#but still you must understand my reasoning here

[morealias]

""lying is wrong" what evangelical nonsense is this???"

It's not evangelical. It's parental and societal. If you cannot be trusted to speak truthfully, you cannot be trusted to speak truthfully.

Children (in general) do not have the capacity for complex moral codes. Something is either wrong, or it is right for young children. As children grow up they will encounter instances where adults lie, hopefully they'll have a discussion with their parents that leads a more nuanced moral code, a greater understanding of where flexibility of speech and being truthful intersects.

I posit that it is never "good" to lie. It can be morally neutral in totality of the act. Deceiving someone can serve the Greater Good - "but whose greater good?" is always the question to ask here.

Lying is never a 'good' thing, however, if it serves a good purpose, a necessary purpose (survival), do not hesitate. To anyone saying "But that's good!" No, lying is never good. Ask yourself, which is better, to live in a world where you never have to lie, or to live in one where you must? If that doesn't show you that lying is not "good" but rather is necessary to avoid worse outcomes, then I cannot help you.

"sometimes it accomplishes a goal"

If you are lying it should always be in service of a goal. If you're lying just to lie… that is wrong.

If you're lying when it's meaningless to test your ability to lie, that is in service of a goal, "testing to see if I can lie".

"sometimes the truth is nobody's business, or is tricky to articulate, or you don't know what the truth is but are expected to have an answer regardless."

Then just say that. "It's none of your business", "that's hard to put into words/it's complicated, give me [TIME UNITS] to figure out how best/simply to say it", "I don't know, but I can find out for you".

If you don't feel safe speaking the actual truth, then of course lie.

"However, it is also still a useful social tool, and of course it’s part of the tool kit that you used to create stories. If you can’t lie, how can you write or tell a good story?"

I put forth that storytelling* is not lying. You are not decieving someone else, you are sharing a fiction. Maybe this is some small autistic line I refuse to cross or some weird ethical flexibility that serves me, but it's my line and my flexibility. Maybe it's even my lie. * By which I mean you and your audience understand your just 'telling a story". There may be truth in it, but the story is a story, facts are changed, obscured, elements of the story are whole cloth, if not all of it. This is the understanding between storyteller and audience. If the audience isn't made aware of this†, at least at someone point, it is lying and likely dangerous.

† See 1938 War of the Worlds radio broadcast. Yes the public was made aware of the broadcast just being a story, and thankfully no one lost thier life over it, but the radio station apologized for good reason. The panic was also not anywhere near as widespread or as terrible as the news media reporting on it made it out to be, or as CBS or ORson Wells played it up to enhance their legend.

A lesson for modern times about how the news sensationalizes things eh?

"Which is kind of a dark art."

Manipulating people into believing something that "never happened", something that is not true, is not "kind of a dark art", it is completely dark. Even if it's for the Greater Good.

"lying is wrong" what evangelical nonsense is this???

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Wrapping-up the loose ends of “Elrond = Sauron” in 2x07 tent scene theory

My followers know I’m the captain of the “it was Sauron, and not Elrond” in the tent scene with Adar, in 2x07, and he’s the one who kissed Galadriel theory. And while I’ve made several posts about it, already, there are still a few loose ends to this theory.

Other posts on the subject: Megathread “Elrond = Sauron” in 2x07 (Part 1 and Part 2); Melian mentioned (here), recognition between Adar and Sauron (here), and the connection between Sauron and Elrond in Season 2 (here).

Why did Elrond lose the cape when he’s returning to Lindon? 

Was it to “look cool”? Acknowledging this in a show with so many plots going on and limited screen-time can’t be random. Why show the audience this when they could spent those minutes fleshing out other plots? 

When he arrives at Eregion, in 2x07 (+ meeting with Prince Durin) he’s wearing a different cape and pin, obviously. Because those were lost. 

And the show told us, in 2x07 and via Elrond himself, that Sauron is keeping an eye on the roads from Lindon to Eregion: There is evil in those hills. Ancient, and filled with malice. Sauron means for us to go that way. We must go another. The Enemy is doubtless watching both roads.

This can indicate that Sauron retrieved Elrond’s cape and pin (instead of my initial thought of him taking them from the place Galadriel was taken by Adar, in 2x04).

In the tent scene, "Elrond" is also wearing his cape in a different way to his usual self (including from his previous scenes in the episode, in his scene with Durin and when he arrives at Eregion):

The shoulder pleated detail on “Elrond” cape in the tent scene with Adar is something we never saw on Elrond’s character. He usually wears his capes in a different style.

We saw, however, this type of pleated in another character, back in Season 1. Can this be a nod to that?

What’s the deal with Adar and Galadriel?

Elrond arrives at Lindon in the same episode “the body” carrying the message from Adar shows up at Eregion gates. And it clearly didn’t say “where is he?”. Because Adar knows Sauron is there, and that’s not the reason why Sauron gets so distressed, because he’s the one who told Adar that “Sauron” is at Eregion, in the first place.

He’s also the one who told Adar that Galadriel is Sauron’s ally, back in 2x01: Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out a new ally. An ancient sorcerer, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon. One you first told her about. A power over flesh.

But judging by Sauron’s reaction to "the body", this was a seed he didn’t intent to plant on Adar's mind:

And this could explain why he was in such a hurry for the body to be buried and shown to no one else. Because someone might know how to read Black speech (we saw Galadriel understanding it back in Season 1, when she was with Elendil at the Hall of Lore of Númenor, and unravel the founding of Mordor plan) or whatever language it was. The body most likely said Adar has taken Galadriel as captive. And this makes sense, if he thinks she’s Sauron’s ally.

Which can explain why Adar was so distrusting of Galadriel, in the same episode. Adar wanted Galadriel to confirm "Halbrand is Sauron", but also to understand the depth of their connection. Because he saw them fighting together in 1x06, and Sauron "confirmed" they are allies. The “wine and dine scene” was probably a trap from Adar’s part, and it was never his intention to actually make an alliance with her, in the first place (or he was “testing the waters” on that one).

She mentioned Nenya (which he can use for his goal) and who carries it, but Adar, most likely, realized that Galadriel is in love with Sauron, too (I won’t waste time here on the Halbrand vs. Sauron discourse, because I already wrote a post about it). And he wants to use her as bait in the next episode, to lure Sauron out of Eregion. Because there’s no way, this corrupted elf, thousands of years old, fall for that “he promised me an army” lie.

Only it's Elrond that shows up. Or... is it not?

The showrunners have confirmed they are doing a Galadriel/Frodo parallel in “Rings of Power”. And in Season 2, Adar is paralleling Gollum. And, so, the tent scene is meant to parallel Gollum’s trap with Shelob; when he betrays Frodo to an agent of Sauron by setting up a trap. And both of these scenes have some “kissing” involved: in the film adaptation, Shelob licks Frodo’s face (to paralyze him), and “Elrond” kisses Galadriel.

Only in “Rings of Power” this agent of Sauron is “Elrond”. But Elrond is already paralleling Sam in the show. What's most likely happening here is that they are “killing two birds with one stone”, by having Sauron shapeshifting into Elrond (the agent of Sauron is himself), but also emulating Sam by providing Galadriel/Frodo with a means to escape (pin/Phial of Galadriel and Sting).

 

What's the deal with this shot?

Is this only to symbolize Light vs. Dark, as I’ve seen getting thrown around? But that explanation doesn’t exactly make sense because the “Dark” is Sauron, and Adar isn’t on Sauron’s side, at all. Adar’s entire character arc is Season 2 it’s precisely his rebellion and vow to destroy Sauron once and for all.

I would argue the “light vs. shadow” aesthetic is not the explanation for this choice, and there’s something else at work here. Mostly because we have Adar saying this in the tent scene:

Eregion has fallen into shadow. It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls.

You are all familiar with “shadow of Morgoth” (it’s been mentioned by Celebrimbor in 2x08), and now I’m introducing you to the concept of the “shadow of Sauron” in “The Return of the King” book, when Sauron's spirit rose above Mordor like a black cloud, and stretched out his hand towards the army of the West:

And as the Captain gazed south to the Land of Mordor, it seemed to them that, black against the pall of cloud, there rose a huge shape of shadow, impenetrable, lightning-crowned, filling all the sky. Enormous it reared above the world, and stretched out towards them a vast threatening hand, terrible but impotent.

Why Vorohil of all characters?

We know Elrond is the commander of the Elven army, and Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, is also there for the battle. We also see Rian (the she-elf that sacrifices herself later on). But Vorohil is nowhere to be seen when the Elven army arrives at Eregion: he’s not by Elrond’s side nor is he in the “charging scene” at the Orc army:

Where did he come from? And why would Elrond choose him, out of all characters, to accompany him to a negotiation with Adar?

Vorohil is a mere soldier; he’s described as “an Elven swordsman who joins Elrond's band of warrior-elves”. Why not bring another commander or high-rank soldier, or even Gil-galad himself, to a key meeting that could mean the end of the battle before it began?

Something, something about Saurons connection with fire, because Adar’s tent was lit during this scene.

Then we have the fact that “Elrond” conveniently sends him away at the end of the meeting. But what’s ever stranger is: how come Vorohil didn’t know Elrond went to Khazad-dûm and met with Prince Durin before this scene!? How didn’t he know his commander went to another location before the battle begun?

And when Vorohil returns at the end of the episode, to warn Elrond the Dwarves aren’t coming to help, he’s also conveniently mortally wounded with arrows, and dies. (I guess Sauron has been practicing for his torture of Celebrimbor in the next episode?).

Why didn’t the battle stop for Elrond meeting with Adar?

Once “Elrond” returns from Orc camp, there’s a full-on battle happening at the walls of Eregion, far from the camp. Which seems to contradict the point of the meeting itself. Wasn’t this suppose to be a meeting to discuss terms or even a hypothetical truce between the two armies?

Because this is Adar’s offer to Elrond: give me Nenya, take your army back to Lindon, and let me deal with Sauron myself, because you can’t beat me nor save Eregion.

And yet, the battle is already on? Why are the armies fighting each other when their commanders are meeting to discuss terms at Orc camp? This doesn’t make any sense. Unless the “commander” in the tent with Adar isn’t Elrond, at all. And the real Elrond is engaging in battle elsewhere.

Why is Elrond mourning the white horse?

It’s because Elves value all living beings and nature and stuff? Could be, except we haven’t see Elrond associated with horses in “Rings of Power”, have we? Sure, he rides a horse as a means of transportation (like most characters), but he’s not symbolically associated with them. So this scene comes out of nowhere.

There is, however, another character that’s very associated with horses (particularly white), ever since Season 1: Galadriel

And this symbolism (Galadriel = white horse) is already associated with another character, ever since Season 1, too:

Sauron's illusion in 2x06: [children laughing] “It’s a horse!”

The white horse was killed by an Orc, and he licked the blade with the blood. This enraged “Elrond” so much he goes on a murder spree and kills this Orc in a very over the top way: by catapulting him into Eregion’s walls.

We already saw the “white horse Galadriel” being bled in this episode:

Adar just threatened to parade Galadriel’s head on a pike in the tent scene. And “Elrond” snaps, and does this:

Why is Elrond catapulting stones into Eregion walls? Isn’t that against his entire goal of protecting these very walls? Why he’s causing further damage to it? Because he’s not Elrond, at all.

Yes, “this Elrond” was still Sauron, and this was hinted by the show itself:

Why do Elrond, Galadriel and Sauron have the same face wound?

I already talked about this in another post (concerning Morgoth’s crown wound, and its consequences), but I think this is, yet, another clue to it was Sauron, and not Elrond in the tent scene with Adar, in 2x07. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

How did Elrond get his own scar? Either in the midst of the battle, or the same way as Galadriel: we know, for a fact, Sauron didn’t cut her face in their fight scene in 2x08, the wound “magically” appears on her face after she cuts his face (and it can’t be a error of editing when three characters have the same wound).

Why does Galadriel face scar looks off?

At the end of 2x08, Galadriel “magical” face wound is still a visible on her face, even after her healing. Only, it looks kind of strange now, because it looks like a burn mark, and not a cut.

You are all, probably, familiar with the "Eye of Sauron", but that's not the only thing he's (in)famous for in Tolkien legendarium, and I'm talking about the Black Hand of Sauron, of course. I already did a post about this theme, and how "Rings of Power" is giving us a whole of focus on Sauron's hands and touch.

Even stone cannot hide the mark of one whose very hand is flame unquenched. He was here. Sauron was here. (Galadriel; 1x01)

In “Fellowship of Ring” book we have a description of this, by the account of Isildur, when he cut the One Ring from Sauron’s hand:

The heat of Sauron’s hand, which was black and yet burned like fire.

Spoiler alert, one major character will die due to Sauron’s touch in the Siege of Barad-dûr, during the War of the Last Alliance (Season 5).

And “Rings of Power” has already gave us a description of Sauron’s true form, via Mirdania, in 2x04:

It was tall and its skin was made of flames, it came towards me, breathing, reeking of death. And I saw-- I I saw its eyes pitiless and eternal. I think it's been here I think it's been here among us all along..

Now, you are probably confused as to “why” and “how” would Sauron be able to burn Galadriel, when he has touched her face in the past (1x08).

He did it in her presence and in his own physical form. Sauron is using his powers here, and tapping into the Unseen word, too, where his true form exists. Elrond is not his physical form, obviously. So that’s probably the reason for this burn mark. Why not the lips, too? Well, it’s the “black hand of Sauron”, not the “black lips of Sauron”.

