#aid of the tempest

[annemarieyeretzian]

orym running, skipping over mister, tumbling and rolling under fearne’s legs, holding his shield up and shoving fearne backward, shouting “you’re a little close, fearne! find a safe spot!” (bonus: fearne shouting “teamwork!”) 🥹

[myntti]

Aid of the Tempest | Critical Role | Campaign 3, Episode 66

[doyourequirefirstaid]

+

[kpop-bbg]

[somacruising]

The room Van had given Sync was on the outskirts of Daath. It was a small room and not well-lit inside, little more than a shed.

Until now, Sync had thought this was fine for keeping out of sight and out of mind. But he couldn’t help thinking about the new Ion’s room that he’d seen that day. Despite the fact that it was a temporary room, there were no cheap items in it that would bring down the dignity of the space. The clothes and hair ornaments must have been custom-made, of course.

“Damn it!” Sync threw the pillow on his hard bed against the wall.

‘What's so different between us? I'm the fifth, he's the seventh... I was born first! Why didn't they choose me?!’

He felt he was becoming mad with jealousy. He hit the bed's wooden frame, kicked the chair, and, lastly, flung off his mask. Trembling with rage, he traced the outline of his face with his fingers.

'We have... the same face... If you don't need me, don't keep me alive!'

As his fingers slid on his cheeks, he couldn’t resist thinking about what he saw in the chapel.

'Arietta protects the Fon Master, and is protected by her monsters...'

Sync believed that people spent their lives creating bonds with others by protecting them and being protected in return.

‘I have no one to protect, and no one will ever protect me. I don't have any bond with anyone.’

He was just alive, completely excluded from this circle called the world. No one truly needed him. He had no place to call his own.

Sync couldn't forgive the ones who created him. They may blame it on the Score, but it is humans who rely on the Score the most.

‘I want revenge, but on whom!?’

Sync cursed his foolish existence, that held no hope for a future, and wept.

—Shiro no Ashita, Volume 2

[twinklestarss]

“I've been struggling with the blood in my eye for a few weeks now. I've never been so fucking angry. But it doesn't matter because it's still what needs to be done. Let my friends prove themselves to you in this. Let me prove myself to you in any way that you need. You've always told me that we're stronger if we stand together. Always.”-Orym/Keyleth

Campaign 3 Episode 66: Aid of the Tempest

Bonus:

[kckt88]

Closer

Summary:

Lucaela is a strong bastard-the twin sister of the boy who maimed him with a blade, but she's also the sweetest Omega he's ever scented, and Aemond soon finds himself unable to fight against the primal urge of the Alpha inside him, who has chosen his neice as the perfect mate.

Warning(s): Language, Angst, Masturbation, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Knotting, Mating Bites.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C LUCAELA VELARYON

INSPIRED BY - 'NINE INCH NAILS - CLOSER'

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 4569

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond strode across the training grounds of the Red Keep, his sword in hand, the sound of steel slicing through the air as he practiced his swordsmanship. His movements were fluid, each strike precise and powerful, a testament to years of training and discipline.

As he paused for a moment to catch his breath, a sweet fragrance wafted on the breeze, the scent of ripe peaches teasing his senses. Aemond's nostrils flared as he instinctively turned his head, searching for the source of the delightful aroma.

And there she was, emerging from the shadows like a vision—Lucaela, his niece a recently presented Omega. Her presence stirring the Alpha within. She was the twin sister of Lucerys, the boy who had took his eye when they were children. Aemond harboured a deep-seated hatred for Lucerys, but he couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Lucaela.

"Lucaela," greeted Aemond, his voice low and tinged with a hint of something he dared not name.

“Uncle” replied Lucaela.

A wave of desire swept over Aemond like a tempest, igniting a fire within his soul that threatened to consume him whole.

Lucaela was the epitome of beauty, her long, dark wavy hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk, framing her delicate features with an ethereal glow.

Her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of light purple, she was the only one out of her strong siblings that had inherited the Targaryen eyes.

And then there was her peach scent that enveloped him like a cloak, sending his senses reeling with its intoxicating allure. It was a scent he could never forget, a scent that awakened the Alpha within him, urging him to claim the omega as his own.

With every breath he took, Aemond could feel the pull of Lucaela's scent drawing him closer, igniting a hunger deep within him that refused to be ignored. The Alpha inside him roared with a primal need, demanding dominance, craving possession.

“What brings you to the training grounds?” asked Aemond, the point of his sword digging into the ground as he rested his weight upon it.

“I found myself drawn to this part of the castle-I was watching you train” replied Lucaela.

“-And did you like what you saw?” rasped Aemond smirking.

“Your skill with the sword is impressive-you’ll win many tourneys”.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys-nephews have you come to train?” quipped Aemond as Jace and Luke came to a stop beside Lucaela who scowled.

“Open the gates-“

Aemond smiled at Vaemond Velaryon made his way inside the Red Keep, flanked by a retinue of guards.

Alone in the dimly lit chambers, Aemond sat upon a plush chair, his mind consumed by thoughts of Lucaela.

The sweet scent of peaches still clung to the air, haunting him with its intoxicating allure. Aemond's fingers clenched tightly around the armrests of his chair as he fought against the primal urges stirring within him.

The petition for Vaemond to seize control of Driftmark had failed, his sickly father had miraculously roused himself from his stupor and came to the aid of Rhaenyra-his favourite child.

Viserys had steadfastly upheld the bastard strong boys claim to Driftmark and Vaemond had lost his head for it.

Now he would have to endure spending more time in the presence of Rhaenyra and her brood of bastards, his presence would be expected at dinner, and he would have to be in the same room as Lucaela.

Never in his life had he been this tempted by the scent of an Omega, just thinking about her was enough to make his cock hard. He’d already fucked his fist three times since their encounter in the training yard and it had done nothing to satisfy his desire.

Aemond closed his eye, trying in vain to banish her from his thoughts, but her image remained etched into the depths of his mind. The soft curve of her lips, the warmth of her gaze—each detail a tantalizing temptation that threatened to unravel his self-control.

