#I WAS STARVING BLESS THE LORD

[fairuzfan]

A video from Mahmoud Abusalama about the current situation in the North of Gaza. Here is a translation of what he's saying from the comments that's pretty accurate:

‘Northern Gaza is dying of hunger. Today is Friday and a blessed Friday to you and us. We’ve lived through 8 months of a real famine, particularly in the Northern Gaza Strip. Our primary meal, throughout all these days and in these conditions, came from canned foods. Which canned foods (you ask)? We brought some with us today. Here’s a can of fava beans, here’s a can of garbanzo beans, and here’s a can of peas. And all of them are Jordanian products, and thank you to the Jordanian people. We’ve been living in this system of (eating) canned foods for 8 months. Getting into the heavy duty stuff now, our best regards go to Ghadeer (chicken luncheon) meat. This is a Jordanian product and it is an honor to have it included in the aid that comes to the Gaza Strip. Every Palestinian household has been living off of Ghadeer for 8 months and we’re still alive. Our intestines are full of Ghadeer. Wherever you go, it’s Ghadeer. This can is chicken luncheon, and it’s the only one of its kind in the markets in the Gaza Strip. We’ve been eating this for 8 months. Let’s talk about Friday. It’s Friday, so prepare for your guests, and bon appetite to you all. Many people eat meat and chicken and that’s their due and their situation, because they’re not living in Gaza, so here’s to your health, a thousand-fold. However, on another set of coordinates of the planet you’re living on, is a place called ‘The Gaza Strip’, particularly the Northern Gaza Strip. We are living off of these canned foods in pain and oppression, with malnutrition, along with 8 months of pleading and the shouting of starving people, and the corpses of babies who died of starvation. The people of Gaza are dying of starvation. This is the reality of the life we are living. Our life in the Northern Gaza Strip can be considered as garbanzo, peas, fava and Ghadeer. Ghadeer is steadfast with us, so our best regards to Ghadeer and its resilience, and may our Lord Relieve us.’

(From Med): Honestly, I've lost words to say at this point. What more do they want from the people of Gaza? No one should be treated like this in their lives but we're 2/3rds of a year into this genocide and no end in sight. I mean. What they want? What does the world want from them?

[theannoyingurge]

On the topic of Durge / Ketheric / Durgetash and how it potentially echoes the lore of the Dead Three...

Back in the mortal adventuring days of the Dark Three, it was originally just two power hungry humans with a common enemy who'd gained respect for one another's capacity for ruthless violence and paired up - not so different from Durge and Gortash.

The duo was comprised of Bane of the Ancients (a former battle slave to a primordial evil from Abeir) and Arabhal (a chief assassin and spymaster from ancient Netheril).

Long before Myrkul joined the party, Bane and Bhaal adventured together seeking power for themselves, plotting to slay Bane's former master and take divinity from Jergal (Bhaal's patron deity). Sort of like how Durge and Gortash were allies before Ketheric joined the cabal. I can see Durgetash plotting to ascend together.

See where I'm going with this?

Anyway, Jergal thought they were neat. He encouraged their antics by blessing them with terrible nightmares and leading them to powerful weapons - most notably, leading them to Myrkul (a crowned price and powerful necromancer). It was Myrkul who finally managed to gain the three access to Jergal's domain, and Jergal really wanted to retire.

I suspect Bane and Bhaal remembered how critical Myrkul had been to their initial ascension, and that was why Ketheric Thorm was eventually looped into their new alliance.

Despite Bhaal and Bane's long history together, something funny happened following their ascension. Suddenly Myrkul and Bhaal have way more in common. Their portfolios make them natural allies. In the Avatars novels, Myrkul actually grieves the death of Bhaal, noting that one could hardly exist without the other, and states that 'amongst all the gods, they were perhaps the closest'.

Which means... Bane isn't Bhaal's favorite anymore. In fact, Bhaal can seriously fuck him up. While Myrkul truly appreciates the lord of death and murder for feeding his kingdom, Bane has as much to fear from Bhaal as to gain from him. (technically Bhaal claims he could starve Myrkul's kingdom, but since he really enjoys killing and hates the living world, Myrkul's kingdom is probably like a vacation home he'd prefer not to burn down.)

What we see after a thousand years or so of this is Bane antagonizing Bhaal every chance he gets, and profiting off every one of his failures. Bhaal picks a fight with the Moonshaes and gets exiled from Toril? Bane sees free real estate and conquers the wreckage. Assassins fail to kill the mortal Midnight (Mystra) and retrieve the tablet of fate during the ToT? Sacrifice them all in a massive death ritual to fuel Bane's new avatar! Bhaal is dead and his remaining loyalists team up with Bane's kid to bully Cyric, who usurped them both? Return in a pillar of fire and annex them into the church of Bane! Sucks to suck, your worshippers are mine now. Again.

I can see a BG3 prologue where Gortash and Durge are super best friends right up until Ketheric Thorm joins the party. I won't get into all the reasons why Ketheric's and Durge's personal issues make them ripe for toxic bonding, but suffice to say that Gortash soon gets jealous of the undead immortal stealing his Bhaalspawn's attention and (whether unwittingly or out of spite) leads Durge down the path to ruin (shooting himself in the foot in the process).

Meanwhile, Bhaal (who has been raging at Bane for stealing his stuff for the last century or two) is now raging at Bane and Myrkul for fighting over that stuff until it physically and mentally snaps and becomes a hero.

Now it's ruined and I have to settle for Orin. Fuck you both.

[readychilledwine]

Hi! I love your writing, it always makes me grin. Could I request a platonic Az fic? One where reader is like 10, super cuddly and touch affection starved and Feyre’s ward (kind of like Evangeline is to Lyssandra), and maybe like the kid or sister of one of the children of the blessed that was sent over the wall but feyre found her and took her in even though Tamlin didn’t like it, so when Mor took Feyre, she had to take reader too, and then during that dinner, she gets scared to meet everyone (especially cass sine he seems intimidating) so she runs behind the nearest person, Az and when he doesn’t get upset, she sticks with him through the dinner, wanting to be next to him, hiding behind his wings, asking for cuddles, and playing with his hands. He doesn’t get upset and reader just decides to follow him like a shadow from then in and make him her fave person, like watching when he train, being sad and quiet when he’s gone (until Nuella and Cereadwin bring her sweets), happy when he’s back, and never leaving his side, and even asking him to carry her etc.

Oath

Warnings - platonic soul mates, mentions of Amarantha and UTM, visions

A/N - I'm not saying I am tucking this away for a rainy day, but I'm not not saying that 👀

Azriel Masterlist

You didn't even have to ask or knock. The door opened, and shadows pulled you in. Guiding you to Azriel in the dark as he opened up his blanket and pulled you up to his bed and into his arms. "Nightmares?" He murmured softly into your hair, holding you close. "It's okay, little one. We all have them." You curled into him, basking in the warmth and protection he offered. His wing rested over you, feeling like a blanket weighing down like a tight hug. "Tell me what you saw?"

You started softly. "A robed figure with swans. But this time, it was like.." You paused, wiping tears from your eyes. "It was like I was a swan. You were on the waterline of the lake, yelling for me."

Azriel went stiff, then pulled you closer to him. "No one is going to take you from me. From us. You are ours to look after."

And you had been since you arrived in the Night Court. You had been ripped from the mortal realm with Feyre by Tamlin. Feyre had taken you in, despite arguments from her sisters, when she found you starving in the streets. You became hers, and she yours. She was closest thing you had ever had to a sister, and her regret the moment you were caught following her Under the Moutain was something she struggled to live with to this day.

Amarantha had taken a liking to you, though. You were a tender human girl she enjoyed using as a personal servant. She kept you at her side, almost always glowing with how much you admired the fae, how you were raised to be complicit to them by the Children of the Blessed. You complimented her constantly, adoring her dresses, her hair, her glowing skin. You had no idea she was so evil. So cruel. That was until Feyre's first trial.

It was Rhysand who pulled you into his room one night, sheltering you from the violence going on. He had whispered to you tales of a city covered in starlight and a family. A family that all found each other, chose each other, loved each other. He had worked you into the bargain with Feyre, ensuring he had you for one week every month, ensuring you were away from Tamlin, who, for unknown reasons, hated you.

When you first came to the Night Court, Rhys spent the week with you, teaching you to read and write more gently than he had Feyre, teaching you the different courts, the different high lords. He had put you in dresses that made his eyes sparkle but grow distant with longing. He had called you his little second chance, and on that second visit, you were sold. You loved Rhysand so fully that you had clinged to him, crying as Tamlin ripped you from his arms.

When Tamlin locked you and Feyre in the manor, it had been the scariest moment of your life. You were still mortal, but the power radiating from her, consuming her as she pulled you into her chest for comfort, was terrifying. She had told you the Night Court would be your home now once she had calmed down, and the decision was made to have dinner with Rhysand's family. Mor had taken you, winnowing you two in and letting you enjoy that drop, that rush of free falling. Everything had been fine until you saw Cassian.

Cassian was loud, he was huge, he had muscles in places you hardly knew could have muscles. You had ended up hiding, much to Cassian's amusement, behind the closest thing you could. Azriel.

And it had begun after that. Azriel became your best friend. You constantly looked for him, snuggled him, loved him. He became your everything and you his. You made him carry you everywhere, take you flying, and made him laugh with you under blanket forts.

On your 9th birthday, he had taken you into town, spoiling you before the war with Hybern begun with pastries, books, new dresses, and a stuffed animal. It was the same day Velaris was attacked. You had been taken from him, locked into a cell with Nesta, who held you close, whispering how it would be okay. You were forced into that same Cauldron as Feyre screamed, held back by Rhysand as the male pleaded for the King to let you go.

Azriel had promised you from that day forward you were his, swearing it to you in an oath that you two sealed with a pinky promise. He promised to protect you. To keep you safe. To make sure anyone who harmed you would regret it. But even Azriel, as powerful as he was, could not save you from the aftermath of the Cauldron.

1 week after your 10th birthday, weird things started happening to you. You had dreams where you saw things. Similar to Elain. Her visions came out in riddles, though. Yours were different. Odd to Rhys and Amren. Odd to Helion. Your powers were similar to a seer, yet so different.

Helion had described it as you walking through timelines. You could see all outcomes with no direction of how that outcome would come to be, whereas Elain saw one possible future and potential riddles guiding to it. "A burden," he had said to Rhysand quietly. "A burden to know each way someone you loved could die, to know what happens if one pawn doesn't move exactly according to plan, but not be able to tell them how exactly it happened."

You had fallen into yourself more, seeking only Azriel with Feyre's pregnancy and Nesta's spiral. You only told him what you saw in your dreams and occasionally the twins if he would send them to you with treats.

He pulled you close again, shaking you from the past. "What else did you see?"

"Elain," you whispered softly. "Lucien holding Elain tightly while she laid on the ground. She no longer glowed with the light of the fae. It was like the cloaked figure had taken it from her."

The grip on your nightgown grew tight. "What else?" His voice was tense, eyes getting slightly distant, letting you know he was communicating with Rhys that you had seen something.

"Rhys had facial hair." Azriel hummed. Unknown to you that you had just given him an idea of the timeline. It would have had to have been after the birth of babe. Rhys only grew facial hair when he was tired. "Feyre and Nesta weren't there. Just Lucien, Elain, the three of you, and I think me."

"As a swan," he repeated.

"Yes, as a swan. Trapped on his lake."

"Do you know how old you were when this happened?"

You shrugged. "No, but we had a string. It wasn't gold and glittering like Rhys and Feyre's, but red and power seemed to flow through it, not emotions. It felt like I was transferring something to you."

Azriel kissed the top of your head. "You know I need to tell Rhys about this?" You nodded. "And you know he may need you to show him?" You nodded again, but shivered at the thought of Rhysand in your mind. "We should also mention the red string to Amren. She what she can dig up."

"But she's so cranky." Hazel eyes, tired and heavy with sleep, peered down at you. "New Amren is way more mean than old Amren."

"A problem for tomorrow. Go to sleep, y/n. I'll keep your nightmares away."

"I love you, Azzie."

"I love you too, y/n. I won't let you turn into a swan."