[vole-mon-amour]

2x02, part 2.

the way Sevika is STILL loyal to Silco, even though he's dead and she doesn't have to. i saw some spoilers, but I'll say this as if I haven't: the way she doesn't like Jinx, never did, but tried to help Silco understand Jinx being upset and how she'll get around. she's loyal to Silco, therefore she's loyal to Jinx.

gosh, I love Sevika. she truly is trying her best to fill Silco's place. she was his loyal guard dog for a damn good reason.

her expressions!! let's go, Sevika, let's go. the animation is so good. it's so subtle, so smooth, you gotta pay attention to the frames.

there's something so special about both Sevika and Jinx still hanging out at Silco's office, and both Sevika and Jinx talking to Silco. i'm pretty sure Sevika didn't know that Jinx is there, so she spoke out loud, but she knew where to aim WITHOUT HURTING JINX (!!) because Jinx hang up there often enough for Sevika to remember.

listen, I have 4 favourite characters in this series and that always was the case: Silco, Jinx, Sevika, VIktor. i love them with all my heart. Sevika was always such a great character & she deserves way more love.

poetic cinema.

just shows how truly important he was, what a strong grip he had on Zaun.

i like how when Sevika throws a piece of furtinure in her outburst, Jinx doesn't even BLINK, not to mention flinch. the way they are connected to Silco and how well they truly fit (for the lack of a better word) him.

the little scowl. babygirl, i love you so much.

baby girl. baby. this is such a cool little representation of how their process looks before they draw frame by frame/animate the thing to look smooth.

i hope Jinx kicks their asses. the fact that she's coughing but she can STILL breathe in this, just like Silco did when others couldn't. take off your masks, assholes, let's see how you can handle this gas.

honestly, Vi, this is such a dirty move. you never wanted to accept that Powder was always Jinx and Jinx was always Powder. Silco loved Jinx. you? maybe, in your own way, but maybe, mostly, the idea of your little sister? because Silco would NEVER do this. he accepted Jinx for who she always was and is. if he didn't, he wouldn't allow her all those things that got him in trouble and never wouldn't give her all the materials and all the playground that she wanted.

the coughing, crying, screaming fit. i'm so :_; for her.

"Baby Blue. Right through their fingers. You must be part eel."

And you must be a whole piece of shit, beating Jinx with such hatred for all those years you couldn't bring hard to her because of Silco.

i just want to hug her and hold her tight. she's the best girl ever.

LET'S GO, THE TWO CLOSEST PEOPLE TO SILCO EVER. LET'S GOOO.

i LOVE that Sevika tried to use Jinx's gun, but Junx fixed Sevika's arm, so they exchanged the weapons. Sevika managed not to only throw Jinx her gun, but managed to catch the arm. i also love that Jinx can shoot that gun without even looking. this is a symbiotic relationship that i currently ADORE.

i'm in love with this. <3

this is adorable and made me smile so much.

the smirk. the music. the babiest baby of all babies (the baddest bitches ever).

i'm pretty sure Sevika will hate the adjustments that Jinx made to her arm but hey. it's a free fix :D it's almost 2 am and here i am, smiling. i love this show so much. i didn't know i could have so much fun with it without Silco. it's a new vibe completely.

this is BADASS.

there are SO many expressions in this little scene, i couldn't possibly fit it into this post. yeah, i'm completely in love with this so far.

babygirl, please, i am begging you, destroy Vi. Silco aka her family is gone, Vi is being an asshole to her, so she's ready, more or less. let's fucking GO.

love seeing Jinx and Sevika communicating. love the "you've got that look in your eye again, what are you planning?" which simply shows you how well she knows Jinx.

also,

"i haven't asked you for this" "it was something I could fix."

aka it was no trouble for her. she loves the mechanical stuff. she does it with ease. Sevika's strong side is the brains and brutal force, so they work well together.

[lucrezianoin]

All Bellara and Davrin Dalish banter transcribed

I wrote a summary of all of Davrin's Dalish info from banter that is hard to get in game, hopefully I did not miss any. The video of Bellara and Davrin banters is here.

This is the transcription:

Bellara: Do you ever go back and see your clan, Davrin? Davrin: Not since I left the forest. Bellara: So you don't see family or friends? Davrin: No. Been a long time. Bellara: Does that bother you? Davrin: I'm the one who left. That's on me. Bellara: You must miss them. Davrin: It comes and goes. Different part of my life.

Bellara: So you're a Warden now. But you're also Dalish, right? Or at least, you were? Davrin: I'll always be Dalish. That'll never change. The sight of an aravel still brings back memories. Bellara: Good ones? Davrin: Some. Racing them through the forest as fast as the wind would take us. Bellara: I loved doing that. Davrin: And breaking my arm when our aravel sailed off a ridge. Bellara: I loved that too. Good times.

Bellara: Do you ever regret leaving your clan, Davrin? Davrin: I don't regret the life I've lived, joining the Wardens. The things I've seen and done. Bellara: There's a "but" in there. Davrin: But… sometimes I wish I could've done both. Bellara: Not much room for that. Davrin: No, you're part of the clan, giving yourself over to it, or you're not. I made my choice.

Davrin: The thing about being Dalish - I needed to see the rest of the world to understand why the Dalish part of it was special. Bellara: In what way? Davrin: I didn't appreciate my life at the time. How could I? A clan sticks to itself and you stick to the clan. Davrin: Not much room for seeing what's outside it. Bellara: Right. I get that.

Bellara: When I was little. Very little, I mean. We'd pass through towns and villages. I always wondered: What's that like? To settle down. To stop moving all the time. Davrin: Right? Have a house to call your own. Shop at the market instead of foraging for food. Davrin: Make friends with outsiders. Bellara: But you got that chance. You did it. How was it? Davrin: It was… different.

Bellara: So how different was life outside your clan? Davrin: I started to see what I took for granted. I missed the food. Bellara: They didn't have any where you went? Davrin: Dalish food. You don't appreciate halla milk 'til you don't have any. Butter too. Nothing like it in Thedas. Bellara: What about the people? Davrin: I missed the sense of a common purpose. A clan acting as one. Everywhere else, people were in it for themselves. Davrin: It's a reason I joined the Grey Wardens. Guess I needed that purpose again. The shared fight.

Bellara: I can't even read some of these books. I wonder what they say? Davrin: Do we really want to know? Bellara: Sure, the world can always use more knowledge about - Davrin: No, I mean you and I. Do the Dalish need any more rocks in our history being turned over? Bellara: Feels like we're a little late on that one.

[3584-tropical-fish]

@xenoliith thank you for asking and giving me an excuse to ramble more about this topic! Fair warning that this will probably go on several tangents

Also disclaimer that I am approaching this from a geology standpoint, as opposed to a hydrology or biology or any other standpoint, but also that all scientific fields are interconnected and to understand one you must have a grasp on all others! And also I am not yet an expert on this. We’re working on it though

Under the cut because this got. long.

Okay, so! Firstly: what classifies as a tidal river? I wasn’t actually certain on this, so I’m going to work with the definition provided by Wikipedia:

So a tidal river must be affected by the tides, and while it is not necessary for the salinity to be higher than your average freshwater river, having a higher salinity does add credence to any “tidal river” classification.

Let’s consider salinity first, because that’s something I have more of a grasp on. The average salinity of our oceans is 35ppt (parts per thousand), or 3.5%. For water to be classified as brackish (which is what you’d probably expect in a non-freshwater tidal river), the salinity must be within the 0.5-30ppt range, and anything less than that makes the body of water fresh. We know that the White Gull river — especially in its lower reaches but even further up river — hosts a variety of organisms that you’d typically see in an estuary (delta) environment, like crabs, shrimp, limpets, oysters, and barnacles, all of which are adapted for varying levels of salinity, but usually waters that fall into the brackish range. So I do think it’s safe to say that the white gull is a brackish river, perhaps not all the way to its headwaters but certainly incredibly — and unnaturally — far upstream (and, judging by this post, that’s what’s happening here. The Trawler-man and his angels are a pollutant that is increasing the salinity of the river, and making it act in ways it shouldn’t. Which I think is very important to keep in mind! As scientific as I want to be, there is still Weird Shit going on).

As for the tidal setting, I’m going to be referencing these three types:

As defined in the Wikipedia page from earlier, these different environments all have different tidal ranges (meaning: the distance between low tide and high tide, on average (since these fluctuate throughout the year)). We don’t know the measurable tidal range of the White Gull, so we’re going to have to reverse engineer that based on what we know about the environment. And, honestly? I think it’s a macrotidal environment. There is no mention of barrier islands, which may just be because no one mentioned them even if they are there, but if no one mentioned them, then I can’t prove that they exist. Macrotidal environments also result in large estuaries, wide tidal flats, and marshlands, which is fitting for the White Gull!

So what does this mean for the river as whole? How far do the tides reach upstream? Let’s consider that currently, the Chesapeake Bay’s tidal range is ~1m, meaning it has a much smaller tidal range than the white gull likely has, and making it microtidal.

Fun fact that I learned recently: the same tides that impact the Chesapeake Bay can also be seen in upstate New York. Now, those tides are nothing massive, they’re like. A millimeter. But my point is that tides affect most bodies of water, even by a little bit. And if the White Gull is macrotidal, it has ranges of >4m, which could probably reach and significantly impact a large portion of the river. How much exactly I can’t say, because I don’t know how long this river is, but I feel like it’s safe to say that they reach pretty far upriver. And considering how much they talk about the tides in the Parish? Undoubtedly this is a tidal river, even if the reason it’s a tidal river is Weird God Shit.

So to actually answer your question — I don’t think velocity matters! For one, it isn’t involved in the classification of tidal rivers, and for another, this was an outlying event; the river doesn’t usually move this fast. Which leads me into my tangential point about the discharge rate of this river!

So, I’m going to work in theoreticals, because we don’t have the data to determine the exact discharge rate (meaning: how much water passes through the river channel, in meters cubed per second) of this river. What we do know is velocity, that Q = uA (or, discharge equals flow velocity times cross-sectional area of the channel), and the continuity principle (that the discharge at the beginning of a channel must be the same as the discharge at the end (Qsub1 must equal Qsub2)

Up at the headwaters of the white gull, the river is shallow enough for Carpenter to walk in it, and is presumably not very wide. We can assume that, like most rivers, the river widens and deepens as you go downstream, and we know that eventually it widens into a delta. So, from the aquifer to the delta, there is a net increase in A. In order for Q to remain the same, that means u must decrease. This means that even though the river is moving very fast near the Grand Aquifer, by the time the floodwaters reach the lower delta and, eventually, the ocean, the velocity would have decreased significantly, depositing silt and clay all throughout the delta and overall appearing much calmer, and more easily influenced by flood tides (since, if there’s less energy pushing out into the sea, it will be easier for energy from the tides to push in and upriver).

This is true at all times, but as I said, this was a unique flooding event. Base flow (or, the discharge of the river on your typical day, when it’s not impacted by flooding) would be significantly less, and the river would overall flow much slower.

I don't really know how to conclude this, but I suppose I might as well go all in and propose my theory as to the general ecology and behavior of the White Gull River, because dear god have I thought way too much about it in order to write this. So, to start:

The White Gull starts high up in some mountainous/hilly terrain. There are likely several smaller tributaries that all lead into it, and they're all probably very small streams. Since they're in the mountains, they have steep slopes and very turbulent flows; they move fast and dredge up a lot of sediment, which they transport downstream.

When we get down into the flatlands, the river has the space to widen out and, importantly, meander. Hayward makes a joke about oxbow lakes, and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a river that had meandered enough to create a couple! This is also where Jon Ware's comment in the season 1 q&a about the Trawler-man's two mouths being a joke about cut banks and point bars comes into play: As the river meanders, it flings the water around bends, which increases the velocity and causes it to weather away more sediment. It deposits that sediment on the point bars, where the flow is slower.

Out here, the river is wide and deep, and it flows slowly. It's depositing all the sediment that it weathered away in the mountains and at the cut banks, and we're probably getting a fair amount of wetland formation as this sediment is deposited. Think early season 1, Marcel's Crossing and Roake's bungalow and the marshland Carpenter and Faulkner start in would probably all exist around this portion of the river.

At some point, we hit the Saint's Dam, which dramatically slows the flow velocity, causing a lot of sediment to be deposited behind the dam, which in the future may cause it to fail! If anyone in this universe cared enough, someone should probably be keeping an eye on that! On the other side of the dam, there's undoubtedly an increase in velocity because a lot of water is rushing through smaller apertures in the dam. This dredges up a lot more sediment, which is carried downstream, and eventually to the delta.

The delta is where all the fun stuff happens (I love estuaries so much, and this is it). The river widens out, slows down, and deposits a LOT of sand and silt and clay, which provides nutrients for the plants and animals living there. Also impacting the delta is a massive tidal range, so the marshes that are forming are dealing with a lot of saltwater incursion, sediment deposits from the ocean which are brought in by flood tides, and the expectation that there will be large swathes of land that are sometimes covered by brackish water, and sometimes not. This is the environment that the Trawler-man thrives in, this is where the crabs and the barnacles and the oysters thrive, and this is where Carpenter grew up.

From here, there's nowhere else to go but out to sea. Any sediment that wasn't yet deposited in the marshes is flung out into the ocean, where it will likely take a very long time to settle out (it's only clay by this point, and is incredibly small so would have a very long settling time). You may have some tidal flats forming at the very far end of the delta, and maybe there are plovers that live there. Maybe worms and more crabs burrowing into the earth, here accustomed to mostly saltwater.

