you brought me a basket of clothes?”

“I found it the last time we left camp.” He remembers that. You’d gone out with Karlach, Gale and Lae’zel and came back bloodied and bruised. He’d been so focused on getting you patched up that he hadn’t even thought of asking about what you might have found.

You clear your throat and glance away, smiling sheepishly, “I picked out some things I thought you’d like, but then I thought you might prefer to have a look through yourself, so,” You shrug and jerk your nose at the basket, “I brought you all of it.”

His heart would be stuttering in his chest if it could. Reaching into the pile, he thumbs over a few of the garments, feeling the different fabrics and looking over all the different colours. It’s been centuries since he’s had a choice in what to wear. Sure, he’s picked up some things throughout your travels but never so much all at once. It’s a little overwhelming, having all this to pick through after so long.

Taking hold of the basket, he pushes it closer to you, “Show me what you picked out first.”

“Oh,” Your heart rate spikes, and he smiles as you stutter out, “Are- Are you sure? I’m not sure you’d actually like what I picked out. That’s one of the reasons I brought you the whole basket.”

He scoffs and waves off the thought, “Nonsense. You could hand me the most distasteful outfit in all of Faerûn and I’d at least try it on for you.”

“Really?” “Of course I would.” He realises the implications of what he’s just said and tries to play off the sentiment with a puckish grin, gesturing towards himself, “It’s hard to not look good in something when you’re this beautiful.”

You laugh, eyes squinting shut with the force of your smile. “Yes, you truly are dashing, my love.”

“Stating the obvious, but I can’t complain,” You roll your eyes at him as he taps the sides of the basket, “Now, are you going to show me what you picked out? Or are you just going to sit here sing my praises? Personally, I’d be fine either way.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll get on with it,” Reaching into the clothes, your laughter tapers off as you glance back up at him timidly one last time, “But if you don’t like something, tell me, okay?”

He lays his palm flat against his sternum, all dramatics as he grins, “Cross my heart and hope to,” He pauses, before chuckling, “Well, die again, I suppose.”

He laughs when you shoot him a glare with no real malice behind it and tut disapprovingly.

He watches in quiet curiosity as you pull out a few items, explaining why you thought he’d like them as you go. Your reasons range from colours and patterns to embroidery and necklines, all of which are shockingly on par with his tastes. It appears you know him better than he thought you did.

“That’s about it, I think.” Your brows furrow in a way that is entirely too cute – especially for someone he’s watched eviscerate hoards of goblins – before you perk up with an excited gasp, “Oh! I almost forgot!”

Turning to look this way and that, you make a little sound of satisfaction when your gaze lands on your pack. Your shirt rides up a bit when you twist onto your knees to reach for it, and he stifles the urge to run his hand over the sliver skin it exposes. You rummage through a few pockets before finding what you’re looking for, returning to kneel in front of him with something hidden in your hand.

“Close your eyes.” You urge, and he does as you’ve asked.

“Ooh, saved the best for last, have you?” He grins, holding out his hands before you even ask.

You chuckle, sounding a little nervous, “Hopefully.”

He hears the tinkling of metal and nearly jumps when your hand makes contact with his, one cradling the backs of his while the other presses something small and rough into his palm.

“Open.” He can hear the smile in your voice as you say it.

On your command, he opens his eyes to find you’ve given him a necklace. The pendent is a little piece of a raw, orange crystal encircled by dainty gold rods that are bent to resemble branches.

“This is... beautiful.” He breathes, turning it over in his hand to admire the jagged edges, “What kind of crystal is it?”

“Sunstone.” He looks up at you then, finding a shy smile hung on your lips, “I know it’s a little on the nose but...,” You worry your bottom lip for a moment, clearly a little hesitant to continue, “I know you’re worried about... what’ll happen once the tadpoles are removed. So, I wanted to get you something just in case. It’s not the same thing, obviously, but I thought this way you can still figuratively have a little piece of the sun if,” Cutting yourself off, you glance away for a moment, “Well, if things don’t go the way we hope.”

He stares at you for a long moment, entirely unsure of what to say. He doesn’t think there’s anything he could say to convey just how much the gesture means to him.

Setting the necklace on his pillow, he draws you into his arms and weaves them tight around your waist. He pulls you to him so suddenly that your knees bump his shins, but you don’t seem to mind as you hook your arms around the back of his neck. His eyes burn as he murmurs against the side of your neck, “I love you.”

You card your fingers through his hair and he shudders, leaning further into you as you dot a few sweet kisses along the length of his shoulder.

“I love you too.” Your words are muddled as they’re mumbled into his skin, “More than you know.”

Maybe he didn’t before, but he thinks he has an idea now. You love him enough that you gave him his own little chunk of the sun. Even if things don’t pan out they way he hopes they will, he doesn’t think he’ll need the necklace – however pretty it may be.

He’s already got his bit of the sun wrapped up tight in his arms.

[evansbby]

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 (𝒑𝒐𝒚𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: daddy!kink, smutt, bunny lingerie, babying, mocking, misogyny, poyt!Steve being kinky and controlling, 18+, minors dni

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve buys his omega a very special gift. 

𝐀/𝐍: This is a drabble for my fic POYT. I got super inspired by this ask by @foxyprincessworld​ . Enjoy!

“Come here. I have a surprise for you.”

You look up from your novel to see Steve standing in the doorway, an oddly excited look on his face and a brown package in his hand. Immediately, you put your book down and go over to him as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He pats his knee and you waste no time in sinking down on his lap, looking up at him shyly.

“A surprise?” You whisper, reaching out to stroke the unassuming-looking brown package. You wonder what it could be, but seeing the wicked glint in Steve’s eye, you know it can’t be anything good.

“Yes. Go ahead and open it, omega.”

Steve’s big hand has snuck up underneath your hoodie, stroking your bare back sensually. It makes your breath hitch in your throat. You can feel him hard underneath you, which tells you exactly what you and him will be doing for the rest of the night. But what did this package have to do with it?

Carefully, you tear it open, a gasp dying in your throat when you see what’s inside. At first, all you see is pale pink tissue and shiny paper. After pushing all that aside, you’re greeted with soft pink lace that feels like butter on your fingertips. It’s lingerie – adorned with pretty embroidery and ribbons. So intricately stitched, and in Steve’s favourite colour for you – pink.

“It’s pretty.” You breathe, stroking the soft lace. You examine the G-string panties, feeling the blood rush up to your cheeks. That wouldn’t cover anything, you think to yourself. Steve had told you in the past that he found your regular flowery panties to be extremely sexy, so this was something completely different.

And then you feel something fluffy. Heart skipping a beat, you gingerly hold the G-string up and gasp softly when you see the fluffy tail sticking out from the back. Glancing back into the package, you see a pair of fluffy white bunny ears that completely match with the tail.

“This is… Steve, oh my gosh, I…” You don’t know what to say, and your alpha looks extremely smug as he clutches you close, grinding you down on his hard crotch and pressing his nose against your hairline and inhaling deeply.

“A cute little bunny costume.” Steve grins, giving your cheek a condescending pat, “For a cute little baby omega like you. Do you like it, baby?”

Like it? You were kind of intimidated by it, and mortified by the idea of wearing it. It could barely even be classified as a costume, what with how revealing it was. But you know that Steve expected you to have good manners, and so you nod. “Y-Yes. It’s very nice, thank you.”

Steve licks his lips, his hand which was stroking your bare back under your hoodie slips sideways and grabs your breast, giving it a harsh squeeze. You gulp, feeling your nipple harden and poke against his palm. Oh, he was doing that thing again! Where he made you all dumb just by touching you, making your mind all foggy and susceptible to whatever depravity he had in store for you.

“Say, thank you daddy.” Steve commands you darkly, his thumb and forefinger casually tweaking your nipple.

“Th-Thank you, daddy.” You squeak out submissively.

Your alpha smiles, and it’s crazy how quickly he switches from intimidating and strict to playful. He reaches down to give your ass a squeeze, his other hand still cupping your breast. You bet he can feel your heartbeat quickening as you swallow in anticipation and slight dread about what’s to follow.

“Why don’t you put on your gift for daddy?” Steve asks you, except you know it’s not a request.

“B-But I… I don’t think… Steve – I mean daddy – I, uh…” You grimace, your stutter worse than ever. “Please, I d-don’t think I would look good in it.”

Steve smirks, his eyes dark with wicked lust. He presses his lips down against the soft skin of your neck, baring his teeth and grazing them threateningly over your mating gland. He traces your jagged mark with his tongue, and your head falls in submission as your body begins to buzz with an innate need to obey him.

“Put it on, omega.” Steve says quietly against your skin, a threatening edge to his tone as he continues playing with your nipple, “Don’t make me ask you again.”

You stand in front of him fifteen minutes later, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The lingerie feels soft against your bare skin, but also tight as it pushes up and accentuates your curves. Your butt is practically on complete display, with the bunny tail nestled against your tailbone. The fluffy bunny ears are crookedly attached to your hair (you couldn’t get them straight) and your bare feet tap nervously against the carpet. (Steve always insisted you leave your feet bare – no socks or anything around the house ever).

“Fuck.” His jaw tenses as he looks you up and down, lust-blown navy eyes drinking in your curves as his hand meanders down to his crotch. “You look so hot, baby. Like a slutty little bunny. Keep your hands down to your sides.”

You sigh, lowering your arms from where you’d instinctively pulled them up to cover your chest. Steve’s gaze looks like he’s about to eat you up, with the way he’s staring at you. But what exactly does he see? Because when you’d glanced at yourself in the bathroom mirror before stepping out to show him, all you’d seen was an extremely insecure girl who looked very uncomfortable and kind of silly.

“Turn around for daddy, omega. Slowly, so I can see you.”

You do as he says, turning slowly. And you hear a sharp intake of breath behind you, followed by the sound of his zipper.

“Goddamn that little fucking bunny tail. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how sexy you look right now.”

“Th-Thank you– OW!”

Steve smacks your ass hard, and you stumble forward. You’re about to fall but he grabs your arm and yanks you back till you’re standing between his legs. You breathe hard as you brace yourself, your back still facing him. His large hand lands on your ass again, stroking the soft, bare flesh while you quiver under his touch, waiting for the blow.

