#con: vala.

[fixnina]

hay algo en palabras femeninas que resuena en nina: la incertidumbre, la frustración, esa sensación de estar en una cuerda floja. ' como caminar por un puente que no sabes si terminarás de cruzar o si se caerá a la mitad. ' agrega su propio ejemplo de cómo vive aquella experiencia, voz suave, pero firme, cargada de un peso que no intenta esconder ahora mismo. ' no se trata solo de vivir un día más, sino de hacerlo de una manera que no nos haga perder quiénes somos. safe haven definitivamente tiene sus propios demonios y se refleja en las caras de la gente y en la forma en que algunos no piensan más allá de su próximo trago de agua o su siguiente ración de comida. ' tampoco es que los culpe, puro instinto de supervivencia, ¿no? aunque no sea ideal, es normal, y necesitan encontrar una forma de hacerles entender que trabajar en conjunto es la verdadera salida (porque sí, eso es en lo que nina cree fervientemente). ' no sé si marcharnos a greenville será mejor, peor o igual, pero podría tratarse de una oportunidad. ' reflexiona en voz alta, sabiendo que también existen otros motivos para ella que la impulsan a irse, los cuales finalmente revela: ' mi madre y mi hermana están allí. ' dato no menor, desea que se encuentren bien, sanas, a fin de cuentas y a pesar de todo son la familia que le queda. asiente lentamente, entiende perfectamente el punto, en tiempos así, donde el egoísmo parece dominar la mayoría de las decisiones, encontrar aliados con una visión similar podría marcar la diferencia entre el caos y la organización, entre la supervivencia y la desesperación. ' estoy de acuerdo, es una buena idea, con unos pocos quizá podamos hacer más que con muchos que solo actúan pensando en sí mismos. ' es raro encontrar personas dispuestas a dar más de lo que reciben, pero cuando se da ese tipo de unión, aunque sea pequeña, se siente como una ventaja. ' ¿conoces a otros vecinos que piensen como nosotras? ' quizá tengan algunas muletas que sobren y no tendrá que luchar para conseguirlas.

Vala asintió con lentitud mientras escuchaba, su mirada perdida por un instante en un punto invisible mientras procesaba las palabras. Sabía lo que significaba estar atrapada entre dos opciones, ambas plagadas de incertidumbre. "Es como jugar a la ruleta rusa con las decisiones," murmuró, su tono cargado de un cansancio que no intentaba disimular. "Safe Haven tiene sun montón de problemas, pero ir a Greenville... ¿y si tampoco es mejor? ¿Y si llegamos y no hay nadie, o peor, encontramos algo como esto otra vez?" Se frotó las manos para combatir el frío, un gesto tan mecánico como la forma en que intentaba ordenar sus pensamientos. "Ah, sí, los 'sálvese quien pueda'. Es irónico, ¿no? Porque en un lugar como este, donde deberíamos ser más solidarios que nunca, es cuando algunos deciden mirarse solo a sí mismos." Su tono se endureció un poco al recordar cómo ese comportamiento había complicado un poco las cosas.

"Pero bueno, por suerte no todos piensan así. Y creo que organizarse entre los que sí están dispuestos a colaborar puede marcar la diferencia, aunque sean pocos." Vala cruzó los brazos, reflexionando un momento antes de responder a la pregunta sobre el trueque. "Tengo algo de comida enlatada, velas, y un par de mantas extra. Nada lujoso, pero suficiente para sobrevivir. Aunque si te soy sincera, más que intercambiar, prefiero ver si podemos hacer algún tipo de red entre quienes confíen en colaborar. Tal vez compartir recursos, o al menos planear juntos cómo movernos si decidimos ir a Greenville."

La idea de las muletas no solo le parecía práctica, sino casi simbólica: un paso literal hacia algo mejor. "Si eso significa que puedes moverte con más libertad y tienes una mejor oportunidad, cuenta conmigo," dijo con una pequeña sonrisa que, aunque cansada, era genuina.

[milasics]

⸻ @vau0ghty : envió CUERVO; para un starter donde nuestros personajes se unen para recoger cuervos más rápido.

parece incontable la cantidad de material cadavérico que hay por la calle, sin una razón concreta. los rumores ( y también la concentración de cansancio y mal humor ) culminaron en dolor de cabeza, negándose a creer que realmente es un mal augurio de algo. ¿pero qué carajos es? mientras debate, ojos se cruzan con Vala — que bien reconoce fuera de su atuendo de abogada. se aproxima con una bolsa en la mano, indicándole que trabajen juntos. ' ¿tomamos esto como señal del universo para no concretar nuestros planes? ' se atreve a bromear.

[khakilike]

Bobby Vala on August 26, 2023: "Most likely all this will happen. If some things change and move out, maybe to the beginning of October, that could very well happen as well. But we're planning for all this stuff to happen in September. We are taking over September. September is now the Valaverse month, along with every other month of the year."

So how did Valaverse's September takeover work out? Series 3.1 went up for sale on September 26. The Legend of the White Dragon pre-orders launched on November 17. They recently started hyping up Series 5 while stringing fans along with ever-changing* Series 4 news. And the Vanguard pre-orders now "will happen before the end of the year." That's not a good hit:miss ratio, but it's all part of the fun of being an Action Force collector!

*August 31 newsletter: "Series 4 is just around the corner and will be going up for pre-order in the next few weeks with them being delivered in late October/early November." September 26 newsletter: "Series 4 is shipping out from the factory in about 2 weeks and will go up for advance ordering in the next week or two." October 27 newsletter: "If we do pre-orders, it will be a short turnaround since we are expecting the shipment to arrive at the end of November." November 23 newsletter/Instagram post: "Our shipment is set to be delivered to us the second week of December. We are still figuring out if we are going to open these for advanced orders or just wait until they arrive and put them up then. Stay tuned."

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Creating Your Own Language

When writer's set out to world-build, language has a huge role in creating new cultures and lending a sense of realism to your efforts. A world and people just feel more real when language is involved. As the old Irish proverb says "tír gan teanga, tír gan anam”. A country without a language, is a country without a soul. So how can we create one?

Do Your Homework

First things off, you should start by studying languages. Nobody is asking you to get fluent but it's important to understand the basic mechanics of language. You will start to see certain tricks to language, how verbs are conjugated and how gender effects certain words. It will be easier to make up your own when you know these tricks. For example, in Irish one doesn't scold but "gives out to" - "a thabhairt amach". In German, numbers are arranged differently to the English with the smallest digit arranged before the tens for example 21 - Einsundzwanzig. By immersing yourself in an array of different languages (I recommend finding ones close to how you want your language to sound), you can gain the tools necessary for creating a believable language.

Keep it Simple

Nobody expects you to pull a Tolkien or channel the powers of David J. Peterson (hail bisa vala). You're not writing a dictionary of your con-lang. You will probably use only a handful of words in your story. Don't over complicate things. A reader will not be fluent in your con-lang and if they have to continually search for the meaning of words they will likely loose patience.

Start Small

When you're learning a language, you always start with the basics. You do the exact same when writing one. Start with introductions, the names of simple objects, simple verbs (to be, to do, to have for example) and most importantly your pronouns (you will use these more than any other word, which is why I always start with them). Simple everyday phrases should always be taken care of first. Build your foundation and work your way up, this is a marathon not a race.