And I think that's all I have to ramble about. I forgot that I really love river environments and the geology that leads to them and the animals that live in them, but hopefully you enjoyed my tangent :)

Not that anyone asked but looking at a.) the fact that Carpenter says that it’s clay being torn from the riverbank by the floodwaters of the White Gull and b.) The Hjulström Curve:

We can determine that the flow velocity of the White Gull River in TSV45 was approximately 150-300 cm/s.

What does this mean? Absolutely nothing, I’m going to be so honest. I just find this amusing

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Four)

Summary: “I wonder what color your eyes were…” Ghost wanted to tell her they were brown like hers, but darker. Hers were the type that shone golden in the light, like nutty chocolate and a perfectly brewed cuppa. His were the color of pitch, of the damp, overturned earth of a fresh grave. Fitting, for a man like him. For a monster like him. Word Count: 3176 Warnings: still no smut, triple asterisk denotes a POV change as usual Notes: Happy birthday @kaya-nets ! Here is a surprise midweek update as a little gift, and a thank you for being the first person on tumblr to leave feedback on Dove! It is greatly appreciated, especially since I had a hard today. I hope you had a great birthday! AO3, Masterlist

“It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ghost was sure no word had ever sounded so beautiful. To hear someone calling him by his name again, after all this time, was… he had no words to describe it. If he were religious, he might’ve called it a come-to-God moment. But his dog tags said No Preference for a reason, and that reason was that Ghost had stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago.

As he looked at his little dove, holding his tags and giving him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, he thought that maybe he’d finally found one he’d happily worship.

He groaned softly, trying to say hello back, and then gestured at her, cocking his head to the side in question.

“What is it?” She asked. He pointed at his dog tags again, then at her once more. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and he grunted, like that would help her understand what he was asking. Maybe it did, or maybe she just remembered how first meetings were typically supposed to go, because her brows went up this time and her pink lips parted, a rosy blush darkening her cheeks. “Oh! Oh, my name, of course. I’m Lelia Par—Addams. Lelia Addams.”

Ghost caught the slip, and the mix of panic and sadness that flashed through her eyes at it. He couldn’t exactly press even if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He had no desire to see his dove upset.

He tried to say her name, despite knowing it was useless. But it was just so pretty. Lelia. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

That was one of Johnny’s favorite chat up lines, Simon’s voice in his head said distantly, sounding both exasperated and wistful. Ghost ignored it. He didn't know who Johnny was and no amount of trying to force his ruined mind to cough up the memory of him would work. But staying in his dove’s presence, might. She was the reason he’d remembered the name at all.

“Thank you for saving me, by the way,” Lelia said a moment later, handing him his dog tags back. She still looked faintly embarrassed. “Both times… I— I would be dead without you. I suppose not all soldiers are bad…”

Ghost knew that if she were aware of all he’d done, both before and after he’d turned, she wouldn’t think so highly of him. Nonetheless, he would very much have liked to find whichever soldiers made Lelia decide she was better off out here on her own, instead of back on a base, safe and warm and fed. He thought about the way her eyes had looked broken and glassy as she’d spoken about the place she’d come from, and how she’d insisted she’d rather be ripped apart than go back, not a trace of exaggeration in her voice. Whatever had happened to her there must have been hellish.

Ghost wanted to move forward to comfort her, but he’d seen the way she’d gagged and grimaced when he got close to retrieve his tags, slipping them over his head once more. He knew that he smelled something awful, that he always would no matter what he did, but he would at least try to clean himself, for her sake. She couldn’t afford to lose the little food she’d eaten.

There was a stream not far from here, he’d been near it yesterday before he’d decided to investigate all the noise. And he was fast, faster than he had been when he was human. He could be there and back in half an hour, tops.

Lelia, on the other hand, barely looked like she could make it to the front door.

He was incredibly reluctant to let her out of his sight for any length of time. Even just going around to the back of the cabin to dispose of the body earlier had made him twitchy. And if it was just a matter of his smell, he’d wait until tomorrow, when she was rested enough to make the trip with him. But it wasn’t. He could see just how dehydrated she was—chapped lips, dry skin, a constant tremor in her hands… she needed clean drinking water, now. And if he could get some from the stream for her to boil, she would be set.

He would have barricaded the door for extra protection, but it opened outwards rather than in. Shoddy installation job if he’d ever seen one. So instead, he pointed at her, and then at the bedroom. He awkwardly put his hands under his ear and then closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He bumped his broken jaw as he did, and his teeth clacked against each other loudly.

He heard a little giggle, soft and high pitched. He opened his cloudy eyes to see his dove watching him, a pretty smile on her cherubic face. Her laugh was beautiful, pure and sweet. It was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. The sunken skin around his eyes crinkled a little bit, the only evidence of his smile.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go take a nap,” Lelia said, still giggling, as she headed for the bedroom. She disappeared inside, the door closing behind her. He waited until he heard her heartbeat slow and her breaths grow steady, and then he quietly moved the couch in front of it, blocking her in. He didn't want to risk her waking up, finding him gone, and getting herself killed while looking for him. If she decided to look for him. She might not—just because she asked his name and gave him a sweet smile didn’t mean she cared about him, the undead soldier who’d inserted himself into her life and wouldn’t leave her alone. That was alright, though. Ghost was so starved for human interaction that he’d take whatever he could get. And hearing his name from her lips was more than he’d ever expected.

Even if it was less than what he wanted.

With his dove secure, he left the cabin, making sure he didn't hear anyone nearby. There were a few infected a ways away, but if she stayed put—which he’d made sure she would—they wouldn't smell her. He was more worried about other people, but he couldn’t smell or hear anyone within range, so he felt comfortable enough to leave. Barely. He grabbed the large, rusted pail he’d noticed behind the cabin where he’d dumped the other zombie’s body, and then he was off.

-*-

When Ghost saw his reflection in the stream, he understood why Lelia had been so terrified to wake up and see his face first thing.

He’d known he looked bad, he wasn't an idiot. Just because his eyes were clouded didn't mean his vision was. He could see how disgusting the other zombies looked, and he figured he looked much the same.

None of that had prepared him for actually seeing himself.

Blood and gore covered every inch of him, bits of flesh stuck between his teeth and blackened gums—his teeth, which were permanently bared in a snarl, because his lips had rotted away.

That was the most horrifying part, he thought. Not the grey, sunken skin, the milky eyes, or all the gore and viscera. It was that his lips were gone, and he couldn’t kiss his dove even if she’d let him.

You’re disgusting.

The words echoed in his head, and he knew it wasn’t just about his visage. He shouldn't have been thinking about his dove like that. It wasn't as bad as his earlier thoughts, but just about. He was dead. A nasty, rotting corpse that happened to be able to walk around. There was something wrong with him to even be contemplating doing more than hugging Lelia. That was bad enough. She’d never want him to touch her in any way, she’d shown him that earlier when she’d kicked him while he was trying to check her for bites.

But maybe she would let him get a little closer, at least, if he didn't smell so bloody horrid.

It was that possibility that had him methodically strip out of his ragged tactical gear. He washed each piece in the knee-deep stream, even his mask and his boots. He laid them out on the bank to dry, moved a little further upstream, and then repeated the process with his body, dumping bucket after bucket full of water over every part of him.

The amount of congealed black blood and pieces of flesh that came off was concerning. He just hoped that none of the latter was his own.

Finally, he was done, and he stepped out of the stream and redressed in his still damp gear. Moving upstream for a third time, unwilling to contaminate his dove’s drinking water, he filled the bucket once more and began his trek back to the cabin, moving briskly but carefully so as not to spill.

Lelia was still asleep by the time he returned, and so he put the bucket down on the kitchen table, moved the couch away from her door, and then set about starting a fire. There was a small stack of roughly chopped logs next to the old, wood burning stove, and he placed a few inside. He searched through some of the drawers and found a book of matches, letting out a triumphant grunt, unable to believe his luck.

Except of course, things couldn’t be that easy.

Ghost’s fingers were far too stiff and clumsy to light a match. Fine motor skills were difficult for him, his muscles permanently locked in rigor mortis. Even piling up the logs in the stove had been difficult, as had carrying the bucket. He’d had to wrap his arms around it and hold it to his chest because his fingers wouldn't quite bend enough to grasp it by the handle.

After finally getting one of the matches to light, only to immediately drop it on the floor and burn a mark into the wood, Ghost gave up. He would just have to let Lelia do this part.

He moved the bucket onto the stovetop before quietly walking over to the bedroom. He reached out for the door knob and hesitated for a long moment, before letting his hand drop as he turned back around. She’d closed it for a reason, and he didn't need to see her to know she was alright. Her heartbeat and breathing were loud enough. So instead, he resumed his position as her zombified guard dog, and barricaded her door with his body while she slept, standing between her and anything that could bring her harm.

***

This time, when Lelia woke up, she knew exactly where she was.

The tiny bed in the cabin smelled of dust and old mothballs, but it was still far more comfortable than either a tree hollow or the bed she'd shared with Andrew back on the military base. She let herself luxuriate in it for a moment, exhaustion still pulling heavily at her no matter how long she had slept. Finally, she got up, walking over to the door and opening it—only to startle when she found Simon standing directly outside.

“Oh!” She gasped, hand clutching her chest, right over her racing heart. Then, she registered the lack of blood and gore on his face—which looked far less decayed now that it was clean—and the lack of a stomach churning odor wafting over her. He still smelled of death, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before. “You’re— you’re clean!”

Simon groaned quietly. He was staring at her, as if waiting for something. She blinked several times, and then spoke again. 

“Did you— did you do that for me?”

She knew she hadn’t hid her reaction to his stench well enough. She felt a bit bad, but she also couldn’t help but be relieved he'd noticed and decided to do something about it.

Simon jerked his head up and down in a nod, jaw wobbling. He shifted back and forth a little bit, then tilted his head to the side and let out a questioning grunt, milky eyes downcast. He almost seemed… nervous? Shy? Or like he was looking for her approval. She couldn't quite tell. But the thought was endearing, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “This is much better, really. I appreciate it.”

Despite the fact that he couldn't really make any expression, Lelia got the distinct impression that he was pleased with her answer.

Simon shuffled back, and then stiffly gestured for her to follow him. She did so, curious, and she found she could remain quite close to him without being overwhelmed by the urge to vomit. She still left a meter or so between them, as was proper. She doubted he wanted her crowding his space, after all.

He led her over to the kitchenette, and then gestured to a bucket on top of the stove. She peered inside it, and found that it was full of water. She brightened considerably, licking her dry lips.

“Can I drink this?” She asked, already reaching for the bucket. She was so thirsty, she’d even drink orange juice, right now. And she hated orange juice.

But Simon grunted, reaching out and stopping her hand with his own. His glove was slightly damp, and she blinked, frowning as she looked at him again.

“You’re wet,” she said, finally noticing that his gear was dripping a little bit. He grunted, ignoring her, and then gestured at a matchbook next to the stove. She stared at it in confusion, not knowing what he wanted her to do, before turning her attention back to the trail of water he was leaving in his wake. “You shouldn't walk around in wet clothes. You’ll catch a cold—”

Lelia paused, looked at Simon’s already dead self, and blushed.

“Well. Maybe you won’t, but still. You’re getting water everywhere. You should take them off to let them dry,” she continued, trying to recover. Simon gave her what she thought might have been an amused look, if the little crinkles around his sunken, milky white eyes meant anything. Though it was entirely possible she was just imagining it. “There’s a closet in the bedroom. I’m sure I can find you something to wear while you wait.”

Eager to escape after her blunder, she retreated to do just that. She heard Simon let out a grumble that sounded suspiciously like an exasperated sigh, but she didn't let that stop her. She let out her own noise of victory when she found a set of flannel pajamas that looked like they would fit her zombie.

When she returned to the kitchen, Simon was in the process of removing his gear. Lelia watched as he struggled with zips and buckles—he was making progress, but very slowly—and took a step closer to him.

“Do you need help?” She asked innocently, never one to just stand idly by.

***

Simon froze, damnable buckle falling from his stiff fingers. It had taken him ages to get all this off and back on again at the stream, but he’d managed. He would manage again… but his little dove was offering to help. To stand close to him, to touch him, or at least his clothes… he knew he should have said no, that she was just being kind and didn’t actually want to get anywhere near him—but she sounded so sincere, and he was so fucking desperate. So he groaned quietly, almost ashamed, as he jerked his head in a nod, letting his hands drop back to his sides.

Lelia set the clothes she’d found for him on the arm of the couch and then approached, starting with removing his helmet. She was so small, she couldn’t reach even when she stood on her toes, and he had to crouch down a little bit, knees creaking.

“You’re blonde,” she said, surprised. He looked down at her. She was close enough that he couldn’t smell anything but her, and it was intoxicating. But not nearly as intoxicating as the feel of her body heat, so near yet so far. He sniffed discreetly, once again trying to place the floral scent on her skin. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that. I wonder what color your eyes were…”

Ghost wanted to tell her they were brown like hers, but darker. Hers were the type that shone golden in the light, like nutty chocolate and a perfectly brewed cuppa. His were the color of pitch, of the damp, overturned earth of a fresh grave. Fitting, for a man like him. For a monster like him.

She moved on to unbuckling his vest, and then unzipping his jacket once he’d gotten the bulky gear out of the way. Underneath was a plain black t-shirt, the least destroyed item of clothing he had on, but also the foulest smelling. Her delicate little nose wrinkled slightly, and he would have found it adorable if he weren't so embarrassed. He reeked, still, and she smelt so delicious he began to drool again. He reached up to wipe it away, but his dove beat him to it, using the sleeve of the jacket he’d just discarded. She seemed entirely unphased, rather than repulsed like he thought she’d be, just giving him a smile before stepping back.