For an Alpha, the scent of an Omega, especially a newly presented one, is like a siren's song, weaving its way through the air and captivating their senses with its intoxicating sweetness. It ignites a fire within them, awakening desires that they struggle to contain.

The Alpha within him surged with a primal longing, a desire as ancient as time itself. It whispered to him in the depths of his soul, urging him to claim Lucaela as his own, to make her his mate, and to sire pups with her.

In the quiet solitude of his chambers, Aemond wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between the responsibilities of his station and the yearnings of his heart. His Alpha instincts raged, demanding dominance and possession, driving him to seek out Lucaela and bind her to him in an unbreakable bond.

He imagined her taking his knot, his fangs sinking into her neck, forever claiming her as his. He pictured her belly swollen with his pups. The Alpha within him growling with satisfaction, his cock hard again.

“Fuck-“ groaned Aemond as his hands moved to untie his breeches once more.

Not even a day she had been back in the Red Keep and already he’d been reduced to hiding in his chambers fucking his own fist.

He briefly considered finding another Omega or perhaps a Beta female, perhaps if he could find one that looked similar to-

NO-the Alpha inside him would not accept a substitute, it had to be Lucaela.

His cock as hard as steel, already leaking precum and he began to move his hand up and down.

“Fuck-“ groaned Aemond his hips moving back and forth.

His mind a wash with vivid images of Lucaela, under him, on top of him, of him behind her, fucking his knot into her sweet wet warm cunny.

Gods he felt like he was in rut, his hips and fist moving faster, he was close-so close.

The scent of peaches-fuck he wondered if she tasted like a ripe peach, one of his favourite fruits.

Soft-sweet, perfect for sinking his teeth into.

“Lucaela-my Lucy-MINE” roared Aemond as he erupted, his seed spilling all over his fist and lower abdomen.

Aemond collapsed against the back of the chair, his heart pounding in his chest, the knot at the base of his cock throbbed continuously.

Then a soft knock at the door, broke Aemond out his reverie.

“Dinner is ready Prince Aemond-your presence is expected”.

“I’ll be there in a moment” replied Aemond, tucking his cock back in his breeches and reaching for a cloth.

God this dinner was going to be hell. But he must endure. He must do his duty. He supposed he could always hold his breath, that way he would smell the Omega’s scent, but that would also lead to his untimely death, and he couldn’t hold his breath all night.

His cock stirred once again at the thought of Lucaela and Aemond shook his head in disbelief.

“Fuck sake-not again” snapped Aemond as he ran a hand over his face.

No-he couldn’t indulge himself, otherwise he’d be late. So, with a deep breath he left his chambers and made his way to the dining room.

Praying to every fucking one of the seven that he could restrain himself.

The scent of roasted meats and spiced wines filled the air, mingling with the chatter and laughter of his relatives, yet beneath the facade of familial camaraderie, Aemond's inner turmoil raged like a storm.

Seated alongside his kin, Aemond struggled to maintain his composure, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet as he forced himself to focus on the conversation swirling around him. But try as he might to distract himself, his thoughts kept returning to Lucaela.

The Alpha within him clawed desperately at the confines of his self-control, yearning to claim her as his own, to dominate and possess her in a primal display of dominance. It whispered seductive promises of fulfilment and satisfaction, urging him to seize what he desired most.

But Aemond knew he couldn't succumb to those urges, not here, not now, surrounded by his family so, Aemond gritted his teeth against the tumult of his inner turmoil, his facade of stoicism masking the turmoil raging within. He cast furtive glances across the table, his gaze lingering on Lucaela, who sat beside her brother Lucerys, her expression a mask of serene composure.

Each glance only served to fuel the fire burning within him, the Alpha's hunger growing more insatiable with each passing moment. He longed to reach out and claim Lucaela, to mark her as his own and brand her with his scent—a symbol of their bond forged in the crucible of desire.

Not even his father’s desperate rambling were enough to distract him, not even the toasts, or even his sister Helaena dancing with Jace.

She was Aegon’s wife, but obviously the drunk cunt could only sit and stare as the bastard strong boy twirled her around in time with the music.

After his father had been escorted from the dining room, Aemond prayed for the night to come to a close, he had to get back to his chambers, his cock was throbbing with need, and he was sure the scent of his arousal was becoming more and more obvious by the second, due to the looks that Lucaela was giving him and the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.

Then the roasted pig was placed in front on him, and that bastard boy had the audacity to laugh at him.

His fist colliding loudly with the table, and he rose to his feet thanking the gods that his leather jerkin was long enough to hide the bulge in his breeches.

“Final tribute” said Aemond picking up his goblet “To the health of my niece and nephews-Lucaela, Jace and Luke-each of them handsome, wise and strong-“

“Aemond” warned Alicent.

“Come-let us drain our cups to these three strong-“

“-I dare you to say that again” challenged Jace.

“Why, it was only a compliment. Don’t you think yourself strong?” challenged Aemond, as Jace’s fist collided with the side of his face.

The dining room erupted into a cacophony of noise, Lucerys who had rose to defend his brother Jace had been slammed headfirst into the table, Lucaela had then slid her hands into Aegon’s silver hair and wrenched him away from her twin brother-and Jace had been shoved to the floor.

Aemond’s blood was growing hot as he watched Lucaela defending her brother, he didn’t give two shits about Luke, but it was the way in which the Omega had fiercely risen from her seat and thrown herself into the chaos.

The hard slap she delivered to Aegon’s pale cheek had the Alpha inside Aemond growling with delight.

But Jace had hauled himself of the floor and was charging towards Aemond, who braced himself ready to fight.

“Wait-wait-“ snarled Daemon, stepping in between the two.

“Go to your chambers-all of you go now” ordered Rhaenyra.

Aemond watched as Lucaela bowed her head to her mother and followed her brothers from the dining room.

As he watched her leave Aemond suddenly became very aware that Daemon was watching him with intrigue, following his gaze.

The older Alpha raised his non-existent eyebrows at Aemond who decided it was for the best to stand down, challenging Daemon wouldn’t do him any favours, not with Lucaela anyway.

