#arcie is amazing

[assortedseaglass]

God I've missed reading you. So glad this was the first thing I did on my return.

You are a masterful writer. The way you pace your writing is utterly extraordinary, I truly feel there is no word wasted. The connection you managed to build in so few words is extraordinarily hard to do and amazingly well-executed. The way you make smut essential to the (little but important) story, incredibly sexy, tender and well described is a talent only you possess.

Magnificent, as always!!!

The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2700+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, kissing, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, slight overstimulation, creampie. Author’s Note: This was the poll winner! 💜 Thank you to my lovelies @aemondsbabe and @valeskafics for helping me brainstorm the title. No beta, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. This will be a series of one-shots of the moments between Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Northern bride-to-be (which I pulled from my OC!Stark x Aemond Targaryen story, but whatever). There will be fluff and there will be smut. Enjoy!

You could feel the panicked gaze from your handmaiden, her visceral exasperation spilling as she watched you pace the room, but you could not hold still. 

Not tonight, not after that kiss.

She begged until you finally allowed her to help you change into your nightgown, despite how your skin felt aflame. She then took your hand to lead you to the vanity to sit, to hold still, to allow her to brush and braid your hair for bed, just as she had every night since you first arrived to the Red Keep months ago.

You had traveled from Winterfell at the behest of your brother, a promise to see through what the late King Jaehaerys failed to accomplish: to solidify the bond between the North and South kingdoms. Cregan saw no harm with the capital’s proposal, as you had already scorned all of the Northern lords who called for your hand. 

“Who knows, sister,” his eyes twinkled just as your father’s had when he was still alive, “perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” 

You had scoffed, but soon realized how right Cregan had been, that you were enamored from the moment you met Aemond. The rest of the Keep seemed to fade away as you watched him, his imposing severity that settled into the sharp contours of his face and in the way he held himself. He towered you; he watched you with his one eye, a lovely lavender that flitted over you, while the other was hidden beneath a leather patch with the wrathful scar that curled above and below. 

You remembered the touch of his hand–his palm calloused and warm and gentle–when he took your own; you recalled the spill of silver as he leaned forward and the softness of his lips against your knuckles with his kiss. Even his low timbre soothed you as he repeated your name; the introduction left you blood rising to the surface. 

Your courtship with the prince was something to be displayed–an ailing king’s desperate grasp at legacy. Aemond played the role of the perfect, regal gentlemen, but you wished to pull him away from the prying eyes of the court, to learn everything about the infamous one-eyed Targaryen prince.

There were stolen moments scattered with Aemond and you collected them piece by piece, but still you were rarely, if ever, allowed a moment to be truly alone with him. 

It was not until the crowned princess returned to the capital, and the chaos that followed and ruined the family supper, that you were able to follow after Aemond, out into the gardens of the Red Keep. 

You recognized his silhouette at once, and moved closer until you saw his ethereal glow from how the moon poured over him. Your tone was soft at first, a teasing kindness until you saw the upwards curl of his lips, and you dared giggle with your encouragement that he should teach you swear words that would best describe his nephews in High Valyrian. 

And then something changed, something shifted. Aemond stepped closer and you felt the cool night air pull away, enveloped by his warmth, the scent of smoke and leather and sandalwood. His palm moved to cup the side of your face and then he kissed you. 

This was your first truly intimate moment you shared with your betrothed. And it was also your first kiss. 

You sighed sweetly in his mouth, a kindled passion that thrummed from where his hands touched your hips, his hold to pull you closer only to quickly recoil once one of the Cargyll knights finally found you both. 

The White Cloak then escorted you back to your quarters, your steps lead-filled, and here you were expected to sit still as your handmaiden fret over your hair. 

But you could not sit still, hence why your slippered foot tapped the stone floor, your heart pounding violent against your chest as that kiss in the garden replayed in your mind…

“Please, my lady,” your handmaiden squeaked, the ivory comb tangling in your hair.

Your hands flared out to ward off her touch, your tone cutting. “Thank you, but that is enough. You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the night,” you stood up, pushing the poor girl and sending her stumbling towards the door. 

Her eyes were wide. “I–I have not finished with–” 

“I have hands of my own,” you grabbed the silk robe to cover yourself, “I shall manage,” and when you turned to step towards the girl once more, she squeaked again. She moved to open the door and paused to see Prince Aemond already poise, his one arm tucked behind his back and the other lifted as if he meant to knock. 

It was an eternal silence; Aemond looked startled, but his gaze eventually found yours, and you stared back, unabashed, burning from the sight of him. 