“You have such a cute little ass, baby. Even cuter with your little bunny tail poking out.” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with lust as he grabs a handful of your ass and gives it a jiggle. “Fuck, this cute little bunny butt is just begging for a slap, huh?”

He slaps your ass again, the harsh sound echoing off the walls as you whimper, held captive by his tight grip.

“C’mon, omega. Tell me to slap your cute bunny butt again. I know you like it.” He chuckles darkly, stroking your sore ass and jiggling it lewdly like it’s a toy for his own amusement. “And say it just like that, say you want daddy to slap your cute little bunny butt.”

You scrunch your eyes shut, glad that you’re facing away from him and he can’t see how mortified you look. But of course, his dirty talk and babying has your slick beginning to drip down to your thighs – the G-string doing nothing to stop it.

“Daddy, p-please slap my cute little bunny butt.” You mumble, thinking about how you’d absolutely die if anyone else saw you like this or heard what you were saying.

Steve moans, giving your ass another firm slap, “That’s a good fucking girl, doing exactly what you’re told just like you always do. You’re a submissive little baby bunny omega aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“And by the looks of it, you’re also a horny little bunny. Can’t help but get wet from a spanking, can you, omega?” Steve smirks, yanking you back into his lap and immediately pressing his big palm squarely against your mound. The thin triangle of lacy fabric barely conceals anything, and the string part of your panties is completely soaked through with your juices. “God, you’re so fucking slutty, baby. I wish the guys could see this.”

Your head jerks up in alarm, “N-No!”

SMACK.

His hand draws back and lands a harsh slap on squarely on your pussy. The wet sound resonates across the room and you gasp as jolts of pleasure spark up your body. You can feel your bundle of nerves tingling at the contact and you whimper and grab his muscular forearm hard.

“Don’t forget your manners, dumb bunny.” Steve flicks your already crooked bunny ears and chuckles darkly, “You can never say no to your alpha. And anyways, I think the guys should see you like this. It’d remind them how they could never have an innocent little bunny omega like you because you’re mine, and all their girls are dumb whores. But not you.”

He dips his head down to capture your lips in a kiss, grabbing your hand in his and squeezing it as he kisses you. And oh, you wish he’d kiss you forever! As depraved as his words and actions are, his kisses are still so passionate, so deep, so wonderful! You sigh and melt into him, enthusiastically kissing him back, trying desperately to get closer to him without making it to obvious. His scent is rich and potent, and you know he’s very turned on as the two of you desperately rut against each other.

“You’re leaking on my jeans, baby omega.” Steve pulls away and laughs, grabbing your hair and not-so-gently pushing your head down to look. Your eyes widen at the sizeable wet spot on his jeans under where you’re sitting.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Steve, I didn’t mean to–”

“Shhh, you’re just a baby bunny, you can’t help having accidents, can you?” Steve says, patting your cheek before pulling it condescendingly. “Tell daddy how baby bunny omegas like you enjoy wetting yourselves all over daddy.”

He seemed to really be into this whole bunny thing – despite the fact that you still felt extremely uncomfortable and silly in the outfit. But Steve looked feral and incensed. He was playing with you on his lap right now like how a predator plays with its prey before devouring it. But you knew you’d be devoured soon, and you knew the animal inside him would take over any second, making him rough and unforgiving as he often got when he was feral and turned on beyond belief.

“B-But I haven’t wet myself like that.” You can’t help but say shyly, because he was acting like it was… the other kind of wet. And you’d never do that. Your juices staining his jeans was mortifying enough for you, but peeing on him? Oh god… You’d bury your head in the ground right then and there.

Steve tickles your side playfully, holding you flush against him when you squirm. And then his eyes take on an entirely new type of glint, and he presses your back to his chest, his hand which was resting on your pussy slipping up to press against your bladder.

“I could make you wet yourself for real, you know.” He says slyly, giving your bladder another hard press while you freeze in fear, looking up at him with wide eyes. He wouldn’t…

He seems to read your thoughts as he snickers, “I mean, imagine what everyone would say if they found out? My cute little baby omega wetting herself and ruining the cute bunny outfit daddy gifted you. Bet you’d be so humiliated, huh?”

He groans at the thought, grinding your body down on his hard, clothed dick as he presses against your bladder again. You whimper, softly begging him to stop but he’s too turned on to even hear you. But even if he had heard you, you don’t think he would’ve listened. All you can do is silently pray that he doesn’t follow through with his depraved ideas.

Steve’s lips press soft kisses down the nape of your neck while he fondles and explores your body. He can’t seem to get enough of the lingerie you have on, tugging your panties and snapping your bra strap against your shoulder blade, laughing cruelly when you yelp. He tugs at the fluffy tail attached to your G-string, all the while making out with you like he’s been starved of touch and contact all day.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Don’t worry, baby omega. We’ll save that for another day.” Steve assures you, giving your bladder one last press and savouring it as he watches you squirm in his lap. “Maybe when we’re in more of a public setting, hm? There’s a party at Ransom’s house tomorrow night, it would be cute to see you piss yourself on my lap in the middle of a crowded room with all my friends watching, huh?”

You don’t answer, instead just looking up at him with a pleading expression, which your alpha ignores as his gaze shifts elsewhere and he grows distracted.

“Fuck, I see you got that pedicure I asked you to get, hm, omega?” Without warning, he manoeuvres you sideways on his lap and grabs your ankle, hoisting your foot up. Your toes gleam with fresh white polish – you’d just gotten them done this morning after Steve had sent you the money and specially requested it. The anklet he gave you (the one which spells his name out) also gleams in the light, making your alpha grin.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer, eager to change the subject. “The pedicurist said that white is the most popular colour to get.”

“It looks fucking hot.” Steve says, yanking your foot up further and pressing a kiss on each of your toes while you gape at him. He did seem to have a fixation with your feet, always grabbing them and massaging them whenever the two of you were together — during sex and even just casually.

You remember once, Steve had called you to sit with him while he watched TV downstairs. And to your absolute chagrin, Bucky and Sam had been there as well. But that hadn’t stopped Steve from grabbing your bare feet and holding them in his lap, massaging and caressing them till you started feeling all tingly and embarrassed. He’d even kissed your toes then, how he was doing now, and you really hoped Bucky and Sam hadn’t seen that. But Steve had soon pulled you into the bathroom to fuck you, clearly having worked himself up by touching your feet.

You’re jolted back into the present when you feel his lips part, and he sucks on your toe sensually, all the while keeping eye contact with you. Oh my… he’d never done that before! You don’t know how to feel about it, but your body makes that decision for you when your pussy throbs and you clench.

“I see you getting wetter, baby.” Steve releases your toe with a pop and shoots you a smirk, “Little baby omega getting turned on by her daddy sucking her toes, just like last time.”

Last time? But you have no time mull over what that means before Steve is manhandling you onto the bed. It takes him two seconds flat till he’s leisurely lying down on his bed, his back propped up against a bunch of pillows. His fingers grip your hips as he holds you in place on top of him.

“Take daddy’s dick out, dumb baby bunny.” Steve orders you, tugging the fluffy tail on your G-string again.

You do as he says, feral desires overtaking your entire being when your hand comes into contact with his cock. He’s hard as a rock and thick as a soda can, your fingers don’t even wrap all the way around him. And he’s so hot and pulsating, so angry and red as you take his fat dick out of his pants.

“Fuck yeah,” Steve hisses, watching your every move as you hold his dick in your hand. “Look at you, such a little fucking baby, staring at my big daddy dick like you don’t know what to do with it. Like you’re a stupid, innocent little baby bunny who’s never seen her alpha’s cock before. Fuck, baby, jack me off.”

You bite your lip, the feral omega inside you taking over as you begin to stroke your hand up and down his thick length. He feels like a steel rod underneath you, and his blue eyes are sharp as they watch your every move.

“Uh…Is this…is this okay, daddy?” You ask.

“God, you’re so fucking innocent, omega. You’d think you wouldn’t be such a fucking baby… You know, since you’ve been taking my dick up your little baby pussy daily for the past month.” He exhales, blowing a tuft of his blonde hair out of his face as he laughs at you. “Spit on daddy’s dick, dumb bunny. And go faster.”

Your senses are buzzing with this feral need to please your alpha. Your mind is clouded in lust and the desire to be submissive for him. It’s encoded in your DNA, and you can’t help but do exactly what he says. Spitting down on his dick, you smear your saliva up and down his length as you pump harder. Wanting nothing more than to make him cum, give alpha the pleasure he deserves because he takes care of you so good, and he’s in charge, and you’ll do whatever he says, and –

“Don’t think I can’t feel your little bunny cunt rubbing up on my leg, omega.” Steve’s voice is thick with lust as he grabs your wrist, taking control of the pace at which you’re jacking him off. You yelp, unknowing your hips have begun grinding down against the deliciously rough material of his jeans.

“S-Sorry,” you squeak, only for your alpha to grab you by the back of your neck and drag your lips to his, capturing them in a heady kiss. His teeth bite at your lower lip, almost drawing blood with the carnal way he’s making out with you. But you can’t help but kiss him back with equal vigour, whining when he pulls away and snickers in your face.

“You know what baby bunny omegas do best, right?” He asks you softly against your lips.

“Wh-What?”

“They bounce on their alpha’s dicks.” Steve answers, giving your ass a lewd squeeze and jiggle. “Can you do that for me, baby omega?”

“Yes, daddy.” You scramble to obey him, turned on so beyond belief that your cream is dripping freely down your thighs, and Steve’s nose twitches as he smells your desire. You reach down to tug your panties off, only for him to slap your hand away.

“Keep those on, baby.” He says darkly, “How’re you gonna be my baby bunny if you lose your sexy little tail, huh?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know…”

“Turn around for me, omega. Daddy wants to see your sexy tail and your cute little ass bounce. Do it now, before you go completely dumb when my cock splits your baby pussy in half.”

You try to obey him but prove to be too slow, your limbs already feeling shaky and like jelly because of how turned on you are. You can feel your clit throbbing, all puffy and swollen and neglected. Steve huffs impatiently, grabbing your hips and manhandling you till your back is facing him.

In one swift motion, he tugs your G-string aside and sits you down on his dick.