So, he left the dining room, not bothering to deal with the aftermath of his actions as there was something else that demanded his attention.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed softly as he made his way through the corridors of the Red Keep, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows along the stone walls, casting an eerie glow upon his determined features.

He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't succumb to the forbidden desires that tugged at his soul like a riptide dragging him under. But the scent of Lucaela lingered in his senses, a sweet intoxicating fragrance that called to him with an irresistible allure, driving him ever closer to her chambers.

As he reached the door to Lucaela's quarters, Aemond hesitated for a moment, his hand poised to knock. His mind raced with a thousand reasons why he should turn back, why he should resist the primal urges that threatened to consume him.

But then he caught another whiff of her scent, carried on the breeze like a whispered promise, and all rational thought fled from his mind. With a shaky breath, he rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing through the silent corridor.

The door creaked open, revealing Lucaela standing on the threshold, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him.

Aemond's gaze locked with hers, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to find the words to express the tempest of emotions raging within him. But before he could speak, the scent of Lucaela enveloped him like a tidal wave, washing away his doubts and fears in a flood of primal need.

“What do you want?” asked Lucaela.

“You know what I want-“ replied Aemond as he stepped inside the dimly lit chamber.

“No, I don’t-“

“-Sure, you do” said Aemond.

“You can’t want me-“ muttered Lucaela, lowering her gaze to the floor.

“Why not?” snarked Aemond.

“I thought I was a bastard-you said it yourself. Handsome, wise and strong”

“When it comes to you I was wrong, I should have said pretty and perfect for birthing my pups” growled Aemond as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a single stride. He could feel the heat of her body, the softness of her skin, beckoning him closer with each passing second.

And then, without a word, he crushed his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

His Alpha roaring with delight, at the sweet taste of the Omega.

Breaking away from the kiss, Lucaela gasped for breath, her eyes meeting Aemond's with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. "We mustn't," she breathed, her voice trembling with restraint. "We should court properly, earn the blessing of the King and our family.”

Aemond's brows furrowed, a shadow passing over his features as he shook his head in disbelief. "You know as well as I do, Lucy," he murmured, his voice tinged with bitterness. "My mother and grandsire would never allow such a match to take place. They would sooner see us wed to strangers for political gain than grant their blessing to our union."

“Aemond” whimpered Lucaela as he reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"You can feel it, can't you?" he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "The pull of my Alpha scent”

Lucaela's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart pounding with a mixture of longing and apprehension. She wanted to deny it, to cling to the remnants of her resolve, but the undeniable truth hung heavy in the air between them.

"I-I shouldn't," she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she fought to resist the primal urges that threatened to consume her. "We mustn't give in to temptation, Aemond. We must honour our duty and our family."

But even as she spoke the words, Lucaela could feel the last vestiges of her resistance crumbling beneath the weight of Aemond's presence, his Alpha scent wrapping around her like a velvet cloak, suffusing her senses with a heady intoxication that left her dizzy with desire.

Aemond's lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You cannot deny the pull any longer, Issa dōna," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "Our desires are too strong, too primal to be ignored” (My sweet).

With a soft gasp, Lucaela closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Aemond's in a searing kiss that left them both breathless and wanting more.

Lucaela had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.

“Issa dōna Omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet Omega).

Lucaela’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Lucaela bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao issa dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Lucaela.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaela, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Lucaela arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Lucaela’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Lucaela blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself my little strong girl” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Lucaela.

“Relax and let Alpha take care of you”.

Almost as if he could read Lucaela’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Lucaela’s face.

“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt issa” whispered Aemond as he began rubbing his hard cock along Lucaela’s wet folds (You were made for me).

Suddenly Aemond rolls his hips forward and the entire hard length of him is buried inside Lucaela.

“A-Aemond” shrieks Lucaela at the sting of her maidenhead being taken.

Aemond stills for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Lucaela’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.

After a few mintues, Lucaela begins to writh against him.

“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Lucaela desperately.

Aemond rolls his hips gently at first, allowing Lucaela the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet Omega begins issuing pleas of ‘Harder and faster’ Aemond loses it and begins fucking Lucaela into the mattress.

Their hips pound together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal and precise.

“Lucaela. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.

“Yes. Yes. Oh, it’s feels so good. Alpha don’t stop. Fuck me harder. I can take it”

“Going to fill you up with my seed. I want to see you swollen with my pups” hisses Aemond.

“Yes. Alpha breed me. I want to grow round with your pup. I will give you as many pups as you desire” exclaimed Lucaela.

“Y-Your neck. I need too-Claim you” growls Aemond.

“Yes, Alpha claim me. Make me yours” begs Lucaela.

With a low growl of desire, Aemond tilts Lucaela's head back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck to his hungry gaze.

His cock throbbing with anticipation,

Lucaela's breath hitched as she felt the heat of Aemond's lips brush against her skin, his touch igniting her blood. Then, she felt the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into her flesh, a mixture of pleasure and pain flooding her senses.

Aemond's Alpha scent enveloped her, swirling around her like a whirlwind, as Lucaela surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. With a gasp of ecstasy, she arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt their bond solidifying, the mating bond that would bind them together for eternity.

But even as Aemond claimed her as his own, Lucaela's own Omega instincts surged to life, driving her to reciprocate the gesture. With a fierce determination, she bit down on Aemond's neck.

Whilst her teeth are not as sharp as Aemonds, they still manage to puncture his mating gland. Sealing Alpha and Omega together forever. Their bond snapping into place. Their hearts as one.

The blood from their bites running down their bodies, as they moved together. Her Alpha fucked her hard and fast, his hips pounding against hers. The sound of skin slapping together echoed around the chambers.

As Aemond gives one last thrust and forces his knot inside Lucaela, spilling rope after rope of his seed inside his Omega, which made Lucaela throw her own head back and scream, as she reached her peak, clenching around her Alpha’s pulsating cock.

It didn’t stop there, Aemond only needed a few moments of rest before growing hard inside of his Omega again.

As Lucaela’s legs relaxed and let go of her hold on Aemond, his knot had deflated enough to allow him to move backwards, and he raised himself to his knees between Lucaela’s legs.

The loss of her Alpha inside her made Lucaela whimper as the ache quickly returned. 