You were asleep almost instantly, body back on that lake, and a cloaked figure with a bone like figure stroking your wings.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (16) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n the isms of a long-distance, working couple i'm back!!! this was supposed to be published in july my bad y'all i got busy :)

masterlist | last part | part 16 | next part

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by lukaszhang and 298,193 others

selinabui happy birthday to the best cousin i could've asked for. thanks for being some racing-obsessed weirdo, for playing video games with me across the world and most of all for once punching some guy in the face for me. love from: the more talented, overall better, most adorable cousin you could've asked for <3 (you'll always be the coolest older brother!) tagged: zhouguanyu24

zhouguanyu24 Being nice to me 🤨 ↳ selinabui @.zhouguanyu24 just respecting the elderly

linasgirl4 THEEEEE best cousin duo

emptybottlos they're very dear to me actually

MESSAGES

from the phone of oscar piastri

TWITTER

piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 8h IT'S RACE WEEEEEEEEEEK ↳ piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 8h 2024 CANADIAN GP FIRST OSCAR WIN MANIFESTING MANIFESTINGGGGGGGG

liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 4h berlin empty bottles fans, did lina sound stuffy live? in the videos i've seen she looks sick ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 3h heard from oomf that cami said lina had a bit of a cold :(

INSTAGRAM

chrisyamada 🎵 | Chris Yamada · Pins and Needles (ft. Selina Bui from Empty Bottles)

liked by emptybottles_official and 738,859 others

chrisyamada Surprise drop? @.selinabui and I are pleased to present, to our humble fans, a little collab we recorded back in April. Without further ado, enjoy 'Pins and Needles' tagged: selinabui

selinabui fyi the electric guitar solo is ME bc as if he could ever shred that cool ↳ chrisyamada @.selinabui i totally could

linasgirl4 yall... what in tarnation why have you been sitting on this for 2 months 😭😭😭

lukaszhang ok but when's the mv dropping 🤨 ↳ moonbeamlina @lukaszhang there's... there's a music video 🥹

ceciliapham omfg it sounds so good oooohh it's a slow song ahhh her voice is angelic fr June 7

selinabui Paris, France

liked by oliviarodrigo and 332,164 others

selinabui "are you happy to be in paris?" OUI!

pastry81 close enough, welcome back oscalina!!! ↳ selinabui @.pastry81 oscar pastryyyy 🥺

tina_kim SO NOT OVER PINS AND NEEDLES I'M STARVED FOR NEW MUSIC

oscarpiastri hey there ↳ selinabui @.oscarpiastri oh hi 🥰

aidan_ebass Never ever going to watch a show with you again. Please learn to shut up 🫶 June 9

TWITTER

kay ♡ @ blackcatluna · 1h it genuinely feels like there's an EB show every second night, do these people even sleep 😭😭😭

president linami @.linaminami · 43m is it just me or is the european leg really really busy? ↳ president linami @.linaminami · 42m the band barely has any time to breathe because they keep hoping to countries with like a day or two leeway ↳ president linami @.linaminami · 42m berlin to paris had a four day gap which is one of the longest gap between shows

kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h tbh it's not super surprising that lina got sick; it's still cold in the northern parts and she wears mini dresses and short skirts for two hours in the evening; plus she's probably exhausted and burning out

lina bui x2 grammy winner @urdaisea · 12m three back to back paris shows... i'm a little worried for lina's health

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

pookie piastri @.op81ln4 · 9h got blessed with cat energy oscar video from mclaren thank you lord 🙏

lina !!! @EB_selina · 4h can i physically afford to watch this race; send advice (i'm sick lmao) ↳ Aidan Park @EB_Aidan · 4h Selina, you have a 40 degree fever get off your phone ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 4h wdym... i'm not on my phone 🥸 ↳ Oscar Piastri @.OscarPiastri · 1h Hey... what did you mean by 40 degree fever 🤨

piaa⁸¹ @.papayaeightyone · 12m uh wtf happened to charles??? ↳ lanaaaaa @.sharlleglrg · 8m that's the monaco curse oversleeping

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

INSTAGRAM

selinabui_news

liked by ceciliapham and 12,002 others

selinabui_news 📱Screencaps of Lina from the Empty Bottles instagram live. Get well soon baby 🥺 tagged: selinabui

piastri_lina how does she still look better than me on the brink of death????

amelia_belrose i hope she feels better soon :( but did you see her face when kas panned the camera over 😭 i thought i was about to witness a murder

marie_h.sb she's been going on stage every night like that 😧 June 11

TWITTER

TMD Tour News @EB-TMDTour · 56m Lina was talking to a fan during the encore, asked for his name and got flustered when he said "Oscar" #TMDWorldTour ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 32m help i think she broke why did it take her 15 seconds to say something 😭😭😭 ↳ president linami @ linaminami · 49m actually wheezing at kas' face, he seriously can't believe she's that down bad oml

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 40m i'm eating gooooooood tonight

pookie piastri @.op81ln4 · 23m somewhere on earth oscar piastri is kicking his legs and giggling at that clip of his gf's brain shutting down at the mention of his name

camilina gfs fr @ drummergf · 11m this is unironically the antithesis of that sabrina moment with a fan named joshua like 😭 similar reaction of disbelief and surprise but the context could not be more different

MESSAGES

from the phone of oscar piastri

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 4h this is actually really mortifying and i'd appreciate if we all collectively wiped it from memory ↳ Oscar Piastri @.OscarPiastri · 3h It's actually my new ringtone for you ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 3h count ur lucky stars we're not in the same country right now

cami yang @EB_Cami · 38m what if i said i'm also feeling a little messy 🤔

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee @urfavsgf @eiaaasamantha @sp1rl @destinyg237 @iloveyou3000morgan

[milswrites]

Hobbies Part 9.

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: none?

Azriel moved through the halls like a starved beast. Hunting for the one thing that could satisfy him. His mate.

After the bond had snapped into place Azriel had wasted no time in travelling through his shadows to the Day Court. Whilst he couldn’t directly travel into the palace, Azriel made sure to get as close to the wards as he possibly could. Not stopping to wait for a single minute as he forced his way into the grand building, uncaring of the shocked guards who had taken to chasing after him through the winding corridors, shouts of their objection flooding his ears.

He was searching for Helion. For the one person who could tell him where Y/N was staying, where Azriel so desperately needed to go.

The shouts of alarm from the Day Court guards was a blessing for Azriel, their call having drawn the attention of the High Lord. Helion appearing before Azriel in all his glory, there was no surprise on his face at the presence of the shadowsinger in his halls. In fact it was almost as if he was waiting for him.

“I must say you’re later than I expected, did you walk here?” The High Lord teased, flashing a blinding smile to an unimpressed Azriel.

“Where is she?” He growled out, not wanting to waste any precious time he could be having with Y/N by staying and talking to Helion longer than he needed to.

“What?” The male gasped mockingly, “no hello Helion? I’ve missed you Helion? You’re the greatest High Lord ever Helion? I was hoping for more after what I did for you, forging relationships isn’t my usual job role.”

“Where is she?” Azriel snarled once more, refusing to play this game. Azriel was surprised at the control he was showing, the ugly monster inside of him that was born from the revelation of the bond wanted nothing more than to hold a knife to the High Lord’s throat until he told him where Y/N had been sent.

Helion sighed, but the glint of something other than annoyance shone in his eyes and Azriel could tell that the male was pleased at Azriel’s impromptu arrival at his court, “She’s in a village North-East of here, it’s about a two hour flight… but with the state you’re in I’d reckon you could make it in one.”

Without as much as a thank you, Azriel sped from the scene, the guards that had been chasing after him divided, allowing the tense Illyrian to pass through them, fearing what would occur if they were to stop him.

Not even waiting until he had cleared the palace gate, Azriel stretched his wings and took flight, as if spending another hour without Y/N’s grounding presence would lead to most certain death.

And so Azriel flew faster than he had ever done in his life. The bitter evening wind biting his cheeks and knotting his unruly hair. But Azriel didn’t care, not about his appearance, not when every minute that passed meant he was getting closer and closer to his mate. His Y/N.

Azriel would have flown for centuries if he had to, if only it meant Y/N would be there waiting for him when he landed. The mating bond must have gifted some cauldron-blessed power to Azriel who found he had never flown so swiftly, wings acting on their own accord as they beat powerfully, allowing Azriel to cut through the sky like a blade.

Until he felt it, the gentle tugging growing stronger, drawing him towards where he most needed to be. Stirred on by the feeling and wanting to be consumed by it completely, Azriel followed. Slowing his flight until he came across a quaint village which was glowing amber as the sun set around it. Y/N was somewhere in this small collection of thatched houses and farms, unaware of the arrival of the male who had become overwhelmed with his want to be near her.

Landing with such a force that his knees buckled, Azriel readily cast his eyes to his surroundings, scanning for the woman he so longed to hold. He walked through the gathering crowd of alarmed villagers, whispering to each other in question as they clearly had never seen an Illyrian soldier before. Let alone one who looked as feral as Azriel no doubt did after his rushed flight, wings flared and cobalt siphons vibrating with the need to release the power building within him due to his increased adrenaline the bond was pulsating through him.