“OH FUCK!” You cry out at the burning pain. You’re so wet but taking his larger than average dick is always a struggle to get used to. Your insides feel stretched out by his inhumane length, and Steve wastes no time in grinding you down on him till he’s stuffed his huge dick all the way inside you, and you can practically feel him in your womb because of how deep he is.

“Bounce, baby bunny.” Steve whispers, grabbing a handful of your fluffy tail and giving it a tug, his other palm colliding with your ass cheek and making you jump. “And make sure to shake your ass on my dick, omega. I know how shy you can be, but you’re a fucking freak in the sheets so don’t make me ask you twice.”

What follows is extremely depraved. You lose yourself in your desire and submission to him, doing every single thing he asks you to do. Fuelled by his praise and his pleasure, you rut back against him, grinding down on his thick dick as it tears up your insides. Bouncing up and down to the best of you r ability, while Steve slaps your ass over and over again, calling you a horny little bunny who can’t help but ride her daddy.

“Good baby,” Steve praises, grabbing a handful of your ass and you know he’s got his eyes trained on where you two meet, his dick sinking in and out of you. “You’re making daddy feel so good, omega. I wish the guys could see you now, dressed up like a slutty bunny and servicing your daddy like the good omega you are. You like making me feel good, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah – oh, oh my!” you whimper at how deep he is, how the tip of his dick is hitting that special spot inside you so deliciously. How it hurts because he’s so big but it’s a good kind of hurt, a good kind of stretch that makes you desperate for more. Desperate for him to fuck you, and not just have you service him by bouncing on his dick. You need him to take control. “D-Daddy, please!”

“Getting tired already?” Steve mocks, yanking your hair to make you look back at him. You pant and nod helplessly, hoping to gain his sympathy as your muscles begin to ache from bouncing up and down on his thick dick. But he only laughs, pulling your cheek condescendingly, “You gotta tell me what you want, baby bunny. You want daddy to take control and fuck you like a little bunny omega in heat? Like I always do?”

“Y-Yeah!”

SMACK.

“Then use your fucking words, omega.”

“Please, daddy! P-Please fuck me, okay? N-Need you to do it, daddy, please, please, please!” You cry, all dignity flying out the window as you grow desperate, your hands making grabby motions as you needily try to clutch at your alpha. But again, he just smirks and bats you away, giving your ass another hefty smack that leaves you howling.

“Fine. I guess daddy will have to fuck you on your hands and knees like a dumb breeding bunny bitch, and pump you full of my babies, huh, omega?”

His filthy words only turn you on further, and true to his word, Steve has you on your hands and knees in the next few moments. And that’s when he truly goes into jackhammer mode, the only thing keeping you from collapsing underneath him is his arm around your stomach. His other hand grips your hip tightly as he fucks into you like only he ever could. His hips a blur and the steady smacking sound mixed with your cries of pleasure and his name the only sounds bouncing together around the room.

“Goddamit, omega, how the fuck are you still so tight, huh? After I’ve ripped you apart more times then your dumb bunny brain could count.” Steve slaps your ass one, two, three times in quick succession. “Tell me you’re a dumb little bunny who only thinks about getting fucked.”

“ ‘m a dumb – little – bunny – oh, oh daddy! Oh my god!” Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head when you feel his thumb rubbing your clit. You lose your train of thought completely, going limp in his arms as he fucks you like you’re his little rag doll, his little fucktoy. Like you’re just a hole for your alpha to use and abuse.

The coil inside you breaks, and you cum hard. Waves of hot pleasure searing through your body, your pussy clenching and clenching, milking his big dick as he continues to rut into you. Your walls pulsate around him and he lets out a string of profanity, grabbing your breasts and squeezing them hard.

“Stupid little bunny, you just couldn’t hold it in, could you? Fuck!” Steve swears, clutching your butt so hard you know it’ll leave a bunch of bruises. But that’s the last thing you’re thinking about now as you ride through the immeasurable pleasure of your orgasm, and Steve continues to fuck you through it. “Goddamn this tight baby bunny pussy. Fuck, baby, daddy’s gotta keep fucking you. I don’t care if you’re done, baby. Gotta get you pregnant tonight.”

Steve’s insatiable the whole night, fucking you in every position possible. Till your pretty lace bra is torn to shreds by the feral hands of your alpha, and bruises litter your body, and you’re panting and out of breath and covered in your slick and sweat. But Steve is incensed, flicking your bunny tail and growing hard as he comes back for round two, three, four, five – his stamina never ending.

“Gonna knock you the fuck up, baby bunny.” Steve murmurs in your ear, holding you up because you’ve all but passed out from the different ways you’ve been fucked tonight. Your G-string somehow still remains on your body, despite the fact that everything else has been ripped off or broken. “Think you can put this sexy little bunny get-up on for me and not expect daddy to get you pregnant? Fuck, baby, you’re killing me. You’re so fucking sexy and you’re killing me.”

By the end of it, your limbs burn with soreness, and you lie flat on the bed, breathing hard and fucked out into a stupor. Steve, finally giving you a reprieve, jacks off his still half-hard dick (he’d pumped you full of his load three times tonight) while playing with your fluffy bunny tail and your ass, fondling it and smacking it and squeezing it like it was his toy. You even feel his teeth graze against your butt cheek, but you’re sapped of all energy. All you can do is lie there and take it, your poor hole abused and leaking his cum onto the bedsheets.

“You make a sexy little bunny, omega.” Steve tells you, one hand still playing with your fluffy tail while the other meanders down between your legs to swirl his leaking cum around your raw pussy. You whine softly because it hurts, but your alpha pays no heed, shushing you by feeding you his cum.

“I think I’ll dress you up as a bunny when we go to Ransom’s party tomorrow.” Steve muses, stroking your ass sensually. “That way, everyone can see all the new tricks daddy taught you tonight.”

AHHHH THE END! 

GUYS. What do you think?!?! PLEASE give me feedback!! i love you a lot mwah thank you for reading!!! pls pls pls reblog n all that, i will love you forever!

[fics-by-noworriesifnot]

Draco and Crookshanks were stretched out over the duvet while Hermione got ready for bed. “You really mustn’t scare Harry and Ron like that.” She said perching on the edge of the bed while removing her bobby pins. “They’ve been through a lot and they’re still quite sensitive.” 

Draco raised a brow in response. “Though…” Hermione continued. “Ron’s shrieking was rather nostalgic, actually.” She brushed her fingers through her hair, scouring for any wayward hairpins before turning to face Draco.

“Malfoy… Can I ask you something.” She said in a soft inquisitive voice.

“I suspect you’re going to.” Draco said, pushing up from his elbows to a sitting position.

“Can I touch you?” Hermione asked in a voice just above a whisper. Draco’s brow arched to meet his hairline, a lascivious grin spread across his face. “Have I died and gone to heaven?” He purred. Hermione flushed scarlet. “Not like that!” She gasped, her brows furrowing. “Look- nevermind. I was just curious.” Draco raised, what Hermione thought, was a placating hand, then he said. “Go on, Granger.” His hand remained outstretched, his face unreadable. “Before I change my mind.”

Slowly, Hermione raised her own hand to meet his. Though she knew that logically it would happen this way, she was still surprised to see her fingertips pass through his, touching air when she thought that perhaps she might feel him. “Oh.” She breathed, as she continued to move her palm through his. “You’re so cold.” She said, noticing how the temperature dropped several degrees while their hands intertwined. Draco pulled away first, staring down at his own hand in silent disbelief, as if he too, were expecting to feel the connection that had been quietly creeping between them these past few weeks. “Yes, well.” He said through a sharp exhale. “I don’t feel anything.” And he stood, striding several paces before Hermione asked him where he was going. He turned back to her and shrugged. “Thought I might go haunt the west wing… perhaps rattle some chains and groan ominously-” “Stay.” Hermione interrupted, her eyes widened as though she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. She looked down at the duvet and ran a finger over the embroidery. “That is, if you don’t mind. I’m still not used to how quiet it is out here and I’ve grown quite used to you hovering around.” Draco folded his arms over his chest. “Hovering?” He said with a derisive edge to his voice. Hermione patted the bedspread and Draco drifted slowly back to her.

“Alright Granger.” He said, taking up the spare pillow. He looked at her sideways through his lashes. “But if there’s a hint of snoring, I’m outta here.” Hermione huffed and he tilted his head to face her. “The afterlife has done nothing for your manners, you know?” She said softly, her eyelids already heavy. Draco offered her a small smile as her eyes slowly drifted closed. After a few beats he rolled over to face her. Watching as her breaths grew slower as she fell into a deeper sleep. His chest fluttered briefly and he cursed the absurdity of being plunged into such a state of liminality, still with the capacity to feel. He examined her features, now relaxed in sleep. She was rather pretty when her face wasn’t pulled into a scowl or a snarl; the light freckles scattered over her skin that he was sure were soft. Her dark lashes outlined against her cheek. The delicate point to her chin and the cascade of curls splayed over the pillow.

Slowly, he reached out his hand to cover hers. He hesitated a moment in case the change in temperature caused her to stir, he whispered. “Can I keep you?”

Though he knew he ought not to hope, he did so anyway.

[themotherofhorses]

masterlist | part one

Aemond Targaryen, who needs to be held back by Ser Criston Cole, as well as two additional kingsguards, when he confronts his mother. The prince yells and screams and demands answers, all but brandishing his own blade. But Alicent Hightower just stares at him with the same face she wore when he was ten and still dragonless and stubborn and constantly around the beasts. Her lips twist in a frown as she lets out a heavy sigh.

“My dear son, you should have known that this was going to happen. Did you really believe that I allowed you to marry the wretched girl for love? The same girl whom you suffered such terrible abuse at the hands of?” She shakes her head, “In the animal world, pray tell me which beasts are the ones most feared by men. Mothers. The princess would have been wise to remember that the very moment she rooted herself within our family.”

Noticing her son’s face, she soon adds, “But the debt has been paid now, and it is my promise to you that she will be left alone.”

He cannot do anything, he realizes, when his eye meets Ser Cole’s. He cannot avenge his wife or their lost child, no matter how desperately he wishes to. His mother remains the Queen Dowager, and to inflict such harm on her very being is a death sentence, and the prince cannot risk such foolishness and idiocy when his wife still needs him during her recovery.

With a venomous glare thrown her way, he leaves the room, but not without his mother making one final remark.