Meanwhile your handmaiden, mortified, shrank to slip past the prince and leave.

Only when you heard the soft sound of the door closing behind did you find the courage to move towards Aemond, reaching for his tunic and pulling him close. You fell into him, your lips hungry for his own and he returned your passion before slowing to savor, his tongue running your bottom lip and then curling into your mouth. 

It continued until your breath was an exchange between, his exhale becoming your inhale and trilling through your veins, pumping your heart. Your mind was clouded with his proximity–you felt giddy and your hands twisted into his tunic to hold yourself upright. 

He hummed, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest. A shy sigh spilled when you felt his length pressing through the fabric and against your stomach, a bolt of warmth and want curling together. But your passion was replaced with a trepidation, something that now curdled instead. 

You broke the kiss, a rosiness spilling from your lips to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose: “I lost my maidenhead on horseback.” You felt your blood thicken with your confession. “But I have never been…” 

The words would not come, but Aemond did not need them. Instead he closed the little space you created, his warm palms moving to cup your face and bring you back to capture your lips with a tender kiss. 

“I will be gentle,” his low timbre promised. “I do not wish to hurt you.” 

You believed him, as you had seen his actions that spoke far louder during your time at the capital. He had always shown you a careful consideration since the courtship began, but now you found that you could not wait another moment. 

Your fingers pulled at the silk robe you had thrown on, allowing it to slip from your shoulders and puddle onto the floor. Your hands moved to the lacing that lined the front of your nightgown, but you paused, pinned under the lavender of his eye. 

His chest rose and fell with his steadied breath a moment before he offered his hands, his slender fingers gentle to loosen the ties. Aemond stopped to place kisses on the slope of your shoulder, your chest, a soft tickle of his lips as more of your skin was bared to him. 

You felt vibrant, ignited by his touch, and you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, admiring the flush of rose that now stained his skin. You pulled at your skirts, grabbing the bottom hem and peeling it over, dropping it into the silk puddle already at your feet. 

Lust now swallowed the lavender, but Aemond only hummed his admiration as his gaze slowly dragged from your face, following your curves and then returning to meet with your eyes again. 

“Gevie,” he mused with a slight curl to his lips. 

You burned, cursing your Septa for the little Valyrian she indulged to teach you, too shy to ask now for a translation, but bold enough to reach for him. Your fingers touched the buckles of his tunic. Aemond hummed again as you began to undress him, until he was bare from the waist up, and the heat that pooled from him now seeped and curled into your core. 

His form was lean, taut, with a muscular definition and its decoration of silver scars scattered across his chest and his abdomen. Your fingers trailed the lines that cut into his trimmed waist, and then you stepped closer to press a soft kiss to the right side of his jaw. 

Aemond caught your chin, bringing your lips to meet with his own again. His kiss was drawn out, wringing the air from your lungs but still so gentle that you could not help but melt into his chest, into the warmth that he embodied. 

Your fingers reached to touch his jaw but paused, a hovering hesitation. He took your hand and brought it back to cradle against his chest, watching you. You swallowed. “Aemond, please,” you began slowly, your voice careful, “I wish to see all of you.”

His jaw steeled with your request, tense for that moment but then he reached with his other hand to remove the eyepatch. The crimson seemed bolder, brighter, cutting through from his brow and into his cheek, and you also saw that placed in his scarred socket was a sapphire stone that glittered in the amber light of the room. 

You pressed to your tiptoes, your fingertips touching to tilt his jaw down and you pressed a kiss beneath, your lips careful to trail his maim before placing another against his cheek. “Ñuha zaldrīzes,” but you were slow with the only Valyrian you knew, and finished with another kiss to his lips. 

My dragon. 

His expression was unreadable, and for a moment you believed that you had ruined the practiced pronunciation. But then Aemond moved to wrap his arms back around your waist, his face burying into the softness of your neck and his hands grabbing into the curves of your hips. Your laughter spilled as you felt him lift you enough for your feet to not touch the stone floors, your arms wrapping around his neck, and Aemond moved with wide steps, bringing you back towards your bedside. 

You fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him. His neck bobbed as his eye followed the pink hues that now spilled from your cheeks to your neck and onto your chest. Your nipples were peaked and your eyes shone bright as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed and moving on top of you.

He tucked his head to trace the slope of your neck with his lips and your back arched with the desire to feel his chest against your bare skin, a fluttered moan spilling from you. Aemond moved lower, placing warm, open mouthed kisses that scorched your skin, with a warmth that was pouring into your core. 