Music to the Ears

If your creating a new language, you're more than likely doing it phonetically. Sound is important to language and especially a con-lang because you want to trick your reader into thinking of a real language when reading the words on the page. I suggest sitting down and actually speak your words aloud, get the feel of them on the tongue to work out the spelling. Spellings shouldn't be too complicated, as I said before the readers aren't fluent and you want to make it easier for them to try it out themselves.

Also when you're creating the con-lang, it's important to figure out how it sounds to an unsuspecting ear. If a character is walking down a street and hears a conversation in a strange language, they will likely describe to the reader what it sounds like. It might be guttural or soft, it might be bursque or flowery. It's always interesting to compare how different languages flow in the ear.

Writing in Your Language

Now that you've written your language and created some words, you will want to incoperate them into your story. The way most writers do this is by italicising them. As a reader, I generally prefer authors not to go too overboard with their con-lang. Swathes of con-lang words might intrigue a reader but it can leave them confused as well. It is better to feed con-lang to your readers bit by bit. In most published works writer's tend to use words here and there but there are few whole sentences. For example in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin, has actually only a handful of short sentences in Dothraki despite the language being prevalent throughout the book. Daenerys Targaryen pronounces that "Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!"/"A prince rides inside me!" and it's one of the only sentence we actually see in actual Dothraki.

There's also nothing stopping you from just saying a language has been spoken. If you're not comfortable writing out the words, then don't make yourself. A simple dialogue tag can do the trick just fine.

Know your Words

I do recommend keeping an actual record of your words. Make a dictionary if you want or a simple list of words you need. This is one of the most entertaining aspects of world building, have fun with it, go mad if you like. Also here's a short list of questions you can ask yourself about language in general which might help your juices flow.

[fixnina]

' sí, pero la comunicación y la organización parecen no ser el fuerte del pueblo. ' coincide, les iría mucho mejor en la recaudación si cada quien hiciera lo que le apasiona, o algo en lo que sean buenos, al menos, ella seguro se sentiría más cómoda. ' ¿qué habrías escogido? ' si existiera la posibilidad de agregar una nueva categoría, algo diferente para la velada, entonces nina no lo hubiese dudado ni un segundo, podría ayudar de otras formas más útiles. ' sí, y físicamente también, los niños tienen demasiada energía. ' se vio obligada a entretener a un grupo de ellos, a seguirles el ritmo e inventar algunos juegos acorde, definitivamente fue divertido pero se cansó mucho. ' ¿o se trata de una especie de fetiche que nosotras, simples mortales, no comprendemos? ' ríe tras formular interrogante y pasos siguen los contrarios mientras observa a su alrededor, curiosa por naturaleza. ' si tuviera dinero en exceso nadie volvería a verme. ' a pesar de tono burlón, ese con el que se desenvuelve muy bien, es verdad lo que dice, hay tanto que desea explorar y conocer, falta de dinero siempre fue su gran problema. 

"Cuando quieras. Aunque esperemos que este tipo de eventos no vuelva a ocurrir sin que nosotros estemos preparadas. ¿No era mejor que voluntariamente nos inscribiéramos a una actividad en la que estuviéramos cómodas?" a ella no le hubiera molestado entretener o decorar, incluso le atraía la idea de preparar bebidas o alimentos, no de estarlos repartiendo alrededor del evento. "Te entiendo," aseguró. "Me imagino que te agotaste mentalmente," un suspiro casi inaudible escapó de entre sus labios a la par que se posicionaba junto a figura contraria, iniciando así una aventura más que no estaba segura cómo terminaría; mientras no se encontraran con algo extraño dentro, creía que saldrían ilesas. "Siempre me ha parecido curioso. Cuando la gente tiene dinero en exceso hace cosas muy extrañas. ¿Con qué propósito lo colocaría? ¿Uso personal o algún tipo de experimento social?" comenzó a caminar dentro del laberinto, sus pensamientos aún divagando.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Blackmail, obsession ⊱ Pairing: Manwë x Námo ⊱ Synopsis: After Námo disobeys an order from his king, Manwë forces him to make it up to him. ⊱ Warnings: Creepy Manwë, power dynamics, sexual content, non-con, the prompt in itself

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December and yes, I will be working on these for quite a while longer. Nevertheless: Enjoy!

"Please forgive me, my king." 

Námo was kneeling in the chambers of his lord, head bowed in dutiful penitence. He was as aware as the Vala in front of him that his refusal to speak when he was bidden was a grievous offence to the Elder King's authority, even though he believed it had been necessary to adhere to the divine ordinance he had been given at the beginning of his existence – to never reveal more than what was needed. 

Nevertheless, his being was bound to lawfulness, and he would accept punishment if his lord and his father deemed it necessary. 

Manwë looked as holy and glorious as ever, even seated on his bed instead of his throne. His usual smile had faded, replaced by a sorrowful mien, and the deep sigh that fell from his lips sent a small breeze through the air surrounding them. 

"Worry not, dear Námo. I shall surely forgive you, but I am afraid you will need to make it up to me." 

Despite the perfectly serene and innocent tone, Námo felt a sense of unease, sending shivers down his spine. 

"Anything that is within my power, my king," he said carefully. 

"Very well. Rise." Manwë held out his hand, though it was a gesture of silent command instead of an invitation to take it. 

Námo did as he had been told. Perhaps his obedience could help him atone for his sin, he thought, but then he was caught off-guard when Manwë rose as well and delivered three swift, decisive strikes, the gleam of silvery talons being his only warning – the first one tore off his veil, the second discarded his hood and the third undid the sash holding his robes in place. 

A small gasp escaped Námo as his form was revealed to the eyes of his lord, and he saw delight blossoming within the depths of his blue eyes. 

"Get on the bed." 

"M-my king –"

"Now." 

There was something rough and firm within Manwë's voice, something that was usually absent, that many thought him incapable of. Námo's fána trembled when he obeyed once more, leaving him exposed and prone in front of a Vala he had always trusted – until now that he saw his eyes glint like those of a raptor spotting prey in the grass. 

"What do you want from me?" he managed to ask, attempting to suppress his fear when Manwë climbed on top of him with such natural ease – 

As if we were lovers...

"Is it not obvious?" Manwë smiled at him, as kind and sweet as he had always done, but the dangerous gleam in his eyes hadn't vanished. "I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while."

Too stunned to speak, Námo could only stare at him as he lovingly cupped his cheeks. 

"You are so beautiful," Manwë sighed. "And now you will finally be mine." 

Námo stopped breathing when he was drawn into a kiss so tender it almost made him forget that it was forced, and his own lips remained stiff and unmoving. He still couldn't believe that he was being subjected to a punishment of carnal nature, at the hands of his pure, benevolent king no less. 

Manwë withdrew after a few fruitless attempts, seeming upset. "You don't wish to kiss me?" 

"Please, my king... n-not this..." Námo attempted to plead, but was ignored. 

"If you continue to be disobedient I can no longer be patient with you. Your punishment is whatever I deem fit, and if I want to make you mine and show you where you belong, then this is what shall be done." 

Talons dug into his sides as Manwë forced him to turn around and slipped his robes off his shoulders, tearing any remaining clothes to shreds. Námo was left lying on his stomach, held down by a Vala greater than himself. A still-clothed groin was pressed against his exposed backside, and he felt flesh hardening against him. 

"Since you have cheated me out of a prophecy, I hope you at least haven't cheated me out of being your first," Manwë whispered in his ear. 