“And Aemond, my love, I am sorry about the babe. Would you believe me if I said that it was not my intention for her to lose it? We tried to save it, truly.”

He chooses not to answer.

Aemond Targaryen, who finds himself a pathetic witness as his dear wife grows into a shell of the young woman she once was. No longer does her lips curl into that bright smile that could rival the sun above, nor does she fling herself into his arms and kisses his face and neck and knuckles while declaring how much she loves and adores him.

Instead, she flinches whenever he nears and casts her lone eye downward, refusing to meet his gaze as if a lowborn girl. She refers to him as his royal titles only, and never the ones he gained when he became her husband and lover. When he kneels before her to change the bandages each morning and evening, and daubing the wound with the ointment the maesters provided him with, she mumbles out apologies, and the quietest begs for his mercy and forgiveness.

He never thought it was possible, but this pains him more than when she slashed his eye out all those years ago.

When it is all done, he pulls her to his chest and rocks her back and forth as if she was a new babe in the world. “My darling wife,” he mutters into her silver hairline, “My sweet girl. Oh, my beautiful girl. I will never forgive myself for leaving you behind that day. Forgive your damned husband, my love. Forgive me, I beg of you.”

He is met with only silence.

Aemond Targaryen, who has not spoken to his mother in weeks. It is a refusal on his part, despite Alicent making her own attempts, having lost her favored child. The hours he does not spend by his wife’s side, he is with his older sister in the royal playroom, watching his niece and nephews play with their toys on the floor. It makes him think about his own child and what could’ve been. A pretty babe, perhaps, with silver hair and violet eyes, no doubt of the golden blood of Old Valyria. He wonders if there ever will be another chance.    

“She told her that there was never any love for her.”

He turns his head to his sister, who has paused her embroidery to look at him with sad eyes.

“Mother, she had told our niece that you never did love her. That her losing the eye was meant from the beginning, and that you knew about it, and kept up your part so it could eventually happen.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, it was never like that. Yes, I will admit, I wanted revenge, and yes, I did hate her for what she did to me when we were both children, but all that was before I learned how good she was. How sweet and gentle and loving. My sweet girl, my princess, she gave me all the love in the world. She-” he feels his chest tighten greatly, leaving him heaving out short gasps and wheezes, “I love her. I love her more than she could possibly know. I never…I never wanted this. I love her. I love her so much,” and he tries his best to blink away the tears.

Helaena scoots herself closer and wraps gentle arms around both his shoulders, drawing him close. And when he cries into her neck, she whispers in his ear, “An eye for an eye, a son for a son. When the war is won, all will be good and done.”

Aemond Targaryen, who enters his chamber to find the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen seated on the bed, cradling his young wife to her chest. Through the muffled weeps, he could hear her talking to her youngest granddaughter, trying to coax out a response from the girl. When she fails to do so, the woman flattens her forehead against hers and tells her, “You do not dare leave me, my child, do you hear me? I have lost both my children; I will not lose you either.”

“Let us take her to Dragonstone, then,” he says, making his presence known. “I agree that she should be with her family. Perhaps being there will help her spirit.”

Rhaenys shakes her head with a broken chuckle. “Ah, Aemond One Eye. You must be a proud man, having gotten your revenge, it seems, as my grandchild is now without her eye.” She is gentle when laying the princess back down on the bed before standing up to face him. “Tell me, does this make you feel good? Better about yourself? More of a man, now that your wife matches you?”

His mouth twists in rage, but he is quick to bite down his tongue. “She was pregnant,” he chooses to say instead, watching as her eyes widen at his words. “The maesters believed the babe to have been a boy, and I was so excited to finally be a father. Your granddaughter, my wife, she was the prettiest sight, such that made me fall in love with her more every single day that passed.”  

“You loved her so much, you claim, yet you still maimed her.”

“No. It was not I who did this. You must believe me, Princess Rhaenys.”

“Then pray tell who it was?”

“My mother.” He sees the look on her face, and the way her mouth flattens into a tight line. “She had sent me to the North, to the Starks for business, so that I would be unable to stop her. When I returned, it had been done, and our child long gone. I wish for nothing but vengeance now.”

Maybe she believes him; maybe she does not. But he knows that Rhaenys will take her away from him, back to her home at Dragonstone, and will very likely deny him the right to follow them, despite him being her husband. He just cannot accept the thought of being separated from her, the love of his life, no matter how selfish that might sound. He glances at his wife where she rests, with her good eye watching the two of them. Such little life left in her, he sees, and he knows that keeping her here would be considered cruelty on his part.

“Her mother misses her very much, and when she learns of the abuse her only daughter has faced while here at the Keep, there will be a war to be fought. You realize that, right, Prince Aemond? Will you be ready for it?”

He knows that, but it is not the war’s responsibility- nor anyone else’s- to avenge his wife and child but his own. It is why he decides to help the Princess Rhaenys sneak out of the Keep with his wife when nighttime arrives, asking her to hand his sweet girl over to his older sister, her mother, so that the maesters there will tend to her.

With a final kiss pressed against her lips, he bids her a goodbye, and promises a fond reunion when everything has been settled.

Before they leave, his wife brushes her hand against his. It is the ever most gentle touch possible, but enough to garner his attention towards her.

“I love you, husband,” she smiles. “And thank you. Come home to me, please, for I’ll be waiting for you.”

Aemond Targaryen, who later sits near his siblings when their grandsire and mother receive a raven from Dragonstone, carrying the Princess Rhaenyra’s response to her daughter’s mutilation:

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. My daughter and her babe shall be avenged.”

notes: show of hands for part three?

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Seven)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: lady greenstar’s ceremony is all but merry, and the offer that could change the course of her life forever.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader is neutral; neither a green or black supporter, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: sorry it took forever to write the chapter! It’s finally here! Woo! Reader’s backstory is finally revealed! Woo! If you enjoy, please leave a comment.

Chapter Seven: The Price of Heart

On the proclamation from the Iron Throne, King Viserys granted a ceremony and anointed a young maiden to unite both factions, Blacks and Greens, and renamed her as Lady Greenstar, a star that befell and shook the cores of Westeros, to which have known for causing disruption and awakened in the realm.

Apart from previous accomplishment on saving Princess Helaena and Prince Jacaerys, Lady Greenstar, a newcomer to Westeros, has its gaze is as deadly as a thorn. Upon a gaze of a maiden, men’s hearts fickle in delight, and women’s hearts enraged with fright. And among others, she is nothing but an air of mystery, but her appearance is no more than averagely simple and unimpressive (claimed by Mushroom). Lady Greenstar, whose maiden name is unknown, the time of Viserys’s reign may have yet to be remain, as Lady Greenstar is in an absolute self-merry and encourage the nobles and commoners alike to a celebrate at her unimportant arrival at a tedious ceremony.

~Your POV~

The nightmare hadn’t stopped.

You want to destroy—set ablaze everything into ashes.

In a soundless blight rising in your chest, you managed to gather yourself in the midst of ceremony. You wanted to scream. Heating anger risen within you; you are nowhere near happy with the proceedings. You just wanted to go home, anticipated that this no more than a fever dream, a weirdly filter episodic moment that is meant to be unseen.

Unable to gaze upon the crowd, despite your head is held high, your roundish headpiece wrapped atop your tucked hairstyle; your hairline styled and slicked back, yet your longish manes flowed and adorned your figure, clad in a floor length ivory gown, your arms heavies a wide bishop sleeves, but your forearms are fitted, ends of your v-pointed sleeves rested on the back of your hands. Your bodice, from bust to waist, the ivory corset is encrusted in pearls and gold embroidery, aligned and patterned with black and green stones as your long skirts in mermaid-shaped flowing, not strictly.

Bowing to Blacks and Greens, the ever so watchful gazes on the crowd are perplexed, yet so many spectators are grateful for your deeds. Some women’s gaze directly lanced at your direction with envy, perhaps displeasure of King Viserys’s announcement. As for men, however, it’s unreadable for you, but with unknown gazes may have yet proceed to either have notable rancor or the deepest of illest intentions.

In Westeros, you knew that you could trust no man. For now, trusting the Targaryens is your only option, a sole bargain, a wager to your existence. Nothing has ever come to simple or as festive. All you wanted was to stay in the sidelines, watching the events unfold, not to be a part of one. The real question is: who sent you here, and what was the real purpose? Of course not, you’re just a simple and honest modern woman—or at least what anyone thought of your outward appearance, which prevailed by the designed precision of Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra’s plan of softening image.

You weren’t meant to be here.

The scream emerged.

All eyes snapped away from your direction. One man grabbed—dragged away and pointed it’s knife at Princess Helaena’s throat at the centered floor, the guards had their swords up, as one of them demanded for the man to release the princess.

“None should accept a woman as a knight on the throne,” the man spattered, yellow teeth gleaming, his voice grating with delight, continuing to drag the princess away bit by bit.

“Mother,” Helaena pleaded quietly, the knife pressed onto her ivory skin, trying not to flail.

“It’s either the cause for the great nobles, or the cause of the war.”

Alicent is frightened for her daughter’s fate.

And so, you watched, palm clenched and unclenched. Hands behind your back, your body veiled with a silver sparkling cloak, but one hand seized the spare knife—your knife you had in your clutched purse, moving with caution as you descend the steps without anyone spotting your intentions.

“Let her go,” you said, before turning your eyes to theirs.

Soothe the realm.

The men flabbergasted at your appeased state. “What?”

“Did I stutter,” you said, ambling, the cloak floated a little. “You’re ruining the King’s celebration. Do you want to be executed? You’re in the presence of Targaryens.”

“I won’t lay rest until I see no woman standing beside the Iron Throne. I won’t serve by the likes of you!”

Shaking your head as you said, “Who said it’s about me?”

The man uttered no response but a heaving breath, near Helaena, furrowed with concern.

Unblinking, your head tilted to the side. “You want me, right?”

The man carefully laid his eyes on you.

“You don’t want the princess,” you resumed, drew nearer. “You want me.”

Soothe the realm.

Your eyes indicated to one of the guards to hold him down, but none succeeded on reading your body language. Looking at your side, Queen Alicent’s widened eyes glazed with warning, a reminder to soften the image. Prince Aemond still abide, his violet eye gleamed, his eye stated something more, wanting more of the anticipation of what you’ll do next.

“Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want,” you negotiated.

“What makes you think I could negotiate with such a pathetic woman?”

“Because I’m not a liar,” you declared, hand stretched. “Release her.”

After moments of hesitation, Princess Helaena has been freed into your arms, shaking. You lightly shoved her towards Alicent as you walked onward without looking elsewhere.

And before you knew it, a knife stabbed behind your belly.

The gasps ensued as the fight broke out, leaving the Blacks and Greens emerged with apprehension, still safe and guarded.

Turning around, the knife you held plunged into the backstabber’s throat, but missed—instead it became a slight deep scratch on the cheek and his hand smacked against your cheekbone. Falling down, you pulled yourself back up again and knocked him out unconscious and rushed to Helaena’s side again and escorted her out, leaving the guards to assign fate to the intruders.

The fate became crueler; the man separated you and Helaena, shoving Helaena aside the intruder hooked you by the arms, trapped. When another opponent came, you lifted yourself in the air, and punted the opponent’s chest with both of your feet, leaving you and the large man collapsed. Rolling back, you gathered yourself again and escorted Helaena back at the corridor.

A young boy screamed—Prince Lucerys—his arm being yanked through the crowd. Briskly, you aid to their side, shoving the crowd apart, you casted your cloak—aiming at the foe, and lanced the man’s neck, trails of blood exploded, smearing the young prince’s face and placed him back Rhaenyra’s side.

A tall figure suddenly shielded you; the knife flew at your direction; Aemond deflected the attempted shot with his spare dagger. Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra rushed altogether—guards protected all and ushered back into the corridor, leaving you breathless.

The pain has been numbed due to the shock implanted.

Far back at the pillar, you watched Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanging with altercation while you find yourself leaning on the stoned pillar with your left hand clutched your bleeding waist beneath the white dress.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Rhaenyra stated in shaky breath.

“Of course not,” Alicent seethed. “King Viserys should’ve thought of bringing Lady Greenstar to the Iron Throne to soothe the realm before the commotion erupts.”

“I hadn’t known,” Rhaenyra argued back, cradling Lucerys in her arms.

“You did this. Lady Greenstar warned that this would happen. A private ceremony should’ve been suffice.”

“We need Lady Greenstar to unite both factions—father suggested to that.”

“Your ideas may influence others, but you’ll never influence with me from the misguidance of your indulgence.”

“I have made no declarations and decisions—it is my father who has done it so!”

Bellows of altercation continued as Prince Jaecerys stood nearby you, given you an awkward tight-lipped expression with his hands laid rest upfront.

Blacks and Greens watched two ladies quarreled with venom as your chest heaving. Gazing below onto your hand, the gold ring sparked on your fourth finger; you brought it up to your lips and kissed it.

Everything will be alright, a gentle voice reminded.

Lidded eyes hazed as the hand placed on your back shoulder; Princess Helaena walked over to your side and consoled you with diminutive smile.

Instead of returning the offer, you patted Helaena’s hand your half-lidded eyes in a suggestion that everything is alright. The concentration in your mind has been misplaced that Helaena began to tie your strands to tiny braids. You’ve inspected everyone. So far, it went smoothly—you’ve found no wounds, but when your eyes meet Green sons, your head inclined to a subtle bow. While Prince Aegon bowed back with his smugness, Prince Aemond is as elegant and unreadable. His eye still lay onto you as you faced back, watching the princess and the queen.

Altercations and debate went ongoing.

The aggravating pain hadn’t ceased.

“Stop,” you groaned.

The abrasion struck you so hard that you let a long groan, your head hung back, relied on a cold pillar.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys said.

“I’m fine,” you assured, eyes watery. “I’m fine.”

Daemon, no doubt, is suspicious. Shielding Helaena with your might, you held onto her spare hand.

The quarrel wasn’t far from over as you sauntered, the belly scorched again, pinching your nerves and coiled your stomach to a point of punishment you couldn’t withstand.

The cough unleashed, veiling the spots of blood.

Someone…

And collapsed onto your knees, trembling with cold sweat, fell onward.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys called aloud, as he caught you into arms, soon follow by your feet, your body weakened, slipped away.

“You’re safe now,” you said, darting at Aemond, offering him your sweetest expression laid on your lips.

Gradually, your eyes fluttered with slow blinks, choking. Then your vision faded to nothing.

~Aemond’s POV~

“My Queen, Lady Greenstar has collapsed,” Criston announced.

Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra halted, and veered back to your lifeless body in Jacaerys’s arms.

Both women’s anger replaced with fear. “No…” Rhaenyra uttered.

“Take her to the Maester at this instant. We can’t afford to lose her,” Alicent ordered.

All the while, Aemond, the king’s second son, is devastated, powerless and hopeless as the life slipped between your parted lips. Piqued as he was eyeing on the golden ring rested on your fourth finger.

~Your POV~

What the hell was that?

“The life flashes before your eyes,” it said.

Your head snapped to the noise.

“Poor little woman, who’s life has been tormented one after the other,” a voice rang into your ears in a darkened void. “A life of a woman is no ordinary, but will soon be free.”

“Who are you?”

“My, you’re just a thing of beauty. A shame that comes price with it—ever so ethereal but with a demonic spirit residing in you since your childhood, all but bad luck,” it taunted. “You have killed and tortured the mundane, both men and women, especially in your days where you were trying to save your dying lover—born a thief and a liar—the evil men have taught you well.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to make an offer, an offer to which it might entice you. Right now, your very soul is on the bridge between life and death.”

“I know that!”

“Of course you knew. But you didn’t believe that we exist.”

“All are anything but real.”

The voice’s rang into your ears with its taunting laugh. “But if you wish to remain alive and well, I offered you choices, one which the cost of your life to be rekindled. One which you cannot turn your back into—and I offer you this; stay in Westeros and serve the realm, serve the dynasty and find a new purpose and bond. Even if it means of forgetting your dead lover. Or, the Gods will offer a sweet and merciful death—your pathetic and tragic life will soon meet its end and face your maker.”

“I want to go home,” you objected.

“Going home is no longer an option; if you go there, chances are your death will be as quickly repulsive and vile; death is near at your doorstep as soon as your consciousness blurred.”

“What do you mean?”

“The men from your former clan are hunting you down. They have found you. You thought running away from a syndicate after burning everything to ashes would be simple.”

“Why Westeros? Why send me there? Who sent me here?”

“Those questions are irrelevant; time is ticking.”

“At what cost?”

“The price you’ll pay, it’s either your eyes, ear or mouth. Or I will decide for you.”

Goosebumps flooded over you, heart struck with quiver.

“I can’t,” you whimpered. “I can’t!” Fell onto the ground, hands veiled your face, walls you’ve built tarnished as your cries echoed through the void, cried longer than you should’ve.

“Sweet summer child,” it cooed. “Time is running short. The elder man of Hightower wants to burn your body.”

Another shiver ran.

“I know everything. Submit yourself to me, and I shall grant the desire—the offer I gave you—your life will start anew. What do we say to the God of Death?”

“Not today.”

“Good!” the voice rang, enchant. “I knew you have come to made your decision.”

The green light sprang and ran into your heart—your voice reached high into bellows and wails. Nails digging into your chest firmly, nails dragged with blood, already on the floor, knees on your chest. Ears rang in high-pitched noise; ears bleed as nose, and mouth drained in red flow, crying in agony.

“Don’t worry, child, you’ll soon meet the fate that you’ve been longing for,” it said. “You’ll find your purpose here. The history of Fire & Blood, alongside yours, will be rewritten.”

In that moment, you knew the unknown being wasn’t lying.

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved

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[ollieoxyde]

Making of Siffrin model!

If anyone wanted to know how exactly I made this model I will lay it out in detail here! Although this way my first time making something like this so I’m not an expert.

The base is polymer clay (super sculpey I think) with a wire armature shoved in there just in case I drop him. The buttons for the cloak and the dagger are also clay. I used a sewing pin to get a very small hole for the buttons to be threaded through.

After baking, I put base coats of black and white with acrylic paint. If the brush strokes for the white paint are very visible, water it down and do multiple layers until it’s opaque.

After the base coat I moved on to smaller details like the face and boot heels, as well as shadows and highlights. It took me a few tries to get the face right, the one shown above isn’t the final.

It’s also a very good idea to varnish it, especially for the buttons or paint will rub off when passing them through the buttonholes. DuraClear is pretty cheap and works well. A few coats ultra-matte over the whole thing, then gloss to areas that should be shiny (eye, boots, gloves, buttons, dagger blade).

The eyepatch is just a tiny piece of black felt and some embroidery thread Elmer’s glued to the face.

The hair I was going to needle felt, but my white wool(left) was slightly yellowed and it looks weird in context. I ended up using a piece of cotton(right) from my bottle of melatonin*, shaping the ends into tufts with Elmer’s glue, letting it dry, then attaching it to the head. For the dyed parts I used watered down acrylics. I worked drop the hairline inwards, then smoothed it out with loose bits of cotton and glue.

I am a bit worried the glue will end up yellowing in time, we’ll have to see.

*their hair does smell faintly of strawberries because of this. Also a cotton ball would work functionally the same.

For the clothes patterns I mostly just winged it, checking if it fit on the model until I got something I liked before cutting the pieces out of white and light gray felt. I did go a little off-model for the cloak because it needed to be removable.

I attached the cloak lining with a backstitch, and the collar with a whipstitch. The buttonholes I cut with scissors and whipstitched the heck out of the edges after making sure they were big enough. I had made sure the holes in the buttons were big enough to thread a needle through when I made them so I could easily attach them.

The hat brim pieces I whipstitched together while they lay flat on top of each other very close to the edge of the fabric. I did the same with the pointy part, but also flipped it inside out afterwards. I used a running stitch along the edge to attach the top and bottom brim, and a backstitch with the pretty side on top to attach pointy piece while kind of folding it so the edge lays flat against the brim.

The last step was to use very watered down acrylics to make it look weathered.

And that’s it! Not sure if anyone really wanted this, but I figure it doesn’t hurt.

I’m happy to answer any questions!