He scanned all their terrified faces, seeking the familiar features of the woman he had grown to love. Eyes jumping from villager to villager until they finally landed on her. On the woman who Azriel was prepared to drop onto his knees for and beg for her forgiveness. He would do anything to ensure her happiness.

~~~~~

“Azriel” she breathed his name from her lips in disbelief, needing to repeat it to be sure that he had truly existed and that he was here now, “Azriel?”

Here she was, stood before Azriel in the sweetest shade of violet and he found himself unable to speak, stunned by her innocent beauty. Even the small crease of her brows caused his heart to palpitate. All the words he had wished to tell her over the past two weeks lodged themselves in his throat. Nothing he could say would ever do justice to the incredible woman before him.

As the shock of his sudden appearance in the village wore away, confusion flooded her expression, “Is that…my tunic? How did you get that? It was in my house.”

Once more Azriel failed to find the words he so urgently required. His mouth open yet unspeaking like a fool. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his tunic to retrieve the item he had hurriedly crammed inside before his disappearance from the Night Court. Azriel pulled out the sketchbook she had given him on their very first day of meeting and held it out to a stunned Y/N.

“What- what’s this?” She asked, taking the book with a frown on her face.

“You were right” the words finally poured from his mouth, “about me being miserable, about how I don’t do anything. That my friends wouldn’t want me to do nothing and waste away.”

Her eyebrow twitched as she pulled open the sketchbook, the pages of which were filled with inky drawings of her. Azriel knows he had failed to capture the true beauty that is Y/N. He had never drawn before and numerous pages from the book had been torn out in his frustration at his lack of skills. But he had filled the book, page after page being covered in the hours he had spent by himself in the Night Court. The need to print her pretty face in permanent ink and capture her glowing smile before he forgot it led to Azriel picking up this new hobby. The one way to ensure that even if he never saw Y/N again, he would always carry a piece of her with him.

As she took the time to turn through each work or art Azriel had created in her honor, the trails of tears that freely flowed down her rosy cheeks and her rapidly beating heart which Azriel felt entwined with his own, gave the male the confidence to continue.

“I love you” he stated, Y/N’s affectionate gaze moving from the drawings to his deadly serious face. “I have done for a while I think” he continues, “and Y/N if you forgive me I will love you with every ounce of my being until we’re nothing but dust in the stars.”

Now sure that he had her attention and Y/N wouldn’t run away or ignore him for his disappearing act, Azriel felt free to tell her what he should have done when they were in the solitude of the garden all those weeks ago, “You are the reason my heart beats and if I had to live the rest of my life not knowing if you feel the same way I do, if you share the same burning need for you that I have, then I will surely perish because that is not a life that I want to live.”

He slowly stepped towards her, raising his hand to brush the diamond-like tears from her soft cheeks, “You are my salvation and my undoing and I will love you for as long as the mother allows. And if you’ll have me, even after all that happened, I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure that I take you to explore every inch of Prythian. That we’ll see the world together and leave no place untouched.”

Allowing the notebook to slip through her fingers and drop onto the floor, Y/N grips Azriel by the front of his tunic, the tunic she had so lovingly made him, and pulled him in to a firey kiss, uncaring of the nosy villagers who were still gathered around them.

Unwilling to waste a single moment with Y/N that he was given, Azriel’s arms flew around the woman, pulling her roughly towards his chest and encasing her in his arms as their lips melted together. His lips which moved desperately against hers, wanting to express just how much she means to him and how harrowing the past few weeks without her had been. Y/N seemed to be on the same wavelength as the kiss she delivered him was filled with the same burning passion and uncontrollable need as his.

Finally, not wanting to get too carried away in front of the crowd of people who were now awkwardly staring at the pair, their lips broke apart, though Azriel refused to let go of Y/N’s waist, not wanting her to take another step further from him.

She smiled, lifting her hand so it brushed over the shoulder of his tunic, “it fits” she beams, pleased to see the shadowsinger wearing her clothes. “It’s perfect” he whispered whilst leaning his forehead against hers, “I think I’m going to need a whole wardrobe full of them. All with dresses to match for you of course. Pink, purple, blue, I want them all.”

“That’s a lot of work” she giggled, hands still running over her creation which fit snug against his broad form.

“If you give me another chance we’ll have all the time in the world” he said earnestly, pulling his head away from hers far enough that they could lock their eyes with each other, “I know I don’t deserve it after what I did to you but please allow me to have a do over. A proper date this time now that I’m not afraid to call it what it is.”

“No running away?” She asked, a brief glimpse of sadness in her eyes as the memory of his absence was still fresh in her mind.

“Not even the mother herself could drag me away from you now” he promised, lips brushing against his mates once more.

Part 10

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Notes: I screamed the entire time I was writing this. She knows he loves her but she’s yet to find out about the bond…hmmm wonder how that will go.

Only one more chapter and then the epilogue and it’s over but I really don’t want it to be 😭😭😭

Taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. IX

tags- @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @littleblackcatinwonderland @hueanhdang

cw- mention of death

finally a longer one!

Eight full days passed without trouble. Daenys and Cregan slept close together each night, pointedly avoiding talking about it each morning. Though, it was clear to be a great comfort for both of them. Daenys found herself having seven more dreamless nights, grateful for each one, though slightly wishing she could be blessed with the type of dreams that others had every night. Even Cregan, who smiled sometimes in his sleep, seemed to have pleasant dreams.

They were only one more night away from The Wall. Then, they would reach it by the morrow's noon.

Daenys had taken well to hunting, setting near-expert traps and even making it something of a competition. Without needing words, they would both hold up their catches of the day, either laughing gleefully or scowling when they won or lost. All in good fun, they agreed.

Dusk had even taken to sleeping with Morningstar each night, instead of at the human's feet. The dragon had not made her displeasure known, so her tolerance said everything for her. The wolf was comically tiny against the massive wing, quite like a mother and her pup. Though, perhaps Dusk didn't get that idea. His infatuation with the dragon appeared to be some sort of puppy love.

Cregan had pointed that out days prior, snorting at his companion's simpering behavior. "He follows that dragon like a green boy follows a pretty whor-" He paused, stopping himself. "follows a courtesan." He coughed into his hand, cheeks pink at his own borish vocabulary.

Daenys rolled her eyes, snickering at his expression. "I am not so green myself, my Lord. I can handle a few less-than-kind words."

His eyes widened, turning to her on Red. "Do you mean...?"

She understood immediately, flushing pink herself now. "Heavens, no! I only mean I grew up with my vulgar uncles. They have never bothered to filter their words or bring their 'lady-friends' into the Red Keep. I can not do such things until I am wed, I understand by duties." Daenys informed him, slightly embarrassed that she called herself experienced when she was not.

"I would not fault you if you did. After all, a lord could sire a thousand bastard babes, before or after marriage, and not be reprimanded." He said.

That was true. Rhaenyra was forced into marriage immediately after her 'nightly activities' with Daemon were discovered. Aegon was actively still participating in such activities after his marriage but received turned heads and blind eyes.

"That is a truth I have come to resent." She huffed. "There are many of us—silver-haired—out on the streets of King's Landing. It is a great shame that mine own kin is suffering on the streets instead of in the Keep where they belong."

Many times, she thought of how unfair their circumstances were compared to hers. They shared their bastard blood, but only she and her brothers got the privilege of being legitimized and defended whilst the others starved and suffered.

He smiled sweetly at her, perhaps in understanding of her underlying words. "I can sympathize with that sentiment. My father was an honorable man until his death. His one sin was fathering my half-sister, though I do not resent Sara for it. It is a shame how only the children suffer for the parents' actions. I watched how she was treated her whole life compared to me, simply for having a different mother."

She hummed her agreement. For a moment, she slightly wished that her mother shared his opinion.

"I loved my father dearly. But, I would never repeat his actions. My wife's honor is as sacred as mine, to father a child that was not hers would be unforgivable."

"Your wife will be a lucky woman."

He eyed her, amused. "If you call that lucky, then I suppose so. I would call it being a husband."

"Most men do not take that so seriously. A wife is seen as the one who simply provides heirs and a dowry, and whores and paramours are the true lovers." She shrugged.

"Is that how Prince Daemon sees Queen Rhaenyra?" He asked, catching her off guard.

"No...he is perhaps the only one of her husbands to have no lover after they married. Their marriage is a special case, I believe. He has only wanted her for many years, even through his previous two marriages. Loyal, yes, but no less a greedy man."

Daenys didn't care for her mother's and Daemon's strange history. She would not personally wish to marry a man twice her age, but her mother loved him, so she tolerated it. She did grow to like Daemon, too, after a few years of living with him.

Cregan nodded beside her, taking in her words. "Ser Laenor was different?"

"I'm sure you've heard of my father's preferences from the gossip surrounding the court."

"I've told you before, my Lady, that those in the North do not care for menial gossip." He reminded her.

Daenys nodded, exhaling deeply. "He loved my mother, though not as Daemon does." Or Harwin did, she left out. "But he could not change his affinity for his...squire." She finished, glancing at his facial expression only to see it unchanged.

"What of Ser Harwin?" The question made her nervous, though she refused to show it. His question was merely curious, not accusing or backhanded. "Your mother's sworn protector must have been around quite a lot, in your young years. What was he like?"

"Ser Harwin was a kind man. Kinder than any other knights at the Keep. He was Lord Commander of the kingsguard, though he never acted untoward or mean, not even once. He watched over me, in a time when many of the young kids in the keep had started to act as my scourages." She smiled in reminisce. "You remind me of him, slightly."

"How so?"

"A protector. A pillar of strength against harsh winds."

Cregan chuckled, though not unkindly. "I am glad you are able to see me that way, Princess. Perhaps you are a poet, not a sailor."

She laughed, loud and clearly. "If only you could see me at my septa's lessons, you would change your mind in a heartbeat. I jumbled the words so badly that two—two!—septas gave up trying to teach me to sing and recite poetry and music."

Cregan grinned at the sound, pleased to hear her laugh. "That can't be so, I've heard you humming little songs in High Valyrion when you are with Morningstar."

Bashful, she asked. "You heard that?"

"Most times, yes." He said. "Though I enjoyed it. I can't understand the words, but I can piece together that no words were stumbled over."

"Mm. Perhaps it is my audience, then. In front of my septas, their stares were so intense that I nearly cried when practicing in front of them. My dragon does not judge as they do, she sings along."

"I hope to be a well-mannered audience for you." He said, tone raillery and light.

Daenys didn't mind if he heard.

Night came fast, as it seemed to for the past days. Their routine came automatically: setting the tent, cooking kills over the fire, eating, conversing, and then finally heading to bed. They found their routine with changing into night shifts, as well. Simply turning as they changed at the same time instead of waiting their turns outside of the tent. Cregan and Daenys settled closely, breaths steady and visible in the night air.

It had grown jarringly cold. Daenys believed it was cold in Winterfell, but near The Wall was another story. She pitied those who lived at The Wall and the wildlings who were trapped beyond it.

Her streak of dreamless sleep was broken that night. She could barely see, but she could hear. She wished desperately that she couldn't, that she could forget the sounds that tormented her.

Sawing.

Slow, squelching, sawing.

She was in the Red Keep. The torches in the nursery were dim. So dim, that faces were impossible to clearly make out. But she could recognize Helena anywhere. Her sweet, sisterly Aunt Helena, who had never hurt a soul in her life, was pleading for two men to take her jewlery, take her, instead of her babe.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, if she remembered correctly. She had met them once, at the family dinner the night before Viserys died. Helena showed them proudly to her niece, though her youthful face reminded Daenys of just how young she was when she was forced to have the twins. The thought made her feel ill, but she smiled and greeted the shy children anyway.

The men refused to take Helena, insisted they needed a boy to die. They forced the sweet mother to point out her son, to which she did with a pained and stunned look on her face. Daenys wanted to reach out, comfort her aunt, and protect her babes with her. But her feet remained glued to the floor, unable to be seen or heard by anyone in the room. It was not happening at that moment. Would it truly happen soon? It was war. Dirty tactics were used all the time without remourse. Surely they were not sent by Rhaenyra...right? She would never seek babes to be harmed, especially after Visenya was lost days ago. This must be a false dream. Daenys only needed to wait it out.

Sawing.

Sawing, squelching, thrashing. It felt like it went on forever.

Until it stopped. Daenys blinked her eyes open, glancing at the bed. Jaehaerys' head was gone from his body. Jaehaera was missing from her bed. Helena was gone. Daenys found herself running, finally able to move now from her planted spot. She ran out of the nursery as if the two men would chase her, too. She followed after Helena, who abruptly stopped at the bottom of the steps. She turned around, revealing her purple tear-filled eyes and Jaehaera clutched protectively in her arms. Helena looked Daenys right in her eyes.

"Stop him." She whispered as if she could see Daenys standing in the middle of the steps plain as day. She continued running, perhaps to guards, leaving Daenys stunned at her spot.

Daenys was awoken after that. No one had ever seen her during her dreams. Not Laena, not Luke, nor Harwin or Laenor. Helena had similar dreams, she knew. Waking dreams, mumbling to herself while she was wide awake. Helena and her always shared that, though never spoke on it. Daenys was torn. Would that become true? Would Helena's son truly be murdered in his bed?

She could not think on it alone anymore. She needed a distraction. Her first thought was to seek out Morningstar, to curl up under her warmth, and stay there until the visions stopped plaguing her mind ruthlessly. She didn't have her books to draw in or her journals to write in. She couldn't let out her thoughts any way but speaking.

"Cregan..." She whispered, leaning up on her elbow and facing the man. He looked to be having a happy dream, smiling slightly in his sleep.

"Cregan, please. I need you." She whimpered, cold tears falling onto his face as she leaned over him. She could feel guilty later, but for now, she needed him desperately.

He flinched unconsciously at the wetness falling onto his face, wiping it and blinking himself awake. His eyes finally met her tear-filled lilac ones, sitting up instantly. He held her shoulders gingerly, "what's the matter, sweet girl? Are you hurt?" He scanned her, wide awake now at the chance of a threat around. He found no blood, only her own crescented nail prints in her palms from them behind clenched so harshly in her sleep. He took her hands in his own, soothing over them while he waited for her response.

Daenys' chest heaved raggedly, trying to catch her own breath from her panic. He reached out, pulling her by her head to his chest, allowing her to clutch his shirt instead of her own palms and hair to ground herself.

He calmed slightly, figuring the distress was caused by her dreams instead of a physical threat. Recalling her Valyrion lullabies that she hummed to her dragon, Cregan mindlessly hummed into her ear, chest vibrating with the use of his vocals. He never hummed or sang, didn't care for it, and was never taught it. But, he would try anything to pacify Daenys' storming mind.