Námo remained silent. He didn't wish to recount the ways in which his wife had made love to him and how they pleasured each other, and his mind struggled to comprehend the depths of the twisted lust his lord had suddenly revealed. How long had he desired him? Why did he believe he had a right to claim him? 

Yet there was no time to ask himself such questions when two hands spread his legs first and then his cheeks, and he heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked, followed by the scent of vanilla and the sensation of liquid being poured onto his skin. 

He prayed that those talons wouldn't be forced inside him, even if that meant he would be taken without further preparation; it was going to hurt, but repairing his flesh would be easier this way. 

It was only then that Námo briefly considered fighting back, yet any spark of resistance was swiftly drowned out by the knowledge that his king was mightier than he, greater in power and stature. Something inside him had given up before the thought had even crossed his mind; perhaps he already knew that it was going to happen regardless. 

Námo buried his head in the nearest pillow when he heard the rustling of fabric and attempted to muffle his cries of pain as Manwë forced himself inside. He had to will his fána to relax and open up, even as it felt like he was betraying himself and his objective of enduring this violation with as much dignity as he could. 

"You feel so good." 

"You are so beautiful." 

"You sound lovely when you cry and moan for me." 

Manwë whispered sweet nothings in his ear while taking him, but Námo refused to break his self-imposed silence. This was neither love nor pleasure, it was punishment just as his lord had said, and he would not think of it otherwise for the sake of his own sanity. He received no touch and no true affection, only the empty words of one whose mind had been tainted by greed and obsession. 

"Say my name." 

Manwë's command seemed to permeate the very air Námo was breathing, but he refused; he did not desire this, and he would not pretend to. 

Taloned fingers closed around his neck. "I commanded you to say my name."

He remained silent. Manwë's grip tightened, making it nigh impossible to breathe, and despite knowing that he couldn't be slain, panic flooded his fána – as well as the realisation that his torment might only continue if he kept refusing. 

Hesitant and in a broken voice, Námo at last obeyed his lord's command. 

"M-man... wë..." 

The whisper of his name and the choked noises he made sent a shudder of pleasure through Manwë's entire fána, and he spilled his seed inside his unwilling lover, withdrawing only after every last drop had left him. 

Námo felt the need to curl up on his side, make himself small and disappear, but before he could move he was turned around to lie on his back once again. 

Manwë looked down at him with a perfectly angelic smile, as if nothing had happened, and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. 

"You are forgiven." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[agirlsawalittlerose]

SILK STRINGS

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

Chapter 1: Volantis

Chapter 2: Dragonlords, C**ts & Tigers

CHAPTER 3: Marital Duties & Lust

The ride back to the Maegyr palace was quiet, but Qorlo’s silence was far from brooding. Dila could feel the tension that had held him throughout the gathering loosening, replaced by a satisfied calm. He’d drunk deep of the wine offered at the Tigers’ feast, and though he was no stranger to indulgence, tonight he was particularly flushed. The conversation about the elections and the Vala had gone well, and Dila could feel his pride swelling with each step their palanquin took through the winding streets of Volantis.

“I think I impressed them,” Qorlo finally said, a lazy smile curling his lips as he leaned back against the cushions of the litter. “Sallario and Draxos—they were intrigued. They’ll talk about him, about me.”

Dila smiled softly, knowing how to play the game. “You did well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “You planted the seed. Now, they’ll wait for the proof.”

Qorlo chuckled, his fingers tightening around the goblet he’d brought with him. “And they’ll have it. I’ve no doubt they’ll be crawling to our gates soon enough, begging to see the Vala.” He laughed, tipping the goblet back and spilling some of the wine over his chin. “And they’ll see him. They’ll see that I am the one destined for the Triarchy.”

Dila watched him, her face an unreadable mask. His confidence had grown in proportion to his indulgence tonight, but there was no denying the ripple of interest their tale of the Valyrian stranger had caused. She had played her part well, and the men had listened. For now, that was enough.

As they reached the palace, Qorlo stumbled slightly as he dismounted from the litter, though he recovered with a laugh, pulling Dila toward him. “You were perfect tonight,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as they entered the cool, shadowed halls of their home. “You spoke when you should have spoken, said just what was needed.”

Dila allowed him to pull her closer, her body pliant against his. His words were praise, but they tasted hollow. She had done her duty, played the role expected of her, but there was no joy in it. Whatever spark of passion they had once shared had long since faded, replaced by duty. But she knew her place, knew her role as wife to a man who sought the Triarchy. Her desires mattered little, and she had been raised to accept that.

They ascended the stairs to their private chambers, Qorlo’s hand growing more insistent on her waist as they passed the guards and slaves who bowed their heads as they passed. By the time they reached the heavy door of their bedchamber, Qorlo’s desire had sharpened into something more primal. His fingers fumbled at the laces of her gown, tugging it free from her shoulders with an urgency that belied his usual control.

Dila didn’t protest. She didn’t stiffen or resist as he pulled the fabric from her skin, baring her to the cool air of the chamber. She knew what was expected of her, and she played her part as she always had. She tilted her head back slightly as his lips found her neck, her hands resting on his shoulders as he pressed her back toward the bed.

Qorlo was too drunk to notice the lack of passion in her eyes, the absence of desire in her movements. His hands were rough on her skin, but she had grown used to it over the years. This was her duty, her place. She would give him what he wanted, as she always did.

He pushed her down onto the bed, his body heavy on top of hers as he fumbled with his own clothes, his breath hot and thick with wine. Dila shifted quickly, rolling them both so she was on top—grasping at the only semblance of control she could seize in moments like this. She closed her eyes as he sunk into her, allowing her mind to drift far from the room, far from him, to anywhere but here.

In the dim corridors of the palace, Aegon Targaryen was wide awake, despite the wine he’d consumed in excess. Volantene, rich and spiced, far more potent than anything he’d drunk in King’s Landing. He’d indulged, perhaps more than he should have, and now the room they had given him spun with every blink. He had tried lying down, hoping the wine would lull him to sleep, but it was no use. His mind raced with too many thoughts—images of Volantis, the words of the pleasure slave, memories of Westeros, and the haunting beauty of Dila Maegyr.

Rising from his bed, his bare feet touched the cold marble floors as he wandered through the halls.

Aegon hadn’t intended to wander far, but as he rounded a corner, the faint sound of movement caught his ear. He paused, listening, curiosity guiding his steps as he followed the noise down the corridor.

He soon found himself before a half-open door, and though he knew he should have turned back, something compelled him to look.

Through the gap in the door, he saw them.

Qorlo, his broad chest slick with sweat moving with every intense breath beneath Dila, who rode him, her pale skin glowing in the faint light of the chamber, her perfect figure facing the door. Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. He should leave, he knew that. He should turn away and return to his own room, pretend he had never seen them. But he couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the ground, his gaze locked on Dila’s form.

Her silver-gold hair tousled, her pale blue eyes half-closed, but it was her face that held him. There was something about the way she looked, something distant, almost detached, as if she wasn’t truly there with Qorlo. It stirred something in Aegon, something that he didn’t fully understand.

Qorlo was too lost in his own pleasure to notice anything, but Dila… Dila’s eyes opened, and for a moment, they locked with Aegon’s.

The world seemed to stop. Aegon’s heart thundered in his chest as he stood frozen in the doorway, his breath shallow and ragged. He expected her to scream, to call out, to do something—but she didn’t.

Instead, they simply stared at each other, their gazes locked in a silent, forbidden exchange. For long, excruciating seconds, neither of them moved. There was no sound but the heavy breathing of Qorlo and the soft rustle of the sheets.