[cinebration]

The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 3]

After days of waiting, you are finally sent on a mission—alone with the Darkling.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Tagged: @don-daygamerz​, @weallhaveadestiny​, @kaqua​, @sinful-wxrld​, @ashdab2611​, @ultarviolence​, @chodingcreature​, @demonenotturno​, @crowssixof​, @mxacegrey​, @dreamlandcreations​, @s-r-reads​, @byulsrecs​, @peleksstuff​, @seraferna​, @imtherain​, @vexedvalerie, @rayrlupin, @peakyispunk​​​

Warnings: mention of blood and gore

Gif Source: chailame

Boredom set in quicker than the mud could dry on your boots. Five days had passed since you had last spoken to the Darkling, let alone glimpsed him in the camp. No new orders had been issued, not even from the Darkling’s right-hand Heartrender, that dour Ivan. The disdain rolling off the man had hardly concealed his fear when showing you your new quarters, his eyes glancing furtively at the white embroidery on your kefta.

At the edge of camp, your tent could only accommodate one person and their bare necessities: an elevated cot and a desk that doubled as a chest. A small wash pot perched precariously on the table beside a lamp low on oil.

“Such luxury,” you had muttered, earning a venomous look from Ivan. He left before you could dismiss him.

Stripping out of your soiled kefta, you washed your hands and forearms in the bowl until the water turned pink and bits of gore floated in it. Dumping the bowl outside of your tent, the water splashing more mud onto your boots, you seized the first person walking past, a woman approximately your age but visibly older from years of war.

“Who do I speak to about washing?” you asked.

The woman gestured in the direction she had just come and hurried off.

Retrieving your kefta, you strode through the camp until you located the washing station. Several Grisha worked diligently around a large pot of water, scrubbing furiously at blood-stained keftas and clothes. They glanced up as one as you approached, took one look at your kefta, and immediately stepped back to make room for you.

You took your time washing the kefta, allowing everyone to gawk at you. You hadn’t yet washed your face or changed out of your clothes, displaying the blood prominently for passersby to see. Whispers swelled around you in a wonderful chorus of fear and disgust.

The soldiers only glimpsed you at meal times in the days since.

Less is more, you reminded yourself each time you collected food. You refused to sit with the other Grisha, keeping to yourself and your tent.

By day three, you caught whispers of the Bonecrusher.

A vicious grin split your lips.

~~

Grisha abilities dictated that you must, at the very least, see a person to apply your power against them. Your training, however, honed over years of concentrated practice, allowed you to sense the bone structures of people beyond your visual capabilities. You could not affect their bones, but you could sense them, could visualize the person’s movements.

Lying on the cot on day five, staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, you passed the excruciatingly slow hours sensing the presence of others scurrying past the closed flap of your abode. Red, blue, and an occasional purple flitted across the thin gap revealing the world beyond your quarters.

The Corporalki were braver than their Etherealki comrades, venturing close to your tent in an attempt to glimpse you. Their skeletons moved furtively but with intense curiosity as they skirted past. One had an old injury in their femur where an inexperienced or perhaps poorly trained Healer had clumsily re-stitched the bone together. Another suffered from a hairline fracture in their collarbone.

A new figure several tents over strode toward you with purpose. After the fourth step, you recognized it as the Darkling.

A thrill shot down to your toes.

Throwing an arm over your eyes, you feigned sleep until the entrance to your tent flapped open, a dark form silhouetted in the entranceway.

“Come,” he commanded.

Unfolding yourself from the cot in no great hurry, you plucked up your kefta from its place across the desk and slipped into it as you followed the Darkling out into the cloudy morning.

All eyes tracked you both as you returned to the Darkling’s tent.

Again it was empty.

Pleasure unfurled in your chest. You wrestled to keep satisfaction from showing on your face.

Sweeping around his war table, the Darkling plucked up a map and spread it out atop everything else. You drew near, scrutinized the map’s depiction of Northern Ravka.

He tapped a fort along the Fjerdan border.

“Ulensk,” you murmured. “I know nothing of it.”

“I expected as much.”

The faintly smug note of his voice pricked you. “If I had grown here in Ravka, I would not have the ability I now possess.”

“You could have been with my army ages ago.”

“As a mere Heartrender with no greater skill than those here.” Shaking your head, you let slip the iron control in your vice, allowing scorn to bleed through. “How you teach Grisha here is abominable—keeping them constrained by senseless ideas of division. Do you think the Black Heretic thought along the lines of convention? No. How else could he create the Unsea?”

You glanced up to meet the Darkling’s gaze, expecting to see displeasure writ large on his fine features. Instead, something inscrutable livened up his eyes. The tendons in his neck were taut, as though his throat strained against him.

You frowned, unsure what to make of it.

Swallowing thickly, he forced his attention down to the map. “The Lantsovs believe the fort is sufficiently defended, but I have reason to believe there are weaknesses there.”

“Structural or…personnel weaknesses?”

“You and I shall find out.”

Quelling the excitement blossoming in your chest, you mused aloud, “If this is meant to be a stealth mission, how many soldiers are we taking with us?”

“None.”

You fixed the man with an incredulous stare. Rising to his full height, he met your gaze levelly, eyes slowly arching in challenge.

“The forest,” you muttered, sweeping your hand over the map, “is an ideal place to ambush and hide a body.”

“Yes, it is.”

You let a smirk pull at your lips, opting for silence. The Darkling’s gaze lingered for a moment longer on your face before he snapped up the map, rolled it into a tight cylinder, and made a sharp gesture of dismissal as he turned his back to you. “We leave at dusk.”

And travel under cover of darkness, you thought, heart hammering deliciously in your chest.

[vwritesaus]

Thomas drops a handful of broken timber planks onto the ground with a sigh. Sweat pools at the back of his neck and at his hairline, ice cold against his skin. The sun has decided not to make itself present today, hiding behind dour, blackened clouds that promise a frigid, windy afternoon. Not that it bothers him in the slightest. Thomas prefers to be out at the Institute, sorting through debris in a cracked, stained courtyard in poor weather than sitting around doing nothing at all.       After all, sitting around doing nothing at all gives way to dangerous thoughts barging into his head, ones he doesn’t want to think about lest they crush his soul more than it already has been.       No, it is better to be productive. Better to be busy. Better to be surrounded by people he knows and loves than to be at home alone.       His family is out for the day, Eugenia in search of a new set of embroidery needles, and Alastair—the one whom Thomas wants to see more than anyone else when his mind is like this—is babysitting Zachary in Kensington. As per the letter he’d gotten yesterday, Thomas has been invited to see them later on in the day, but the gap between the morning and the afternoon is a long time, indeed. So when James and Matthew’s fire message came to him that morning requesting (namely, begging) his assistance with cleaning up, Thomas rushed out of his home in Golders Green without a backward glance.       At the present moment, both Matthew and James are kicking at loose rock and dry leaves in the distance. The trees bordering the London streets and the Institute seem to have dumped all their broken branches into the courtyard, creating a crooked, spiny cemetery circled by dust and dirt and withered foliage. Shattered roof tiles, odd riff-raff from horse-drawn carriages, ripped shop awnings and jagged pieces from window panes, and general rubble and dirt make up the rest of the unfortunate picture. But Thomas finds himself really not caring about the mammoth clean-up task left to the Shadowhunters of the London Enclave.       It’s easier not to care, he’s found. It helps with this evidently everlasting numbness.       He turns his attention to the handful of broken planks he’s dumped onto the ground and forces himself to count each individual ringed spot and dark-stained grain.       Focus. He must focus—

continue reading on ao3

~

prev

~

SO.

hi

i know it's been AGES since i posted the first chapter of this fic (and, indeed, any fic....) and all i can i say is that the work/life balance this year hasn't been kind to me in the slightest :')

but!!! we're finally here, and the other chapters are getting there... slowly lol

i hope you all had a lovely holiday break and are looking forward to the new year (i know i am, good grief). hope you enjoy this chapter !!

~

tag list: @drunkonimagination @astriefer @ferrari-go-vroom-vroom @alastairstom @what-ho-christopher-put-in @thomastaircompassrose @faithfromanewperspective (thought you might be interested, but no pressure!!) let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

[bambigirlvibes]

Renaissance Fashion

I wrote this studying for my fashion history test next week, the information is from the books Costume and Fashion by James Laver and Back in Fashion by Giorgio Riello. If I have gotten any of the information wrong please comment.

The Renaissance, a period marked by the revival of Classical learning and wisdom. During this era, research, education, art, and philosophical thinking experienced a revival. The Renaissance celebrated the richness of human nature and creative abilities. A number of thinkers started seeking truth through facts and observations instead of relying on constructed religious speculations. The Renaissance started in Florence, Italy. The movement first expanded to other Italian cities, such as Venice, Milan, Ferrara, Bologna and Rome. Later spread to France during the fifteenth century and throughout western and northern Europe. 

Italy vs Europe

Picture 1: Giovanna Tornabuoni, Domenico Ghirlando, 1488. Picture 2: Portrait of a lady, Roger van Der Weyden, c. 1455.

During the Renaissance, fashion varied significantly between different European regions. Italy contrasted sharply with the northern regions of Europe, which favored more elaborate and structured garments. 

In the North, hairstyles often incorporated padded and stuffed hairstyles draped with veils. Italy, however, leaned towards more natural and relaxed hairstyles, avoiding the overly formal looks popular in the North. A universal trend was the plucking of the hairline, creating a higher forehead, considered a mark of beauty at the time. Women's headdresses went from looking like Gothic pinnacles into more angular shapes resembling Tudor windows. Sleeves were another distinguishing feature between Italian and Northern Renaissance fashion. In the North, close-fitting sleeves dominated. By contrast, Italian fashion favored sleeves that swelled out and featured decorative slashes, revealing the white chemise underneath. These sleeves were often detachable and intricately embellished. Renaissance footwear transitioned from the pointed toes of the medieval period to broader shapes. 

Female vs male fashion early renaissance

picture 3: German landsknecht. Monogrammist IW (graveur), after Hand Rudolph Manuel Deutsch, 1547. An example in their extreme form of the slashings worn by the German mercenaries, but influencing male costume all over Europe.

During the 1500s, the trend of slashing—cutting slits into garments and pulling the lining through—became universal across Europe, though it was more restrained in women’s fashion compared to men’s. 