“Roll over” ordered Aemond. It was a command, an Alpha command, and Lucaela whimpered as she felt it take control of her body, she had to obey, she had to please her Alpha.

She was now on all fours in front of him, ready to be mounted again. Her waves of scent and slick made Aemond almost stagger. He pushed his cock into the whimpering Omega once more with shaky hands and proceeded to pound her even harder and quicker than before, snapping his hips against her while grunting loudly, driving needy moans out of Lucaela. 

Aemond was gripping her hips so hard that his nails were digging into her skin, leaving marks everywhere, the pain drove Lucaela wild with need and she needed to feel more of it.

Almost as if he could sense what she needed, Aemond reached forward and grabbed Lucaela’s hair, making her head shoot back. Lucaela cried out to her Alpha in pleasure, making Aemond growl.

His knot started to slowly push inside Lucaela, and she let out a feral cry as the knot made its way deeper and deeper inside of her.

It swelled up so much, it hurt, it hurt so good.

“A-Aemond-yes-yes-please” babbled Lucaela as she peaked, her slick dripping onto the sheets.

“I will have you dripping with my seed my sweet Omega. I can’t wait to see you swell with my pups, everyone will know your mine-“ moaned Aemond.

Aemond thrust one, two, three more times before growling once again, shooting his seed deep inside Lucaela, filling her up. He grunted out Lucaela’s name chasing the pleasure of his own peak. He then let out a deep, satisfied breath before collapsing onto his Omega.

Aemond moved his face to Lucaela’s neck again, and lovingly nuzzled her.

Lucaela laid trembling underneath him, his knot had swelled and locked together,

“ñuhon” muttered Aemond (Mine).

In the depths of the night, shrouded in shadows cast by flickering torchlight, Lucaela made her way down to the skull of Balerion, the ancient relic looming over her like a silent sentinel of the past. She paused before the massive skull, her heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and resolve.

As she waited, Lucaela reached up to the fresh mating mark on her neck and grimaced at the dried blood lingering on her skin.

At the sound of footsteps, Lucaela took a deep breath and turned to face Daemon.

"Is it done?"

Lucaela nodded, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning within her. "Yes," she replied, her words echoing softly in the cavernous chamber. "Aemond has claimed me as his mate. His seed has filled my womb."

A slow smile spread across Daemon's lips, a flicker of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. "Well done," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the darkness.

“Thank you-father” whispered Lucaela.

"You must lay with him as many times as you can to ensure that you carry Aemond's pup," he said, his tone firm and commanding. "No Alpha would ever turn away from their own child and with Aemond on our side, your mother's path to the Iron Throne is clearer than ever."

"I-I understand," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper as she met Daemon's gaze with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Daemon nodded; his expression unreadable as he regarded her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "With his pup in your womb, our position will be secure”.

“What of those who conspire against mother?” asked Lucaela.

“Otto Hightower isn’t the only treasonous cunt involved, soon the others will reveal themselves and when they do-justice will served” replied Daemon his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister.

“Perzys se ānogar” said Lucaela (Fire and Blood).

Daemon's eyes softened as he looked upon Lucaela, a sense of pride swelling within him like a flame dancing in the darkness. Of Rhaenyra's three children from her first marriage, Lucaela was his favourite—the embodiment of everything he believed a Targaryen should be.

"You have done well" he said, his voice carrying the weight of his admiration. "But now, it is time for you to return to your mate and get some rest. Thanks to you, the war will be won before it even begins”

As Lucaela made her way back to her chambers, her mind drifted back to Daemon's plan.

Her presentation as an Omega had marked a turning point, her scent at its strongest—a heady concoction of sweetness and allure that had the power to captivate even the most stoic of unmated Alphas. It was a scent that could drive men to madness, igniting a primal hunger that could not be ignored.

Whispers had reached Dragonstone of Ottos plans to usurp the Iron Throne when Viserys passed and have Aegon crowned, and Daemon knew they had to play it smart at least for now and he had seen the potential of her power as an Omega and recognized the opportunity it presented.

Aemond and Vhagar were Otto’s biggest asset, and without them he was nothing.

So, Daemon had suggested that she deliberately place herself in front of Aemond, play coy and let her scent drive him wild with desire until he could resist her no longer.

Lucaela pushed open the door, the soft light of the moon casting a gentle glow across the room, illuminating the seed and blood-stained sheets that bore witness to their passionate union.

Aemond was still asleep, his features softened by the embrace of slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

As Lucaela slipped beneath the covers and nestled against Aemond's side, his arms instinctively wrapping around her and pulling her close, a sense of warmth and contentment washed over her like a wave crashing against the shore.

And as she lay there in the darkness, wrapped in Aemond's embrace, Lucaela couldn't help but wonder if perhaps being mated to him wouldn't be so bad after all.

The fervour in which he had taken her to bed had been unlike anything she had expected, growing up the septa’s had always told her of a woman’s duty, that she existed for a man’s pleasure and not her own.

But Aemond had shown her that there was much pleasure to be had, and she couldn’t wait to experience more.

[maybe-moonchild]

TEMPEST

°｡⋆˚🕷˚⋆｡⋆｡

Peter Parker and your friendship began with a 'SOLD' sign, a skateboard, and bloody knees.

Somewhere along the way, it turned into painful small talk, avoiding each others gaze, and enough distance that the proximity rivaled being across the universe.

And it ended with a broken arm, too much rain, and a gun to your head.

For days his apartment smells like your shampoo.

And for several nights, Peter can't fall back asleep.

In his dreams, your always there. Eight and in pigtails when you moved in across the street. Twelve and putting Band-Aids on his skinned knees after he falls off his skateboard. Seventeen and tasting like strawberry vodka outside of Flash's party.

Twenty three and in a headlock with the barrel digging into your temple , eyes wide and full of fear.

It takes until it pours again for him to have the courage to climb out his window and brace the rain on the way to your apartment.