He was captivated by her, by the way her eyes held him, as if daring him to stay, to watch.

Aegon felt a rush of heat, a mixture of shame and something far darker, as his cock twitched and his breath stopped for what it felt like a year. This was the most appreciated gift his stupid life had offered him lately. He couldn’t help but wonder how she felt, how she tasted, how quickly she would make him reach his peak. Aegon cursed Qorlo’s name in his mind, hoping a stroke would strike him at that very moment, so he could dispose of his dead body and make Dila his.

Then, suddenly, Dila’s gaze shifted, something flickering in the depths of her pale blue eyes. The moment broke, and Aegon snapped back to himself, a wave of embarrassment crashing over him. Without another thought, he turned and fled down the corridor, his footsteps echoing through the palace as he ran from what he had seen, his heart pounding in his chest.

Behind him, in the bedchamber, Dila watched him go, her expression unreadable, the flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—still lingering in her eyes.

Aegon sat in the salon, his heart still pounding, his thoughts spinning in circles. The evening breeze drifted in from the open terrace, carrying with it the scent of the river and the faint hum of distant voices from the streets below. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, running a hand through his silver hair. He had fled from her gaze, but now, he feared, there was nowhere left to run.

He barely heard her approach before she entered the room, a ghostly figure in the moonlight. When he looked up, there she stood, draped in a thin silk robe that clung to her form like water. The fabric shimmered in the dim light, revealing more than it concealed. His pulse quickened, and he averted his eyes, though the image of her from moments earlier—riding her husband—was burned into his mind.

“Is something troubling you?” Her voice was calm, almost amused, as she stepped further into the room.

Aegon straightened, struggling to compose himself. “I… I must apologize,” he stammered, his throat suddenly dry. “I did not mean to—”

Dila cut him off with a wave of her hand, gliding past him with the ease of a predator. “Apologies are unnecessary,” she said, her voice light. She walked to the window, letting the breeze catch the edges of her robe. “But I do find myself curious.”

Aegon froze, his body tensing. “Curious about what?”

Her pale eyes found him, sharp as blades. “Curious about the truth.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You claim to have no memory of who you are or where you come from, but I do not believe that. I think you know exactly who you are. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

His heart skipped a beat, but he said nothing. The truth was there in his silence, hanging between them like a fragile thread.

Dila crossed the room and sank gracefully onto one of the low couches, her movements deliberate, slow, as if savoring the power she held in this moment. “I knew it the moment I heard you speak,” she said, her voice soft. “You come from Westeros, don’t you?”

Aegon cursed inwardly. He had tried to mask it, but it was impossible to fully erase the accent that clung to his High Valyrian. Not even his father or his siblings had ever mastered the language in the way the Free Cities had.

He had hoped, seeing the genuine confusion in Qorlo’s furrowed brow, that his identity might have remained hidden. It was clear the man had never concerned himself with the affairs of the West, nor bothered to learn its accents or customs.

But Dila… she knew.

Aegon’s heart raced, but he kept his face passive. His thoughts, however, spun wildly. She had seen through him. Perhaps she hadn’t figured out exactly who he was, but she knew enough to be dangerous. And yet, there was no malice in her eyes. Only curiosity.

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. His blood turned to ice.

“I…” he began, unsure of how to answer, but before he could fumble through a lie, Dila spoke again, her words startling him.

“I can speak your language,” she said smoothly, switching effortlessly to the Common Tongue of Westeros. The sound of it on her lips, spoken with such fluency, caught Aegon off guard. He stared at her, surprised, uncertain of how to respond.

“I spent years learning it,” Dila continued, as if discussing the weather. “Studying your customs, your histories. Westeros fascinates me, and I know more than most Volantenes care to. So, you needn’t worry—I’m not some ignorant Tiger who thinks everything west of the Rhoyne is barbarism.” She smiled, her expression unreadable. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Aegon’s mind raced, every instinct screaming at him to flee, but her tone was disarming, almost… kind. He didn’t know what to make of her, of this strange game she seemed to be playing.

“What do you want from me?” he asked cautiously, his voice still tight with unease. “Why haven’t you told your husband?”

Dila’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Qorlo is many things, but he’s not a man of nuance. And as for what I want from you… that depends. What do you want, strange man?”

He hesitated. She knew more than she let on, and yet, she hadn’t betrayed him. Not yet.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his thoughts a tangled mess. “I have no plans,” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to leave my old life behind. Things I had to take but that were never meant for me. I don’t know what I want” he said, but that was a lie.

He wanted to capture her lips, die from her intoxicating scent, grab the pink nipples he could spot under her obscenely thin robe, make her moan his name…

Dila leaned back against the cushions, crossing one leg over the other, her silk robe shifting with the motion. “No plans at all?” she asked, her voice teasing. “You sound like a man who’s been running for a long time.”

“I have,” he muttered, looking away.

For a moment, she said nothing, simply watching him. Then, with a sudden clarity in her voice, she spoke again. “You’re perfect.”

Aegon frowned, confused. “Perfect?”

Dila rose from the couch, moving toward him with the grace of a dancer, each step measured. “Yes, perfect,” she said softly. “You’ll stay here, at least until the elections are over. You don’t need to make any decisions and you certainly don’t need to run.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “And what do you mean by ‘stay here’? Am I a prisoner?”

Dila raised a delicate brow, amusement in her voice. “Do you see chains around your wrists?” she asked lightly. “We Volantenes know the difference between a free man and a captive. You are not a prisoner, Vala. Consider yourself an… honored guest.”

Aegon’s unease deepened. He didn’t feel like a guest, not with her eyes on him, not with the way his thoughts kept circling back to her, to the scene he had witnessed earlier. He shifted awkwardly, trying to control the heat rising in his chest, the memory of her body on Qorlo still vivid in his mind.

Dila’s gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head slightly, as if reading his thoughts. “There’s lust in your eyes,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but unmistakable.

Aegon stiffened, caught off guard by her bluntness. “I—no, I didn’t mean—” He stumbled over his words, his face flushing with embarrassment.

But Dila wasn’t offended. If anything, she seemed more amused than before.

Aegon swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “You are… very beautiful,” he admitted, his voice carefully diplomatic, as if treading on dangerous ground.

Dila smiled again, almost bitterly. That knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine. “Yes,” she said, her tone casual. “I know.”

And with that, she turned, the silk of her robe flowing around her as she left the room, leaving Aegon standing there, still rigid, still uncertain of what had just happened.

[cilil]

𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Melkor x Mairon 𓄌 Synopsis: Melkor decides to join the hunt to search for fire spirits. Mairon's hunt is cut short when the Dark Vala finds him. 𓄌 Warnings: Ultimately consensual, but I'll issue a slight dub-con warning to be safe. Also rough sex and some fighting 𓄌 Oneshot (~2.1k words) | AO3

That little game of Oromë's was entertaining, he had to admit. 

Melkor had been informed by his spies that another Feast of Horns was about to take place and had decided to join the Hunt as well, looking for his favourite prey: Fire spirits. Two in particular that had caught his eye, to be exact. 

He hadn't attended the other festivities, of course, being at war with his brethren and not welcome in their realm as it was, but to sneak past any and all who might hinder him to secretly mingle with the Hunters as they dispersed in the fields and forests around Almaren had been laughably easy; on a night like this, vigilance was low. 