Picture 4: Francis I of France, early sixteenth century Picture 5 & 6: Portrait of Anna Jacob Lösch Nothafft, Hans Schöpfer, 1568 (LEFT) and Jane Seymour, c. 1566-7, Holbein (RIGHT) . These two picture shows the contrast between the German and English modes.

Women’s dress adhered to a more modest and reserved aesthetic than their male counterpart. Renaissance skirts were more decorated than in previous reigns, showcasing intricate embroidery, appliqué, and other forms of ornamentation. Over the kirtle which consisted of a skirt and bodice sewn together. Over the kirtle, women wore the gown, a structured yet elegant piece that fell in graceful folds to the ground. The bodice was fitted tightly at the waist, emphasizing the wearer’s figure, while the arms, once closely tailored, grew larger and more voluminous as the century progressed. The neckline of women’s dresses was typically square and low, accentuating the shoulders and collarbone while remaining relatively modest compared to male styles of the time. The use of fur—particularly favorable was lynx, wolf, and sable—further emphasized the luxurious nature of these garments.

In early Renaissance fashion, the primary male garment was the doublet, which extended to the knee and featured a front opening that displayed the codpiece. The sleeves grew wider and were often paned or slashed, with some styles including double sleeves. The double was made from materials like velvet, satin, and cloth of gold. Footwear transitioned to a broad shape known as "duck bill" shoes, with flat heels and leather or cork soles. These shoes were made from leather, velvet, or silk, further emphasizing the rich textures of the time. Hats, both indoors and outdoors, were soft low bonnets that complemented the overall attire. Men typically wore their hair long, and during Henry VII’s reign, clean-shaven faces were in vogue. Middle-class fashion was less extravagant than what was worn at court. A common garment was the schaube, a sleeveless overcoat similar to a cassock, which was popular among scholars and intellectuals, including Martin Luther.

Values

During the early Renaissance, there was a shift away from the abundance and profusion of colors and materials. Ostentation and modesty were not necessarily opposites but acted as opposing forces within a broader struggle—between the desire to stand out and the wish to blend in. In sixteenth-century Italy, both of these concepts underwent significant transformation. Modesty began to be viewed more positively, seen as a form of restraint and self-discipline. The value of a gentleman no longer hinged on wearing luxurious fabrics or possessing expensive objects, but on education and personal conduct. Dark colors, especially black, became the preferred choice, symbolizing dignity and decorum. Black emerged as both the color of the court and a symbol of Protestant reform.

Dress and accessories were essential for demonstrating manners and propriety, and it was expected that everyone dress according to their age and social status. Culture and education became fundamental markers of refinement. A gentleman should open the door for a lady, speak politely, and exercise moderation with food and drink. Dress was therefore only one aspect of a broader set of behaviors that we now call etiquette. For instance, a man needed to know when to wear his hat as a sign of social standing and when to remove it. According to the German sociologist Norbert Elias, this marked a pivotal social change over the last few centuries, leading to the creation of a society that was not entirely natural but socially constructed.

Black vs Colors 

In the 16th century, upper-class fashion was initially dominated by vibrant colors, with German influence leading the trend. However, by the mid-century, the personal taste of Emperor Charles V ushered in a shift toward Spanish fashion, characterized by tight-fitting, dark-colored garments, especially black. Even during conflicts between England and Spain, Spanish influence persisted, impacting both color and style. This was evident in the trend of bombas, which was used to stuff doublets and hose, which naturally made waists appear smaller, and the effect was increased by the use of tight lacing. Knitting, introduced during this period, allowed for tighter-fitting leg coverings, adding to the stiff, structured look of men’s fashion. The short breaches exposed a lot of legs. 

Black also became the preferred color of the deeply Catholic Spanish court. Between the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, Italy set fashion trends for the rest of Europe. Emperor Charles V admired all things Italian, a trend that continued into the second half of the sixteenth century under Catherine de’ Medici. During her reign, it was said that men dressed in Italian fashion. Italy was already a model for European fashion long before. When Mary Tudor married the Spanish king Philip II, some Spanish elements seeped into English fashion. However, after Mary’s death, Elizabeth I displayed a strong aversion to anything Spanish. While the Spanish court favored black, the Virgin Queen preferred pastels.

Ruff and Cleanliness

One of the most iconic fashion elements of this era was the ruff—a highly structured collar worn by both men and women as a symbol of aristocratic privilege. Initially introduced in France and popularized by Catherine de’ Medici, the ruff quickly evolved into a statement of wealth and status, becoming larger and more elaborate over time. The ruff was not just a fashion accessory; it was a marker of hierarchy. For women, the Elizabethan compromise involved leaving the front of the ruff open to reveal the bosom, while gauze wings at the back of the head enhanced their feminine allure.

The intricate design of large ruffs and equally ornate cuffs served another purpose: to restrict movement. This sent a clear message that the wearer was above manual labor and could afford to employ servants. Maintaining these garments required extensive labor, and the pristine whiteness of the linen became a sign of both personal hygiene and moral virtue. Up until the mid-eighteenth century, personal cleanliness was judged not by the cleanliness of one’s body but by the state of one’s attire. It wasn’t until the eighteenth century that handwashing became common, with widespread practice only emerging in the nineteenth century.

Late Renaissance Fashion

 The rigidity in men’s fashion was even more pronounced in women’s clothing. The stomacher, a stiffened panel in the front of the bodice, was reinforced with buckram or pasteboard and secured with a busk. The skirt was enlarged with a farthingale, a hoop skirt that created a structured, conical shape. The Spanish farthingale (1545) featured hoops of wire, wood whalebone, growing larger toward the bottom, and was soon worn by all women except the working class. The French farthingale (1580) was more of a court garment, rather similar to the Italian made of whalebone farthingale worn tilted back with cushions, achieving widths of up to 48 inches. Aside from the farthingale, the principal garment for women was the gown, which fell in folds from fitted shoulders and exposed the dress underneath through a gap in the front. Sleeves were puffed and ended at the elbows to reveal decorative undersleeves. Women also wore coats, frocks, cassocks, as well as cloaks and a garment known as "safeguard" for traveling.

Men’s fashion continued to be centered around the doublet, often paired with a jerkin or sleeveless jacket. The cloak was a necessary garment and was shorter than previous generations, it was originally a riding cloak but became a key wardrobe item, worn both indoors and outdoors. It was made from rich materials, the fashionable man required tree cloaks, one for the morning, one for the afternoon and one for evening. Men also wore a cassock, a hip-length jacket, a gabardine, a long overcoat, and the mandilion, a loose jacket with hanging “coat” sleeves.

Footwear included rounded shoes that began to adopt heels by the end of the century, with pumps and slippers for indoor wear. Boots, initially designed for riding, became popular for everyday use, even indoors. Hats also played a significant role in Renaissance fashion. Men adopted the copotain, a high-crowned conical hat, and Elizabethan gallants typically wore their hats at an angle or on the back of the head. Women began wearing smaller hats initially for riding and travel but gradually integrated them into everyday wear. Queen Elizabeth set the trend of dyeing hair red, prompting many women to use false hairpieces to achieve the desired look.

Gender

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, clothing was heavily gendered. During the Renaissance, clothing was believed to have the power to shape and transform gender. Gender was seen as a fluid category, and it was thought that a man could be transformed into a woman and vice versa by wearing the other gender's clothing. This concept was particularly evident in theater, where male actors played female roles. Fashion was not only a means of differentiating the genders but also of defining their relationship. Clothing is and was used as a tool of seduction, whether to reveal or conceal body parts and emphasize curves to attract the opposite sex (or sometimes one’s own). Today, legs are considered one of the most attractive parts of the female body. Yet, just a few centuries ago, legs were not viewed as an erogenous area for either gender. Instead, they symbolized power, not sexual prowess.

[zeciex]

Daenera's wedding dress descriptions:

Excerpts of A Vow:

The gown was undeniably beautiful, its wide, delicate neckline resting precariously on her shoulders as if it might slip away with the slightest movement. This delicate design lent her an air of fragility, as if she were a porcelain doll poised on the brink of breaking.

The neckline was adorned with intricate embroidery of intertwining vines. Green silk thread wove in elaborate patterns, spiraling around her and converging at her sternum before cascading down the center of the dress. Interspersed among these vines were delicate strands of silver and gold, catching the light with a subtle, shimmering brilliance. Tiny glass beads were interwoven into the embroidery, glinting and sparkling like drops of dew on a morning leaf. Pearls, reminiscent of the pale white baneberry she had hidden in the lavender sachet tucked in the pocket of her underdress, were scattered like berries among the vines.

The thought of the baneberries, hidden yet close at hand, stirred within Daenera a sense of comfort in their familiarity–and yet, this comfort was shadowed by a growing sense of dread. Her heart thrummed heavily against her ribcage. 

The intricate embroidery of green, gold, and silver vines continued down the long sleeves of her dress, trailing all the way to the floor. The sleeves, heavy with their opulent adornments, weighed down her arms. The inner lining of the sleeves were the same ivory of the dress, while the soft golden hue of the underdress contrasted with the delicate embroidery that adorned them.

And among all the vines, small dragons had been embroidered with silver thread, no bigger than dragonflies. 

Hair:

Her dark hair was elegantly swept away from her face and woven into two thick braids. The braids were then intricately pinned up to frame her face, their ends merging at the back of her head, woven into the fall of curls and waves that cascaded down her back. 

From the hair falling down her back, two substantial sections of her hair were split and draped over her shoulders, cascading down the front of her chest. These strands were adorned with three golden clamps set with shimmering emeralds, adding a decorative weight to the flowing hair. 

A delicate silver circlet adorned Daenera’s head, elegantly tracing the contours of her hairline as it was intricately woven into her hair. The circlet was graced with three gold roses in full bloom, the circlets silver and gold surfaces catching the sunlight with a radiant gleam. Simple gold earrings, each set with an emerald dangled just below her ears, occasionally brushing against her neck.

Lastly, a delicate veil was arranged around her, secured by two gold rose pins. The veil flowed down her back, its soft ivory fabric curving gently around her shoulders. Almost sheer, the veil was trimmed with threads of silver and gold, and its patterned surface caught the light in a mesmerizing way. Small beads embedded in the fabric sparked like dew catching the morning light.