Aemond continued lower, his silver tresses spilling and tickling your skin as he moved between your plush thighs. You mewled with the touch of his lips to the inside, and your thighs squeezed to stop him. 

You are breathless. “It tickles.” 

He only hummed, reaching to press his hand onto your stomach, a comforting touch as his fingers traced abstract lines on your skin. “Let me,” and his exhale was titillating as he nestled back between. 

Aemond was careful with his touch, just as he always showed himself to be. He was aware of your every sound and sigh, pacing himself with a slow rhythm that began to build until his clever tongue had you pinned to the mattress. 

You blossomed with bated breath, grabbing fistfuls of the bed linen to ground yourself from falling into the trance of his ministrations. You felt a prod at your entrance, his finger curling within, and your pleasure fluttered up your spine. It was too much and you writhed from his mouth, but his other hand moved underneath your thigh, gripping into your soft flesh, halting you. 

Let me.

Aemond quickened his pace, encouraged by your quiet pants, from how your heartbeat now pulsed around the digits that were knuckle deep in you. You felt Aemond pulling you towards a precipice that was consuming, a warmth that crashed against and spilled throughout. Your heart still bruised against your ribs from the cresting tremors of your fading pleasure, and only then did you notice it. 

How Aemond grinned smugly against your wet cent. 

You reached with boneless fingers that tangled into his silver hair, pulling him back so you could capture his mouth that now glistened with you. It was your own bittersweet taste on his lips and you felt emboldened to grab his waistband. When your fingers brushed against his heavy bulge that pressed the crotch of his slacks, a sweeping shyness returned. 

He pulled back with a sly smile, removing them before he moved back on top. His arms cage you to the bed and your skin rose with how his breath fanned against your cheeks. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeated after a moment, but his heavy hesitation lifted as you pulled him into the cradle of your hips.  

You sighed from how he molded into the softness of your body, and Aemond gave another savoring kiss. “Please, Aemond,” your eyes wet from your want, and his head dipped to watch as he grabbed the base, careful to line himself with your entrance. 

Aemond paused with a new trepidation that settled along the rose hues that dusted his sharp features. You squirmed beneath him, searching for friction, to feel the blunt press of his cockhead against your silken folds. 

“Aemond,” you now plead, a honeyed whisper, another kiss to encourage him, “I want you.” 

He watched you as he pressed forward, and you felt a stretch, a fullness as his hips moved against yours. You tensed from the new sensation, your nails biting and leaving red crescent marks that startled against the white of his skin. 

Aemond stilled at once, allowing you a moment to adjust, his brow furrowed with his concern. You then let out a soft exhale before tilting your chin to give him a kiss, a promise that you were fine. 

And only then did Aemond move, slowly, carefully, with each gentle thrust that split you further as he sheathed himself fully within you. It rekindled a deeper passion, and your eyes widened with a small gasp; he dipped his head to press his lips to your neck, decorating the column with his kisses, your pulse thrumming beneath. It began to ripple through you and your thighs tightened around his slender waist, beckoning him closer still. 

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He hummed his acknowledgement, pushing himself up. He used one arm for balance while his other hand moved to press onto your hip, his palm trailing closer to your bloom above, his thumb moving in circles. 

You felt raw, sensitive still from before, and something sparked with his touch. The air was thick and caught in your throat; a passion spilled from you without the same tensity from the first time, though still with a melody that played sweetly throughout your veins. 

Your velvet walls clenched with your climax and it pulled Aemond after. He groaned his own release, melting against you and burying his face back into the curve of your neck. You gasped again from how he pulsed between your legs, his heart rattling through to your bones. 

After a moment,  Aemond rolled to the side, his chest expanding to catch his breath before he reached to pull you to curl against him, equally breathless and aglow. Your arm was thrown across, your face pressed against to feel the rhythm of his heart, his seed spilling onto your thigh; his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin. 

He leaned to press another kiss to your hairline, and he whispered the same word from before. “Gevie.” 

“What does that mean?” You cannot help your grin, tilting your head back to look at him. 

His other hand came round, a finger pressed to your cheek to look at you. “Beautiful,” he said and then he gave you another kiss. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @hb8301 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

[assortedseaglass]

My darling: 🍓 & 🍈

My love!

🍓 What’s a fic you’ve written you feel is underrated?

It did pretty well, but Wintering came and went like a stiff breeze. I love writing Tom Bennett, and you know my love of detail - I liked the challenge of packing a lot into a short piece.

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

Is there another answer? First one I wrote a fic for!