“No buttons on that,” she said as an explanation. He didn’t dare mention the buttons on his combat trousers, once again disgusted by his own thoughts. He pulled his t-shirt off after a second of hesitation, knowing the grisly sight that lay beneath. Grey, translucent, thinning skin smattered with deep gashes in several places that would never heal. They were accompanied by faded tattoos and dozens of scars, including a patchwork of rough, burnt flesh over his bicep and left shoulder, going all the way down to his hip. He reached quickly for the dry shirt, but Lelia stopped him.

“Your gloves,” she said, staring at his torso with a look on her face that he couldn’t quite read. It wasn't positive, though, he could tell that much. She tore her gaze away a second later, gently grabbing one of his hands and pulling it closer to her as she undid the velcro strap at his wrist. She slipped her fingers beneath the wrist of his glove, and he felt her skin directly against his own for the very first time.

He groaned, resisting the urge to grab her hand and keep it where it was. He couldn’t feel the softness of her skin, his own senses too numb for that, but the heat of it practically scorched him in the most pleasant way. It sank all the way down to his frozen bones, and when it slipped away as she pulled his glove off, it was agony.

She repeated the process with his other glove, and his bare hands twitched as he fought not to clutch onto hers and not let go. Finally, he regained control of himself, grabbing the flannel pajama shirt and pulling it on. It was a couple sizes too small, clinging to him like a second skin and stopping an inch or so above the waistband of his combat trousers, but it would do for now, even if he felt ridiculous.

“You’re shivering,” his dove said, frowning. “I’ll fetch you a blanket.”

She turned around and headed back into the bedroom, and he took the chance to shuck off his trousers. It was almost as if the warmth of her touch had reinvigorated his hands, or perhaps it was just luck, because he managed to get the button on the third try, and the zip on the second. He stepped into the too-small flannels just as she was returning with the quilt he’d given her earlier. He tried to avoid taking it—though he felt cold, he knew it was all in his mind—as he didn't want to contaminate it with the smell of death. But Lelia was stubborn, and she just wrapped the blanket around his shoulders for him, so he looked like he was wearing a flowery, quilted cape.

“There,” she said with a pleased smile, before bending down to pick up his gear and head over to the door. He followed her, a silent, massive, undead shadow, unwilling to let her go outside without him. He stood guard as she hung the clothes over the half-rotted wooden banister of the tiny porch, and when she came back in, he grunted to get her attention again before leading her back to the kitchenette. He tapped the matchbook, then pointed at the pile of firewood in the metal belly of the stove.

“You want me to start a fire?” She asked nervously, and he nodded, pointing at the logs again. She paled. “I don't know… I’ve never done that before. What if I burn myself?”

Ghost didn't like the thought of her getting hurt any more than she did, but they didn’t have a choice. She needed drinkable water, and right now, boiling what was in the bucket was the only way she was going to get that. So he fumbled for the book of matches and then pressed it into her hands—and if he let out another pleased groan when her warm skin touched his again, he hoped she misread it as encouragement.

His dove looked afraid, but she notched her chin and accepted the matches, clearly trying to put on a brave face. He let himself wonder at the fact that she had never used matches before. What kind of world had she lived in, prior to the end of it? Based on her nice clothes, posh accent, and utter lack of survival instincts, he imagined it was something privileged, something sheltered. He would’ve scoffed at the thought if he were still alive—pretty little rich girl with a pretty, perfect life. Had the dead not risen, she likely would have never known pain or fear or struggle. It would’ve angered him back then; the injustice of it all. The jealousy. Now, he just felt sad. She deserved a life like that. Not this hell on earth. She was woefully unprepared for her new reality—and she had suffered for it. The men she had had to rely on to keep her safe had put that haunted look in her eyes that spoke of a pain familiar to him, if unnamable. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember. That he couldn’t kill each and every person that had ever contributed to her suffering. But there was nothing he could do about that, now. All he could do was keep her safe, keep her alive. And maybe even make her laugh again.

It took a few tries, and several broken matches, but Lelia finally managed to get one lit without immediately dropping it in fear. She tossed it into the stove, and while Ghost would have advised her to hold it to the corner of one of the logs, first, it did the trick, and the fire caught. He gave her a groan of approval, and admired the way her face lit up with pride, a rosiness dusting her cheeks as she grinned. She was always beautiful, but when she smiled, she looked like an angel. Something far too good and far too pure for this hellish plane and all the monsters that lived on it, both alive and dead.

Together, they watched the water boil. It was about as exciting as watching paint dry, and took only slightly less time due to the old fashioned stove and small flame. He didn't mind, though, as his dove eventually began to fill the silence with mindless chatter, telling him about the meals her private chef—oh, so she’d been rich rich—used to make for her. Ghost was informed very seriously that Román was the best cook in the world and could have had his own restaurant, but he liked hearing Lelia’s in-depth analysis of his meals too much to leave. Ghost thought it was adorable that she believed that that’s why the chef had stayed, rather than the money he was making. Then again, Ghost had stayed because of her too, so maybe there was some truth to her words after all.

When the water was sufficiently clean, he grabbed the bucket and moved it off the stove so it could cool down. Curiously, he didn't feel any heat from it, despite knowing it had to be hot enough to burn. It only made him crave his dove’s touch even more, the only source of warmth in his cold, undead life.

He searched through the cupboards again as they waited, looking for some sort of cup. He found a single dusty mug with a large chip near the rim. It was no crystal champagne flute, like she was clearly used to, but it would do. He handed it over, and Lelia made a face but thanked him nonetheless. She unbuttoned her pink tweed jacket and untucked a section of her still clean white blouse underneath, using it to wipe out the mug. He stared.

Look away, Simon’s voice in his head ordered. Ghost reluctantly obeyed. You’re a vile creature. You don’t get to look at her like that.

Even if Ghost was alive, he'd probably think the same thing. He’d been old and monstrous then. He was dead and monstrous now. He'd never lived a life in which he would deserve a sweet thing like her. But he still wanted, in this life and the last.

So when Lelia smiled at him after drinking her fill of the purified water, lips still wet and shiny, he tried to ignore the phantom sensation of his undead heart pounding in his chest.

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Graven Hearts

After being unofficially banished from the Mourn Watch, rebellious Lisbette must recruit one of her former professors, Emmrich Volkarin, to help her defeat two ancient Elvhen gods. Hurt that her favourite professor never stood up for her when she needed him, Lisbette takes delight in provoking the handsome, silver-haired necromancer, perhaps enjoying herself a little too much.

Female Rook | Age Difference | Daddy vibes | low key bratting | Hurt/Comfort | Eventual Smut

Start with Chapter One

Chapter Three

There’s a move Lisbette makes when an enemy is staggered that Emmrich can’t help but admire. She lifts it up on her staff somehow and slams it down again. She’s small and slight, but she does this to creatures that are three, four times her size, apparently without any effort. 

As the tumult of battle dies away, he’s still watching her as she brushes her curly red hair out of her face. 

‘Are you all right, Emmrich? Your eyes are hanging out of your head,’ an amused voice says beside him. Neve has appeared at his elbow. 

He turns to her in surprise. ‘I’m sorry, Neve?’

‘You rather lost yourself staring at Lisbette.’ 

He clears his throat. ‘Did I? The move she makes with her staff is rather entrancing.’

Neve smiles wider. ‘Ah, I see. Her moves are entrancing.’

Emmrich is too old and too experienced not to understand what Neve is talking about. It happens sometimes that students develop crushes on their professors, and it’s usually harmless enough. 

Professors developing crushes on their students? That was vulgar. Emmrich Volkarin is anything but vulgar. But neither is Lisbette his student anymore. 

She’s glanced at him once or twice since they quarreled in the library. Emmrich believes she’s surprised he’s still here, but she hasn’t said anything about it. 

He’s found himself preoccupied in the days since Myrna’s letter trying to think of ways to lift her spirits without letting on he knows about what happened when she was forced to leave Nevarra. If only he could find a way to ease her hurt or even make her smile. Those thoughts turn into thinking about her smile, and how lovely she looks when one adorns her face.

He’s even found himself thinking about how impishly pretty she looked sitting in his lap. Pretending to read. And then booping his nose, like he’s Assan. He was not her plaything, and yet he imagined her trying to do it again, and him grasping her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm before telling her to behave. 

A little playfulness sounded...nice. Interesting.

What was not alluring was when she was playful in battle, recklessly charging into the fray as if she is a warrior and not a mage. He witnesses her do just that in Arlathan forest the following day when they’re exploring with Davrin. After the battle ends, he’s sweating beneath his tight collar, half from exertion, and half from witnessing Lisbette disappearing within a ring of four Despair demons, before blasting them away.

As he joins her on the walkway, she glances up at him and says, ‘Your hair is ruffled, Professor Volkarin.’

He reaches up and pats it down. ‘It has been ruffled rather often lately. Sometimes the reason is charming. And sometimes the reason is battle.’ He glances at her sidelong and smiles. 

Lisbette’s mouth falls open. 

They haven’t spoken much since their argument, but he wants her to know he’s not angry with her, and he’s not going anywhere. This is likely the most important thing he’s done in his life. If they fail, it will also be the last thing he ever does in his life, and he and everyone he knows will be dead. 

While Lisbette is still staring at him in surprise, he adds gently, ‘Do be more careful in the thick of battle, Lisbette. There is no one who can replace you.’

He half expects her to turn flinty and tell him not to tell her what to do, but she looks amused. 

‘Ah, professor. Are you saying you approve of my leadership after all?’

‘I am filled with admiration for you. And please call me Emmrich. I would find it fitting under these circumstances, even preferable.’

‘But it’s just so pleasing to call you Professor Volkarin while we are arguing.’

‘Take using my first name as a sign that we will never argue again.’

Lisbette gazes at him for a long time, and Emmrich takes the opportunity to admire her green eyes and all those adorable freckles. 

Call him Emmrich? Should she? 

--

They’re making their way along a rocky cliff and Lisbette is both thinking about her former professor’s change of attitude towards her, and hunting the horizon for their destination at the same time. Her foot slips, and she gasps as she teeters on the edge. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Davrin reaching for her. 

Someone extravagantly calls her name, and then there’s the sounds of a mage fast-stepping through the air. Two strong arms wrap around her waist from behind and pull her backwards to safety. 

‘Emmrich, I had her.’ Davrin sounds annoyed.

Lisbette looks down and sees hands adorned with many gold rings wrapped around her waist. 

‘We can’t be too careful with our dear Rook,’ the necromancer says, releasing her slowly. 

Our dear Rook? Since when was she our dear Rook? Not long ago she’d been young lady , spoken in tones of restrained animosity. 

Lisbette turns in his arms, which are still lightly wrapped around her while she’s close to the cliff edge. ‘Thank you, Emmrich.’ 

He smiles down at her. ‘Ah, so you will call me by name?’ 

Why so many smiles for her today? Why did she feel a little stupid in a warm and fuzzy way when he looked at her like that?

She pretends to consider his question, tapping her lips with her finger, and watches him watch her do. ‘I suppose it’s a fair exchange for saving my life.’

‘A fair exchange would be the return of my book.’

‘Is that a fair exchange? My life for a book?’

He loftily examines his nails. ‘I think so. It’s a very good book.’

Lisbette exclaims in mock outrage and attempts to poke him in the stomach. 

Emmrich grasps her hands while laughing. ‘Lisbette, Lisbette. Can you not handle a little teasing?’ 

‘A book! A book? ’ 

Davrin clears his throat. Assan is watching them with his head on one side. ‘If you’re both ready to move on?’ he asks grumpily. 

Lisbette sees how her hands are held in both of Emmeric’s large ones. She squeezes him back and then lets go. ‘Sorry, Davrin. We’re ready.’

They both follow the Grey Warden into the next battle. 

Lisbette isn’t sure what has brought about this change in Emmrich’s attitude, but she can’t say she dislikes it. He’s looking upon her with less stern disapproval. More fondness. There’s a strange note in his voice and expression in his eyes when he teases her. Strange, but interesting. 

--

Neve may have noticed that Emmrich was paying attention to Lisbette, but Emmrich is the one who notices Davrin is also paying attention to Lisbette. 

The young and handsome Grey Warden is often looking at her, little expression on his somber features, but his eyes follow her every movement with rapt attention. Davrin rarely smiles, but when he does, it’s usually at Lisbette. 

They will make a fine couple, Emmrich thinks with absolutely no pleasure, and kicks a rock off the edge of the Lighthouse and into the abyss. What beautiful young woman could resist a warrior in shining armor, so different and exciting to the men she’s known in the Mourn Watch?   

Beautiful young former student. Very young former student, he thinks deliberately. Not someone he should be thinking of as pretty or...or...very pretty. Quite, very, extremely, extraordinarily pretty. He can think of other descriptors that aren’t pretty , but they are so inappropriate that he is going to make himself blush. 

Lisbette walks past, and Emmrich joins Davrin in staring after her. 

‘Emmrich, um. Can I ask you what Lisbette likes?’ Davrin suddenly asks him.  

‘What she likes?’ 

Davrin shrugs uncomfortably. ‘You know. For a present. She got me something and I want to get her something too.’ 

Emmrich feels a sharp, hot twist in his stomach. They were giving each other presents, were they? How cozy. 