At first, she was little more than a dark silhouette, swallowed up by the blinding light that streamed through the sept’s entrance. She was light refracted, a splintered, ruinous divinity–an image of a goddess, both unlovely and lovely, like a half-forgotten memory of something divine.

As they began their procession into the sept, following the stream of light pouring through the open doors, she seemed to absorb the light around her, drinking in the radiance. The beads on her gown shimmered like morning dew catching the first rays of the sun–she seemed like a star descended from the heavens to walk among them. Each step she took was accompanied by the soft whisper of her gown brushing against the floor, the sound resonating in the deep silence of the sept.

Daenera's wedding gown has the same silhouette as Alicent's in the Sept Scene with Rhaenyra. There's more fabric in the lower half of the dress, and more layers to give a fuller look. The ivory fabric of the outer dress matches beautifully with the golden undergown--that has the matching sleeves to Alicent's green ones. They have the same open sleeves of the outer dress, and the inside of those open sleeves are stitched with silver and gold thread, with beads stitched into the fabric. The embroidery is also the same, though there's white pearls as berries growing on the vines of green, silver and gold. And it is generally the same as Alicent's dress.

Daenera also have the same hair as seen on the picture, and the tiara is much the same, though only the bottom part with the three golden roses.

[thebrowbeautyboutique]

One of the Best Eyebrow Embroidery in Singapore

The trend that is taking Instagram by storm is the Misty brow trend. Well, it has become the Best Eyebrow Embroidery Singapore treatment as it helps you achieve beautiful brows. In misty eyebrow embroidery, the brow artist gives a shadowing effect to your brows with a fading technique that is lighter at the centre and becomes darker towards the brow tail. The result is bold and edgy misty brows that will easily last up to 2 years with minimal maintenance.

[thetasteofsunshineonyourtongue]

ID: A digital drawing of Gable from Skyjacks leaning against the railing of the ship, their arms propped up on the rigging. They have white freckled skin with many different tattoos and sparse facial hair. Their short gray hair is in a half-updo, turned black and gold at their temples and the top of their hairline. They're shirtless and wearing a pair of black trousers with detailed gold embroidery along the sides and a set of suspenders done up on one side. The fly of the trousers are fully unbuttoned, the half not held up by the suspenders falling down completely. They are staring off into the middle distance with a neutral expression on their face. End ID.

I wish I had an excuse for making this but I don't. Inspiration: Ange by Quentin de Ladelune

[sun-aries]

Heat

This WIP has been sitting in my drafts forever and it’s still not finished but maybe some of you will get a kick out of it. Rated T for suggestive themes. Enjoy!

Heat. It embodied the room that blissful summer afternoon, where the sunbeams fired through the glass windows and cast the queen's study in an idyllic golden glow. Closing the curtains was little to no respite, for there was little light without the hearth burning, and so they opted to leave them open, sacrificing any chance of cold for the light needed to get through their planning.
With the wedding only weeks away, it was crucial for the young couple to go over the plans. Though there were more than a dozen staff working to ensure their wedding ceremony and reception were worthy of royalty, Zelda and Link needed to approve every little detail, from the greenery in the centerpieces to the inlays of dishware and the embroidery of the napery. Though Zelda was well-versed in such drab subjects, Link could hardly care, finding that the heat of the room matching with the utter boredom of the topics made it hard to focus.
Instead, he found himself looking at her. A bead of sweat formed at her hairline, trickling down her temple, heading for her jaw before her hand intercepted. It was swept away by her index finger, dressed in satin gloves, and he absently wondered how she wasn't boiling. She always wore what must've been pounds of cloth, dressed properly and sitting primly, but he hadn't ever thought about what a nuisance it would be on such a hot and heavy day. Not that he was one to talk particularly, dressed in layers beneath his simple tunic, but he reasoned that he was more immune since traversing under the desert's sun.
"Given the surplus of blue samples Chancellor Foster has given me, I'm inclined to believe he has a preference. It is the color of our crest, after all, but I personally admire the simplicity of the ivory," Zelda said, flipping through the square samples of satin. "What do you think?" Receiving no response, she turned to look at her fiancé. She found him staring at her, eyes dazed and lips parted just a little, and she knew he was lost in thought. Her lips twitched as she tried to suppress an amused smile and she shook her head. "Link."
He startled at the sternness of her voice. "Huh?"
"Have you listened to a word I've said?"
"Oh…yeah, something about blue, I think." The queen rose a brow. "I'm sorry. It's just hard to focus…It's so hot. Aren't you hot?"
She placed the samples on her lap and sighed. It was a bit bothersome, the heat, but she typically forged ahead. Hazarding a glance out the window behind them, she squinted at the blinding sunlight pouring in. "Yes, it is quite hot."
Resigned, she gathered her long hair and swept it over her shoulder, inadvertently revealing the stretch of bare skin from her jaw, to her elegant neck and shoulders up until her pauldrons. 
Link tensed, his fists clenching around the hem of his tunic. His eyes were hyper-focused on Zelda's neck, watching another bead of sweat travel down the length of it, down towards her collarbone. He ached to reach out, to sweep it away with his tongue.
It disappeared down the neckline of her dress and it was then that his eyes met hers again. Suddenly, he realized how intently Zelda watched him watching her, and though he was flustered by it, he was locked in on her gaze. He thought he would die if he didn't touch her right then.
"I don't suppose you'd mind if I..." She paused, reaching for the hem of her gloves.
His eyes followed the movement, widening upon realization. Then, shaking his head, he tried to say, "No," but his mouth had gotten dry and it came out embarrassingly hoarse.
There was a flicker of a smile on her lips, perhaps of trick of the light, before she started to peel the glove off. When they got bunched up at the elbow, he habitually reached out to help before he froze, fingers twitching, hot and flustered with the thought of taking her clothes off. It was a measly glove, for goddesses sake, but it made him blush anyways.

[dent-de-leon]

Every second Lucien spends in this bedroom makes his very skin crawl. Everything is too vibrant, too ridiculously colorful and childish. A monument to a glorified empty shell, a hollow puppet. A collection of useless trinkets the mage held onto as he wallowed in guilt, clinging to a forgotten memory. He saw the way the wizard's gaze fell upon him in stolen moments, softening with such wistful regret. The urge to just risk it all and reach out, beg a dead man to come home--

Lucien's heart seizes, caught in a vice, that little songbird fluttering desperately in its cage. Warring warmth and despair well up in his chest, constricting his every breath, claws and teeth tearing into his flesh from beneath the skin, beyond the grave. Love. Joy. Home. Magician— A mindless chant burning into his brain, bleeding in from the abyss. 

Loss, longing—ghosting at his breath, settling in his skin. Pleading eyes and bandaged hands, bloodied split lips pressed flush to warm skin, reassurances and promises and time sifting through his talons. 

Lucien sees him. Sees the delicate hairline fractures when everything starts to fall apart. Spiderweb cracks splintering out and cascading across his broken soul like a shattered mirror. And beside the shade, cradled so delicately in his own hands, held frozen in a gentle embrace—lies that bloody wizard. 

He scoffs at that. “You fell for him? Actually thought you could care about someone who would love you back? Like a real person?” 

White hot rage flares, the shard cutting away at his own heart. 

Lucien hums, claws grazing over a fine velvet tapestry, trailing down meticulously painstaking embroidery and glistening rhinestones. He sinks his talons into the fabric and rips right through, reveling in the sound as it all tears apart. And as he does, he lets distant memories drift back into focus. Playful banter, fond endearments--a warmth and rush of affection, grounding reassurance--his piercing gaze locked on those fearful, haunted eyes, tracking him for any sign of weakness--

Fear curls around the shard like a burial shroud, veiling him from Lucien’s gaze, trying desperately to hide his bleeding heart. 

[dirtytransmasc]

such a simple detail I love to see/give characters through HC's is how they soothe/physically interact with their children, so ummm, yeah (only doing select characters, cause I feel like it 😃👍)

Alicent: she does the forehead down to the top of the nose rub, but instead of a single finger, she starts with her pinky and shifts up to the next until she gets to her first finger as she moves down. when she hugs her children she cups the back of their head with her hand or arm, thumbing their hairline. she kisses her children's hair(lines). she definitely struggled the most with her kids, cause y'know, they weren't brought to her in the best of ways, so a lot of her love is shown through quality times and words, but it's the fleeting touches, the worried holds, the way she checks over her children after any possible injury that really shows her love. she also fixes their hair and clothes, and does the mom spit on the finger wipe down (mostly to aegon).

Helaena: takes after her mother, but uses her first two fingers. when she's trying to get her children to sleep, she gently brushes a finger over their lashes as well. when she hugs it is less about the weight or tightness, unless that's what they need in the moment, but about gentleness and the time they hold onto one another. she kisses her children's noses. likes to lay her children in/against her lap while she does her embroidery or tucks them against her chest while showing them something. keeps a hand on her children if they're sleeping near her. feels a little random, but I feel like she dances with her children, I have no particular reason for this, but I really think she does.

Aegon: forehead touches. whether it be touching for head to forehead, or holding his children's head so he can brush back their hair or thumb over their temples. he similarly kisses their foreheads/brows. he doesn't just hug his children, he full on holds them, squeezing them tight and doing that spinny rocking motion. playfully "bites" his kids, like threatens to eat them when they're naughty and throws them around on the bed. out of all of them, he's the one who will take the most time/be the most emotional when it comes to admiring his children cause he's got this mindset of "they are so good and so pure and I made them, they're little and nothing like me and I love them", like he waits till their asleep and will just look over them, at their little hands or little faces, gently tracing their features with a single finger. (just give me good dad Aegon, who after dealing with some of his shit, decides he wants to be nothing like Viserys and dedicates himself to his children)

Aemond: may not be a parent, but I'm delusional, and he's just a third parent to the twins and Maelor, so leave me be. he's not the most physical guy, if anything he's the one who plays with them as his love language. when he does touch, it's very solid in a way, assuring. he rubs their shoulders and ruffles their hair, holding them against his legs, letting them ride his shoulders. definitely holds their hands to comfort them, stroking their palms or admiring their little fingers, especially as he had big ass hands, so the difference is jarring. kisses their hands too, like a gentleman, cause they think it's funny, but also cause he just is a very proper gentleman.