He's just a normal bloke (aside from Trigger Point yikes) and I love that. He doesn't ride a dragon, not going to war, not on a spaceship, he's just normal!

I always write him with some long-term female friend because he needs a loving presence, Lord knows he doesn't get it from his family.

I also have a fic idea for him that I want to write soon because it's been in my head since last summer!

[lady-phasma]

I see you reblog one of your boys and I have this compulsion to decorate them with little hearts. 🥰

I love your creations and having my blog blessed with them. Look at baby! Slutty through all those hearts (respectfully).

[lovelykhaleesiii]

ARCIE! YOU ARE KILLING ME! I want this on my ceiling thanks 🤩

[annikin-im-panicin]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @arcielee I LOVE YOU MILLIONS

[legitalicat]

I am coming in for a reverse 🍓

We've been mutuals for just a bit, but I see already the love you have for your friends and how much they adore you in return. And I think that speaks volumes about you as a human being. 💜

You have no idea how much this means to me. I always worry that I don't show my love enough or in the right ways and people won't realize what they mean to me. 😭😭😭

I too shall give you a compliment hehehehehe. You are wonderful and amazing. The same thing goes for you, actually, as so many of my friends speak nothing but your praises and I think that in of itself is so beautiful.

[ceoofyearning]

I just wanted to say thank you for being you, but also to welcome you to the Suguboo club.

One of us, one of us... 👀💜

I mean, how could I resist this face 🥹 *happily dons my cult cloak*

And than you for being you. 🫂 please know I appreciate you and your kindness immensely 💙

[khaleesihel]

💌 Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome. 💌

You are some of the best on this hellsite, Hel. 💜

I love and appreciate you so much, angel. you are so lovely 🥹💖

[assortedseaglass]

It’s my birthday! To celebrate, I’m giving gifts to some of my favourite people on my favourite hellsite. There’s been a fair amount of hate, despondency and general sad vibes here lately, so let’s combat that!

@arcielee

I mean, honestly, where do I begin?

Something special happened the first moment you comment on a fic of mine. I went down a complete rabbit hole of reading, and while all of your work is incredibly special to me, Silver Coins and Peace Beneath the City are always on my favourites list.

Your writing is utterly spellbinding. You have a knack for understanding characters that I truly admire (and slightly resent hehe). The way you put them in situations that always feel true to character and canon, while making them entirely unique is a real gift.

And your prose! Good Lord, it's exceptional. The fluidity and ease of your sentences makes all your writing a joy to read. It's clear that you are a natural born writer, and that so much love and thought has gone into your craft. The way you use language to reflect the content and context of a piece of work is second-to-none, and if people want a clear example of this then please read Her Salvation, His Damnation. A story about seduction, lust, guilt, death, and the writing is seductive, sexy and heart wrenching. I felt pulled towards this amazing woman, as Osferth did. Just spectacular.

Aside from your incomparable writing, you are an incredible friend. You always have the time to listen to me. Whether I'm exceedingly thirsty heheh, cannot find the motivation to write, need to work out some issues or just want to chat, there's no-one I'd rather do it with than you. 💗

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for inspiring me, helping me be better and always being there. This isn't enough to say how wonderful you are, and how much you are a part of the whole fandom experience for me, but thank you, thank you, thank you.

H x

[lovelykhaleesiii]

I hope you looked in the mirror today and remember how wonderful you are. 💜

likewise Arcie xoxox

[annikin-im-panicin]

I come to give boops and found I could not.

YOU CAN GIVE BOOPS NOW???

[assortedseaglass]

Erm, hello!?

I LOVE LOVE LOVE how this concept works with Osferth’s character. The end dialogue? Genius.

Devoured this (lol), and had to sneak off to read alone! I’ve said it before but the way you write smut is amazing! It’s immediate and heady and seductive and so full of feeling. Teach me!

Another amazing piece my love!!

I’ve had more thoughts so this reblog isn’t coherent. Sorry not sorry! The way you write is exceptional. The way I felt lulled and seduced just like Osferth, l was spellbound by this woman 🥵

Her Salvation, His Damnation

Summary: Osferth meets a healer who haunts his dreams. Paring: Lord Osferth x vampire Female!Reader (third person) Word Count: 3200+ Warnings: AFAB, mentions of amber eyes because its a vampire, edging, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, dubcon for being transformed into the undead. Author's Note: Thank you @hightowhxre for you vampire knowledge and to @poetic-fiasco for giving me this amazing idea and to my muses, you know who you are ��� Happy Halloween everyone! 🎃 Dividers by @saradika 🧡

They detoured towards the border of Scotland to seek an audience with the king, requesting a temporary alliance with their planned attempt to finally take back Bebbanburg. Their request was met with the instruction to meet inland, to a place where the sun did not follow their steps, to a city swathed in a gray hue that fell from the clouds above, always thick with their threat of rain, a constant heavy mist that hung in the air. 