Lisbette loves beautiful quills. She had always been excited when she treated herself to a new writing implement, and had even shown off a particularly beautiful one to him once. 

‘I couldn’t say,’ Emmrich says vaguely. ‘I don’t get to know my students, and there have been so many of them.’

‘Oh, she said you were pretty close in the Mourn Watch. You were her favorite professor or something.’ Davrin frowns at something past Emmrich’s shoulder. ‘Assan? What’s that you’re eating? Assan, drop that right now.’ He jogs away to deal with his griffon.

Emmrich stares after him. Favorite professor? 

Lisbette’s favorite professor? 

And she shared that with Davrin, despite how much Emmrich had hurt her.

Over by the Caretaker, Assan had shed a feather, and Davrin was tickling the griffon’s beak with it. Any moment now, he would probably toss the feather off the edge of the Lighthouse and let the wind take it. 

He feels himself relent. There was little point in being a petty, jealous old man. Lisbette should smile, even if he wasn’t the one to put the smile on her face. The blushing kind of smile with closed eyes and upturned lips, her fingers stroking the nape of his--

‘Davrin!’ Emmrich walks quickly over to him before his thoughts can get too carried away. ‘She loves quills. That feather Assan shed would make a very fine quill.’

‘Oh. Okay. Well, I already thought of something, but you can give her this if you like.’ Davrin thrust the feather into Emmrich’s hands with a shrug. 

‘But I don’t have a reason to...’ 

Davrin is already striding away, the griffon bounding after him. 

Emmrich stares at the silvery grey griffon feather in his hand, the most beautiful example of a quill feather he’s ever seen, and certain to make Lisbette smile. 

--

Lisbette finds her former professor upstairs in his room standing by his desk in the bright light of the Fade, dressed only in his shirt and waistcoat. 

When he first moved in, Lisbette thought the balcony in this room had the potential to be the most romantic place in the Lighthouse. The professor has put a huge piece of astromancy equipment there instead, and there was absolutely no room for kissing. 

Emmrich smiles at her. ‘Ah. What can I do for you, Lisbette?’

Lisbette hesitates. She’d meant to have a serious talk with him and clear the air about their argument, but now that she was alone with him, she felt a desire to...tease?

Flirt. 

Tangling her fingers behind her back, she smiles at him. ‘You’ve been so nice to me out there. I’m here so you can tell me off.’

Emmrich sits down on the edge of his desk. His eyes seem to be glimmering with the same amusement she feels. ‘I suppose you’re referring to your near fall earlier.’

Of course that’s what she’s referring to. 

Emmrich gazes at her with expressive eyes. ‘Please be careful, Lisbette. I would be distressed to see you fall to your death.’

‘What about my ragged spellwork?’

‘Your spellwork was very good today.’

Lisbettle sighs dramatically. ‘You’re not going to indulge me, are you?’

Emmrich eyes her curiously. Indulge her. Interesting choice of words. In here, when it’s just the two of them, she enjoys provoking him into being stern. 

The thing is, you shouldn’t give young ladies with hot tempers what they want. It was much better for them, much more fun in fact, to do the opposite.

‘I have a present for you,’ he tells her.

Lisbette draws closer, her eyes shining. ‘Do you?’

‘I also happen to know something, but I’m not sure I should tell you.’ 

Her eyes light with curiosity. ‘Emmrich. Now you have to tell me.’

Emmrich pauses for dramatic effect, enjoying having her rapt attention. ‘Davrin has a present for you as well. I think Davrin may quite like you.’

Lisbette steps closer until she’s almost between his thighs. She’s gazing at him like she’s never even heard of Davrin. ‘Oh?’

Emmrich dawdles his fingers over a skull. ‘I thought you might like to choose who is giving you presents.’ 

‘I would rather receive a present from you.’

‘Ah, is that so?’

‘Well, can I have it?’

He gives her his most charming smile. ‘If you’re good.’

Emmrich holds out a hand to her. 

Lisbette ignores it. She puts her arms around his neck, arches into him, and presses her lips over his. 

The kiss is a delicious surprise, and exactly what he’s been telling himself he shouldn’t crave. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her tightly against him. 

As he squeezes her, her lips part in a pant, and he kisses her again, deeper. 

Just as he’d imagined, Lisbette draws her nails through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. 

He hadn’t dared to imagine this, but she also presses her breasts tightly against his chest, and makes little whimpering noises that promise to become the most beautiful moans if he ever finds his way beneath her clothes. The thought has his flesh heating and hardening. 

He presses soft kisses to her lips  ‘A pity I can’t give you your present.’ 

Her eyes widen in surprise. Her lips are reddened. There’s a beautiful blush in her cheeks. ‘Why not?’

Emmrich enjoys her breathless attention. She isn’t upset about the Mourn Watch. She isn’t acting out because she’s confused and angry. In this moment, she’s all his. 

Sternly, he says, ‘Because you are a little thief who still hasn’t given me back my book.’ 

‘Emmrich! But I--’

‘It’s terrible, but there’s nothing we can do,’ he says, mock-regretfully. 

‘I can go and get the book.’

She tries to pull out of his arms, but he holds her tightly and puts his lips against her ear. ‘No. Stay here with me, Lisbette.’

He feels her melt against him, all the tension in her body relaxing. How perfect that is. He smiles and folds her in his arms, holding her close against him.  

Emmrich Volkarin knows the unadulterated pleasure of making someone who had been so unhappy and lost feel safe and beloved, and being the only person in the world who has been allowed to do that for them.

-

They kissed aaaaaaaahh!

Leave me a comment to let me know what you think so far.

Also I've added some photos of Lisbette and Emmrich from my current playthrough. Thank you for reading!

CHAPTER FOUR

[nyt1ba]

     He expects her to vanish at any given opportunity,   she seemed ready to depart ever since he had known her,   a look in her eyes that held a secret he could wordlessly understand,   she didn't belong here and she fears the hurt that would come if she allows herself to find her place,   she's ready to run,   to avoid the pain before it can settle into her bones.   A part of him still wishes he could find an escape like her,   to forget everything for even a moment   &.   delude himself with the safety of a new world so far away from his own.   But he loved earth,   in all its disarray,   he loved it.   It had lost all meaning of home to him when the war robbed him of everything he had ever loved,   and yet,   he still labors to save it from the ashes,   he clings to life with an absurd hope when it was slipping right through his fingers like falling sand.   If his endless quest in salvation fails when all life is finally snuffed out of existence then he can at least fade along with it knowing he had done everything he could.   The strain between them caused by his elaborate lies was on the mend,   but Adam still feels that divide that sits between them,   there was always a line neither had dared to cross,   an uncertainty that made trust so difficult to give.   Still,   it was more to him than it was with anyone else,   a sort of freedom he had been denied when he had to renounce his own emotions and any sense of self to live for others,   if this is how it's meant to be,   then he's content to have remembered some parts of himself at the very least.        ❛❛   I know.   i won't stop you, the choice is yours in the end.   You can have my drone too if need be,   i'd be happy to help in any way I can.   ❜❜        though his voice doesn't communicate the sentiment correctly,   he means what he said,   her cause wasn't anything to concern himself with but he would like to lessen her load even for a little bit.

  Unlike her,   he's bound to earth not for sentiment alone,   it was his many burdens that kept him so rooted to earth,   a wish to protect what's left and what will come to be                     an ironic part for him to play when he had been the one responsible for all that had happened.   However,   guilt gives him further reason to take responsibility,   to right his many wrongs in relentless self punishment.   The people of Xion,   the Naytibas,   their continuity was hanging by a thin thread he had to keep intact with both hands,   for if he let go for one moment all would be lost.   It's exhausting,   he knows it,   he feels it,   a deep ache between shoulders,   crushing at him ever so slowly.   He never utters a word despite the days when his body is screaming for it,   it was his penance,   the price he must pay in order to find healing.   The scavenger allows himself the luxury of a sigh,   a weariness within dark hues as they drifted to look elsewhere.        ❛❛   I hope you never have to.   ❜❜        at first it was unbearable,   a torment he could not withstand,   now this endless toil had become his way of living,   [   if it can ever be called as such.   ]   He wouldn't wish that upon her,   while she had been similarly ruined,   there was much of her she didn't know still existed,   a goodness in her he wants to keep safe even if she doesn't want him to.

  Rolling onto his back again,   his empty gaze doesn't find solace within the stars despite how much he had tried,   he understands their meaning to her,   how special it must be to be able to bask in their gentle light that gave a safety similar to her home,   their glow is faint to him,   slowly dying the more he looks onto it,   when did life become so pale in his eyes ?   They come to a close,   favouring the familiarity of his own darkness instead.   Her little jab had stung at him once before but now it only brings out a huff   &.   a smile.        ❛❛   Its nice,   if you have something soft to land on.   ❜❜        he remarks,   a hand raising to rub at his temple in recollection of the headache he felt afterwards,   he never means for it to happen,   but always finds better things to do than to rest even for a few minutes.        ❛❛   I want earth to heal,   I want us all to heal.   That's my purpose,   my only goal.   It's why I keep going when everything seems   ...   hopeless.   ❜❜        it's a forlorn admission that slips past his lips,   aware of its impossibility but not willing to give up,   he can't afford to.        ❛❛   As for you,   I suppose that's for you to find out,   though, I hope you remember that you no longer have to do it alone.   ❜❜

Death is her truest wish — still held like a secret within her heart, unaffected by the shuffling of her priorities. While more reluctant than ever before, what she feels for him isn’t strong enough to keep her here forever — but it is strong enough to draw her back to his side time and time again. It is a strange sort of peace she feels with Adam, but at the same time there is an unmistakable fear lingering there as well. There comes a point in time where she generally cuts ties completely — leaves before she can be left. Her intention was to let the chips fall where they may, but talking to him feels so easy … a natural simplicity to it that defies all her usual instincts. Before she can even think twice, she’s already talking about staying.  Teeth press into the flesh of her cheek – but is staying really the best idea? Hand curls into the exposed side of her skull, fingers sweeping back ashen bangs as she responds,      “ I’ll consider it. Earth may not be the most hospitable planet, but … it’s free of Coalition control. That makes it much less – exhausting for me to be here. ”     The alternative is watching her back pretty much everywhere she goes – the added pressure of keeping herself free of injury is more taxing than she lets on and she finds herself more and more drained.     “ But ... I still have some things I need to take care of. ”

Revenants still wander empty battlefields, run amok within ruined cities, and rampage against the forces of the Sovereign Union – who try endlessly to recruit her to their cause. But Elektra’s days as a military leader are over, she can barely stomach recalling them – even the good memories leave her sickened. When all is said and done with the Revenants and the Coalition, there’s always bounty hunters seeking her head or former allies looking to stab her in the back to make a quick fortune. Not to mention the notable members of the Cult of the Falling Star whom she also hunts as often as she can. It seems that every direction she turns bears a new knife just waiting to flay her skin – with the exception of Adam, of Earth itself. While she never complains, does the work without a second thought … it is difficult to be denounced as nothing more than a traitor and a villain. Hard to exist in a galaxy full of people who would rather watch her bleed out than help her in any way shape or form – but she does it wordlessly, endlessly, days stretching now into oblivion.     “ Life just seems – never-ending knowing what I do now, ”     a sigh and the revenant rolls onto her back, wincing at the chill as the rockface presses up against her joints,     “ I don’t know how you do it.  ”

Elektra has never been stupid, she seeks death because it is a release – a way out of a life that does not want her. This galaxy is decidedly against her; living is akin to the feeling of being trapped inside a room with no windows, no doors. No way out. Nothing to do but surrender to the crushing pressure of it all, and yet – being here lessens the weight in a way she does not yet understand … which is why she’s not entirely ready to give up on Adam, Earth, or the concept of life itself.     “ Maybe you could give me a few pointers – although you don’t seem to be much better at it than I am, ”     a laugh, fingers settling upon her midsection, absentmindedly running along the scar that separates her synthetic skin from it’s genuine counterpart,     “ although … a week long coma does sound pretty nice sometimes. ”

[orcelito]

Yet again hindered by the "this reply is hidden because you have the user blocked" message. It has me Almost wondering whether I'd be better off not blocking so many people. So that I can freely be a nosy bitch.

Almost, but not quite. My block list is for my sanity, after all.

[scruncheduppaper]

hi so to casually answer this question, though billford is extreme toxic yaoi, i honestly feel like the fantasy of it takes away from the impact of its actual toxicity (not a bad thing just an observation)

whereas fiddlestan does Not pull its punches as a concept — it plays on both characters’ insecurities and resides in both of their darkest moments, and plays on both of their unhealthy relationships with ford. its extremely fucking real and raw in its potential AND their wanting to relieve their grief with each other just creates more grief and so forth.

the end result is impossible to rehabilitate and fidd is doomed to forget stan in the end, and if we still go by the canon timeline that relationship is forgotten and never resolved LOL

fiddlestan is a terrible relationship where theyre both using each other for their own means and any positive feeling there is only in the background of grief and misery AND THATS WHAT I LOVE ABOUT IT!!! so yeah. somehow (imo) more toxic in potential than billford to some degree!!

i cant take it anymore i cant do maths anymore

[snekdood]

i honestly just think gen z and gen alpha have an issue with communication in general and thats causing a lot of fucking issues.