Eventually, after many sobs and mumbles that Cregan couldn't make out, Daenys stilled in his arms.

"He will die. I don't know who I have to stop, Cregan."

He looked down at her head, face still buried and half-mumbled by his neck. "Who will die?"

"My cousin. Helena's babe, Jaehaerys." She whispered, mind reeling still.

Cregan bit his cheek harshly. It would happen, at an unknown time to the both of them. Sometime in the future, or perhaps as they spoke now. He didn't doubt her vision for a moment.

"What do you mean by stop him, sweeting? He asked, rubbing small shapes onto her back.

"Helena told me so. She saw me. Actually saw me. No one ever has before. She held Jaehaera as she told me to 'stop him'." Daenys insisted almost hysterically.

He nodded, allowing her to mumble some more incoherently into his skin.

Stop who? How could she prevent a murder in King's Landing all the way in the North? Even on Dragonstone, she was too far away to help Helena. She could not fly her dragon to Helena to warn her, lest she be shot down by a scorpion's lance. She could not send a raven, either, knowing it would be intercepted, and Daenys would be accused of plotting to murder the heir.

Who was it? Who could she access? Helena knew, she would not ask it of her if she knew Daenys couldn't do it. Luke and Jace would be back at Dragonstone by now, and had no ill intent towards anyone. Rhaenyra and Daemon would be too focused on their council meetings. What grievance did any of them have to go after Jaehaerys? She could not think of any.

"Who is it?" She asked Cregan, then. "Who could order a babe to die in his bed?"

"I do not know, Princess. I'm sorry." He said painfully, wishing to help her more than anything at that moment.

They stayed like that until sunrise. Cregan and Daenys held each other. The only sound in the air was her mumblings and his comforting shushing and hums. He knew they could not waste time, The Lord Commander at Castle Black had long been expecting them.

He guided an exhausted Daenys to his own horse, not trusting her to be able to stay on Mylo. She sat behind him, head slumped to his shoulders as they rode on for the final few hours towards the castle. Mylo loyally walked behind, knowing his faithful food source could only come from the Lord in front of him.

As they reached the gates of Castle Black, Daenys found herself waking up in awe. The Wall, rumored to reach the skies, truly was taller than anything she had ever seen before. Seven hundred feet of pure ice lay in front of her, an impenetrable fortress that protected all that lie South of it.

Cregan chuckled at her gaping reaction. "I felt the same way when I saw The Wall for the first time, too. It is an even better view on top, my Lady." He assured her, glad to see her distracted from her perturbed mood.

She nodded, shifting in the saddle impaitiently. She hands were wrapped around his waist, though didn't quite meet in the middle. He patted her hand as they waited for the gate to open, reminding her to be patient.

As Cregan hopped off, he helped Daenys from Red, staying close to her as a stable boy led both horses to be fed and watered. "My Lord Stark." Bowed a young man, who seemed familiar with Cregan. "We are glad to see you here. Would you like for yourself and the Princess to be shown to the dining hall for a hot meal?" He nodded politely towards Daenys, bowing swiftly once more at her.

Cregan took her hand in his arm, eyeing the men who had gathered around, leaning to each other and grinning wolfishly at the sight of a pretty young woman at Castle Black. The only women they ever saw were the ones in the small town near The Wall, which only had a few women who sold their services to the many men of the Night's Watch, and none were as pretty as noblewomen were bred to be. Cregan knew this all too well, hungry eyes watching the Princess like she were prey. Daenys shifted uncomfortably, aware of the intense gazes, though in a different way than Cregan.

"Is Lord Commander Trant not here?" Cregan asked.

The young man shook his head. "He's been conducting business at Queen's Gate for the past few days. He'll be back shortly, he promised to return before the afternoon."

Cregan nodded, a tick in his jaw. "The Princess and I will be on top of The Wall, while we wait. Do not disturb us." He commanded, striding towards the crickity little iron cage that was embedding into the ice. Daenys paused, reluctant to step into the death trap.

"This will take us all the way up to the top?"

He smiled, guiding her gently by the small of her back to step inside. "Don't worry, it is used every day and hasn't failed the Watch yet." Daenys flinched as it whirred to life, bringing them up foot by foot. She watched the ground grow distance below her, usually an exciting sight on her dragon, but now a terrifying one. She held tight to his arm as if he could save them both if the contraption failed.

It took a few minutes to reach the top. Cregan stepped out first, allowing her to jump out swiftly. She sighed, glad to be on solid ground. If it could be counted as such. Though The Wall was pure ice, Daenys was pleasantly surprised at it not being slippery. Perhaps due to the soft layer of snoe on top of it for her boots to grip.

Cregan brought her to the edge of The Wall, many in the Watch bowing and gawking at the sight of the pair. All knew of the Princess' expected visit, but had not prepared for the sight of a Targaryen in their lifetime.

The sight on the edge was truly otherworldly. Miles of expansive snowy forests and deserts, all unclaimed by man or beast.

"It is more beautiful than you said, Cregan." She said, eyes glued to the view.

"It is." He smiled, though seemed to tense slightly when she turned to him. "Daenys. I promised you that we would speak of the number of bannermen I would send for the Queen. I have had plenty time to think it through on our journey over here. As of now, I have 2,000 greybeards ready to die for their Queen's war."

Daenys nodded, listening to him intently. "Greybeards, like old men?" She asked half-humorously.

He nodded. "Winter is coming, and I can not freely give a large portion of my young men without something in return."

"Return?" She asked, growing nervous. He had not mentioned such a thing in their entire time together.

"Do you like Winterfell, your highness?" Cregan asked, brows furrowed as he looked down at her.

"Of course–I have grown to love the North."

"Would you..." he trailed off, hesitating slightly. "Would you be willing to live in the North?"

"As in...a marriage offer?" Daenys asked.

"Indeed. If I could have your hand, Daenys, in marriage, the North would have a dragon and a Princess. They would be more willing to fight in a Southern war if their own Wardeness was who they fought for."

Daenys stood there, stunned. Had he brought her all the way to The Wall just to ask for her? Is that why he had been so warm to her, so friendly? Her face hardened, though that did not go unnoticed by Cregan.

"Daenys, please hear me out." The man pleaded, clutching both of her hands in his own and bringing them up to her chest.

"I would not ask something of you that would displease you. I wish to keep you safe. And if, after the war, you wish to never see me again, I will allow you to live at Dragonstone or the Red Keep with your family. I will never force anything on you, never ask for sons. All I want is you. I have wanted for you for a while now. Please do not mistake my genuine feelings for using you. Know that the last thing in this world that I want to see is your unhappiness." He spoke breathlessly.

"I love you, my sweet dreamer. It would truly kill me to see you at the mercy of some old and cruel Lord, who would keep you from happiness. If that makes me a selfish man, then so be it. But at least I am an honest one."

Daenys felt her chest swell with an unknown emotion, throat tight, and eyes glossing with tears. "Love me? How could you love me after all that you have seen from me, Cregan?" She whispered, voice taut with emotion.

He took her face into his hands, wiping away at her eyeline to ensure no tears fell from them. He kissed the spot between her brows with the utmost reverence, pulling away but not moving his hands. "How could I not? All I have seen, I adore. Do not simplify your entire being to your dreams–that is merely one part of you." He interrupted her, knowing exactly what she could argue against.

"Cregan..." she felt the warmth in his mismatching eyes fill her body with a soft heat, though they were surrounded by the winds so high up she barely even felt it.

Before she could finish, an older man came marching towards them.

"Lord Commander," the Stark greeted, though his irritation wasn't hidden. "I asked to be left alone until we returned."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark, Princess." The man bowed his head twice in turn. "There has been a letter awaiting the Princess since you left Winterfell. It is dire."

Daenys' eyes widened, it must be from Rhaenyra. Was there an update on the war? Cregan took the scroll in his hands, unrolling it slowly. She watched as his face dropped before looking to Daenys with a sympathetic gleam in his eyes.

"What?" Her voice wavered. "What has happened?" She didn't want to know. She wanted to stay oblivious in the North forever, keeping time paused back at home.

The Lord Commander shifted his gaze down sadly, respectfully taking his leave to the rickity lift so the two could talk.

Cregan placed a hand on her bicep in a comforting way, but she shook her head, urging him on. "Tell me."

"Its about your brother, Lucerys." He said softly.

"Luke? What of him?" She already had her suspicion. She saw him that night, the night she stayed at Winterfell. Daenys was forced to watch the boy and his young dragon being chased through stormy skies by a much bigger, looming beast.

She saw him, and continued treating with Lord Stark. Daenys left her brother to the wolves—or more accurately the dragon. All for a few thousand men to fight in a useless, stupid war. For what? What is the use of sitting atop of the Iron Throne if all of your children will be dead. Is that mot Rhaenyra's legacy? Is Jacaerys next? Little, sweet Joff and the babes Viserys and Aegon? Is she next?

"He is dead. Aemond Targaryen killed him with Vhagar."

No.

He was not dead. Lucerys was playing a prank on her. This time, he just took it too far. He loved his pranks, especially on his eldest sister, who was so easy to fool.

Lucerys was alive and waiting for her shocked face to burst through Dragonstone's doors.

"He's not dead." She shook her head, stepping back from Cregan. "Luke is fine. That letter must be his idea of a jest, 'tis all." She nodded to herself, solidifying her own words.

"Daenys—"

"I will marry you upon my return to Winterfell, whenever the Queen allows me time. You can send a raven to Dragonstone with how many extra men my hand will bring her. Farewell, Lord Stark." She bid him, focusing on making her way to the lift. She entered it, being sent up just in time for her to be allowed down.

"Daenys!" He yelled, tugging her arm roughly to his chest. Cregan loosened his grip apologetically, but did not allow her out of his reach.

She faced him, face scrunched up in a furious glare. "Let go of me. It is treasonous to lay a hand on your Princess." She bit harshly.

Cregan pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her back and head, resting her head on his shoulder gently. "Don't go like this, Princess. It is dangerous to fly in such a state." He murmured into her hair, feeling her tense form shiver.

"What do you know of flying? Morningstar will get me to Dragonstone swiftly, she is the fastest of our dragons—" Daenys was cut off by her own sobs wracking her body violently.

If it were Morningstar sent to Storm's End, she could've outflown Vhagar. Little Arrax, with all his youthful pride, was the smallest yet of the three eldest children's dragons. He just barely started to be able to fly with Luke on his back. It had barely been a year since he'd grown big enough. They were both but mere babes in comparison to Vhagar and Aemond.

"It's not fair!" She yelled into his pelts. She could barely breathe, knees weak and unable to hold herself up. Cregan lowered them both to the floor, keeping her securely in his lap. "My boy, he's only a child. He should've stayed home, I should've kept him safe." She nearly screamed at herself. Her stupidity and foolishness.

How dare the Gods show her Luke's death but not Laenor's. How could they hate her so much? Hate her family? Did the gods hate bastards as much as their creations?

"It's not fair, I know. But you couldn't have done anything, my Lady." He cooed softly in her ear.

"I could, I have known for weeks and done nothing! Lived in obliviousness while my brother has been lost to the sea."

Living like a common whore, allowing herself to sleep next to a man that she was not married to. Allowing him to see her bare, and not being nearly as modest as a Lady should be. Alicent was right, she was always right. She was just like her mother. If she had stayed with Cregan in the wilderness for any longer, would she have allowed him to bed her, too? Would she father his bastard and be forced to cover it with a false marriage?

Daenys needed to leave.

But her legs did not obey her still.

Cregan gave her a pitying glance, one that she could not see in her own wallowing. Nothing he could say could truly get through to her. No one could comfort him for weeks after his own little brother passed. The guilt never leaves.

"Come, Princess. I will not send you off without first making sure you have food in your belly and warmer pelts around you." Cregan told her, but did not make her walk. Instead, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the dining hall, which he demanded be cleared for her privacy. She was despondent the whole time, silent and unmoving. It was only the Lord and Lady in the room, besides a young serving boy.

Daenys glanced up at him, finding kind brown eyes staring at her as the boy dropped stew in front of her. "M'sorry for your loss, M'Lady." He bowed his head low, brown curls shifting at the movement. Why was a boy jis age serving The Wall? Orphaned, most likely, or sold by his parents. She didn't know which fate was worse.

What she did know was that the boy was nearly a spitting image of Lucerys. She hung her head again, unable to look at the young boy. Cregan thanked him quietly, sending him on his way. Their stews began to grow cold in the silence, the both of them still as statues.

"You must eat, Daenys." Cregan urged.

"I will only throw it back up, I cannot stomach anything right now."

"Try, my Lady. Just a few bites. Half."

Sluggishly, she picked up the spoon and took slow bites. Chewing felt like it took ages, and swallowing was nearly painful. Her head spun, feelng nausea rising in her. Once she got through half, Cregan looked satisfied. Daenys stood, and he mirrored her action.

She led him to the iron gate, waiting for it to open. Outside of it, Morningstar was already crouched to allow her to leave. Cregan took off his brown pelts that she had been using as blankets for the past nights, pulling them snug over her shoulders.

"I already have a cloak on." She said tiredly, though did not fight his action.

"For my assurance, 'tis all." He said, fastening the direwolf clip around it. "Your flight home will be much colder than the one you took to Winterfell."

He paused a moment, clutching her hand in his. He placed a gentle kiss on her cold knuckles, lingering a moment longer. "I will send four thousand of my young soldiers to your mother's cause. That will be six thousand Northerners to fight for the Blacks. Return to me safely, Princess. That's all I ask of you."

They were officially bethrothed. Daenys wished it was under better circumstances, but this is the card she was dealt. Daenys nodded, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Then she left.

Daenys stopped after a few minutes of flying, throwing up what little she ate into a thorned bush. One snagged on her cheek as she stood up straight, coughing slightly. How very like her to enjoy a meal while her family was waiting anxiously for her return. Daenys mounted Morningstar again, not looking back at The Wall before taking flight again. This time, she would not stop until she was home.

🗡

She could see King's Landing in the distance and had half a mind to burn it all down. Morningstar could easily do so. Even the small folk, along with all the peasant bastards that shared blood with her, would burn. She wouldn't care. As long as Aemond Targaryen would be dead at her feet, she would do it. Perhaps they all deserved it. Sin was the only thing able to survive and breed in King's Landing.

Morningstar was exhausted by the time they landed on the dragonpit's perch. Meleys and Caraxes were already in the pit, roaring to greet their kin excitedly. They, too, were being fed after clearly long flights. Patrols, she guessed. "Feed her." She demanded the Dragonkeepers as she passed them, who were too stunned at her sudden appearance to even bow or greet their Princess.

Daenys charged into the Painted Table room, seeing it lit with a bright orange glow as multiple men surrounded it. Rhaenyra wasn't there. Why where they holding a Queen's council without the Queen? Daemon was at the head, just as he had been when Rhaenyra was screaming in her chambers whilst giving birth to his daughter.

There was no one to announce Daenys. No one had expected her that evening, especially with no warning. There was no time for it, either, as Rhaenyra was announced by a guard. Daenys quickly moved aside when he spoke, shifting next to Jace, who squeezed her hand at the sight of her puffy face. She could not look him in the eye, nor Daemon, who kept his keen eye on her until Rhaenyra entered.

The Queen strided in, meeting Daemon in the middle. He whispered something to her, earning a solemn nod. Rhaenyra continued past him to the head of her table.