Now all Melkor had to do was locate his prey and claim his catch, ideally far away from prying eyes where he would be undisturbed and any cries for help would not be heard. Discarding his raiment for the time being, he concealed his presence and began his search. 

Arien was the one he found first. She was running through the fields of Arda, laughing and carefree, hand in hand with Ilmarë. Eönwë and Tilion were in hot pursuit, and Melkor glared at them from the shadows. Too many others around. He would not have her today, that much was clear, and the thought angered him. Having to yield his prey to lesser Ainur, how utterly irritating. 

Mairon better be alone tonight. Melkor's impatience would not allow another unsuccessful hunt. He had no intention to settle for something other than what he wanted. 

His anger quickly disappeared once Arien and her companions were out of sight and he caught Mairon's trace. The other Maia indeed appeared to be hunting by himself at the moment, as he was wont to do; he preferred working alone and having the fruits of his labour to himself, driven by his ambition to surpass his kin. 

Melkor found him sneaking around in the deeper parts of a nearby forest, golden eyes gleaming in the twilight as he searched for something, most likely a good vantage point or the trace of whoever he had deemed worthy of his attention. A pair of artful spiral horns adorned his head, revealing that he was indeed one of the Hunters for this feast, but that meant little to the Vala pursuing him. He was going to have him regardless. 

Mairon froze when Melkor stepped out of the shadows and revealed himself, wearing the shape of a tall and beautiful lord. His hair, blacker than a starless night, nearly reached his waist and a matching pair of horns grew on his head like a crown of darkness. He smiled at him, showing off deadly sharp fangs. 

"Well met, little one," Melkor greeted, his voice low and resembling the purr of a huge cat. "I have come to claim my catch." 

"Your catch?" Mairon let out a small, arrogant laugh and shook his head. 

The way his flame-like hair moved around his bare shoulders only heightened Melkor's excitement and prompted him to come closer. 

"Yes. Mine." 

"I am a Hunter, as you can see. Find someone else." 

Melkor regarded him quietly for a while, torn between irritation and amusement. 

"You think I would care for the rules of Oromë's silly game, but you are mistaken," he said eventually. "For I am the greatest hunter this world has ever seen, and all that is therein is my prey if I wish it." 

Mairon merely scoffed at him, though something akin to intrigue flashed within the golden depths of his eyes. "Still you have not claimed me, so you have not earned a favour from me." 

"Then I shall." 

~ 

Melkor was on top of him before he could even attempt to flee. Letting out a vicious snarl, Mairon bared his teeth and began clawing at every inch of skin he could reach. His nails, turning into deadly claws as his rage flared and burned hot within him, drew no blood even as he fought the Vala with all of his strength. 

Yet no matter how much he struggled, how hard he kicked, how much pain he attempted to cause, Melkor held him down with ease. 

"Feisty," was all he said, and Mairon gave an indignant hiss. Seeing red, he attempted to bite the Vala's neck, only to be met with cold, nigh impervious flesh, reminding him of marble and diamonds — deceptive in the way it yielded like flesh should, yet refused to be broken.

"Are you satisfied now, little flame?" 

The question caught him off-guard, allowing Melkor to pin him to the ground with a satisfied smirk. 

"What do you mean?! Unhand me!" 

"But this is what you asked for, no? You wanted me to properly stake my claim, and I believe I have shown you my strength just now and successfully subdued you." 

Dazed, Mairon let go and looked up at Melkor. As outrageous as this capture was, there was a certain truth to his words. Brief as their struggle had been, it had undeniably gone in the Vala's favour — unsurprising though it was. Even so, the way he could so easily withstand anything a powerful Maia could do against him, within the constraints of Oromë's rules at least, was impressive. 

Melkor grinned down at him. "Well? Are you not going to call for help?" 

"I would be surprised if you didn't anticipate that possibility and made sure to catch me all the way out here to avoid it," Mairon remarked dryly. Perhaps he should be afraid, angry or disgusted, but he couldn't help feeling some sort of begrudging respect. 

"Of course," Melkor admitted, utterly nonchalant as if it was a normal thing to do. 

At least he isn't attempting to lie about it, for what it's worth. 

"I could still try," Mairon said. 

"You could." 

They stared at each for a moment. 

"Well? Would you stop me?" he challenged. 

"It depends. Could it perhaps be that you would not be doing yourself a favour if you tried?" Melkor bent down to nuzzle his hair. 

"You think I might be amenable to your advances?" Mairon hissed, but made no move to bite him again. 

"No prey you could have caught on your own would be the greatest of the Valar." 

"You would be correct, but my other prey also wouldn't have dared to hunt me." 

"You would claim that you don't enjoy being hunted?" Melkor brought his full weight down on top of him to press their fánar together. "What if it is merely a matter of pride because you don't allow yourself to be hunted by lesser spirits?" 

"You would know all about pride, wouldn't you?"

"Naturally." His fangs gleamed in the twilight. "And I also know to make this worth your time, little flame." 

"Do you now?" Mairon hated that his righteous anger was slowly but surely replaced with intrigue and curiosity. 

It was true; he thought himself greater than most of his peers and would never submit to them. To be made to submit by a greater power, however, was new and strangely exciting, even if his pride was wounded. 

He licked his lips. The Feast of Horns was the time to indulge, and nobody had to know. 

"Very well then. You may have your favour, even though your catch was rather clumsy." 

Melkor laughed, then captured his lips in a greedy kiss. It was nothing like the tender caresses Mairon had seen his lord and lady or other Maiar exchange, it was teeth and tongue and violence, and he bit the Vala's bottom lip in retaliation for his shameless claiming of him. Again soft skin yielded to the force of his bite, but didn't break; the taste of Valarin blood continued to elude him. 

"Fiery creature," Melkor purred, drawing back to admire his prey. Despite his best efforts, Mairon was unmistakably flustered panting heavily and pouting at him, cheeks flushed. 

He felt angry. Aroused. Alive. Defying the Dark One's withering grasp, his flames burning bright inside him. And Mairon saw these strange sensations mirrored within Melkor's eyes, cold like splinters of ice yet glittering like frost in the light of Illuin and Ormal, aglow with a fey light set within Void-like darkness. 

It was as unsettling as it was exciting to do this to a Vala. 

Mairon bared his teeth, showing fangs of his own; a challenge that wouldn't remain unanswered. 

With just one large, clawed hand, Melkor flipped him around as if he weighed nothing. Mairon found himself lying on his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, vines slithering out of the ground to restrain him. What little he wore was torn to shreds within seconds, and he was left exposed to his enemy — enemy turned lover. 

Even so, he wasn't going to make it that easy. 

Mairon fought against his restraints, struggling, biting, setting them on fire, only to make no progress. Hearing Melkor laugh at him once again enraged him. 

"You would force me to endure such treatment?" he hissed over his shoulder. 

"Easy there, little flame. You will enjoy this." 

Before Mairon could ask how the Vala had the audacity to make such assumptions — ignoring the way his arousal spiked with every futile attempt at escaping — he felt two hands taking hold of his ass and a tongue pressing against his entrance. A strangled moan made its way past his lips when Melkor proceeded to lick and kiss him with such vigour that he feared he would be devoured if his muscles relaxed just a bit; a prospect so tempting that he did, inviting him in. 

Nobody had ever touched him like this. Nobody had such strength and passion alike. 

Mairon rested his head on the ground and let himself be eaten out, even pushing his hips demandingly in Melkor's direction as far as he was able. 