[goldentigerfestival]

god i just. the sheer fucking hurt in his voice. feeling so used. so untrusted. had a bounty on his head that wasn't even his fault and he still won't be told him the truth and estelle, too, still hides things from him after he helped her and they'd been traveling together. not only that, but the empire is too busy having its own internal issues to pay attention to its own suffering people.

i hate seeing him so upset, that's my baby boy.

more feelings in the tags

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[venmondiese]

LITTLE BOX FULL OF SURPRISES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

based on this request⭑.ᐟ

-ˋˏsummary: The maimed one-eyed prince marries the most beautiful woman on earth. She is dutiful, beautiful and perfect, but Aemond can't stand when someone, specially his uncle, look with desire at what it is his. ✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Tully!Original Female Character ✧word count: 3.1k ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones, face slapping, spitting on the mouth, degradation kink, possesive Aemond, Aemond is WHIPPED by his wife.

Every time his grandsire and his mother spoke of a Lady of great beauty coming to King’s landing, he rolled his eye. 

Even when they present a small portrait, small to fit his palm, he does not seem impressed. Perhaps it is too small, perhaps it is too pretentious. Either the painter exaggerated your features or he couldn’t properly paint a small portrait. But he was curious, after all. Named the most beautiful woman on earth, blessed by the Gods. 

He doesn’t doubt that Lady Tully was beautiful. Perhaps she was truly a beautiful woman, with her long red hair, ‘like fire’ said the letter. But being called The Maiden on Earth seems exaggerated to him.

His grandsire had told them about the implications of his betrothal, about how important it was to have secured the Riverlands, since Grover Tully was an old lord, and will not understand reason. To have his most beloved granddaughter as a princess, was the only way to win his approval, and support. 

Aemond finally meets her on the little garden near the Weirwood tree. They had been serving little cakes, as some lords and ladies talked nearby, not even half of court was here, and he liked the quietness. That made him less self-conscious.

She was near the table, her hand hovering above all the treats she could get, smiling as she watches them with interest. She is expressive, he realises. He hasn’t seen her face, only her back and the day her hand moves and her head is tilted, curious about the southern gastronomy.

 “My lady” Aemond says softly. 

She turns so gracefully, and she is surprised to see him. Her hand still extended, and she quickly moves it to grab her skirts, and do a courtesy to him. She has a sweet smile, and she speaks. 

 “My prince” she says, a bit surprised. “I… I didn’t expect you.”

“I must admit I came a bit earlier than agreed…” he murmurs, looking behind him and then back to her.

The most beautiful maiden on earth fell short to her. She was… something else, in the best way possible. She had that curiosity, that life in her eyes, as she smiles at him, her lips are perfect, and he could see that her maids probably used those Myrish lip taints, for they were a very natural red colour, almost matching with her hair. Her dress was magnificent, wearing the colour of her house, red and blue decorating everything. Even her eyes, blue like the opaque blue rivers in the Riverlands, and her hair, red like flames, matched with her house colours. She wore fish details, her earrings and in her dress pattern. But she was wearing a collar with a seven pointed star in it, and he sighed at her beauty. She was breathtaking.

“Oh, well, so it seems…” she says as she smiles a bit sheepishly, looking at him. “It’s a fine castle, my prince. It does have its own beauty.” 

Aemond has never thought of the red Keep as something beautiful, at all. He always wanted to live in Dragonstone, but his wish was not granted.  But, if she says so, it must be true, and with good reason.

“You think so?” 

She grabs a lemon cake, and eats it carefully as she nods. “Yes! And you also have a Weirwood tree here. When we made our trip here, we passed through Raventree, and their Weirwood was a bit… depressing…” she says, smiling sweetly. “But here it’s very beautiful. More… alive”

As she talks, he watches her closely. Even when his mother, his sickly father and his siblings arrive, when his mother gives him a scolding look for arriving earlier, he sort of watches you in silence, his chest swelling with an air of mystery. 

“You are not what I expected” he admits, quietly between the two of them as their parents talked about the betrothal.

“No?” She asks smiling, licking her finger from the cream of the lemon cakes. “You’ll see I’m a little box full of surprises” 

That’s the beginning.

A ceremony on the Sept, as she stood next to him, reciting vows and the cloak with dragon sigils is on her shoulders, left behind the fish one. Aemond has never looked so smug and proud. The bedding ceremony was… traditional. Having a crowd was awkward for both, surely, but Aemond made it all more comfortable for her, covering her body with his, and not exposing her, at his own expense.

“Just focus on me” He murmurs closely to her face, as she looks at him with wide eyes. He was between her open legs, and he insisted for her to keep her chemise on, while he had no problem in nudity “Your septa and mother could have told you…”

“Not much” She whispers back.

“Not much” he repeats, moving a strand of hair out other face, tenderly watching her face for discomfort. “But I will be gentle, and… we’ll learn together. Yes?”

“Yes. Thank you…, husband” she says, and he feels a prideful pressure on his chest. He was her husband. The most beautiful woman’s husband. 

And she was always thankful for his patience and gentleness towards her, and she stuck to him to all times, even when she was in court, charming everyone around. Her arm was always interlocked with his, and referred to him as ‘her sweet husband’. 

Love came quieter than expected, as they laughed on their bed at nights, having picnics in the gardens or going to the Riverlands in Vhagar together, swimming on Riverrun’s rivers, and just… enjoying each other. It was more than love when they had their first son, a lovely and happy baby, mismatched eyes, with both purple and a deep blue. Aemond adored his son, his little Daerion, and he adored you more.

“Black looks well on you” Aemond comments. 

Daerion’s blabbing was a way to agree with Aemond’s statement as the maid finished putting on her headband, the same tone of her dress. Her orange hair is in braids, two simple ones with some gold details on them, and some dragon earrings that he gifted her. She was gorgeous, and all his. 

“Your wardrobe hasn’t changed” she states looking at him. “Went from velvet black to dark black” 

Aemond walks over to his wife, watching her being just so beautiful like that, sitting, waiting peacefully like a porcelain doll.

“Mhm... As if changing colours would make everything amicable…” Aemond murmurs, taking Daerion in his arms, and he allows him to play with his hair. “Does father know it’s useless? Rhaenyra wearing green won’t change anything, nor will my mother wearing black. HIs voice comes as a grunt as he bounces their baby. 

“It’s foolish when you put it that way” her voice is tender, sweet, and somewhat like velvet. He is still besotted by her, as maidens do with knights. He watches the shape of her breasts on that dress, how the cleavage is so delightful for his eyes and the roundness of her tits that make the fabric around stretch a bit. As if the tailor always got the measurement of her chest wrong on purpose, which he won’t complain about. 

Her bright red hair contrasts with how the black makes her skin look paler, and her eye colour deeper.

“They shouldn’t call you the Maiden herself anymore” Aemond murmurs softly, walking closer to her, still holding Daerion in his arms. “You are like the mother herself. Like the Goddess Syrax of Old Valyria. Beautiful, strong… so alluring…”

“You never seem to run out of compliments” her hands move to grab her rings, and the one he likes the most is the sapphire one, just to symbolise her marriage to him. 

“Never, more so if a goddess like you is my wife. All mine…”

“My prince, my lady.” It’s a Kings guard who interrupts. “Supper is ready, and Queen Alicent asks for you both to arrive earlier…”

“Hm” Aemond says, leaving Daerion in the wet nurse’s arms.

“Thank you, ser Willis” the knight smiles at his wife before walking to wait outside the door.

He rolls his eye as he leans to kiss his son’s forehead, caressing his chubby cheek and he smiles fondly at his sight. The little freckles he has that he inherited from his mother, something that Aemond loved. Yet remembering how unnecessary kind his wife is… annoys him.

Kindness and sweetness only helped to enhance her beauty and popularity, and he also loved that. She was beautiful, perfect in any way, tied to a One-Eyed maimed monster, like him. All he could offer to you, that it was worthy, was the luxuries of the royalty, all the kids you want and his unconditional love. He was at your mercy.

He has one eye, but he is not blind. Any man here on the keep, would pull their breeches down if his wife asked so. They would even cut their own throats for her mere delight, and Aemond would be one of them. 

“Goodbye, my sweet love” the sweet motherly tone makes little Daerion squeal happily, extending his little arms for his mother. She kisses both his hands, later to wave to him as they leave the room, arms interlocked.

Aemond always bites his tongue when his lady wife is kind to men. He hates it, yet he knows she does it for the kindness of her heart, and not any ulterior motives.

He was smitten for her, moving the chair for her to sit, and helping her, her dress not getting stuck anywhere or her headpiece, and only then, he sat on his own seat at peace.

“I heard they might have some goose” she murmurs to him, as the room fills. Her fingers caress his arm, and he hears her every word. “I’d eat it all if I could, you know” she teases.

“Mhm.” Aemond murmurs. Even if he is besotted, his facade is still the same; stoic, cold, distant. Yet to her, his gaze was always loving.

“I would only share it with you” she states proudly, leaning to give him a peck on the lips, before standing up once the King is brought to the room.

As he stands, he doesn’t miss how his uncle watches her. Aemond might not know the man personally, but he knew the look of desire in a man’s face. Much more when they looked at her 

The supper is mostly… tense, and awkward. But Lady Tully is charming to everyone and even toasts as well for Baela and Rhaena in their betrothal, congratulating them and speaking nothing but wonders about her own married life, making Aemond wear the slightest, yet most smug smirk on his face.

“Amazing” she says, with her mouth full as she eats the goose, and Aemond nods, a hand rubbing her back so she doesn’t choke for eating so quickly. “Here, my love” she says, extending the fork with a bit of the goose that she adores so much. 

Aemond eats shamelessly, enjoying the taste as he nods softly, approving, which makes her smile. His hand resting on the back of her chair, as he drank his wine quietly, watching his sister and nephew go to dance together. He is highly unaware of the prying eyes that watch them both.

Helaena and Jacaerys’ giggles and the movement of her dress is enough for lady Tully to watch curiously. Her husband was not one for dances, as he had not a good perception of objects with one eye. She never pressured him, and accepted the fact. 

She always would say how Daerion once he would be tall enough to walk, she’d dance with her son all the songs and dances, and Aemond approved that idea. 

“Lady Tully” It was Daemon Targaryen’s deep voice, and she looks at him a bit surprised, leaving her fork on the table as she covers her mouth, her hand unconsciously fetching wine, which Aemond hands her his. 

“Prince Daemon” her melodic voice is a bit confused, and more so when the uncle of her husband extends his hand. The green fabrics from his suit are deep, yet he still wore dragon details on it, and he looked smug about it.

She turns to watch Aemond, his jaw tensing as he looks at Daemon. And he has to physically stop himself from cutting his uncle’s throat when his wife walks with him to join Helaena and the bastard. Aegon and he share a look, both upset and annoyed, as their wives are so freely dancing with other men. 

Aemond watches her beautiful face, frowning as Daemon talks about something, whispering it closely so no one else hears it. His grip on the edge of his seat is strong; knuckles’ turning white as his jaw is tense, not looking pleased at all. And then, he hears her warm laugh, giggling at what he said, as her whole face brightened up.

Once they serve the pig in front of him and hear the little bastard giggles, it is enough to send him through a fit of rage. 

He literally drags his wife by the arm after everything went downhill, after saying that stupid toast, after the Velaryon’s boys attempt to defend themselves (very badly) and both her husband and her good brother humiliate them.

“Dancing with him” Aemond murmurs, walking to their shared chambers, not minding seeing the servants stop and look at them both. “Accepting it, and giggling to his jokes as he shamelessly flirts with you” 

“It was politeness...” her voice is weak when protesting.

“Did he mocked me for having only one eye?” He asks roughly. “Did he told you how beautiful your are and how full your breasts are?”

She opens her mouth a bit taken aback by his lewds remarks. “I am dutiful to what it’s expected of me. I wouldn't have allowed him to mock you”

“You should…”

“My family’s words are Family. Duty. Honour. And you know I care for that very deeply.” she says as she tries to keep up with his long steps “And I did just what was asked…”

“You are mine” he states, walking inside his chambers as his grip does nothing but become stronger. “My wife and you are… putting yourself in display for my uncle, laughing at his flirting. I know your family words are important for you, but this is… beyond that”

Perhaps it was her confused eyes or her angelic face, but he loosened up his grip yet he kept talking. 

“He wanted you! To have you below him and fuck you like a… wench or… or some kind of…”

“I know” 

Aemond turns drastically, eye twitching at his wife's words.

“You knew?”

“It was being cordial. It was duty. To amend broken ties…”

“I will break and burn and turn into ashes any ties from you to him” he says exasperated, insane with jealousy. His eye is wide, twitching in rage as he cannot believe this. She was his wife. 

Seeing Daemon’s hand grip on her hip, almost groping her, made him insane. Because he knew that Lady Tully, beautiful as the Maiden, a beloved goddess amongst the poor and rich, could do so much better than him. Yet, she still chooses him.

“Get naked” he says simply.

“What?”

“You heard me just right. Get. Naked.” He says again, not wanting a negative. 

Her whine is endearing, as she starts taking off little by little. Her gown, the diminutive buttons at the back, her collar, and her hellish headpiece.

“Let me” he grumbles as he helps her take off the headpiece, tossing it aside more carefully.

She is possibly the most beautiful when she is naked. Round breasts, even fuller thanks to lactating, and her body was tempting enough to anyone. 

“Undress me” he says instead. He took delight when she was the one serving him, in this way. He loved to see her desperation, her eagerness for him. His jerkin is out in no time, and she kneels to undo his breeches.

Because she had an angelic face, but it was only he who knew how obsessed she was with his cock. She could spend hours lying on the bed, sucking his cock as she rested her head on his abdomen as Aemond read. She wouldn’t even suck him off properly, his wife would only suck the tip, give kitten licks, and lazily press some kisses. During hours and hours. 