CHAPTER 1

2004 - 2009

CHAPTER 2

9/27/2011

CHAPTER 3

11/9/2012

CHAPTER 4

5/29/2014

CHAPTER 5

11/25/2018

CHAPTER 6

CAST:

Peter Parker

Wilson Fisk

Katie Douglas

Ned Leeds

Flash Thompson

[cherriecove]

Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader (Part 3)

Summary: As Rhaeynera Targaryen’s only daughter you always knew that your hand would be given to whomever aided your mother and her cause. It was something that you accepted but naturally you always dreaded the day your mother would send you to your future husband, fearing whoever it would be to be cruel and old. Fortunately your worries were unfounded as your twin brother Jacaerys suggests a potential union with the Lord of the North. Cherrie's note: Use of she/her and mention of Lucerys death Masterlist | Previous Part |

As you returned to the hall, a quiet understanding lingered between you and Cregan. The warmth of the North’s hospitality was beginning to feel familiar, but there was a solemnity in the air, knowing that peace would be fleeting. The tension between your mother’s claim and Aegon’s usurpation of the throne loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Later that day, as you and Jace prepared to show Cregan and his sister Sara what it’s like to ride dragons, a raven arrived with grim news—Lucerys had been slain at Storm’s End. The message was a cruel blow, draining the warmth from the day. Jace froze as he read the letter, his hands trembling. His eyes, dark with fury and grief, met yours, and in that moment, you felt the overwhelming weight of the war pressing down on both of you.

Grabbing the letter from your brother’s hands, you quickly read its contents. Lucerys, your younger brother, was gone.

"No..." Jace’s voice was barely a whisper at first, then broke into a snarl of raw anger. "Aemond did this. That wretched—" His words turned into a snarl, his hands curling into fists. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, your own heart heavy with sorrow.

"Jace..." Your voice was soft but firm, trying to pull him back from the edge. "We need to be strong now. For the boys. For mother."

But Jace couldn’t contain his rage. He turned away, pacing the room with wild, furious steps. “He will pay. I swear by the gods, Aemond will pay with his life!”

Cregan, watching from the side, approached cautiously. His usual calm was now replaced with a hard resolve. “I grieve with you,” he said steadily. “This is a grave offense, a violation of all honor.”

Jace nodded, doing his best to remain composed in front of company. “We leave for Dragonstone,” he announced, his voice sharp with decision. “Our mother will know how to respond. And when she calls for war, we will not hold back.”

You nodded, though your heart ached with the knowledge of what was to come. Lucerys had been kind and innocent, and his death seemed senseless in the brutal game of thrones. The thought of your mother learning this news, already weighed down by grief, felt unbearable.

Cregan stepped closer to you, his expression serious but his voice gentle. “Princess Y/n, if you wish to remain here for your safety, you are welcome. I understand if—”

You interrupted, shaking your head. “I must return to Dragonstone with Jace. Our mother will need us both.”

Cregan’s eyes searched yours for a moment, and in that brief silence, there was an unspoken bond—a promise of support that went beyond politics. He nodded solemnly. “Then the North will stand with you. Whatever aid you need, Winterfell will be ready.”

Before long, you and Jace mounted your dragons. Vermax was restless, sensing the turmoil within Jace, while Mithrax remained steady, her presence a comfort amid the storm of emotions swirling around you. As you took to the skies, Winterfell’s snow-covered landscape faded into the distance.

The flight back to Dragonstone was fraught with silence, your thoughts consumed by what awaited you. The winds howled around you, reflecting the tempest inside your heart. When you landed on the blackened shores of Dragonstone, the weight of the news you carried settled heavily upon you. The castle loomed ahead, its towers dark and foreboding against the stormy skies.

Jace dismounted first, his face a mask of determination as he strode towards your mother’s chambers. You followed close behind, your heart pounding with dread. Inside, your mother was seated before the fire, but as you and Jace entered, her eyes turned toward you, and her face softened.

“Mother,” Jace began, his voice tight, “is it true?” His words hung heavily in the air.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, and for a moment, her grief was overshadowed by the sight of her children before her. She swiftly came to you both, her eyes glazing with unshed tears as she pulled you into a tight hug. "No..." he whispered, her voice breaking. "Not Luke. It's all my fault."

You shook your head at Jace’s words. “We share this blame, Jace. It is not all on you.”

Your mother stroked both of your faces, frowning at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “No, my sweets, it was not your fault.”

The three of you stood holding each other as you cried for your loss. Your heart felt heavy with the knowledge that there was no turning back now. The drums of war had begun to beat, and soon the realm would be consumed by fire and blood.

The air in Dragonstone crackled with tension and purpose as preparations for war escalated. Soldiers trained relentlessly, and ravens flew in every direction to gather allies. Yet amidst the looming conflict, one piece of business could not be ignored—your impending union with Lord Cregan Stark. After the devastating news of Lucerys’ death, celebrating anything felt out of place, but alliances were forged in both battle and marriage, and the bond between the Targaryens and Starks was crucial.

Queen Rhaenyra, though consumed with grief, recognized the importance of the wedding. It would solidify the North’s loyalty, and Cregan Stark was already proving to be a valuable ally. One afternoon, you and Jace were summoned to the hall. Your mother sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by councilors and key advisors. Cregan was there as well, standing tall and resolute, his northern attire a stark contrast to the more elaborate garb of the Dragonstone court.

“My children,” Rhaenyra began, her voice steady but marked by the strain of recent events, “we must continue planning for the war, but we cannot neglect the importance of this marriage. The alliance with Winterfell strengthens our position, and Lord Stark has been gracious enough to expedite the preparations despite the tumultuous times.”

You exchanged a glance with Jace, who gave you a small nod of encouragement. It wasn’t lost on you that your marriage to Cregan was not just a personal matter but a political necessity. Still, as you looked at Cregan, standing steadfast and serious, you felt that this union was more than a mere contract between houses.

“I understand, Mother,” you replied, your voice measured. “Lord Stark and I are prepared to proceed as soon as arrangements are made.”

Cregan’s voice cut through the room with a deep, respectful tone. “I know the timing is difficult, Your Grace, but I assure you that the North stands ready to honor this alliance and to aid in the coming war. The wedding will only solidify our loyalty to your cause.”