Their arrival was greeted with wary, almost frightful expressions, save for one set of amber eyes that pierced through the crowd. Osferth could not help but stare back, entranced with her poise and the upwards curl of her lips as she watched, her eyes ablaze, peeling away at the layers he wore until he felt bare beneath her heady gaze. 

When he blinked, she was gone, a vision that came and went with his heartbeat, and he felt uncertain if she even existed. 

That night he dreamed of her. She returned as a silvery beacon that cut through the faceless swarm of the city, her movements a fluid grace, as if her steps did not touch the ground beneath her; her attention was rapt to Osferth as she glided through the congestion and towards him.  

Osferth swallowed his breath until it knotted in his chest as her touch ghosting along with the playful walk of her fingers until he felt her touch to the curve of his neck, resting on his pulse that fluttered beneath his flushed skin.

“I have been waiting for you.” 

His heart was now bruising against his ribs, accompanied with an almost tingling sensation that trilled to his nerve endings. “Are you real?” He rasped.

Her pearly smile swept the air from his aching lungs, something almost enchanting but with a sinister gleam with the sharpened ends of her canines. She pushed closer still, a softness that melted against him, and he felt her lips touch the soft divot below his ear. “I can be,” her velvet tone murmured with his frantic pulse.

Osferth awoke, a shuddered jolt back to consciousness. His large palms grasped at the fabric of his tunic, now damp with a cold sweat, and he took measured breaths to steady his heart. It was dark still and all he could hear was the chorus of snores from Uhtred, Sihtric, and Finan. 

He did not fall back asleep, but watched until the morning light spilled through the gray before he finally got up from the bed. Osferth followed a path towards the river which, despite its precariously close placement with the city, still shimmered clear but gray like everything else. He followed the padded dirt that snaked away for privacy, removing his clothes and stepping into the water; with a bar in his hand, he waded to his waist and lathered over before dipping beneath to wash away the suds and sweat; he held his breath, lifting up his feet, weightless with the pulse of the stream. 

A shadow moved overhead and he broke to the surface. 

She was standing on the shore, her feet bare and the hem of her skirts wet; the gown she wore was meticulously cut to fit her curves, a low neckline and a slit, with a basket that rested on her hip. The smells of herbs and earth that caught with the morning breeze, skitting across the water surface, mixing with the sweetness of her skin shone. She greeted him, unphased by the shades of red he turned as she introduced herself as a revered healer, how her services had even been called upon by the king of Scotland himself. 

“And you are the one who killed Sigefrid,” her honeyed tone continued, seeping into his veins and following to the ends of his limbs still beneath the water; the stain of rose darkened his features as his heart rattled against his ribs. “You are a great warrior.” 

She spoke it like a statement, something that was as certain as the sun would rise and the moon would follow its wake. He balked with her boldness, but managed, “I am simply Osferth,” when he found his tongue, which touched to wet his lips. 

An emotion played across her face and it was then that he noticed how dark her eyes were, different from the day before, from his dreams. “Your reputation precedes you,” she shifted her weight, moving the basket to her other hip, her calf peeking through her skirts, her words prodding to surface the pride of all men that seemed to thrum beneath. 

But not for Osferth. “The mouths of men always exaggerate with its each retelling,” and he found it easier to talk, his timbre low. “This is why I believe the written word to be vital.”

“Is it vital for warriors to be educated?”

She was teasing him and Osferth felt the blood return in the sharp peaks of his cheeks. “Perhaps,” and he paused before his admittance. “But I was not born a warrior.” 

“But it seems your God decided it was your true purpose?”

Her question was with the tincture of jest. “I am considered damned by my God,” another secret spilled, his blood thickening to crimson. 

She clucked her tongue. “So you followed your true destiny,” another fact stated, and a quiet now settled over them, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the water flow. 

Above them, the clouds finally broke to allow slivers of the golden rays to spill through and onto him, and then Osferth realized how truly bare he was in that moment. He twisted his head to spot the change of clothes resting on a boulder that jutted from the bank; when he looked back to her, she was gone. 

Osferth blinked, and he looked for her. He would have sworn her a fae, a figment of his imagination had he not noticed the soft indents of her footprints washing away in the sand. 