“I forbid you to speak to any one of them. Ever again” 

Confused eyes turned up to look at him, as the careful hands undid his breeches, almost a bit eagerly. “Forbid?”

“Hm. It’s what I said, is it not?” He says, narrowing his eye as if asking to be defied. 

“But it’s mad” she protests, frowning. “I promised Jace and Baela a tour in the gardens, and it would be impolite if I didn’t spoke-”

“Too bad” his voice cuts the conversation, and he is not leaving it up for conversation. 

“You are being irrational...”

“And you are being a fucking brat” he spats, grabbing her chin as he bites his lower lip. “I’ll show you how irrational I can get”

Her eyes watched him, almost too innocent for her own good. It made him hard; he could feel his cock stirring on his untied breeches. 

“Fucking slut, giving yourself to other men” his tone is harsh, but by the way her knees move, to accommodate the weight as he grips her chin, he knows that she is aroused. So is he.

Lady Tully was beautiful, and a box of surprises with everything, he realised with time. He had everyone trapped under her charms, and kept her secrets very private. And he loved it.

“Whore.”  His hand leaves her chin, only to move it to slap her across the face. 

She gasps, her face turned. It wasn’t harsh, yet the sting was burning on her skin, as she placed a hand on her cheek. To foreign eyes, he just slapped his wife. But he has done it before, to her request. Aemond knew that if his wife was enraged by that, he would have been beaten over and over, because she was kind, but didn’t stand for people dishonouring her. 

Aemond, more gently places his hand back on her chin, pulling it so she can look at him. “You will learn your place” Aemond says, as she looks up at him, with those meek eyes of hers. He loved her eyes. “Open your mouth”

 He leaned down, his mouth opening over hers, so near that she could feel his hot breath. His hand goes to wrap the bright red hair of hers, and his firm grip got her head secured. 

Perhaps Aemond would kiss those perfect lips, yet he pulled back and released a strand of saliva directly into her waiting mouth. Aemond’s fingers tightened the grip in her hair, as his other hand came up to wipe away the excess of spit. 

“There is my good girl” he murmurs, looking at her. “Mhm. I’m going to teach you a lesson” 

Aemond lifts his wife to her feet as if she weighs nothing, his grip on her hair almost dragging her to the bed, forcefully as he heard her little whines. He had a moment or two to decide which position suited best, for then to grab her hips and guide her to be on her hands and knees. He grabs the long red hair once again, angling her head to the side, because Aemond needed to see her face the same way he needed air.

She was soaking wet, and that is a satisfaction for her husband. Aemond accommodated behind her, watching her body as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

 “Such a sweet little cunt” he growls, his eye flashing with lust and desire as he thrusts into her from behind, in one swift motion. 

Her whimpers and pants are loud, as she grips on the sheets as her back is arched. She was desperate to be filled and fucked, not something unusual. The unusual thing was that… nothing happened.

“Aemond” She whines, moving her head to watch him from above her shoulder. She had that desperate, pitiful appearance that he loved.

“Yes, my love?” He asks almost nonchalantly, watching her ass, and how his cock is fully sank inside her 

She can barely think straight as his dick is deep inside her, throbbing in her walls as she just needs him to start fucking her. “Eh… move?”

“I don’t think so” he murmurs, his hand moving to caress her ass to his liking. “You’ll have to fuck yourself on my cock” His wife opens her mouth, confused as her eyebrows frown in hesitation. “Show me how much you need me” he says simply, he was fucking teasing her. “How much you need my cock”

Feeling the thick length of Aemond’s cock inside her, she accommodates on her hands, slowly moving away just to sink down onto his cock again. Her slick walls gripping him tightly as she impales herself on his thick cock. 

“Aemond… Fu-uck, you feel… oh, yes…” She whimpers, and her voice is filled with pleasure as her pussy starts getting pounded as she liked so much. If Lady Tully liked something in life, was probably getting fucked until her mind is mush.  

Her hips start moving on their own accord, as she grips on the sheets, trying to keep a stable posture to move her hips better, as her moans are obscenely loud, trying to get his cock deeper and deeper. Aemond leaves a groan, watching how she sinks down on his cock, and it is an image that would make any man cum in seconds. He truly was the luckiest man ever. 

He feels the fire in his stomach tighten, as her moans grew more and more delighted to the feeling of his cock pounding into her. At first, she had thought of it as promiscuous, and asked the maiden for forgiveness, but gods damn her if it wasn’t the best thing in life to get a good fuck from the love of her life.

“So responsive when getting a cock in your needy pussy” Aemond mutters, as one of his hands raises to spank her ass, the sharp slap only serves for the sounds coming out of her mouth to increase, and he spanks her again, and again, and again, to his own amusement and delight. 

“Please, Aemond…” 

“You just love misbehaving with me, because you know I will put you in your place” he says, moving forward to her body to grip his hair with his right hand, his left goes right next to her hand gripping the sheets to hold his weight. “Because you are a needy whore” he states, gripping her hair as she nods forcefully. 

“Yes” she says, in that whiny tone of hers. He knows her reactions yet every time they aroused him even more. “Yes, please”

The grip on her hair only serves to help him push her back against his cock, his hips now making the effort to start properly pounding into her cunt as she loved; hard, rough and at a deliciously good pace. Her body is practically numb as he starts to use her body for his own pleasure, just as she loved.

Who would have said that the most beautiful woman on earth loved being used by her husband? Definitely not him. She was the most perfect creature, in any way. Smart, funny, pretty, a good wife and mother. And yet she always craved his cock, like the filthiest whores of Flea Bottom. 

“Let those bastards hear you, hm?” He asks, as he leans to speak lowly near her ear. “How it’s your husband who pleases you. Perhaps my uncle will get the notion that you are mine. Only mine. Fucking mine. That fucking dodderer will die by my hand if he ever dares to lay his eyes on you” 

The mere thought infuriates him, making his hips slam into her harder and more feral. Rutting into her cunt in an animalistic pace as he has to clench his jaw in rage. His hand on her hair and the other on her waist, he groans at the feeling of her soaking cunt. 

The sobs he hears as his cock keeps on pounding into her sweet spot, makes him smug enough, and even more aroused. His sweet lady wife, so prone to cry when she had too much pleasure when she got overwhelmed with lust. 

“Please, please…” the round of pleas comes up with her tears, and Aemond moans, shamelessly, as he was so close. “I can’t t-take i-it… anymo-ore” 

“Oh, you will” he says through gritted teeth as he lets go of her hair, only for his other hand to go to her shoulder to help her get his dick deeper. “I will breed you. Cum so deep that my seed takes root, and everyone will know who you belong to.” 

Her nods between sobs, pleas and trembling legs help him pound in feral thrusts into her, feeling her cunt already milking him, inner walls attempting to squeeze his dick inside and never let it go.

“Cum for me, my love” he murmurs, still fucking her deep and nice how she likes it. “My beautiful wife” he murmurs, besotted by her as she cries, her tears rolling down her rosy cheeks with little freckles that he adored. 

The little spasms of her body, her wails and the way her cunt squeezes him, it’s enough to drive him to the edge, holding her body down into his cock as he moans loudly, rolling his eye back in pleasure as he cums hard. She whimpers, whining a bit as his seed just keeps on filling her, his balls tensing up as his grip will probably leave her delicate skin with red marks.

He is caring afterwards, as he cleans her with a towel, or when he places her in bed and covers her, lying by her side each time as she snuggles to him.

“You have to know–” she says softly, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. “You are hot when jealous”

Aemond huffs, grumbling about it a bit as he seems reluctant. It amuses her.

“You always find me hot, I could be… Killing a chicken and you would be leaking”

“Get on my place for a moment, please, just imagine how your muscles would flex” she says dead serious and he rolls his eye amused, as the corners of his lips gives him away.

The fixation on his hair would be a problem if he didn’t love her so much. Aemond allows his lady Tully to braid it as they talk in bed. 

“I didn’t really mean it” he says softly. 

“Hm?” She asks curious, her fingers working on a single small braid on his hair.

“You can talk to them” he says through gritted teeth. “Just-... not too much”

Her little laugh warms his heart. “Very well” she says amused. “For each sentence I say to them, I will suck you”

“I retract myself, talk to them very much, all you like” he says, and it has her giggling. “You know I love you…” he says; as it comes into his view her concentrated face, her tongue coming out of her pink lips as she was focused. He could see the freckles that he so adored, and her pretty eyes. How he loved her.

“You know I love you more…” she says fixing his braid to stick to his hair. Her mouth forms a pleased smile as she sits, as she inspects her work. “Yes. Seems pretty nice”

He could feel the hair strand tight, and he moved his hand to touch his head. “What in the Seven Hells you did to my hair, woman?” 

She looks very pleased as she giggles, her body accommodating against his chest as she shrugs innocently, as he keeps on playfully trying to decipher what his wife did to his hair. 

[watchmegetobsessed]

MAKE HER REGRET IT

A/N: i was really in the mood for some smut and the neighbors trope popped into my head, so here we are!

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry, your freshly divorced, insanely hot neighbor needs your help: you have to pretend to be his new girlfriend when his ex-wife comes over, however your little stunt outdoes your expectations in a lot of ways.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It's a basic instinct for you at this point to look up at the balcony whenever you’re approaching your apartment building. However you’re not looking at yours, but the one next to yours that belongs to one hot, freshly divorced guy who moved in next door about two months ago. 

You remember the morning the moving truck appeared and you knew someone was taking the vacant apartment beside yours. You just arrived back from your morning run and you jumped right into guesses about who it will be. Maybe someone your age? A girl you can go to yoga with? Or a sweet old lady you can have tea with on warm afternoons? Hopefully not a noisy family, because the walls are way too thin to endure the screaming of a child. 

Then you saw him. Carrying a heavy looking box up the stairs, a simple white shirt stretching on his torso, tattooed arms flexing under the weight of the box, you knew you were fucked the first time you saw Harry Styles. 

It took you no time to lurk over the next day and introduce yourself as his neighbor. 

“If you need suggestions for coffee spots around the neighborhood, I’m your person,” you smiled at him charmingly as he stood in his doorway in gray sweats and a black t-shirt, hair messy but so delicious, it was screaming for your fingers to run through his locks. 

“I will definitely keep that in mind. I can offer to fix anything around your apartment, I’m kind of a handyman,” he chuckled and your knees almost buckled hearing his creamy british accent. 

Fate played on your hand, because you kept running into each other so it didn’t take long for you to go out for a coffee run together and it was smooth sailing from then. You learned about how he just got divorced, his wife cheated on him and he found out on their second anniversary, tragic story and you still can’t quite understand how any woman could cheat on a man like him. You practically drool every time you catch a glimpse of him arriving back from a run in nothing but a pair of shorts, his tanned skin glistening from sweat. You definitely love to move out to the balcony around the time he can be expected to appear in the late afternoon, you watch him stretch and breathe heavily and the sight alone makes you break a sweat as well, but for a whole different reason. 

You’ve been trying to flirt with him every possible occasion, but you also make sure you don’t come off too pushy. After all he just got out of a marriage, it must be hard on him to recover from being cheated on. There’s also a slight age difference between the two of you, not that dramatic, but that eight years could easily be a deal breaker for him, so you’ve been playing it safe. 

When you’re lying in bed late at night and sleep is not coming to you, you can’t help but think of how he is on the other side of the wall, you imagine him sleeping without a shirt, maybe thinking about you the way you like to think of him… But it’s all just a fantasy, one you fancy very much. 

The door to his balcony is open so you know he is home, but he is not out. You take your time walking up the stairs, your legs are definitely tired from the run you just had and just when you reach your floor Harry’s front door swings open and you stop, watching him walk over to your door. He didn’t notice you, so you stay still and watch him take a deep breath as he lifts his fist up to knock, but then it falls back to his side and he shakes his head, stepping backwards before returning to his spot on your doormat and that’s when you decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Are you out of sugar, neighbor?” you ask, slowly walking towards him. Harry spins around with a stunned expression. 

“Oh, I didn’t–I didn’t see you.” You catch his gaze running down your body and legs and you’re thankful you decided to wear your shortest shorts. 

Playing with your keys in your hands, you finally reach him. 

“What’s up?”

“Um… I have a bit of a situation on my hands and you might be able to help me.”

Unlocking the door you push it in and gesture for him to follow you inside. 

“Do tell me.”

Rounding your way into the kitchen you step to the fridge to grab some water. Harry hesitantly follows you and stops by the kitchen counter. 

“So, I talked to Rory this morning,” he starts. You’ve heard enough about Rory, his ex wife to know that if she’s involved, it’s for sure something messy. “You know that painting in my living room?” You nod. “Well, she insists it’s hers, because a friend of hers painted it, but I was the one who paid for it. Whatever. She’s been trying to get me to give it to her and honestly I’m over it so I gave in. She is picking it up today.”

“When will the part where I can help come?”

“Right here,” he chuckles nervously. “We got into a fight, no surprise. She screamed at me over the phone and told me I’ll die alone because no one can put up with my shit.”

You need to force yourself to swallow the bitterness in your mouth. That woman sounds very much like the spawn of the devil, because who would say that to anyone? Especially to Harry? Aside from being insanely hot you’ve also learned just how kind, passionate and funny he is, basically the whole deal. Rory is the biggest loser in history for letting go of a man like him. 

“One thing followed the other and I just… Um, I told her that I have someone.”

The light bulb switches on in your mind, because you already know where this is heading. And you like it, very much. 