"Naughty," he heard his voice again, this time through ósanwë. 

When that wonderful tongue was withdrawn, Mairon protested with small, impatient whine, though said no more; he knew what would be next, and after Melkor's efforts he was convinced that this illicit coupling, too, would bring him pleasure unlike any he had previously known. 

The first thing he felt was pain. Had his fána not been restrained and cleft in two by a Vala's cock, he would have responded with a snarky comment, but all he could do was gasp and groan and frantically adjust to its size. 

"You must not be used to this," Melkor whispered in his ear, now coming to rest on top of his helpless lover to cover his fána with his own. "But I prefer it that way. I want you to feel me and remember it well." 

"Do not... think for a second that I will be yours... after one night," Mairon hissed through gritted teeth. 

"You will want no other." 

Melkor accentuated his words with one well-aimed thrust, and suddenly pleasure bled into the pain. Now that his fána slowly grew accustomed to the Vala, the only thing Mairon could think about was how nicely his cock filled him, how it rubbed and pushed against his sensitive spots with every movement, how it caressed his rim as if it had been made for that purpose. The intensity of it all made it feel divine, so much more than anything he had experienced in his existence. 

Mairon relished every moment of it. Every thrust, every small noise Melkor made, every inch of skin against skin, every time hands dug into his flesh with fierce possessiveness. Perhaps he would indeed want no other after this, as he doubted that any other Ainu would fuck him like this. Without his arrogance, without his pride, he was well and truly stripped bare of all bravado and reduced to his base instincts, to a being filled with hidden desires, lust and a secret craving to be made to serve another, one greater and more powerful. 

He loved that he had made a Vala chase and catch him. He loved that Melkor showed him how much he wanted him. He loved that he was taken in a manner worthy of one who called himself a hunter of hunters. 

And he loved that, in the end, his flesh and his voice were what made a Vala come undone. 

Melkor held his hips in a bruising grip as he came, seeking to leave his mark with jealous determination. He didn't know if there were any others, and Mairon felt no obligation to tell him; perhaps he could retain the Vala's admiration and attention if he kept him on edge. 

"Mine," Melkor growled in his ear. 

Whether or not it was intended as a threat or a warning, all Mairon heard was a promise. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @singleteapot @urwendii

[mavcrick]

Casi por inercia, Maverick dirige su mirada hacia donde se inserta la llave del coche ‘ Eso creo, menos mal están las llaves y podemos movernos con mayor tranquilidad ¿es tuyo? ’ dice con voz baja y resuelta mientras su atención ahora se centra en el exterior, los hombres que le perseguían ya se aproximan. Maverick hace una pausa, evaluando las opciones, aunque el tiempo no esté mucho a su favor ‘ Los helicópteros han mencionado que nos dirijamos hacia el norte ¿crees que podamos llegar lo suficientemente lejos en esto en lo que se nos ocurre un mejor lugar para mantenernos a salvo? Quizá en el transcurso encontremos a alguien más que necesite ayuda ’

Vala observa cómo Maverick entra en el auto, y aunque entiende su preocupación, sabe que el auto es mejor que seguir corriendo sin plan alguno. Mira a través de la ventana, evaluando el exterior y calculando sus opciones. “Quizá no sea seguro por mucho tiempo, pero por ahora al menos podemos pensar con claridad,” responde en tono firme. "Si vamos a salir, lo haremos con cuidado y sin llamar la atención. Hay que evitar cualquier distracción, tenemos suficientes problemas ya." Luego se vuelve hacia Maverick, su expresión seria. "Ahora, dime, ¿tienes alguna idea de hacia dónde movernos? Porque quedarnos aquí o salir sin dirección solo nos dará unos minutos de ventaja... y esos minutos pueden costarnos caro", añade.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Round 1, Poll 10

For the Love of My Husband: (Conman Bilbo)

“We’re so screwed.” Nori complained.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Bilbo snapped back at him.

“Do you understand? This isn’t something you can con. This is Vala magic. You’re going to get found out and arrested…or worse.” 

Bilbo paused in his pacing to stare at the opposite wall. There was an itch under his skin. The kind that was always there to nudge him into cutting his losses and getting out while he still could. However, he had nowhere to run. If he wasn’t able to pay off his debt, he was dead anyways. Especially with the added bonus of having run out on the crown prince of one of the most profitable kingdoms in the world. He couldn’t imagine there would be a corner left for him to run to unless he fancied the volcanic ash of Mordor.

From the Pieces of Your Shattered Memories: (Amnesia AU)

“I just realized I haven’t really had the proper chance to thank you. So…thank you. I’m pretty sure I’d be dead, at least twice over, if it hadn’t been for you.”

There was a part of Bilbo that wished he would call him Angel again. His mouth went dry in anticipation, and his eyelids fluttered before he caught himself. He could only scold his stupid infatuation as he grumbled something back and rounded the corner to the back door of the Mathom House. He was notorious for falling fast for a man, but even by those standards this was absolutely ridiculous.

[sakebytheriver]

I just love that the spectrum of main character introductions in Stargate goes from Jonas Quinn to Vala Mal Doran, really going from cinnamon roll to sinnamon roll.

SG1 adopted a golden retriever puppy from a reputable genius wizkid breeder and then picked up a feral cat in a back alleyway that tried to kill them multiple times, it is a crime the two of them never met, Vala would have adored Jonas mostly because he would be so much fun to mess with and the fact that there is no way in hell Jonas wouldn't hang on that woman's every word, like she'd launch into a longwinded story about a heist or a con she pulled off and everyone else in the room would roll their eyes and sigh meanwhile Jonas has big bright puppy dog eyes listening to her wax poetic about stealing some powerful ancient artifact even asking her questions about the heist and taking notes, breaking out one of her pickpocketing moves in the middle of a mission and then revealing what he stole from the enemy to be met with great pride from Vala and much chagrin from the rest of the team as she corrupts their ingénue even if it was exactly what they needed to get out of the jam they found themselves in and anyways what I'm saying is Jonas would appreciate Vala's skills on the same level as he appreciated everyone else's because he recognized the amount of years she put into becoming an expert in conartistry the same way Sam became an expert in astrophysics and Daniel became an expert in archeology and also the dynamic between Vala and Jonas would be "someone will die" "of fun!" and I don't honestly know who would be who in that scenario, but I know it would be the two of them and the rest of the team beleagueredly dealing with their overgrown genius child and the corrupting vodka aunt energy of their resident conartist

[rhaenysaemma22]

Jaehaerys: ¿¡Cómo permitieron esto!? *Mira a Sir Harrold.*

S. Harrold: Disculpe majestad, pensamos que los príncipes estaban en la cama. *Bajo la mirada.*

Daemon: Ellos estaban conmigo. *Sostiene a Visenya.* Ellos junto a los gemelos Velaryon estaban caminando por la playa.

Alysanne: ¿¡Quién tenía la guardia!? *Cuestionó enojada.*

S. C. C: El príncipe fue atacado por sus primos.

Jaehaerys: ¡Juraron proteger a mi sangre!

S. C. C: Lo siento majestad, pero no prometimos proteger a un príncipe de una princesa.

Alysanne: ¡Eso no es una respuesta Sir!

Alicent: ¿Mi hijo va a sanar? *Pregunto desesperada.*

M. Mellos: La piel sanará pero el ojo está perdido.

*Alicent soltó un jadeo de horror mientras Viserys cerraba los ojos, Lord Corlys y su esposa bajaron las escaleras para encontrar a sus hijos golpeados con manchas de sangre.*

Vala: ¡Niños! *Corre hacia ellos para revisarlos.* ¿Que les pasó?