Rhaenyra regarded him with a measured look. Despite her loss, she remained sharp and resolute. “You’ve proven yourself a true ally, Lord Stark. Your father’s oath is strong, but your personal commitment has only strengthened it.”

Cregan nodded, his grey eyes meeting the queen’s. “The North does not forget its oaths, Your Grace. We will fight alongside you.”

The queen turned to her council. “We will organize the wedding as swiftly as possible. Winterfell must see their lord married before the battle begins, and our enemies must witness the unity between the North and the Targaryens.”

The decision to hold the wedding in Winterfell surprised many. Dragonstone had seemed the obvious choice, closer to the center of conflict, but Cregan insisted that the North needed to see the union firsthand, to feel the strength of their lord’s bond with House Targaryen. Rhaenyra agreed, though it meant sending you away, far from Dragonstone, just as the war was brewing.

Preparations for the journey north began at once. You had expected a grand procession, but the looming war meant the wedding would be swift and without the usual fanfare. A small retinue traveled ahead of you and Jace to Winterfell, alongside Cregan, who had gone ahead to prepare for the wedding. Meanwhile, your mother and the rest of her forces remained focused on preparing for the battles to come.

Winterfell loomed on the horizon, its towering grey walls shrouded in mist and snow. The journey had been long, but the sight of the Stark stronghold filled you with a strange sense of anticipation. This was the heart of the North, the seat of the man who would be your husband. As you entered the gates, the people of Winterfell gathered to greet their lord’s bride. There were no extravagant festivities—just the solemn acknowledgment of the importance of this union.

The cold winds bit at your skin as you dismounted, but the warmth of the great hall beckoned. Cregan was waiting inside, standing beside his sister, Lady Sara Snow, who had taken on the task of preparing Winterfell for the arrival of her brother’s bride. The hall was austere but grand in its simplicity, the smell of burning wood and pine filling the air.

When you saw Cregan, his eyes met yours with that same steady intensity you had come to rely on. There was no need for words—his presence was enough to reassure you. He approached, his fur-lined cloak brushing the stone floor, and took your hand.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Princess,” Cregan said, his voice a deep rumble that echoed in the hall.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, your voice softer but no less certain.

The wedding was held in the Godswood, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, its red leaves stark against the snow-covered ground. The ceremony was simple, as was the northern way, but powerful in its meaning. You and Cregan exchanged vows before the old gods, your hands bound together with a strip of cloth as a symbol of your union. The cold air bit at your skin, but the warmth of Cregan’s hand in yours kept you steady. This was not the grand spectacle expected in King’s Landing or Dragonstone, but it felt right, grounded in the traditions of the North.

As you spoke your vows, you felt the weight of the moment—not just the personal bond you were forging with Cregan, but the political alliance this marriage represented. The North and House Targaryen were now bound by blood and honor.

After the ceremony, you returned to the great hall for a modest feast. The lords of the North, gathered for the wedding, spoke of war and loyalty. Cregan, ever the leader, reassured them of his commitment to Queen Rhaenyra’s cause.

“The North will not forget its promises,” Cregan said, raising his cup. “We stand with the true queen, and with the strength of our alliance, we will see her seated upon the Iron Throne.”

The men cheered, their voices echoing through the stone walls of Winterfell. You felt a surge of pride as you looked at your husband, now bound to you in both marriage and war.

Later, as the fires burned low and the hall emptied, you stood with Cregan by one of the tall windows, gazing out at the snow-covered courtyard.

“The North is ready,” Cregan said quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. “When the time comes, we will march south.”

“And I will be by your side,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze.

Cregan’s hand tightened around yours, but he shook his head. “I need you to remain here.”

You scoffed and pulled your hand away, narrowing your eyes at him. “No, I will do no such thing.”

His voice softened as he reached for you again. “Princess, please—”

“I’ve been married to you for less than a day, and you’re already trying to order me around?” You glared at him, your voice sharp. “I am fire and blood. I have a dragon. I will help my mother defend her birthright.”

Cregan sighed, his expression conflicted, but after a pause, he nodded. He spoke carefully, choosing his words. “I do not mean to control you. I know you are capable, fierce, and brave. I only wish to protect you. As long as you allow me by your side, to fulfill my duty as your husband, then I will be content.”

Your face softened at his words. After a moment, you leaned in and kissed his cheek gently. “Very well, my lord. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Cregan’s relief was palpable as he pulled you into a warm embrace. Together, you would face the war ahead, united in fire and blood.

[annemarieyeretzian]

something something ashton with chronic pain watching keyleth in constant pain with injuries that won’t heal talking about anger and being angry and using anger something something

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Stormy Weather

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader; angst/comfort/fluff

Trigger Warnings: major domestic issues, trauma response, things are resolved but hard, language

A/N: Hey my loves! So this one is… pretty hard core for me? I rarely write angst but this one has been on my mind for a bit. This does get pretty aggressive but I needed to process my own experiences with DV and relationship issues. This story isn’t meant to glorify or make light of DV, but rather it’s a way for me to process my fears about my future relationships after my bad one. I hope this made sense, and maybe someone could find some catharsis in this like I did. Love you all to bits and pieces, I’m trying to get to my inbox!! As always, feel free to send me prompts or requests. Love you all 💕- Mo

It had been tense recently in the Solomons house. The new men in the bakery were just above incompetent despite Shelby assurance. American prohibition put another twist in the binds. And the recent weather had done nothing to aid Alfie’s sciatica. Through no fault of your own, and despite your best efforts, Alfie was knee deep in angry old man territory.

Though that wasn’t something that put you off. Women are not so easily turned by nasty weather, for better or worse.

You weren’t naive to the tempest of your husband. The beauty of his heart and his mind had to paid for by torrential rains once a season. His roar never came to your quiet garden, though you were acquainted with his rumbles and thunder. But you knew how to temper it. You knew what brought him through it into the clear.

You hummed to the radio in the corner, settling your finishing touches to a soothing evening with your beast of a husband. Brisket was just pulled out, with carrots and potatoes buttery and tender. You had washed the sheets and blankets, pressed them with dried lavender and eucalyptus oil. Lamps were turned low, and the fire was a soothing crackle, the entire parlor a syrup sweet orange glow. Water was hot for a bath for two, and everything was set for a soft warm evening.