That night he dreamed of her again. 

This time he was seated in the tavern where they were staying. He felt swallowed by the swell of nightlife, drowning with the calls for refills for empty tankards and choking on the tart smell of spilled ale and sweat.

Her serenity pulled him towards the surface, an almost ethereal presence with the way the silk spilled and flowed over her womanly curves with her steps. Osferth was able to see the amber fire in her eyes that fixated on him. She stopped and curled her finger to beckon him. 

Though he could not recall how, they were now back in the room rented, and he was seated on the bed edge, the fresh hay crinkling beneath his palms. Her ambiance filled the space: the soft touch of silk she wore and her fingertips, her scent the same as the riverbank, fresh herbs and the earth after it rains, with the added scents of sage and thyme and lavender against her skin.

She moved to touch him with her soft palms, stopping only when he spoke her name out loud; she looked at him, agate burning beneath the flutter of her eyelashes. “Let me,” she coaxed, her voice soft as the silk that was wrapped around her. “Let me,” she repeated as her fingers began to trail lower.

Osferth could feel the rush of blood between his milky thighs that were now bare against the linen. He watched as her fingers dimpled into his skin as she lowered, his eyes fixated on the enticing sight she made kneeled between. 

And when she met with his lust blown gaze, the pools of black that almost completely swallowed the brilliant blue of his eyes, she smirked. Her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and brought his flush head to her mouth. 

He breathed deeply, a hiss of an exhale that escaped between his clenched teeth when she parted her lips to taste him; her tongue was wet and warm, moving as if she wished to savour him. Osferth moaned as she pushed forward to take more of him, his fingers biting into her shoulders to try and ground himself, his mind emptying with the sinful suction of her mouth.  

Her nose pressed against his patch of hair that trailed upwards, and she hallowed her cheeks when she drew back, her tongue flat against the underside to trail his texture and the veins of his girth. 

Osferth was already trembling when she placed a kiss to the tip, her eyes watching his reaction and relishing in the flush that stained his sharp features, how he was unable to meet with her steady stare. He could feel the upwards pull of her lips, her one hand gripping his thigh for balance while the other wrapped around what she was unable to fit in her mouth; she now moved with a relentless pace that seemed spurred on by the soft sounds and prayers now pouring from his lips.  

“God be good,” as his pleasure built and reverberated throughout, returning to tightly coil in his lower abdomen, a pull towards the precipice of his release; he grew quiet as he teetered its edge. “Please,” he rasped when she suddenly pulled away.

The movement was too quick to follow, the billow of her silk skirts that settled around as she moved to straddle his lap. His hands moved to grab into the softness of her hips, a pitiful whine spilled when he felt the heat that bloomed between her thighs that now caged his against the mattress, her velvet folds against him when she rocked her hips along his length. 

“Please,” he repeated, he pleaded. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her sardonic titter a musical spill from her swollen lips as she pulled him close. “You are so pretty when you beg,” she breathed against him before she claimed his mouth.  

And Osferth awoke, again in his bed, alone and awaiting for dawn to break. His days repeated with him skirting to avoid her, his nights still swallowed with these iniquitous dreams that left him with an ache between his thighs, a coiled pain unyielding with its release night after night. 

“How much longer must we wait, lord?” Osferth felt tired, anguished, and his question could not help but sound like it came from a petulant child. 

Uhtred peered at him, aware of the ash color of his skin and the shadows that framed his sunken eyes. “The king should be here soon enough,” was all he could offer and the uncertainty pained Osferth.  

But soon enough came with the cries: “Wake up!”

There was the clamour of bloodshed outside, and Osferth was quick to grab his sword. They fought brilliantly, valiantly, just as the mouths of men would proclaim long after, just as what was expected of Lord Uhtred and his men. Osferth moved as if his weapon was an extension of himself, cutting through to defend until he felt a sharp pain in his side. 

The ground was cold where he fell, wet from the rain and from the blood that poured into the dirt around him. He could smell the iron, his fingers pawing to stop the bleeding, and it spilled sticky between his fingers. His vision blurred with black, death lingering on the edges as he was dragged within the city to where the healer resided. 

Time now came in clips of moments, the muffled pleas to save him and her velvet tones whispering back assurance, to trust him in her care. Osferth remained abed, weak from his fever that soaked the sheets, and she was diligent at his side, carrying the same serenity that washed over, something palpable that he reached for with shaky hands. 

When she took his hand, he whispered the plea of any man who faced with his mortality–I do not wish to die, his voice low, rasped against her knuckles.