Laenor: El estaba robando un dragón. *Señala a Aemond quien estaba siendo atendido por el maestre Mellos.*

Aemond: ¡Eso no es cierto! *Grita de vuelta.* ¡Ellos me atacaron!

Rhaenyra: ¡Claro que sí! *Grita colocandose enfrente de sus hermanos menores.* ¡Estarías muerto si Jocelyn no hubiera reclamado a Balerión y lo hubiera detenido!

*En ese momento se abrieron las puertas dejando ver a sus madres preocupadas.*

Aemma: ¡Mis niños! *Corre hacia ellos y los mira manchados de sangre.* Déjame ver. *Le revisa la nariz a Jocelyn ll, soltando sus feromonas para tranquilizar a sus hijos.*

Jaehaerys: ¿¡Cómo es posible que ella haya reclamado al Terror Negro!? *Dice sorprendido.

Viserys: ¡Ese Dragon no puede ser de una mujer! *Los mira enojado.* ¡Y menos de alguien que no tiene apariencia valyria!

Daemon: ¡Basta Viserys!

Aemond: ¡Ese Dragon era mio! *Los mira.*

Alysanne: ¡Nadie dijo que un jinete puede tener dos dragones!

Aemon ll: ¡Balerión acepto a mi hermana como su jinete!

*Todos los niños empezaron a gritar, y el rey pareció perder la paciencia después de pedir silencio 3 veces. Rhaenys se coloco delante de su hijo arrodillandose.*

Aemond: ¡Ellos me golpearon sin ninguna razón! *Intento defenderse.*

Visenya: ¡Eres un mentiroso! *Le grita siendo sostenida por su tío Daemon.*

Aemon ll: ¡Intentaste robar a Balerión! *Gruñe.*

Aemond: ¡Por supuesto que no!

Jaehaerys: ¡SILENCIO! *Grita apoyándose en el bastón.*

*Todos en la sala callaron al escuchar el grito del rey.*

Rhaenys: ¿Aemon, que sucedió?

Jaehaerys: Aemond quiero la verdad de lo sucedido, ahora. *Se acerca a el.*

Aemon ll: El intento reclamar a Balerión pero Jocelyn lo reclamo cuando lo estábamos defendiendo. *Le susurra.* El iba a golpear a Joce con una roca pero yo le tiré tierra en la cara para distraerlo pero Jocelyn por defenderse agarró el cuchillo que tú le diste a Rhae y lo atacó en el rostro. *Mira a su madre Aemma un momento.* También... Nos llamo bastardos.

Viserys: ¡Que más tienes que ver, a mi hijo le fue arrancado su ojo! *Habla desesperado.*

Aemma: Fue un accidente. *Defiende a sus hijos.*

Alicent: ¿Accidente? *Cuestionó la esposa de Viserys enojada.* Alguien por alguna razón llevo una daga a una pelea y con eso mutilaron a mi hijo ¡Pudo haber perdido la vida!

Rhaenys: *Se levanta quedando enfrente de su hijo mirando a sus abuelos.* ¡Mis hijos también fueron atacados y obligados a defenderse, los agredieron con horribles insultos!

Alysanne: ¿Que insultos? *Pregunto frunciendo el ceño mientras su esposo estaba más preocupado por las acciones que las palabras.*

Rhaenys: La legitimidad de mis hijos fue cuestionada. *Coloca Aemon detrás de ella.*

Visenya: ¡Nos llamo bastardos! *Grito todavía siendo sostenida por su tío Daemon por los hombros.*

*El salón quedo en un completo silencio, Aemond miraba con furia a los gemelos y a los Velaryon, mientras Alicent miraba horrorizada a su hijo menor, Aegon estaba borracho intentando mantenerse en pie a un lado de su abuelo Otto. Rhaenys mira al hijo de Viserys con furia en los ojos, logrando que sus ojos color lila se volvieran oscuros con cada momento que pasaba, la reina Alysanne cerro los ojos.*

Rhaenys: Mis hijos son herederos al trono de hierro majestad, está es la más grande de las traiciones. *Mira a su abuela.* Aemond debe de ser duramente cuestionado para saber donde escucho esas mentiras.

Viserys: ¿Disculpa? Mis hijos también son herederos al trono. *La mira cruzado de brazos.* Yo tengo más derecho que tú, por qué soy un hombre y las mujeres no pueden gobernar ¡Y por si no fuera suficiente mi hijo perdió un ojo!

Alysanne: Dime Aemond ¿Dónde escuchaste esas mentiras? *Exigió saber.*

Jaehaerys: Alysanne. *Protestó.*

Alysanne: Aemond te he hecho una pregunta.

*Aemond bajo la cabeza, atemorizado por la mirada de su bisabuela.*

Jaehaerys: ¿Dónde estaban ustedes? *Pregunta mirando a sus nietas.*

Alicent: Si ¿Dónde estaban?

Aemma: Estábamos con nuestra hija Helaena. *Levanta la mirada para no dejarse intimidar.*

*Viserys se burlo.*

Alicent: Si, estabas entreteniendo a tu esposa.

Aemma: Por supuesto que no.

Alysanne: Aemond mírame, tu reina exige una respuesta.

*Aemond temblaba, el miedo consumiendolo.*

Aemond: Aegon. *Dijo mirando a su hermano.* El me lo dijo.

Aegon ll: ¿Yo? *Pregunta sorprendido.*

Alysanne: ¿Dime quién te dijo eso? *Se acercó a Aegon.*

Aegon ll: Nadie, solo míralos abuela. *Le dice mirando a los gemelos de Rhaenys.* No se parecen a nosotros. *Al decir eso recibió una cachetada de su abuela.*

Jaehaerys: ¡Estás disputas interminables deben terminar, somos una familia, ustedes Rhaenys y Viserys se darán un abrazo y buenos deseos! *Mira a Rhaenys.* ¡Tú le darás una disculpa, su rey y abuelo se los exige!

*Los ojos de Alysanne se llenaron de lágrimas furiosas no derramadas.*

Alicent: Esto no puede acabar aqui, el daño a mi hijo es permanente, buenos deseos no va a solucionarlo.

Jaehaerys: Lo se Alicent, pero no puedo hacer que recobré el ojo.

Viserys: Claro que no, por qué le fue arrebatado. *Mira a los gemelos de Rhaenys.* Hay una deuda que pagar, con el ojo de uno de sus hijos.

Jocelyn ll: Mami. *Susurra escondiendose detrás de Aemma.*

Rhaenys: No haran tal cosa. *Lo mira.*

Alicent: Majestad el es su bisnieto, su sangre. *Lo mira suplicando.*

Alysanne: ¡No dejes que tú rabia nuble tu juicio, Viserys! *Lo mira con enojo.*

Viserys: ¡Si el rey no buscará justicia, el príncipe debe hacerlo! *Mira a su guardia.* ¡Sir Criston! *El lo mira.* Traigame el ojo de Jocelyn Targaryen. *Mira a Jocelyn.* Que decida con que ojo quedarse, algo que no se le permitió a mi hijo.