"Your council stands at the ready, Your Grace." Daemon bellowed for all to hear him clearly. Daenys only paid mind to her mother's dreadful state. Unkempt hair, ash covered face, hands sandy and clutching at some piece of cloth that Daenys could not figure out. "I will fly to Harrenhall at your command. Set our toehold in the Riverlands."

"Your Grace, my Lord husband's blockade of the Gullet moves into place. All seaborne travel and trade to King's landing will soon be cut off."

The Queen did not respond to her aunt or husband. A great silence held the room until, "I want Aemond Targaryen." Was her command. She waited a mere moment, glancing at Daenys before leaving to her chambers to fix her state.

Daenys was led to her room by Jacerys, who insisted she get out of her heavy Northern attire now that she was in better temperatures. She cared little for the heat that the clothes engulfed her with now that they were quite useless on Dragonstone, but allowed her maids to change her anyway. She bathed, too, and had her hair done up more traditionally. She kept Cregan's personal furs on the wooden edge of her bed, carefully ensuring they were untouched.

Jacaerys waited outside the whole time, escorting her with an outstretched arm to their mother's chambers. "Are you okay, Dae?" He asked gently, as if she might crumble if he spoke in a normal tone.

She sniffed slightly, nodding. "I am fine. I will be well when Aemond is dead and burned."

The tone of her voice and her violent words shocked him, pausing his steps abruptly.

"Was...did something happen in the North? Besides the news?" He asked, dark brows knitting together.

"Nothing happened. Why do you ask?" She turned to him suspiciously, not wishing to share every detail of what happened. She did not wish to enlighten her family of her brutal killing. That would be between Daenys and Cregan until the day she died. And perhaps Rhaenyra, who might have the answers to her burning questions.

"I am merely concerned. Was he a borish man? I wish I could've gone to the North in your stead, sister. Lady Jeyne was kind enough, she would've liked you." Jace said, slowly meeting her steps once again.

"Lord Stark is not like the typical depiction of a northman. I handled him just fine." Was her vague answer. Truly, Daenys was happy to see her brother again. To be with her family again. But her joy was dulled by the missing presence in the halls. The one who was meant to greet her in the dragonpit. Jacaerys gave her a pitying look, opening Rhaenyra's chambers.

Their mother sat on a couch, meeting her children's eyes as they walked in and bowed. She looked more put together now that she received the same treatment as Daenys.

Rhaenyra stood, awaiting Daenys and Jacaerys to give their messages. Her chest heaved slightly, something that would have gone unnoticed by anyone but her children, who knew her too well. Jace started. "Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support. In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale." His voice shook. He had been home for two weeks, yet in Daemon's firm presence, he forced himself to be strong and hard. He had not seen his mother except for her quick visits to eat and feed Syrax.

Rhaenyra nodded encouragingly, eyes brimming red.

"Lord Cregan stark has pledged 2,000 greybeards to you. In exchange for my hand, he promises another 4,000 young men." Daenys stated firmly. She refused to waver even slightly. Even when she wished to be held in her mother's arms. She couldn't let herself be comforted by the woman who had lost her own child. Daenys was the one who must comfort her when her own husband was so useless at it. His biggest flaw.

Rhaenyra and Jace looked shocked at the news. "You gave him your hand?" Jacaerys asked, a worried look on his face. "But–"

"I gave Cregan Stark my hand in exchange for 4,000 men. It is a fair trade, Jacaerys." She told him, holding no grudge or sorrow for it. She didn't wish for her family to, either. "He is an honest man. He will send every last one to fight for you, my Queen."

"That is not his concern. The Starks keep their oaths, yes. But are you happy with the arrangement, my sweet girl?" Rhaenyra asked, cupping Daenys' cheeks in the way that always made Daenys melt. She didn't trust her voice, so she simply nodded. Rhaenyra took Jace and Daenys into her arms. She could feel the quiet sobs deep in their chest, both seeking comfort in the reunion. Daenys held them tightly, afraid to let go. She had her time to cry, in Cregan's arms, now it was her time to finally make herself useful.

The Targaryens and Velayrons stood outside on a tall hill of Dragonstone's rocky beaches. Rhaenyra placed Lucerys' red tunic, the one she had found with Arrax's wing, onto the pyre's stand, reluctantly stepping back once she did. Jacaerys, holding little Joff, placed one of Luke's blankets onto the pyre. Joffrey, who didn't quite understand the funeral and its meaning, tossed a wooden horse that Luke handed down to him into the pyre.

Daenys stepped up, glancing at Rhaena across the fire's glow, seeing her struggle to keep her composure. She mourned for their broken betrothal along with her cousin, knowing they would have made a very happy couple. She clutched onto Luke's favorite tunic. The one she gave him for his three and tenth name day. Even when it grew tighter on him each month during his growthspurt, he still insisted he wore it. It had an embroidered three-headed dragon on it, in the colors of House Velayron. A testament to his future station as Lord of the Tides and a Targaryen. She stitched it for days, ensuring it was perfect for him. Daenys tossed it into the pyre, stepping beside Jace and watching the fire burn out. Most left after a respectable amount of time. Rhaenyra and Daenys stayed until the fire stopped entirely.

Her mother rubbed her back soothingly, allowing Daenys to rest her head on her shoulder. "Mother, I have so many things to ask you. A lot has happened in the North..." She muttered.

"Let us go inside. After you rest, I will dedicate my morning only to you." Rhaenyra promised, kissing the crown of Daenys' head affectionately. Daenys nodded, watching her mother walk back inside to retire for the evening.

A boat's movement caught her eye. Her squinted, lifting her skirts to walk slightly further down the hill. An intruder? No, they were leaving the beach. Daenys thought for a moment, there were very few on the island, and even less who had a reason to leave in secret. Unless...was it true? Were Daemon and Rhaenyra plotting to take Aemond's life in the dead of night?

No. Daenys gasped, sprinting towards the entrance doors of the castle. She needed her own way of transportation to King's Landing.

She was able to find a man who reluctantly took her on his small fishingboat. She doned a dark cloak that she was able to scrounge up in her hurry. Daenys tossed a bag of coins into his awaiting palm, not caring to count what was in it. The boat ride felt excruciatingly long, anticipation rising in her every minute. The thought of being caught made her scared, but the thought of Daemon getting to Jaehaerys before she did scared her worse.

Finally, the man stopped at a discreet sandy part of King's Landings' side wall. There was an extrance nearby, as well as another anchored fishing boat. Daenys scowled. How long had Daemon been there ahead of her? "Stay here." She called behind her, sprinting towards the open entrance in the wall while holding her hood over her silver hair.

There were no guards at it, unsurprisingly. They had all grown lazy under Aegon's leniency. She wandered the dark and damp streets unti she found an iron gate with a hooded figure waiting at it. A guard was walking away from the gate, small purse of coins clutched in his meaty fist.

"Daemon!" Daenys whisper-yelled, grabbing her step-father by his cloak and yanking him back. He barely stumbled but still had the audacity to look shocked and angry at her.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"You fool! You didn't kill Aemond. Do you think that lazy, drunken, craven could kill him?"

"I ordered him to kill Aemond, of course he will. If not, I'll find a way in myself." Daemon scoffed. Daenys grabbed his arms tightly, shaking her head. "You killed Jaehaerys. You killed a babe!" She yelled, uncaring of who would hear now. Perhaps it was both of their karma to die in King's Landing for attempting to kill Helena's son. Maybe if they were caught, they would catch the two men before they cold. Rhaenyra could find two more riders for their dragons, somewhere.

Daemon covered her mouth, pulling her to a less lit corner of the street before anyone could recognize them. "Are you mad, girl? You will get us both killed—" She punched him in the face, not staying to watch him clutch his nose before running back to her boat in a flurry of black and silver.

Daenys rode back to Dragonstone in a silent mourning. Jaehaerys would die. She knew it this time. She followed her dreams, finally. But still lost to fate. Or lost to Daemon. That coward, sending a guard to kill the kinslayer. He should be challenging Vhagar and the One-eyed Prince himself.

They could take him together. If only he trusted her to fight. Morningstar was large and battle-ready. Her and Caraxes would surely dominate the fight, a son for a son.

Not a child for a child.

Daenys slipped into her chambers, waiting for the news to wake the castle up. It wouldn't be long.

🗡

dont mind me using morningstar and dusk as parallels for cregan and daenys 😋

changing the times between Jace and Rhaenyra arriving. Let's say Rhaenyra was coming and going for two weeks, only coming back when she had to eat and let syrax eat. Jace came back the day the raven came to bring the news, and has been ruling with Daemon in her place. Just to say Rhaenyra and Daenys came back officially at the same time to continue the plot forward with no gaps.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

IS THERE A VERSION OF JOEL MILLER I WOULDN'T FUCK?

[a case study in how thirsty i am for this man.] [aka fic recommendations]

Unfortunately, in my extensive research on this topic, I have found some pretty damning evidence against my sanity.

dad's best friend!joel miller x fem!reader

Your Summer Dream [masterlist] by @swiftispunk It is a scientific fact that if you place Joel Miller on a beach he becomes 100x hotter. I don't make the rules, I just report them.

Creep it Real! by @swiftispunk I am a puddle. I melted and I'm a shallow pathetic puddle. Cowboy and Angel. I just hnnnnnggggg. I need him to ruin me pls dear god.

*I'm realizing if i include all the DBF!JM i read this will get very long, very quickly, and i think i have revealed enough of myself on this blog to highlight my very obvious daddy issues

**speaking of daddy issues...

stepdad!joel miller x fem!reader

Don't Be Cute, Be Nasty by @cockslutpadalecki i'm pretty sure this was the first stepdad!joel miller anything i read and it awoke something in my soul. it's always fun to reach new levels of my daddy issues and BY GOD was this just 🫠

Bad Girl [part i of many] by @seventeenpins he walks in on her while she's watching stepdaddy porn and good lord it gets filthier and filthier in the best kind of way.

boyfriend's dad!joel miller x fem!reader

Lost in the Dark [masterlist] by @iamasaddie i expected to be a slut reading this but then it made me an emotional slut out of nowhere i am obsessed. there is nothing i love more than being drawn in by my thots only to be hit by an emotional bus out of nowhere.

Thigh's Out AU [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity not only is this a boyfriend's dad AU, but said boyfriend's dad is a hot and slutty. just like i like my dilfs.

father-in-law!joel miller x fem!reader

Pink [masterlist] by @netherfeildren holy fuck. that's all. just holy fuck. this altered my genetic makeup.

Help, I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter spoiler alert: he takes her wedding ring off before dicking her down and I-- 👀 send help.

***i didn't think i had a lot of significant other's father!joel miller in my repertoire, but i had to stop myself again from listing them all on this one otherwise we'd be here all day. shit, i'm learning things about myself 🤡

dark therapist!joel miller x fem!reader

Session 1 by @elvinaa i think this only highlights how badly i need an actual therapist (as does this entire list actually).

sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader

Meet Me in the Back (1) & The Night is Dark Enough ... (2) written by @atticrissfinch It does not bode well for me that this version of Joel Miller made me so fucking feral. In no way, shape, nor form should a sleazy gas station clerk make me feel this way AND YET HERE WE ARE.

tattoo artist!joel miller x fem!reader

Honeyed [masterlist] by @softlyspector This one absolutely hits too close to home for me, but that's probably why I'm so obsessed with it. My touch adverse yet touch starved ass ate this up and left no crumbs😌

chiro!joel miller x fem!reader

Say Yes to Heaven by @pascalisbaby i thought the medical side of my brain would cringe at the doctor/patient dynamic but as it turns out my depravity knows no bounds 🥵

frat dad!joel miller x fem!reader

The Old College Try by @proxima-writes i didn't even know this was something i needed in my life until it came into my life. blessings🙏🏼

ceo!joel miller x fem!reader

Sex on Fire [masterlist] by @macfrog i don't think i need to harp on what that sugar daddy vibes do to me🤤

mafia!joel miller x fem!reader

Divine Dynasty by @cavillscurls Remember when I said putting Joel by a body of water makes him 100x hotter? The same applies to a Mafia AU. I can't explain it. I have no sound reasoning to support my claim other than "he hot tho".

pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

I Know it When I See it [masterlist] by @bageldaddy 🔥���🔥 that is all.

maintenance man!joel miller x fem!reader

Maintenance Man [masterlist] by @gracieispunk toolbelt. say less.

slasher!joel miller x fem!reader

Slasher [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity i thought for sure, FOR SURE, this would be blind, pure, detached smut that i could enjoy with no emotional ties whatsoever. and then all of a sudden i'm feeling things??? he just loves his mom so much😭 mama's boy wants to be happy. JAIL. real jail for murderer joel miller. horny jail for me. and audacity jail for toxic b/c how dare you make me feel things for a serial killer😩

as i said previously, the evidence speaks for itself. i have yet to find a version of joel miller i could not immediately fuck. i'm actually planning (i have a lot of plans and no time smh), to go through all these on my recommendation blog w/play by play commentary so everyone can know just how unhinged i am for this guy.

but now!! you guys have a syllabus for my insanity!!

now, excuse me while i go find a therapist (a real one, not a hot/dark joel miller version of one) (although beggars can't be choosers right?👀)

dividers by @saradika

[ldma-boodyshaker900]

Zombie Donnie By Me

*(Blood and Injuries Warning)*

Yey! Zombie Donnie!

Zombie Leo💙

Zombie Mikey🧡

Well i didn't Make this one based on Anyone else like The last time But In this case y created Him so his info is under cut so as other versions Of The Drawing!

Concept idea:

Okey so in this Version Donnie was Bit some time before Leo so They Both we're slowly decaying together

Well this Donnie Is a Little more Concious or what he does than Mikey and Leo, Which Is why he keeps using his goggles, Thought since he didn't wanna Eat Raph or any of The brothers he starved Himself Which Is why he no longer uses His Battle Shell cause It would Just fall cause Of how Skiny he is.

His Plastron Got Desfigurated Cause Of Not eating and The descompocition he is in, His Shell was Bit Besides His Neck so His SoftShell Is Infected by The bite, He Also tends to Spit a Black Rot Liquit which comes from The Infection if the bite from his neck, so as The fact that his eyes are less Stable now.

The left side Of His Cheek is Bitten by Mikey while he was already Infected So His Cheek Stayed with Mikey's bite on It, His Veins are more Noticeble cause if The fact That he dosen't get enought Air.

And She has a Scratch on His Neck and Shell which was cause Of Raph, That got scared When he first saw Him and attacked him.

Lord Bless ya all and i hope You liked it!

💔💜💙🧡

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

🏰 Gallifreyan Legends and Fairytales

Most Gallifreyans would have you believe that myths and fairytales are either historical records distorted by time or pointless escapades into fantasy. And yet, woven into the very fabric of Time Lord culture, legends persist—some as warnings, some as bedtime stories, and some as fragments of very uncomfortable truths.

Here are just a few of the stories passed down through Gallifreyan history.

📜 Lady Patience and the Paradoxica Cards

Long before the River of Time became what it is today, it was merely a small tributary flowing down Mount Perdition. The people of the Capitol had achieved great power, but they had severed their connection with the past and future. Their society was frozen in stasis—sterile, dying.

Lady Patience, a noblewoman, desperately desired a child. Every night, she searched for a wizard or soothsayer who could grant her one, but none could help.

Finally, she found a Stranger—a man working to expand the tributary of time. He gave her an old bag and told her to fill it with water from the Sea of Life. When it was full to the brim, she would find the child she sought.

But the bag had a hole. She tried to fill it, but the water ran out every time. For months, she tried, attempting to patch the bag, but the patches always fell off, spilling the water upon the shore.

With every failed attempt, something strange happened. The wet patches stiffened, forming cards, each depicting all of reality. These became known as the Paradoxica—cards that could chart the shape of existence itself.