Her touch was cool, bloodless, her fingers now resting on both sides of his face to cradle his jaw, her thumb absently stroking along the bone. “Are you certain?” she whispered.

“Please,” his vision still blurred by the death that crept closer. “Don’t let me die.”

And he tasted it, the coppery elixir, something thick on his lips that spilled down his throat as she cooed: “Then drink, my love. Drink.” 

Osferth did just that and he felt it begin to seep into his veins, burning with the rebirth. His skin tingled as it began to knit to repair itself, his heart a bruising pace against his ribs. Life flooded with its return, now brimming within him, and his vision cleared, his eyes glassy. 

He did not know how much time passed, but pushed to sit upright on his own, and his eyes fixated on her. She was sitting on the chair by the bedside, watching him as she wrapped a cloth around her wrist to staunch her bleeding. “How are you feeling, Osferth?” she almost hummed with a glimmer of a smile. 

He felt everything in that moment, like the world was brand new, thrumming around him with vivid tones, the gray receding, and he felt he should not keep up with its rate. “Alive,” was the word he decided on and he saw how her smile no longer hinted, but spread so enticingly across her full lips. 

And Osferth felt that dull ache return, his satisfaction never sated and had plagued him since they arrived. She smirked, all too aware of the black that swallowed the blue of his eyes, how they washed over her, unabashed, unafraid; his lust now pulsated in a way that was too bold to ignore, and he did not know if he reached for her, or if she closed the space between them, but was only aware of her silky touch like a cooling balm for the fire that was now in his veins. 

Her fingers combed through his hair until they rested at the base with a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back to look at him; his large palms moved to cup her face, bringing her flushed against his chest, her full lips to his mouth. 

His passion was in tandem with his tongue to taste her, his arm dropping to wrap around her waist and pulling her into a rhythmic motion, his hardness pressing against. She hummed against his lips, meeting his fervor as if she was trying to draw the breath from his lungs. 

Osferth felt his heart pumping blood throughout, the tightness in his slacks as he now pulled her back into the bed. He moved on top, melting against her, tearing away the fabric of her gown, his mouth following the womanly curves that had been haunting his dreams; he suckled, he bit, his tongue trailing towards her core, her laughter music to his ears.

To taste her essence was divine, and he moaned against the slick of her cunt. His tongue lave away until her plush thighs tightened around his head, anchoring him in place, her mewled cries for release and Osferth quickened his ministrations obediently, following to the ends of her peak, until she finally cried out. 

“Please,” and her tone laden with lust, “I need you, Osferth.” 

He fell into her, his face tucking into the curve of her neck, drunk from her sweet scent, his hand dipping between them to line himself with her entrance. He felt her nails bite into his shoulders as his head pressed against her silken folds, pulling him closer with each gentle thrust until he sheathed his length fully within. It was a shuddered satisfaction that trilled his spine, and then he paused, his breathing now becoming heavy and erratic, his frantic heart echoing his ribs, his breath now burning in his lungs. 

She was aware of something that Osferth was not privy to. “I need you to trust me,” she reached to hold his face in her hands, wrapping her thighs around his slender waist to hold him. “I need you to let me save you, Osferth.” 

Osferth was shaking until his teeth rattled within his skull, his arms stanced on both sides of her were trembling with the exertion. It was a high that was now plummeting him back into the earth to be buried and he could only shake his head in response, the black of death returning to blur the edges of his vision. 

Her thighs tightened, drawing him close against her chest, until her lips could press to his pulse and there was a sharp pinch. Osferth cried out and she held him close with the wet whisper in his ear, her repeated mantra from his dreams: “Let me. Let me.” 

It spread like wildfire, ravenous, pressing against his seams and drawing his attention to how he rested in the cradle of her hips, how she canted upwards with a rocking motion, the pulsing flutter of her velvet walls that he was still buried in. Osferth gasped, but no air came, and he began a slow rut to meet with her motion; when she fell back, he saw the enticing gleam of crimson on her lips. 

It called to him and when he felt her kiss, it was as if he was cleaved in two, splintered by the bittersweet taste that was both delicious and felt forbidden by the scriptures, but his tongue still moved against his volition to lick her clean, curling against the roof of her mouth. He drank her moans, a now merciless rhythm of his hips, and when her fingers trailed towards the bloom of nerves above, there was a flash of white; her cunt clenching, coaxing his peak, her own soft gasps with her completion.  

Osferth fell against her, his head nestled against the softness of her chest, taking a moment to appreciate how she molded to him, how her fingers trailed the length of his spine and back; but it dawned on him. 