As you pour out your first glass of wine, you hear the front oak door swing open, and slam shut shaking the walls. Light on your feet you flew to the front, opening your arms as a harbor. “Alfie darling, get your coat off, I have dinner and wine all set for your already! Let’s get you warm!”

His eyes don’t even meet yours as he evades your soft arms.

You feel as though your body wilts. Completely crumbling under the weight of the dejection.

But maybe he didn’t see you! Maybe he just didn’t realize!! He works hard he probably just has to attend to something quickly.

Your bare feet flex against the frigid wood stairs, creaking under the weight of your trek. Your ears perked up to the rustling of the papers and slamming of drawers and rumble of his voice. Like a dragon arranging his lair.

You crack the heavy door, requiring all of your weight. Paper and ink were thrown around, drawers yanked crooked, and you see him take long swigs of the amber liquid in the crystal decanter. “Alfie? Darling you alright? Did something happen”

He does not even toss a glance, “nothing that concerns you. Close the door one your way out.”

The rolling thunder edges closer to the home, “Aren’t you going to come down and eat? I’ve made your favorite tonight.”

“Does it look like I care about dinner? I’m preoccupied at the moment and don’t need your yowling right now.”

A bright flash illuminates the room.

“Alfie I don’t know what’s wrong but you will not speak to me like this.”

“I’ll fucking speak to you how I fucking feel like! Now get the fuck out!”

The sky explodes. Shaking the paintings and photos on the walls. The mirror above the fireplace behind you shifts precariously. Your eyes shut but the sounds wash over you.

You don’t let the anger out of your chest very often. You pride yourself on keeping an even temper and offering a gentle hand in place of the rage. Especially when being with Alfie, your honeyed lips and temperament is what makes you the queen of Camden. There’s been so few people who have seen your rage, much less deserved to receive it.

“Get the fuck out you said?”

A slight chill runs down Alfie’s spine. “Yeah. Yeah I said get the fuck out. You deaf now?”

Another flash.

“Ok.”

Alfie hardly blinks before he suddenly sees glass hurdling towards his face. He just barely ducks before it shatters against the wall behind him.

“What the fuck!” He roars and thrashes.

To his shock, you pick up the glasses on his bar cart, throwing them with all your might at his head, one by one, with deadly aim.

“Get the fuck out eh Alfie! Get the fuck out!! I’ll get the fuck out! Maybe I’ll take you fucking with me!”

You make your way to the Faberge eggs on the shelf.

“Don’t you fucking dare sweetheart! There will be hell to pay if you touch those fucking eggs!”

“Oh we are well past that Alfie. You tell me to get the fuck out? I’m taking your fucking stuff!”

Three perfectly beautiful eggs are slammed against the fire with your husband roaring and punching the wall, “Enough damnit! Get the fuck out of my office! Get to the fucking room you fucking lunatic! I’ll lock you in the bedroom if you keep this up!”

“Oh I’d like to see you try! You call yourself a man! King of Camden! King of Camden so upset he curses out his woman! So mighty yet he can’t take care of his own home! You’re a fucking CHILD! A fraud!”

You grab at a cabinet and pull it down, slamming against the ground. The glass shattered. The tin type of your wedding surely shattered in the frame. In the moment of silence after the shatter, you don’t realize Alfie coming up behind you and lifting you in the air.

You scream and kick, trying to get away and out of his grasp. But he was immovable. A wall. All you hear was his grunts as you howled and cried. He wrenches the bedroom door open, throwing you onto your marriage bed. You scramble up the bed, reaching for the knife under your pillow.

Heaving breaths, Alfie puts his hands in surrender, “Treacle treacle please. Enough ok. No need to stick me. Let’s.. let’s talk.”

“You’ve already said anything you need to. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say you fucking-“

“Darling I was wrong. Ok. I shouldn’t have swore at you. Come on. Just… put it down. Let’s… let’s talk about this ok? Truce?”

You push the hair out of your eyes, wipe the tears off your face and put the knife on the night stand, far enough from either of you.

Alfie has never raised a hand towards you ever. He’d rather put the gun on himself than touch you. But old habits die hard.

You pull your feet under your night gown. Watching Alfie pull off his coat and shoes before sitting on the bed. The ancient frame creaking under his weight.

He reaches for your hand, but retracts when he sees your dark stare toward it. With a sigh he relents and decides to begin. It’s never good to be the starter of negotiations. “Darling. I am sorry for shouting at you. It wasn’t fair to you. The business doll… it does my head in. But. It doesn’t excuse shouting at you. Can you forgive me?”

You feel the heaviness slowly slipping away from your neck. You nod meekly, allowing your fingers to drift to his, weaving around his warm fingers.

Brushing the inside of your wrist, he continues, “Now darling. While I was in the wrong, you don’t normally start throwing shit around. Very unlike you it is. You want to explain what caused that? What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You shake your head no. It’s sitting on your tongue though it’s so bitter. You can’t bring yourself to spit out the poison.

“Oh come on darling. It’s just me. Nothing can put me off. You and me forever right?”

You nod, and reveal your feelings, even if it’s a slow trickle.

“I just… got so angry at you Alfie. I’ve been so lonely these past few months. You’ve been gone. Any time you say you’ll be home you’re not. I’m without you all the time. And when you are here, you’re not really. Your mind is still gone and I don’t have my husband. Just his body. And his words hurt me so much. And I thought, I thought tonight I could finally get you. I thought if I tried hard enough you would be happy and with me. Like we were. And then when I tried to help you and be your wife, you screamed at me. And it hurt me. So I wanted to hurt you and break things to make myself feel better. But it didn’t. It made me more angry and sad and…”

Your words were reduced to tears as your husband pulled you into his lap. Your tears soaked his neck and shirt, “Oh God Alfie I’m so sorry! That was wrong and I’m sorry! Alfie was please forgive me! I’ll never disturb you again! I’ll never throw anything ever again! Oh God Alfie can you forgive me!”