She continued her task until the entire Sea of Life was drained. At its emptied depths, she found a child. And in that moment, the curse was broken, restoring Gallifrey's past and future.

🎴 The Paradoxica Cards

According to legend, Lady Patience's discarded patches became a tool of great power. The Paradoxica deck was said to:

Chart the shape of reality—some cards held the past, others the future, and some the forever-present.

Be capable of transportation through time and space—if used with the power of a TARDIS.

Induce amnesia or disorientation—especially in lesser beings with low artron energy. (Time Lords included, on occasion.)

They are exceedingly rare—but if you ever find one, be very careful what you deal.

🦢 Other Tales of Gallifreyan Children

Gallifreyan nursery stories offer a variety of explanations for where children come from:

🪻 Infants are found beneath gooseberry bushes at the bottom of Rassilon's Garden.

🕊️ The Great Gallifreyan Stork delivers them (though, considering Gallifrey's atmosphere, that's one resilient bird).

🧚 The Loom Fairy blesses certain Houses (or curses them, depending on perspective).

Of course, none of these stories hold up under scrutiny—but that never stopped a Time Tot from believing.

📕Cautionary Tales for Gallifreyan Children (and arguably adults, too)

⛓️ The Story of the Rock

Two Time Lords, traveling through a scorching desert, came across a massive red stone cube.

Chained to the rock was a man, thin, starving, his teeth sharp and yellow, his chains rusted with age.

'Please,' he begged. 'Come closer. Look at what's behind the rock.'

One of the Time Lords, curious, stepped around to the other side.

And vanished.

The other waited in the sand for a week, listening to the Chained Man's whispers. But they never gave in.

The first Time Lord was never seen again.

🦇 The Toclafane, the Watchmaker, and Other Gallifreyan Nightmares

I won't lie—many stories told to toddlers aren't exactly The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and many of these bogeymen actually exist.

💀 The Toclafane – A general term for scary creatures Time Tots were warned about.

🔧 The Watchmaker – A time-warping entity that exists to remove all time anomalies, including bringing death to Gallifreyans who have been touched by paradoxes.

🐦 Pandora's Ghost – The first Lady President of Gallifrey, executed via D-Mat dispersal, is said to haunt the Vaults. On Gallifrey, her soul lingers in the Matrix. On Earth, her legend became Pandora's Box.

🕷️ The Shakri – Live in an adjacent dimension known as Darkspace; they are said to exterminate species before they spread too far. Time Tots were told to behave, lest they attract their attention.

🌌 Koltroxa – The story of a being trapped drifting through time until she died of old age.

🧙‍♂️ Malador – the immortal, indestructible evil eventually imprisoned by the Ancients, who created an army of living statues called the Melkur. (Which, by the way, are still out there. Waiting.)

🧛‍♂️ Great Vampires – Gallifrey's history with vampires bleeds into their kids' bedtime stories, warning Time Tots of their terrifying power and their lifelong genetic obligation to kill them on sight.

🔵 Blue Fire (Mi'en Kalarash) – A Great Old One who lives in the 'wasteland between realities'. It stimulates a sleeping victim's limbic system and feeds on the artron energy produced by fear and nightmares.

🩸 Zagreus – Zagreus sits inside your head Zagreus lives among the dead Zagreus sees you in your bed And eats you when you're sleeping

➕ Others – Others include the Fendahl, the Fendahleen, Salyavin, the Krafayis, and the Weeping Angels.

🙀 Slightly Less Terrifying Stories

Thankfully, they do have a few 'nicer' ones by comparison.

🏙️ The Lost City of Altrazar – Said to appear once every thousand years in normal space on the planet Nirvana.

⏳ The Time Sprites – Legends claim there's one trapped inside every TARDIS.

🪱 Time Vortex Leeches – Said to hijack timeships and take them to their crew's lost lovers.

🌠 Higher Evolutionaries – Dimensional pioneers said to have woven the web of parallel timelines.

🌇 The Lost City of the Archons – A city belonging to the last of the Great Old Ones, existing in the Great Desolation.

👶 Humans – Some stories talk about the species 'wearing the skins' of Gallifreyans and abandoned Gallifreyan children being raised by humans.

📖 Classics – Gallifreyan children also know The Three Little Sontarans, The Emperor Dalek's New Clothes, and Snow White and the Seven Keys to Doomsday.

👑 Benncuig III – Possibly Gallifrey's only intentional children's author, Benncuig III wrote Lullabies for Time Tots, including stories about Rassilon and the story of Rassilon's Tower in the Dark Zone.

🏛️ What Do These Stories Tell Us?

Gallifreyan fairytales aren't just stories for kids—they're warnings. Warnings about curiosity, interference, and the dangers of straying too far from order ...

(Assembled from ROOG + TARDIS Wiki)

Whoniverse Facts for Friday by GIL

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[thatlittlered]

an almost kiss | celebrimbor

warning(s): afab!reader (use of the word lady), discreet TROP spoilers

GIF by @suguretos

author's note: this is based on @morganas-pendragons' request for a first kiss, which I turned into an almost kiss because I already technically wrote that and her delicious thoughts on touch-starved brimby... I mean, just look at him

read the rest of "the craft" here

-.-.-

The air is thick from the heat of the forge when you peek inside, expecting to find every smith hard at work, but as the fog clears, only Lord Celebrimbor himself can be seen, completely engrossed in his craft.

 It is a sight.

 You have been inside before, of course, but what could you learn of true creation from a simple visit? Seeing the master Elven-smith at work is a revelation.

 It serves your curiosity to not be discovered, yet guilt eats at you at the thought of taking advantage of his good nature and hospitality to serve your own whims. He looks different here, too, where he is shed of noble duties. The careless roll of his sleeves and his apron serve to remind you that in this little corner of the world, he is nothing but a talented craftsman. A true creator.

 ‘My Lord.’

 The clatter ceases once you make your presence known. A sharp tool you could not possibly think to name rests in his hand, but he quickly lays it aside when he looks at you. The lines of dedication on his face melt away as he smiles.

 ‘My Lady.’

 ‘I am sorry to have startled you.’

 ‘You haven’t.’

 He dares not move, dazed to have you here when he has been absorbed by the very notion of you for hours – days even. It almost makes it seem possible to will his desires into existence. How long need he think about your touch before that too is bestowed upon him? He will offer the time, however long it may be.

 He wonders briefly how he might look to you now. The last member of the House of Fëanor, renowned smith and Lord of Eregion by his own right, caught by surprise and rendered speechless by an offer as simple as your company. You, on the other hand, seem to always be at ease, always drawing nearer.

 ‘I am sorry to disturb your work as well.’

 ‘You aren’t.’

 ‘To disturb you then.’

 ‘Impossible. I was the one to invite you here in the first place, was I not?’

 ‘Oh, but that was an arranged visit. I come now of my own volition, that is an imposition in itself.’

 ‘I only regret that you’ve caught me unprepared and ill-mannered.’

 ‘I don’t believe you could ever be caught ill-mannered, my Lord.’

 ‘Perhaps it is the delight of your presence that ensures it then.’

 His laughter eases the years away from his face and you wish to tell him that. You wish for him to know your thoughts as plainly as they come to you.

 ‘You’ve such a kind and earnest smile, Lord Celebrimbor, as is all else about you. Almost like a warm glow washing over us, akin that of Laurelin itself.’

 He laughs again – bless the Valar! Bless the honey of your mouth and the sharpness of your mind and whatever he has done to earn the gift of your appreciation, of your mere thought to compare him of all elves to the gold tree of Valinor, but oh, curse it too. Curse that he cannot ever find within himself the words to reciprocate, in spite of all the nights he lies awake to thoughts of you.

 How can someone so skilled with a hammer not possess a trace of the skill of the tongue? You must teach him. You must make him worthy of you.

 He watches in silence as you look around. A tentative hand comes to trace the intricate carvings on the furnace.

 ‘Everything in your city seems so carefully crafted.’

 ‘Well, I suppose I have an eye for detail, given my work.’

 ‘Undoubtedly so, but I think it’s much more than just that. It is a labour of great love and dedication to mind such details.’

 ‘A true craftsman recognizes nothing is ever negligible, despite how it may seem. Even from sand, comes glass.’

 ‘What a wise thing to say,’ you turn to him, ‘you truly are most interesting, Lord Celebrimbor.’

 ‘I can only hope to keep up with you, my Lady. You most certainly surpass me in both words and wisdom. Your company is a blessing.’

 ‘As is yours.’

 Your hand is a comfort unlike any other when it reaches for him. He has not been touched in eons, but even if he had, it would not compare. His own hands are filthy with remnants of his work and it brings him shame to dirty such pristine skin. The Valar must have loved you as well, for they, superior creators as they are, ensured your beauty would reach even to your fingertips.

‘Would you show me what you were working on?’

‘Nothing exciting, I fear. I was only cutting out some pieces of emerald from their cluster.’

 ‘How can that not be exciting? Cutting a brilliant, precious gem from what was but a mere piece of rock not long ago.’

 You see as he does. The beauty of things. Their importance. The dark green rock sits large and proud on his workbench, cleaned of any remnants of the earth that birthed it, yet still a long way from its final form. He senses your enthusiasm in the hesitance with which you approach.

 ‘It is mere jewel-craft. Petty work. I aspire to larger projects now that I’ve been provided with a forge suited for them. I have you to thank for that.’

 ‘Hardly. It was the High King’s wise foresight to recognize that your gifts would be of much use in the fight against evil, and the work of Herald Elrond’s persuasion to make it possible.’

 ‘Ah, Herald Elrond does indeed possess quite the persuasive tongue. It is to be envied.’ And envy it he does, especially so when Elrond visits and spends your shared dinners conversing you whilst he himself can only gaze lovelorn. ‘But, please, do not undermine your contribution. You have been the most insightful of councils. I… I, for one, am glad to have you here.’

 For the first time in the weeks that you have known each other, he finds the nerve to approach you first. Not as your host, but as your… friend. It helps to see you distracted by the ore in front of you, too entranced to notice he is studying you in return.

 ‘Do not worry, it is not fragile. You may touch it if you’d like.’

 Your daring hand springs forth.

 ‘It is beautiful.’

 ‘It will be more valuable once it’s cut.’

 ‘More valuable, perhaps,’ you hum, ‘but not more beautiful. I believe the colour is the same as your eyes.’

 Your honeyed mouth renders the elven-smith incapable of sensible thought. You could ask him to cut off his hand and he would happily oblige you, let you pick the knife even. Anything to draw the praise you so generously give, even though he tends to think his eyes are small and beady and their only possible use is looking at you.

 That is why;

 ‘You should have it then.’

 A breath is released. This is not quite the facile manner of speech he had hoped to master. Foolish, traitorous mind going hand in hand with a foolish, traitorous mouth. You, in all your benevolence, simply blink in surprise. Teach him! Teach him how to speak his love.

 ‘I couldn’t possibly.’

 ‘I’m sure you appreciate it far more than any other would. If you want it, I wish for you to have it.’

 ‘You are so generous, my Lord, but whatever would I do with such an ore? Its beauty is undeniable, but I am no craftsman.’

 It is quite a large rock. Childish embarrassment rushes through him, the kind he has not felt since he was but an elfling apprenticed to his father and found comfort in his arms when he was brought to tears by his uncle’s temper.

 Perhaps being in love is a childlike, vulnerable sentiment in itself.

 ‘A piece then.’

 He does not await your answer. The tool is large and sharp in his talented hands. The piece he cuts is roughly the size of your palm as he presses it inside with reverence.

 ‘There you go.’

 You inspect it with a caress of your lovely finger.

 ‘I can polish it if you’ve changed your mind.’

 ‘No. No, it is perfect just like this.’

 The sunlight is bright and warm as it pours from his window and you take the opportunity to hold the piece up against its rays, revealing hues of forest green. The light reflects off it for a moment, drawing your attention back to Celebrimbor. He, too, looks glorious under the sun’s cast. You wish to study him further. To know all the markings of his face. He wishes it too, so he does not draw back when your feet bring you closer, and allows you to hold up the stone again, this time near his eyes.

 ‘I was right then; they are the same colour.’

 Perhaps being in love is a glorious sentiment instead. The gentle and warm embrace of affectionate words. No one has spoken of his eyes before. No one has come this close either. None but the wind that he can recall. All his memories and senses have been replaced by you, as if he was brought to existence by your meeting.

 All these things, he might never find the words to tell you.

 You do not mind.

 You care only for his kind soul, his emerald eyes and the soft beating of his heart under your palm. Your heads bow together as if in silent communication, foreheads and noses touching so that you might come to breathe the same air. An almost kiss.

 Does he remind you of the gold tree now that your touch has eased the years off his face, and your proximity has once again brought forth the gleeful radiance of his smile? Always, yes.

 An almost kiss, and a joy short-lived when his assistant decides to interrupt you.

 ‘My Lord.’

 You do not fly apart, but separate slowly, painfully instead.

 ‘Thank you, Lord Celebrimbor, for your gift, and for your company.’

 Mirdania lowers her head as you take your leave, perhaps in respect, or, perhaps, in embarrassment. For you, there is none. Not for Celebrimbor either, when he is left gazing at the shadow of you that remains. Her words fall on deaf ears.

[eveenstar]

double the bastard, double the...what's the saying again? | Ulf White x fem!bastard!reader - PART I

consider donating to my kofi if you like my work!

You were the bastard daughter of another bastard daughter, funny, isn't it? Well, not to you. Your mother was another one of Princess Saera's bastards, who worked her entire life to escape her own mother's shadow, but it lingered in the blood. In her hair. In her heart.

It seemed the apple didn't fall far from the tree, as she got impregnated by some stupid Lord that had heard tales of the "white-haired beauties" in the depths of King's Landing. Then, you were born, with silver-white hair of your grandmother and the eyes of your unknown father.

Your late mother, bless her heart, did all she could to not have you end up like her or her mother. No, she promised you were destined for greater things. Her dreams told her so. She swore it til her grave.

After your mother passed, you took refuge with her half-brother, Hugh, always munching on your mother's words over and over again. Your once silver hair was dyed brown, despite your friends' insistence that you shouldn't hide who you are. Let the royals see their doings.

But you knew they cared little. They could have King's Landing be a city of bastards and not give one single fuck about it.

When war came to your doorstep, you were not one to pick sides. Aegon or Rhaenyra, they were all the same. They didn't put food on your table, did they? What matters is that you stayed alive for one more week.

It didn't stay like that for long, no, no, no.

When the news came that Rhaenyra was recruiting bastards to Dragonstone, your mother came to you in a dream. You saw her, standing by one of the brothel's windows, humming a soft lullaby as she held babe-you in her arms.

"It is fierce out there, I shan't lie to you." She whispered. "But we are fiercer. We are the blood of dragons, my sweet girl. I know you will achieve what I could not, and I beg your forgiveness for such."

Now, here you stood before Rhaenyra. But you weren't alone. Next to you were Hugh, a girl named Nettles, the local drunk Ulf White, and a handsome young man called Addam of Hull.

"You have done what was deemed impossible." Proclaimed the Queen.

But not to us, you wished to reply.

Your dragon, albeit smaller than the rest, was an unnamed one when you claimed her. So you took it upon yourself to name her Golden Tooth for her yellowish scales and shy nature.

Still, doubts crippled in your mind. You were to fly to battle with a dragon, likely to never return. Your hand was forced on the matter; it was either starve to death or honour your mother. You wished to not partake in a siblings' war, but you couldn't bite the hand that feeds you. And that hand was Rhaenyra's.

"Wench! Another one of these little birds!" Interrupted Ulf of your thoughts. You looked up from your breakfast.

"You eat like a pig." Hummed Nettles, sitting besides you.

"Ah, ah," Tutted Ulf with a toothy grin. "Like a dragon."

"There's a difference?" Snickered Nettles in return, and you couldn't help but laugh with her. At last, you could use a feminine presence in this stone cold keep, one that wasn't a noble, that is.

Even if Prince Jacaerys and his betrothed despised your group's presence on Dragonstone, you knew he knew they were desperate. Without you, they were nothing.