There was no gentle lull of her breath, no rise and fall of her breasts. His stomach clenched, his mind fluttering to tales of the undying that walked in Rome and how they drained blood from men to continue their cursed existence in the world. 

He pulled back to look at her and she was already staring back, that amber fire abated, now black that bore through to his bones beneath. And when she smiled at him, he saw the remnants of his blood staining her lips and her teeth. 

He felt sick, crippled by the sight, and at the same time… he had never felt more alive, more astutely aware of every sound, every movement within his proximity. But above that, his mortification remained rooted. 

“You have damned me,” Osferth stated, something as sure as the stars that would rise against the dark night sky outside. 

She only chuckled and its sound was something sweet, something villainous. When her hand reached again to comb through his sandy locks, he then noticed how her touch lost its coolness from before, but now matched with the new temperature of his body. 

“My sweet boy,” she purred. “You told me once before that you were already damned.”

Her limbs shifted to knit with his own, until they were curled bare into one another, moving to rest her head against his chest that no longer needed to rise and fall with his breath. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire

arcie's masterlist

[arcielee]

Hi, this is foolish — but I LOVE YOU, you are an absolute gem! 😋🧁💘✨⭐️

Chris, I am screaming. I fucking love you and this edit 💜

[assortedseaglass]

Me just looking and admiring your blog update.💜

@myfandomprompts made a bloody brilliant banner of Tom and Billy

+ you know what an icon change means. Osferth writing is in session!

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Now the bubble be peering and grinning.

HEL💜✨

please doesn’t it look so inviting?!

[iris-sistibly]

The Targ Talk: House of the Dragon S2

I'm late for the party because I took a break from writing QOT fanfics, but here I am.

Episode 1 commentary:

I do appreciate the whole tapestry thing that tells the history of the Targaryen dynasty (mostly focusing on the dance, duh), but I still prefer the opening in season 1.

Rhaenys refusing to follow Daemon's order is badass ngl. Like I said, Daemon is my favorite bitch but if I have to choose between him and Rhaenys, I'd take the latter's side. Daemon is the "strike the iron while it's hot" kind of person, but the moment the Greens learned about Lucerys' demise they have been on high alert in case of any attacks from the Blacks so...it was a bad idea to attack King's Landing just like that.

I think we can all agree that Emma D' Arcy did an amazing job at showing Rhaenyra's grief. The unkempt hair, the dirt on her face and body, basically being not being able to care for herself (and she doesn't care), very image of a mother who just lost another child was nailed to perfection. The scene where the queen found the remains of Luke and Arrax was just heartbreaking.

Speaking of nailing a scene, I am also impressed at Phia Saban. I know a lot of people were confused at how Helaena decided to give up her son after her failed attempt to bribe Blood and Cheese. Actually it was much worse in the book, but it still ended up with Jaehaerys' death. I do agree with what others said that Helaena had to choose or all of them will die. If she sacrificed herself, they would still have killed both kids, if she chose to give up Jaehaera, the result would STILL be the same. The fear, desperation, confusion and trauma of Helaena was delivered so well by Phia.

I also read some comments saying that Helaena foresaw her son's death, and whatever she does she couldn't stop it hence she did what she did.

However, I do agree that the Blood and Cheese scene which was supposedly the highlight of the episode felt a bit...underwhelming. I mean, if you really think about it, it's horrible but I was expecting it to be at the same level or at least close to the book kind of horrifying. Though idk why they excluded Maelor's character, and I don't even know if Daeron is going to exist in the show either.

I have a confession to make, I kinda like Aegon in this episode. I was expecting him to be a lazy bastard or a Joffrey Baratheon kind of "king" but at least he's trying. But as I'm writing this, I realized that he's just another pawn of Otto's (just like his mother). Having Aegon as king would give him control over the kingdom, he cannot be king and being the hand of Viserys, and now Aegon II is the closest he could get to the iron throne, that's why the greedy bitch did everything he can--use his daughter and have her marry to Viserys despite her young age and trying to convince Vizzy to marry Aegon to Rhaenyra. Dude has been planning it for years. When Alicent voiced out her concern about being undermined by her father at the small council I was like, babes you're a pawn in this game, that's all you are and I hate that the showrunners made her this way. Again, she was a player in the book and I prefer that version of her.

Criston Cole bitching about Rhaenyra choosing the crown over oranges, and refusing to be her whore but still ended up being a boy toy of another queen will never not be funny.

Oh, and after spending some time reading Helaegon fanfics, I kinda ship them now too 🤣🤣