“I don’t know what got into me, but I told her she can meet my alleged girlfriend when she picks up the painting so she can see herself that I’m not the loser she thinks I am. And… as you might now, I do not have anyone…”

“You want me to be your fake girlfriend,” you finish for him, saving him from having to say it out loud. You can see just how awkward he is, having to ask you for such a thing. 

“Basically, yeah. Only if you don’t mind being part of this shitshow. I understand if you find it weird and I don’t expect you to–”

“When should I be over at yours?” you simply ask and watch his eyes go wide. 

“Y-You will do it?”

“Sure, sounds fun. Besides, I’m curious to see the stupidest woman on earth,” you add smirking and he finally lets out a relieved laugh as well. 

“Thank you so much, Y/N. Really, I owe you big time. She’ll be here in about two hours.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there.”

For the next two hours, you do everything you can to bring out the hottest version of yourself. Hair, makeup, dress, everything is on spot when you step out of your apartment and walk over to Harry’s door, ringing the bell. 

When the door swings open and Harry sees you his mouth hangs open, giving you that one last ego boost you need to be the best possible fake girlfriend ever. 

“Satisfied with your girlfriend?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I-I uh–Yeah! I’m… yes.”

“Can I go inside then?” you ask with a chuckle and he steps aside in a hurry.

“Sorry, yeah come inside.”

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, walking into his living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. Harry follows, but he takes the armchair across you and you can tell he is still struggling with not ogling you, especially your exposed legs and deep cleavage the dress teases him with. 

“I don’t… I have no idea, I have never done this before.”

“I have.”

“Really?”

“Just once, in college. One of my friends broke up with a girl who did not take it well and I was his fake girlfriend for a week to get her to stop harassing him. It worked.”

“Then… I trust you with anything.”

“What’s the goal?”

Harry opens his mouth, but then closes, as if he is embarrassed to say what’s on his mind. 

“Harry, say it. I’m happy to help with anything.”

“I want to make her regret it.”

“Regret what she said?”

“Regret everything,” he corrects and when he looks you in the eye a shiver runs down your spine from the determination that’s behind his green irises. 

“Consider it done,” you smile at him devilishly. 

At your suggestion you both take a shot to ease your nerves and make it easier to lie. It seems to loosen him just enough that he doesn’t look like he is about to attend an interrogation. 

And then the bell rings. 

“Show time,” you smile at him and as he walks over to the door you take your place on the couch again. 

You hear the door open and then a female voice mixes with Harry’s before the footsteps follow. Harry comes into view first, but then Rory steps out from behind him and you see the pure shock in her eyes when she finally spots you. 

“Oh, hi!” you smile at her almost disgustingly sweetly as you stand from the couch and walk closer. “You must be Rony. I’m Y/N.” You hold out a hand for her and watch as her mouth twitches when she hears you mess her name up. 

“Rory,” she sassily says and shakes your hand at last. “So you’re the… girlfriend.” The disgust in her tone is apparent, she is not even trying to hide it and it just makes it way more enjoyable. 

“Yes and you must be the cheating ex-wife.”

Harry coughs beside you, he was not expecting you to be this blunt, but the look on Rory’s face is priceless, because she can’t deny what she is. Moving closer to Harry you wrap an arm around his waist and though at first he freezes at your closeness, he is quick to recover and join in on the act, his arm finding your waist as well. 

“The painting is over there, just take it and let’s get over with it, alright?” Harry nods towards the painting he already took off the wall, now it’s leant against the console table that’s been underneath it. 

“You didn’t even wrap it?” she scoffs. How am I supposed to take it like this?”

“Rory, I’m not a fucking gallery. You wanted the painting, take it.”

“It’s gonna be ruined if I just put it into my car like this!” she argues. 

“That’s none of my business.”

“Harry, this is so not okay! I can’t–”

“Jesus, Rory fine! I think I have some bubble wrap,” he grunts, heading into his bedroom to find something to wrap the painting in, leaving the two of you alone.

Rory gives you another long, dirty look, as if you were the woman Harry cheated on her with when she is the culprit of this mess here. 

“So how long have you been together?” she then asks, pretending like she is just chit chatting, but you know she is eager to know everything about you.

“A little over a month now. You know, I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but Harry is just the perfect guy and I couldn’t stay away from him.”

“Oh, he is not that perfect, little girl.”

It’s obvious she tried to derogate you by calling you a little girl, she must be around the age of Harry, not more than thirty-six for sure, but she can’t find anything to use against you other than the fact that you’re clearly in your twenties. How mature. 

“I know. But everything he can give me makes it worth it. And the sex, ah!”

She gives you a puzzled look. You knew this would stir her up, Harry mentioned how distant they grew in the last few months and sex wasn’t the same anymore. Looking at the timeline she must have started her affair around that time and Harry couldn’t perform the way he otherwise could because she wasn’t open to him anymore. It was a vicious cycle, but you also know Rory is the kind of woman who must have humiliated him because of that. Harry never said, but you just feel that she criticized his sexual performance when she left him even if it all happened because of her. 

And now hearing that he is giving his all to another woman is definitely something that can drive her nuts. 

“Oh please, he sucks in bed,” she scoffs.

“Not with the right partner. He is so good, I honestly don’t know how you could let go of him.”

“He couldn’t make me cum for months!”

“That’s unfortunate. I get an orgasm basically after every meal. He is so good at it, honestly, it’s like he just wants to please me every possible moment. I mean, I can’t remember a morning when I didn’t wake up with his head between my legs, he loves quickies, I have to sanitize the kitchen counter like twice a day.” You let out a chuckle and just watch as her face grows redder while staring at the kitchen counter, raging jealousy swirling in her mind for sure. It’s clearer than daylight that she didn’t cheat on him because he wasn’t manly enough, this woman is simply a stupid loser who couldn’t appreciate what she had, maybe panicked that she can’t mess around with others and then simply chose to ruin everything. 

You’re more than happy to remind her what she lost. 

“Alright, this is all I got,” Harry emerges from the bedroom with some bubble wrap he probably had left from moving, but when he sees you and Rory staring each other down, he stops. But before he could speak up, you decide to push that knife into Rory’s chest as your final move. 

Stepping over to Harry you push yourself up against him, he drops the bubble wrap and his hands grab you by the waist instantly, though you see confusion in his eyes before you take his face in your hands and pull him closer, lips pressing against his hungrily. 

It’s not a sweet, shy first kiss. This is the perfect show off, messy, passionate, full of tongue and eagerness as you practically devour each other. For a bit you forget about the show you’re putting up and it’s your real desire you’ve been fighting for weeks now. Every time you try to pull back Harry just keeps demanding more and you happily give him what he wants. He bites into your bottom lip when one of his hands moves down to your ass, giving it a not-at-all shy squeeze, making you moan into the kiss. 

It feels like it takes forever for you to stop, when you open your eyes you’re met with Harry’s hungry eyes, his lips are slightly swollen and shiny from your kisses. 

And then you remember you’re not alone. 

“Oh, fuck you. Fuck you both!” Rory pops the bubble around you and when you turn to look at her, she is already grabbing the painting, not even bothering to wrap it. 

“It was nice to meet you!” you call after her.

“Fuck you!” she repeats, marching towards the door and you’re just smirking like an idiot, pleased with yourself for pissing her off so badly. 

Harry follows her to shut the door behind her and you let yourself bathe in the sweet victory you just earned. 

“This went amazing, right? She was so mad, oh my God!” you laugh, but your smile quickly disappears when you realize the serious look on Harry’s face as he is walking back towards you. 

Shit, maybe the kiss was too much. He didn’t want it and now he is pissed at you.

“Are you mad about the kiss? I-I’m sorry if it was too–”

The words die down on your lips when they crash against his again, his hand cupping the back of your head while the other returns straight to your ass, groping you so hard your whole body smashes against his. 

Your mouth opens in surprise and it gives him the chance to push his tongue against yours, he is demanding, rough and so much more raw than what you imagined him to be like. 

“What did you tell her?” he asks against your mouth, moving you around until the small of your back hits the kitchen counter. “What did you tell her that made her so pissed?” he demands, his hand already eagerly moving underneath your dress. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“I said, ah–I said I wake up every day with… your head between my legs, and… Oh fuck!” You’re losing your ability to speak your thoughts as his fingers start circling, the fabric of your underwear is so drenched, if you could think straight you might be embarrassed just how aroused he made you so fast. 

“And?” he urges you to continue, but at the same time he pushes your underwear to the side and pushes two fingers into you without warning, making you gasp so loud that people on the street must have heard it through the open balcony door. 

“A-and that you fuck me on the… the kitchen counter all the time.”

He curls his fingers inside you as he keeps talking.

“Then that’s what I’ll do to you now. Are you okay with that?” he asks and you nod eagerly as you hold onto his broad shoulders. 

The next moment he pulls his hand back and you whine, feeling empty all of a sudden, but then he lifts you up and makes you sit on the counter, he lowers himself and places your legs over his shoulders with careful, but confident moves. You grab onto his hair as he pushes his head between your thighs and his mouth meets your clit. 

“Oh, fuck! Harry!” you gasp out, tugging on his hair as he swirls his tongue against your swollen clit, his fingers teasing your hole again. Then they push into you and he sucks on your clit, making you see stars. 

You imagined him to be skilled, but whatever it is he is doing to you, it feels out of this world and now you know you weren’t wrong when you praised him that much to Rory before. 

You’re totally out of breath when he comes up, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on his tongue, your hands impatiently tug on his shirt to get rid of it. Soon the fabric lands on the tiled floor and you map out every inch of his hard chest with your palm and while you keep kissing like there’s no tomorrow, you faintly hear the zipper of his pants come undone. 

You look him in the eyes when you reach down and take his hard length into your hands and you can’t hold back a gasp when you realize just how big he is. 

“I know you can take it, baby,” he coos, kissing the corner of your mouth and you’re ready to take him right then and there, but he moves back, making you reach for him in panic. “Condom,” he says and you lean back onto your elbows with a sigh as you watch him disappear in his bedroom. You have just a few seconds you process that here you are, on top of Harry’s kitchen counter, with your dress bunched up around your waist, your drenched pussy on show, waiting to be fucked properly. You definitely did not expect this outcome when you woke up this morning, but you’re not complaining. 

Then Harry appears and he is walking over to you, completely naked, his dick in his hands as he rolls the condom on while moving and you bite into your bottom lip, hoping to remember this view until the end of time. 

When he reaches you again he simply curls his arms around your thighs and tugs on you so you get closer to the edge. His erection wedges between your wet folds and the tip pokes against your clit, making you clench around nothing. 

“I have to admit, I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on this counter since the day I moved in and saw you for the first time.”

“Just on the counter?” you ask teasingly. 

“Every surface of this fucking apartment,” he admits with no remorse.

“Make a list then and I’m more than happy to do them all. But let’s tick the counter off first.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He reaches down and circles his thumb against your clit a bit before grabbing his dick by the base and dragging it up and down your cunt a few times before pushing the head in first, letting you adjust to his thickness first. When you claw at his chest he takes it as a sign to go deeper and he keeps pushing until you take his whole length, feeling fuller than ever before. 

“I want to go hard,” he breathes out, staying still for now.

“Go hard then. I can take it,” you assure him, though you do have doubts feeling just how stretched out you are now. 

“Of course you can. You’re my good girl,” he praises you and before you could get a word out, he pulls back and slams into you hard. 

There are moments when you actually think you’re about to burst, Harry did not joke when he said he wants to go hard, his thrusts are fast and rough and he makes sure he buries his whole length into you every time he pushes into you. At one point he pulls your legs over his shoulders and it allows him to reach a point in you no one has before and it pushes you towards the edge rapidly. The counter is painfully hard underneath you, but you somehow forget about the pain and only focus on how hard Harry is railing into you. His stamina is incredible, your body already feels like goo and you’re not even doing the actual work. 

“Harry, I’m so close,” you moan and his fingers dig deeper into your thighs at your words. 

“Come around my cock, baby. I wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out his name again, a tear rolling down your cheek, because you’re so desperate to let go. Harry moves a hand to where you meet and his thumb returns to your clit and that’s what throws you over the edge. 

Your back arches and you squeeze around him uncontrollably, gasping for air as he ruthlessly keeps fucking into you. 

“That’s it, baby. You look so fucking beautiful, coming on my cock.”

You can’t stop moaning as you ride out your orgasm. The last waves are washing over your body when his movements fall out of rhythm, he slams into you hard and he sucks on his breath before moaning out your name over and over again, pushing into you a few more times as he comes. He falls forward, his face burying into your heaving chest as he tries to catch his breath along with you. There’s a long minute of silent bliss, his cock is still inside you, his lips peppering soft kisses onto the skin that’s exposed on your chest while you’re mindlessly playing with his hair. 

When he straightens up he pulls out of you, the empty feeling hitting you again. He carefully helps you off the counter, but keeps his arms around you, because when your feet hit the floor you wobble. 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest you take the cross pendant on his necklace between your teeth and pull back, looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t do that, or we’re moving to the next place on the list.”

Giggling you let go of it and push yourself up to steal a kiss. 

“Give me some time to recover, but I’m all in to check out another place.”

“Jesus, I knew you’d be the death of me the moment I saw you,” he breathes out, before his mouth claims yours hungrily. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[miserycanary]

DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife

tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff

Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 

“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”

All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 

“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 

Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.

“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 

Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 

“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 

‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’

Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.

‘Definitely nuts!’

Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 

‘He’s too far gone’

“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I don’ know, princess.”

Meanwhile…

“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.

Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔

dividers by @cafekitsune

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