You mustn't think like that, you reprimanded yourself, this is an honour.

Is it?

Training and practicing High Valyrian and dragon commands was...harder than expected. It seemed you and Ulf were the odd ones out, taking great difficulty in the pronunciations and proper commands. Silverwing was confused, and Golden Tooth believed you merely wanted to play. As if she was a dog and not a dragon!

It was frustrating. Even your good friend Nettles was better than you in this, and despise her innocent teasing, you were growing frustrated.

"Dra-cá-ryze."

"That's not how you say it."

"Shush, girlie. I was born for this."

You scowled at Ulf's words, standing back and watching as he ordered Silverwing to burn a sheep.

"Dra...cáryze!"

The dragon huffed, a brief cloud of smoke leaving its mouth.

"It's dracarys, not dracáryze."

"Ehh, what's the difference?" Ulf brushed it aside with a scoff, but the faint pink of his cheeks did not go unnoticed by you. Yet, you remained unamused.

"How are you to fly into battle with a dragon you do not know how to command?" You inquired. Ulf glanced at you, then to Silverwing, and smiled again.

"This lady knows what to do. She's smart, I tell you that. "She flew us to King's Landing without as much as a word!"

"And nearly got you both killed by a scorpion." You added.

Truth be told, you were never even remotely an acquaintance with Ulf back in King's Landing. You knew who he was, sure, a drunk and funny man who loved to boast himself as "Ulf the Dragonlord." But he wasn't the type of people you preferred to stick around with.

Now that you get to live with him, you regret staying in the city. He was...nothing like a dragonrider (not that you had met many of them). He lacked the grace, the poise, and the looks of one.

Well...

Now that he was bad looking, especially with the new wardrobe Queen Rhaenyra provided you. But he could use with some Valyrian braids, and maybe some brooming, and....

"Aye, girlie, y'starin'." You blinked. Ulf was standing in front of you with a sheepish grin on that stupid face of his. "Can't command a dragon whilst daydreamin', can't'cha?"

You huffed. "You know, I'd call you a bastard but I forget you already are one." You said as you stormed off. "And a stupid one at that!"

"That was mean." Nettles laughed as she jumped on your bed, falling beside you. "But hilarious. The man needs to be put in his place."

"How in the Seven Hells did he claim a dragon such as Silverwing? He's a complete idiot!" You sighed, frustrated. "And his manners at the table, speaking to the Prince and the Queen? I..."

Nettles rolled on her stomach, leaning her head against her hands. "Why are you so bothered? If he's truly that useless, that will be proven in a real battle."

You sat up, running a hand through your hair to adjust it. "Well.. I... Death is a bit much, don't you think? I don't want him dead, I just wished he would shut up and behave for a moment."

Nettles hummed, a cat-like smirk plastered all over her face.

"I know a few ways men can be silenced."

"Nettles!"

Supper had been served two hours ago, yet few little had joined the table. Queen Rhaenyra was absent, and so was her son, Prince Jacaerys. Lady Baela ate very little and kept to herself, merely glancing at Ulf whenever he was being too loud.

Addam was also absent.

Nettles had preferred to stay with Sheepstealer, under her vow to you that she'd eat something later.

The room was eerily quiet aside from your hushed conversation with Hugh about training and how you loved that Targaryen female attire had pockets (of all things you should be worried about).

Much to your displeasure, Hugh, too, wasn't one to stick around for supper. You knew your sweet stay at Dragonstone was coming to an end, and that war was waiting beyond the sea, with the Stranger waiting to bring some of you with him.

Two hours had passed, and you munched on your thoughts instead of the delicious (cold) food that lay before you. You couldn't bring yourself to eat anymore, not when there was a battle inside you. You were afraid, not only for yourself, but for your newfound friends and allies and....your dragon. Something you never thought possible.

I did it, mummy. I did it. I made you proud.

You hoped she was proud. You hoped you had made something good out of your lineage.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Asked Ulf, his eyes practically feasting on your cold plate. You said nothing, merely passed it along to him.

You must have underestimated him because Ulf hesitated in taking your plate, staring at you for a moment. Usually, you'd be laughing with Nettles or Addam while teasing Ulf for his lack of manners or proper conduct.

Not today, it seemed. Ulf wasn't sure if he liked that. It was enough to have everyone on Dragonstone sulking and glaring at him -- them -- everywhere they went. But you? You were the entire sun in the stone fortress. Despite your insistence and giving him a hard time during practice, Ulf found you interesting. Especially when his antics made you laugh, even if it was at him.

"Seems like the princeling got to you too."

"Excuse me?"

Ulf leaned back on his chair, resting his feet on top of the table as he munched down on a chicken wing. "Pouting doesn't suit ya."

"I'm not pouting." You frowned. "I'm worried. As you should be. As we all should be."

"I'm worried, alright. Worried all this food will go to waste. Where's everyone at?" Ulf looked around, but saw only the servants taking the food away, as if expecting him to ask for more.

"We're going to die, Ulf!" You suddenly snapped, bringing the man's attention to you. You'd never seen him so bewildered. "We're not knights, no matter what the Queen says. We're just...pawns in this war. We have no part in this."

Ulf said nothing. For the first time, he found himself speechless. He knew you were right; he wasn't a fool. Well, he was, but not blind. He knew what was coming, but he chose to live in the moment. What memories would he have to remember when the Stranger came for him? Sulking in a palace?

"And I don't want to die. I don't want Hugh to die. Or Golden Tooth, Gods, do the dragons know we are making them slaughter their own kin?" Exasperated, you ran your hands up and down your face. "They're not....We are not-"

Suddenly, a rough and alcohol-filled kiss was pressed to your lips, silencing you. Ulf leaned back, a proud smile on his smug face as he looked at you.

Had the bastard just....

You stared at him, wide-eyed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"Couldn't help myself," Ulf grinned, "You women love to worry, y'know that?"

The grip around your cup tightened, threatening to spill on him at any moment. But you couldn't. Your cheeks were growing redder than any of Golden Tooth's fire. The cheeky bastard!

"Ulf."

Hugh stood at the entrance of the chamber, holding a sword in his hand. His glare could be felt across the room, like Vermithor himself had just walked in.

"It's time for training."

Ulf took one last sip of his wine, clearing his throat.

"Shit."

[thefreakpanda]

I know that SJM said that Rhys is probably the most powerful character she’s ever written. BUT, you cannot convince me that he is more powerful than Nesta. 

Let’s look at the facts : 

Nesta, who as a starving human woman, resisted a HIGH LORD’s glamour. 

Nesta, whom the Bone Carver had heard of the moment she came out of the Cauldron because the whole world had felt it. Nesta, whose name is moaned by the wind. Nesta, who made the inmates of the Prison, literal monsters that people don’t know how to kill, shiver in fear and step away from their doors. 

Nesta who twisted the King of Hybern’s neck like it was a party popper, with no training. Nesta who can wear and remove the mask at will (still after giving up most of her power), when no one had ever worn it and lived. Nesta who controls the entire Dread Trove, which has never been seen before. Nesta who has made an entire Trove herself, who can bring houses, bracelets and even still-born babies to LIFE.  Nesta who killed Lanthys, a presumably unkillable being. Nesta who killed a Daglan, a presumably unkillable being. 

Nesta who is Mother-Blessed, who has a literal goddess watching over her when the gods had presumably left this world to its own devices. 

Rhys almost passed out after winnowing too many people in ACOWAR. Rhys had to be carried to the top of Ramiel. Rhys died helping Feyre rebuild the Cauldron. 

Whereas Nesta after not having eaten or drank for a week, after having climbed and fought to the top of Ramiel, being exhausted beyond words and still fighting Bellius, when confronted to Cassian stabbing himself, released her power which reduced the cottage she used to live in, on the other side of Prythian, to ashes. 

And we are supposed to believe that Rhys is more powerful than this QUEEN!

Yes, Rhys is the most powerful High Lord in history.  But he is not the most powerful person in the world. 

Which brings me to my next point : he knows that! 

Or at least, he feels it. After reading HOFAS, it’s very likely that Nesta is starborn meaning that her and Rhys both come from Theia’s power. It’s pretty clear that Nesta is meant to be queen. After all, she has been called a queen in Every.Single.Book, including HOFAS. It’s pretty clear that she will be queen of Dusk. 

Rhys is already High Lord (most likely going to become High King at some point, even if no one wants that). He has rarely met someone more powerful than he was. And since the land chooses its ruler, and since Nesta comes from the same line as him, she is a threat. Even if he fails to notice that she doesn't care about power in general and doesn’t even realize the extent of her own. 

Rhys has a primal side to him even more potent than Cassian, the “Illyrian brute”. I’m going to give a very strange comparison because it involves dogs and something that happened with mine. 

We were at my cousins’ and they both have dogs : an American staff and a pitbull. My dog is half staff himself. All males, very sweet but very dominant by nature. 

Initially, it was just my dog and the staff who were fine but, funnily enough, tried to overpower each other by peeing everywhere, marking their territory where the other initially had. 

Then my other cousin brought her pitbull. The pitbull and the staff knew each other well and played, far away from my dog. My dog had to be held because he was shaking and growling despite the other dogs not paying attention to him at all. Because he knew that they were more powerful and he was outnumbered. To the point where he didn’t see me anymore, being overconsumed by fear and even tried to bite my hand when I tried to calm him (he’s never done that before and had always been, and still is, the most loving dog ever). 

This is what Rhys reminds me of, because there’s something animalistic about him despite the cool, controlled demeanor. Even Cassian said it. 

He has threatened Nesta who avoids him and barely talks to him. The worst thing she ever said about him was that he was an arrogant, preening asshole. While he threatens her any chance he gets and thinks the worst of her. 

Just like my dog in the story, Rhys doesn’t realize that Nesta doesn’t care. He is just threatened by her presence. 

It’s not about letting Feyre hunt or rejecting Cassian. These are just excuses. It’s about someone more powerful than he is, in his own court, not kissing his feet. 

[potato-lord-but-not]

you make a pillowfort and immediately feed poor starving bottom john fans?? bless you potato lord you are doing SUCH important work 💜💜💜

I gotta be there for my people…. LET HIM BOTTOM 💥💥🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

[glittergelpensblog]

Shadow and Song (Azriel x Reader) Part Two

Part two! Thank you so much for all of the support for part one! I have so many ideas for this series and can’t wait to see where it takes me :)

Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 2,577

Part One

It wasn't until you felt Elain's hand on your back that you finally let go of Feyre.

"Mrs. Laurent, draw up some tea and bring it to the drawing room." Elain spoke.

Mrs. Laurent looked like she wanted to do no such thing, glancing between the three of you. It was with one final glare to Feyre that she turned around and made her way to the kitchen.

_____________________________________________________________

Elain and Nesta sat on the opposite side of you and Feyre. Everyone quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to find out what made your sister return home.

It was she who finally broke the silence, "Where is father?"

"In Neva," Nestas voice was sharp. " Trading with some merchants from the other half of the world and attending a summit about the threat above the wall. A threat I wonder if you've come back to warn us about."

You drew in sharp breath. A threat above the wall? Why hadn't Nesta mentioned that to you? Why didn't she tell you anything?

"Whatever the reason, Feyre," Elain spoke softly. "We are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were--"

"I never thought that." You sent a look to Elain before your gaze met Nesta's. You knew it was coming, knew the look in her eyes.

But before she could snap back at you, words bound to be as sharp as knives, Feyre pulled down the hood of her cloak down.

Elain's hands immediately began shaking, teacup rattling in her saucer. Your eyes widened as you took in your sister. Her slimmer figure, her taller stature. Her ears.

She was Fae.

"I was dead. I was dead, and then I was reborn--remade." Feyre's voice shook.

Elain set down her cup and Nesta angled herself, the movement barely noticeable, between them and Feyre. Her hand slightly stretching out, as if she wanted to take you behind her as well.

Feyre did nothing but hold her gaze with Nesta. "I need you to listen."

You were silent as she told her story. She spoke of the trials Under the Mountain, about Amarantha, how the red-headed witch had killed her, and then how the other Fae gave her back her life. She briefly mentioned leaving Tamlin and her new life in the Night Court. Her job with the High Lord. She explained why she was back. The threat at the border. Hybern. What she needed you to help her with.

You knew Feyre was different the moment you saw her. Yes, she was beautiful, almost glowing. But you knew something was wrong. You saw it in her eyes, her tight lipped smile. You felt it in the way she barely hugged you back. The horrors she endured, they had changed her, had taken her warmth.

"You--you want other High Fae to come... here. And... the Queens of the Realm." Elain's soft voice was nearly shaking.

"When?" you asked, not bothering to look at your other sisters, your gaze only on Feyre.

"Find somewhere else." Nesta spat.

Feyre turned to face Nesta, getting ready to speak again.

But Nesta wouldn't allow her. "Find somewhere else. I don't want them in my house. Or near Elain. Or near Y/N."

"Nesta, please," Feyre begged, "There is nowhere else; nowhere I can go without someone hunting me, crucifying me--"

"And what of us? When the people around here learn we're Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than Children of the Blessed, then?"

"Because they cared so much about us when we were starving!" You snapped. "When we were nothing but a poor, dirty family in a rotting cottage? Why do we care what they think when they never cared for us?"

Nesta ignored you yet again. "Any standing, any influence we have--gone. And Elain's wedding--"

"Wedding?" Feyre blurted, eyes scanning Elain's left hand, the dark iron wrapped around her finger.

"In five months," Nesta said. "She's marrying a lord's son. And his father has devoted his life to hunting down your kind when they cross the wall. So there will be no meeting here. There will be no Fae in this house."

"Do you include me in that declaration?" Feyre's voice was quiet, the answer found in Nesta's silence.

Your mind was a blur as you took it all in. The Fae are what took Feyre, what had taken many lives before hers. They would cross the wall to torture, to kill, the Beddors a recent wound still fresh in your Village's mind. But the Fae had also saved Feyre, gave her life. If they truly were as bad as human's thought, then why did Tamlin spare Feyre's life? Why did the High Lords resurrect her?

"Nesta," Elaine spoke again, "If... if we do not help Feyre, there won't be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan's battlements and all his men, couldn't save me from... from them. We keep it secret-- we send the servants away. With spring approaching, they'll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she'll send word ahead, and we'll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won't be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know."

"There is no other way." Feyre held her gaze with Nesta.

"We'll send the servants away tomorrow." Nesta said.

"Today, we don't have any time to lose. Order them to leave now."

"I'll do it." Elain stood, brushing off her skirts.

"I'll help," You joined, following your sister into the kitchen, mind racing with a million thoughts. You would never get Feyre back, never the way you thought you would. You would never live together again, never have her head against your shoulder as you played the piano late at night. There was no way she could come back, not with her new found life.

You pushed back the tears in your eyes as you approached Mrs. Laurent.

______________________________________________________________

"Why didn't you tell me?" You asked Nesta.

Feyre was still in the drawing room when you called Nesta from the hall, feigning that you needed assistance with getting something out of your Father's study.

"Why didn't I tell you what?" Nesta said.

"What Father was truly doing in Neva? That there was a threat above the wall. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Like you could've done anything," Nesta's voice was low. "There is nothing you could've done but worry."