A gentle kiss to your forehead settles your fears, “Now my darling you know in your heart of hearts that we are bound for eternity. Nothing is taking us apart. Not even when we fight like demons. I’m yours and you’re mine. You and me… well we just need a little medicine yeah? Just need some help right now. You and me need to do a better job talking to each other and listening yeah?”

You can barely get words out as you nod. Cheeks hot and sticky. But it doesn’t stop Alfie from kissing your cheeks so tenderly. “My dove. My sweet dove. The business has been out of control but it’s finally settling down. I came home angry because of all the messes I’ve had to clean up. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on the one person I like. The one person I love. But it’s finally settled my pet.”

His thick hands tenderly touch your chin to bring your eyes to his, which are also wet with tears, “I promise to always tell you when I’m not doing ok. And if I can’t tell you then, I’ll make sure to tell you when I need a moment. You think you can promise your old man the same?”

“Yes… I promise.” You whisper

There is a slight twinkle that flies across his eyes, “Think you can seal it with a kiss?”

You throw yourself against him, and he catches you with a grunt. You hated to fight. You’d sooner walk into the ocean than be at odds with the love of your life. When you finally come up for air, Alfie whispers against your lips, “I’m staying home for the rest of the week. I’ll tell Ollie what he needs to do in the morning.”

Without moving a millimeter you say, “No you can’t darling. It’s your life I don’t want you to have to stay home if you can’t.”

“You’re my life treacle. Forever and all eternity you’re what matters. I’ve decided. I’m staying home. And come Saturday we go up to Margate.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am that you’re the only woman for me.”

He kisses you sweetly, and you whimper as you let yourself be further embraced by him. Barely moving from your lips he whispers, “Why don’t you start a bath darling? I’ll grab tea from downstairs and join you soon.”

“I made dinner… it’s on the stove for you.”

“I’ll bring a plate for us. You just… get comfortable for me treacle. I think we need some time.”

For the rest of the night… and the rest of the week. You spent time talking and embracing, coming back together and healing what had been fraying at the edge. Though mistakes were made, and there were deep wrongs, you both wanted to fix it, to heal.

Neither of you were perfect. You never would be. But there was love there, and determination to get through the wounds that lead to these kinds of mistakes. These moments were not ok, and they stemmed from deep seated traumas that were undealt with. But you both wanted this marriage. You both wanted each other. And you both would work everyday to make it work.

With every word.

With every caress.

With every kiss.

Things would heal.

[gorgynei]

aid of the tempest.... (c3e66 thumbnail redraw)

[uwmspeccoll]

Shakespeare Weekend

Volume Two of The Pictorial Edition of the Works of Shakspere edited and published by Charles Knight (1797-1873) contains the remaining six comedies All’s Well That Ends Well, Much Ado About Nothing, Twelfth Night; or What You Will, As You Like It, Measure for Measure, A Winter’s Tale, and Tempest. Knight includes introductory notices prior to the start of each play throughout the collection to determine “the state of the text.” The notices provide brief overviews of the play draped with an editorial point of view, deliver a critical analysis of the “supposed source of the plot," and address character costumes.  

The notices are as heavily illustrated as the plays, and unique to Volume Two is an advertisement defending the editorial choices of how and which illustrations are chosen for inclusion. Knight informs readers that there are no editions of Shakespeare “in which the aid of Art has been called in to give a distinctness to the conceptions of the reader by representing the realities upon which the imagination of the poet must have rested.” He further explains that his pictorial edition will focus on representing the scores of rich scenes and characters without unnecessary embellishments. With one hundred and sixty illustrations in Volume Two alone, it is safe to say his intentions were well met.  

The Pictorial Edition of the Works of Shakspere was originally issued out of London in fifty-six monthly parts before being bound in an eight-volume set in 1839. 

View more Shakespeare Weekend posts. 

-Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

[white-rabbits-captain]

*A soft knocking can be heard on the door.*

"Agent Jin? I have arrived to aide you with Cynthia."

((@tempest-toss))

[Jin opens the door with Cynthia in her arms.]

Thank you for coming over on such short notice.

[Cynthia looked up at him with wide eyes.]

[girlactionfigure]

Emma Lazarus

Born on 1849 in New York City to a family of Portuguese Sephardic Jewish descent whose roots extended to the very early days of NYC as a British colonial city.

Lazarus was the poet who wrote in 1883 "The New Colossus" - the famous poem that greets new immigrants to America till this day.

“...Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she with silent lips.

"Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

With those words, the Statue of Liberty was given life and purpose beyond that of a monument to liberal ideals, becoming a beacon of hope for the refugees seeking freedom from the terror of persecution.

The poem was placed on the Statue of Liberty in 1903 (after her death).

Aside from writing, Lazarus was also involved in charitable work for refugees.

At Ward's Island, she worked as an aide for Jewish immigrants who had been detained by Castle Garden immigration officials.

She was deeply moved by the plight of the Russian Jews she met there and these experiences influenced her writing.

The Jewish themes she had never dealt with before erupted in her work.

Emma Lazarus died November 19, 1887 (aged 38) in New York City, most likely from Hodgkin's lymphoma.

Lazarus was buried in Beth Olam Cemetery in Brooklyn.

Her papers are kept by the American Jewish Historical Society, Center for Jewish History, and her letters are collected at Columbia University.

Jewish History, Jewish Culture & Spirit

[shipperqueen93]

Let me tell you why I'm not worried as much anymore. They made a mistake.

Even if Vax and Keyleth died, BH made it out. Orym made it out. Orym saw the Champion of the Matron of Ravens compressed to save The Voice of the Tempest. And Orym has connections to Whitestone.

The second Vex finds out what happened? VM is all in. Gilmore? In. Kima & Allura? In. Zahra and Kash? In.

Yasha and/or Essek find out about Caleb and Beau? M9 is there. They could possibly even pull the dynasty in over the bastardization of their relics. Could maybe pull in Astrid and Wulf. Ending up at Uthodurn? Hi Reani.

Yussa? Well tbf he probably won't fight but he'll provide aid.

Not counting Vax there are 5 champions of the God's out there that BH have direct, or indirect, access to. The Gods are going to be pissed.

BH are too well connected now. They should have killed them first.

Ludinus fucked up.