"We could've helped, like we are right now--"

"Which we shouldn't be doing! We are putting ourselves in jeopardy--"

"As Feyre did for us," You glowered, "As she did every day in those woods, nearly freezing to death every winter. For us. We are helping Feyre in the way she helped us, in the way she kept us alive!"

"All of the servants have left," Elain's soft voice interrupted, saving you from the next cruel words to spew from Nesta's mouth. "Feyre said there are others here, for us to meet."

You followed Elain into the drawing room.

______________________________________________________________

Feyre entered the room, cloak gone, and you couldn't help but stare at your sister. This was her life now. She wore an intricate gown, probably worth more than you and your sister's gowns combined. Her body was adorned with jewelry, including a crown at the top of her head.

Behind her stood three men, the first, in the middle, seeming to radiate power, the High Lord, you assumed. His dark hair and fine black clothes contrasted with his violet, almost glowing, eyes. The one to his left seemed wild, ancient. He wore an outfit made of leather, adorned with glowing red jewels on his hands, chest, and shoulders, his dark brown hair almost reaching them. And he had wings, giant wings, almost like a bat's.

And to the High Lord's right was what had to be the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He was dressed similarly to the man on the left, wearing black leathers, but with blue gems rather than red. His face was narrow, sharp, expression calm as he looked at you and your sisters. His dark hair slightly covering his forehead, a strand nearing his hazel eyes. Like the other male, he also had large, bat-like wings.

You tucked your head down as Nesta stepped in front of you and Elain.

Feyre stopped a few feet in front of you before she spoke, "My sisters, Y/N, Nesta, and Elain Archeron." She paused, allowing you all to take in the men before you.

"Cassian," She gestured to the man on the left, then slightly turning to the right, "Azriel, and Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. "

You stood silent, surveying the powerful men. The hairs on you neck stood, and your heart was pounding wildly in your chest. You tried to calm yourself. Though the were Fae, they wouldn't hurt you. They had taken in Feyre, cared for her. And they were here to protect you.

Rhysand bowed to you and your sisters. "Thank you for your hospitality--and generosity," A warm smile graced his features.

You smiled back at him, and the other two men. "It is nice to meet you," You fought to keep your voice steady.

Nesta looked at Feyre, then the men. "The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold." She said before she strode off to the dining room

You followed Elain out as she sputtered a "Nice to meet you" to the three men.

Nesta sat at the head of the table, Elain to her left, and you took the right. Feyre sat beside you and Cassian next to Elain, Azriel on this other side. Rhysand slid into the seat next to Feyre .

The two winged males struggled to sit, adjusting their large wings with the back of the chair.

"Would you like a stool?" You asked, noticing their efforts to remain comfortable.

Nesta scoffed at your gesture

"Thank you, but we'll be fine." Cassisan said to you with a reassuring smile.

Feyre was the first to open the dishes of steaming food. Everyone was silent as they began preparing their plates and eating.

Nesta eyed Feyre as the latter took a bite, struggling to chew.

"Is there something wrong with our food?" Nesta clipped.

"No," Feyre replied, reaching for her water, her face slightly tinged pink.

"So you can't eat normal food anymore--or are you too good for it?"

Nesta truly could not leave it alone for one night. You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even."

Your face became hot as you blushed at your sister's words, and you heard Cassian nearly choke on his water. Nesta just laughed lowly.

It was Rhys who intervened, attempting to diffuse the building argument. "If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different."

You didn't even know visiting Prythian was an option. Perhaps there was hope that you would be able to see your sister outside of the circumstances you were in.

Nesta's glare shifted from Feyre to Rhys. "I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I'll have to take your word for it."

"Nesta, please," Elain whispered.

Nesta ignored her, looking at Cassian who was assessing her with a smirk on his lips. "What are you looking at?"

Cassian's brows rose, the amusement on his face gone. "Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while the other youngest dealt with sleazy men at the pubs, all while you did nothing. " Your face flushed at his words, not knowing what Feyre had told them of you. "Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died--died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don't expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make--and insult my people in the process."

Nesta ignored him and turned to Feyre, Cassian's face filling with rage.

"It... it is very hard, you understand, to... accept it," Elain spoke to him, "We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered... it's all very disorienting."

"We know you are not here to hurt us," Your voice was steady a you looked between the three men, "But it is rare we experience Fae who are to help and not hurt."

"I can imagine," Azriel spoke, the first you had heard his voice the entire night.

"Nesta and I did not know what to do, how to work or hunt. Our lives were taken from us overnight. We were scared, had received no training, we failed them. Both of us." Elain said.

Feyre turned to face Nesta. "Can we just... start over?"

It looked as if it took everything in Nesta to back down. "Fine."

"Can you really fly?" Elain took Cassian's attention from Nesta.

The rest of the dinner went well after that, Nesta being as civilized as she got while the Fae explained their magic, the Illyrian race, and "Lesser Faeries" or Cassian called them. The meal was ended with a discussion of the sleeping arrangements for the night, Nesta assigning you the task of showing them their rooms before they began working on their letter to the queens.

After you had given them the directions to their rooms, you pulled Feyre aside while the three men began their work, most likely eavesdropping on your conversation.

"I missed you," You spoke, gently grabbing Feyre's hand, "How are you, truly?"

There was a long pause before she replied, "I don't know how to feel... I don't think I know how to feel. What happened Under the Mountain, the horrors I had endured... I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy."

"Is it better, at the Night Court?"

Feyre breathed deeply, looking out the window, up towards the night sky.

"With Tamlin, it was like I was drowning, suffocating. Everywhere I went there were sentries behind me. I was never left alone, I couldn't leave the house. What happened Under the Mountain broke me, but living in that house, it felt like I was trapped under there all over again.

"At the Night Court, I feel... free, I suppose. There's no breathing down my shoulder, no one telling me what I cannot do, where I cannot go. What people think of what I do doesn't matter. I have a job, people to protect... but it doesn't feel like a burden, I don't know what it feels like..."

A purpose.

"What Rhysand said, about visiting Prythian..." Your voice was barely above a whisper, a dream you were too scared to say aloud, like telling one a wish so it wouldn't become true. "Can that actually happen, can I actually visit you there?"

Feyre struggled to keep the tears in her eyes, you were so full of hope, so full of life, of innocence.

She couldn't let you visit, not right now, with war so close. She needed you here, safe.

"Maybe someday in the future, when things are safe. When this war is done with. Maybe then, you can come see me."

"I would love that."

"I would too."

______________________________________________________________

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[queerprayers]

As Ramadan begins, and I see Muslims reflect on this year's fast in particular, I remember my similar thoughts as Lent began. What does fasting mean when you are forced into it? What does it mean to enter a holy season while drones buzz incessantly? What is reflection, charity, sacrifice when your whole family has been murdered? How do you give your children the gift of faith when they're traumatized or starving or gone? How can you look to the feast at the end of the season with hope when there is no sign of change?

I think of the pictures the Lutheran church in Bethlehem shared on Ash Wedesday, of Rev. Munther Isaac smearing ashes on children's foreheads. What does it mean to remind a Palestinian child that they will die? To look them in the eye and say they will return to dust and think, But please, God, not today. Not today.

Seasons and holidays have been a blessing to me in my darkest moments, but nothing I've experienced can come close to comparing. I can hope the faithful are finding God in this time, but when does that become a selfish hope? What a horrible expectation to have of them, while my country funds their bombing. Who am I to hope there is holiness in that? when I decided not to fast for mental health reasons?

I see a video of children celebrating the beginning of Ramadan. I don't have a right to wish them joy but I marvel at their faith that is more than I have ever had. More than they should have to have. I pass by dates in the grocery store and don't buy any. I wish those children could come to my door this evening. I would buy all the dates in the store. I donate to a Gofundme instead that I hope can get to someone who needs it.

A friend asks what she should do for Passover if this is still what the world looks like and I say, knowing it's not really for me to answer (none of this is), you do what you've told me you do every year. You pray for God to pass over those surrounded by violence. You ask for freedom for those who need it. You sing the songs of people who had to survive so much, many of whom didn't make it to the next year's holy days. The holidays come when there is war, like they have for centuries. There is always violence. We keep the faith anyway.

Lord of many peoples and names, I repent most of all this Lent of my country's crimes. I ask for many miracles, knowing that I am called to work to bring them into existence. I ask for those children to make it to next Ash Wednesday. And the one after. I ask for dates for every child to break their fast. I ask for a silent sky.

Rabadan Mubarak, from the bottom of my heart, knowing that I cannot bless this season, but praying God will.

[prophecyofwinter]

Across the Sea and to the East | Prologue

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Chapter 1

“Uncle please! You can’t do this!” You screamed with tears streaming down your face as your arms were held back. You were pulling so hard you felt as if your arms would dislocate, but the guards did not budge.

“The North is my birthright! Where is your honor?!” Cregan, your older brother shouted next to you, also held by guards. The men that were supposed to protect you are now holding you like criminals.

Your Uncle Bennard and his 3 sons stood over you are your brother mockingly, clearly gaining some kind of sick pleasure from watching you two writhe in pain. What he had planned for you, you did not know, but it couldn’t be anything good.

“Take my niece to the cell tower, I need to have a private word with my nephew.”

At your uncle's words Cregan jumped up from his knees and struggled against the guards grip yelling profanities at him as you were dragged away. You attempted to dig your feet into the ground to spend even a second longer with your brother. It was useless you were a little girl of ten and one, they easily dragged your small body away.

You felt unreal, weightless, weak. You lost all ability to move and let the guards drag you by your arms like a ragdoll. Your feet dragged against the rough stone floor, it chafed and burned your shoeless feet.

You hadn’t had the faintest idea what your uncle wanted to do with you, but you could imagine the worst case possibilities. You knew you would never see Cregan again, surely your uncle wouldn’t let him live.

Perhaps he would just kill you so you couldn’t tell anyone the truth.

The halls felt like they would go on forever. You’d personally never been to the cells of the castle, no reason for a little girl to come here.

You’d be violently tossed into an empty cold cell with only a wood board for a bed and barred window, left in the dark with your thoughts only left to weep to yourself.

——————————

Hours turned into days with no human contact besides the hand that slipped food to you so you wouldn’t starve to death. Is this it? Would you rot here? Your screams and cries went unanswered and your throat wasn’t raw days ago.

You slowly began to spiral over time, questions buzzing through your head. What’s happened to your brother? You prayed he didn’t suffer and had a swift death at the very least.

What would the people know? Would they think you two had died of fever? How would Aemond react?

Gods, Aemond.

You hadn’t yet stopped to consider your best friend and the light in your life. What would he know? He already struggles enough, if he believed you died what would become of him?

—————————

You don’t remember falling asleep, though you suppose you never do.

Wake my child, it is not yet your time

You snap up to find yourself in a different pitch black room only illuminated by one pit of fire, tall and bright. You were entranced by the fire and felt the carnal urge to get closer, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t burn, you felt warm… you felt safe?

Yes child, the fire speaks to you.

“I- I don’t understand”

Most do not, but you can. I will give you a choice child if you are willing to hear it.

You hold your breath with a big lump in your throat but with sweaty palms and shaky breath you mutter out “yes”

The fire seemed pleased with your response, at least from what you could tell.

You can rot here and die, which you will. Or. You can accept my blessing, my power. Everything has been predestined and decided, however, I have given you the choice to overcome fate and forge your own light.

You clenched your fits tightly, shaking and trembling at the unknown implications of your choice. “I don’t want to die!”

Very well, the light is yours child.

Quickly, you felt a burning sensation on your forehead that grew hotter by the moment. It burned so badly you fell to your knees and screamed and begged for it to stop.

—————————

“My Lady! My Lady you must wake up!”

An aggressive whisper shook you awake from your dreamscape. You could barely make out anything in the faint candlelight. A cloaked figure with no disconcernable features is all you could see.

“There’s no time to explain! We must leave before it’s too late, just know I’m here to keep you safe!”

The figure was frustrated with your lack of response and resorted to grabbing you harshly and forcing you to stand on wobbly feet. Your throat felt dry and couldn’t spit out a single coherent word. The man nonetheless opened and dragged you out of the cell door, rushing you down the halls.

The halls and stairs winded together even more confusing than when you had come up. Breaking through the last corridor and through a wet and unfamiliar underground passage. You were picked up off your feet and rushed down even faster.

Everything felt like it had happened in seconds, you were rushed out of the castle walls into an empty wagon. You peaked out of the back and saw flame licking at the inside of the cell tower you were trapped in.

“Rest my Lady, you have a long journey ahead of you.”

Was the last thing you heard before the doors of the wagon were shut and you began to move.

——————————

You had been shipped across the sea to Lys where you were taken in by House Rogare and Lysandro Rogare.

A handful of houses in the north had learned of your uncle's plans days before he enacted it. Your mothers home, House Glover and House Manderly staged your death and paid House Rogare handsomely to take you in until it was safe for you to return. They tried to find your brother Cregan but he was nowhere to be found and no one has heard from or about him since. Your uncle's story is that both of you died in the tower fire that night.

He assumed power of house Stark immediately and kept your funerals short and fast. You had been told through letters that Prince Aemond was devastated and heartbroken to learn about your passing. He had even flown North on Vhagar without the castle’s permission to witness your ‘funeral’

Your heart aches everyday with the thought that Aemond believes you’re dead. You wish to go home to Westeros and embrace him and tell him you’re alive. However, that’s not an option right now.

Your life in Lys has been far from boring to say the least.

Shortly into your stay at House Rogare, Red Priests from The Temple of the Lord of Light arrived asking questions about your whereabouts. How they found your identity from their visions you do not know, they showed up proclaiming you a so-called ‘Lady of Light’.

The fire that you spoke to seven years ago was R’hllor, the Lord of Light. The religion is very common in Essos and is dominant here.

Word of your existence traveled throughout the whole continent of Essos, while Westeros remained none the wiser.

Refusing to leave Lys, finding a fondness in your new family, the wine and food doesn’t hurt either, you took up secondary residence in the Red Temple in Lys.

They have built extension after extension to the Temple to suit your ‘needs’. The Temple is full of Priests, Prostitutes and Warriors, but only one of you.

Even having lived away from home for seven years, in your heart and in your soul… you belong to Westeros.