S. C. C: Con su debido respeto majestad. *Intento moverse pero la reina lo detuvo.*

Alysanne: ¡No se mueva Sir! *Le grita soltando feromonas ácidas mirando a Viserys.* Esta asunto a terminado, ¿Entendido? *Se volteo a mirar a todos.* ¡Y escuchen bien todos, la lengua que cuestioné la legitimidad de los hijos de la princesa Rhaenys sera cortada!

Rhaenys: Gracias abuela. *Le da una pequeña sonrisa, arrodillandose para mirar la herida de Aemon en su cabeza.*

*Viserys observó incrédulo como Alysanne defendía a su prima, sin darle importancia que su hijo fuera mutilado pensando que su prima siempre se salía con la suya mientras su hijo era dejado de lado. Enojado se acercó a su abuelo agarrando la daga y corriendo hacia Rhaenys quien le estaba dando la espalda, pero la que se interpuso fue Aemma quien le agarro la mano, Viserys forcejeo con su prima por la daga, ambos sujetándose mutuamente.*

*Los niños gritaron, Alysanne y Rhaenys los apartaron tanto como pudieron con ayuda de Lord Corlys y su esposa Vala, Daemon detuvo a Sir Criston cuando esté estaba por defender a Alicent.*

Aemma: Has ido demasiado lejos Viserys. *Lo mira con desagrado.*

Viserys: ¿Yo? Solo he hecho lo que se espera de mi. *Se enfurece más.* Padre, hijo, esposo, heredero, todo, siempre protegiendo al reino, a la familia, a tus hijos, a ti, mientras tú esposa siempre desobedece todo.

*Aemma temió a la daga que intentaba ser empujada contra ella.*

Jaehaerys: ¡Viserys, suéltala! *Grito alarmado.*

Viserys: ¿Dónde está el sacrificio que debemos hacer, el deber? Aplastado debajo de tu maldita esposa.

Otto: ¡Mi príncipe, suelte la daga!

Viserys: Ahora mi hijo se queda sin su ojo, porque hasta de eso se cree con derecho tu esposa.

Aemma: ¿Es agotador, no? Esconderse detrás del manto de tu honradez. *Mira la daga.* Pero ahora te ven por quien eres en verdad. *Susurra.*

*Viserys grito con ira antes de cortar a su prima en el brazo, ambos se empujaron mutuamente, todos los presentes vieron como del brazo de la princesa Aemma empezó a caer sangre al mismo tiempo que Viserys soltaba la daga dejándola caer al suelo.*

*Rhaenys al ver a su esposa lastimada se enfureció dejando salir sus feromonas de furia y gruñendo mostrando sus colmillos, se abalanzó sobre Viserys golpeándolo mientras el intentaba defenderse.*

Jaehaerys: ¡RHAENYS BASTA!

Rhaenys: ¡Cómo te atreves a lastimar a mi esposa! *Lo golpea en la cara.*

Viserys: ¡SUELTAME!

Jaehaerys: ¡Basta! *Grita.* ¡LES ESTOY DANDO UNA ORDEN!

Viserys: ¡SOY EL HEREDERO NO ME PUEDES LASTIMAR!

Rhaenys: ¡Para mí no lo eres, eres un fracaso de heredero!

Alysanne: ¡Ni siquiera eres el heredero!

Jaehaerys: ¡Sir Harrold, detenganlos!

*Sir Harrold agarro a Rhaenys por la cintura alejandola de Viserys mientras Sir Criston lo ayudaba a levantarse.*

Alysanne: ¡Esto no puede continuar así Jaehaerys!

Jaehaerys: ¿¡Y que quieres que haga!?

Alysanne: ¡Rhaenys se quedará en DragonStone mientras Viserys se queda en la Fortaleza Roja! *Al hablar puede ver como su esposo habré la boca pero ella lo detiene.* ¡Es mi palabra de reina, y espero que la cumplas!

*Los presentes se dividieron en dos bandos unos apoyando a la hija del difunto heredero al trono y otros a su primo.*

[fixnina]

' ah, sí, entre nos, hubiese preferido una identidad más divertida aunque tuviese que ponerme, eh, alas y un tutú brillante. ' suelta una risilla tras imaginárselo, si dependiera de ella definitivamente escogería la alternativa entretenida, que logre sacarle alguna que otra sonrisa a los demás, y a ella misma cuando se mire al espejo, también. un juez dista mucho de aquello, presión de ser seria e imponer respeto yace sobre sus hombros. ' por supuesto, no lo diría de otra manera. ' confiesa ya que no es alguien crítica, ni mucho menos confortativa con quienes recién conoce, le gusta pensar que sabe ubicarse, cuando pensamientos malos se deslizan por su lengua intenta callarlos, o en todo caso esperar el momento para expresarlos respetuosamente. ' ¿estás preguntándome o confesándote? ' devuelve interrogante con gracia, sospechando que intenta reunir datos sobre quienes son los lobos y hasta donde sabe, podría estar hablando con uno ahora mismo.

"Es que, ¿te das cuenta que hay disfraces mucho más interesantes que requieren un montón de esfuerzo? Digo, quizá me excedí al ponerme una corbata y usar zapatos de taco," pero estos ya se encuentran colgando a sus costados, la corbata ayudando a que los mismos se mantengan en un sitio. Ella descalza, por ahí. "¿Mary Poppins? Bueno, definitivamente lo tomaré como un cumplido," siempre le pareció una película interesante cuando era una niña. La risa que sale de sus labios y se une a la brisa que llega desde un costado. "La comida siempre funciona," como si ese realmente fuera su plan. "Es bastante relajante caminar de noche, bajo las estrellas, ¿no te parece?"

[khakilike]

Genuinely no hate here, but at this point, Bobby Vala's release-date announcements should be taken with a grain of salt. Things are available for purchase when he says they are, not when he says they will be. Annoying, but I get it.

June 10, 2023: "Series 3.1 should be arriving either at the end of July or very early August, and I will be putting up updates about that."

August 7, 2023: "We have been talking about 3.1 for some time now, and the shipment is on its way to us and it will be in our warehouse probably around the end of August/beginning of September."

[eriksonrikka]

su diestra intentó atrapar lo que fuese para evitar la caída y eso fue el antebrazo ¿o el hombro? de quién se encontró más próximo a su torpeza. sin embargo, el agarre no llegó a concretarse, uñas quizá rasgaron algo, pero ello no evitó su destino.

cayó de culo sobre el tumulto de residuos, apenas masculló algo para sí misma en eso que sacudió su cabeza para mover los mechones que entonces terminaron sobre su rostro.

no usó sus manos para amortiguar el golpe porque había aprendido de la última vez que cayó en el hielo y aún estaba tratando la consecuencia en su muñeca, debido a esto un dolor agudo se esparció por su espalda. ' ... juro que esto no estaba aquí hace un momento ' se inventó, eso fue más fácil que aceptar su descuido. ' ¿tú estás bien? ' indagó sin observar a su compañía, perdiendo su mirada en las bolsas donde ahora descansaba, mientras buscó algo que se viera confiable para apoyarse sobre ello y así reincorporarse.

leo, viktor, june, evan & vala han enviado : gato, para un starter donde nuestros personajes tropiezan con bolsas de basura 𓂃 @leovz, @milasics, @sogune, @ievcnz, @vau0ghty

[fighting-naturalist]

Even though my blog is my most longstanding social media account (YIKES) I rarely post here about what is my greatest passion: sewing! Especially since many of my projects are cosplays from fandoms I am feral about on here am totally well-adjusted about in front of you all, I thought I’d share one that feels particularly appropriate: my Vala Mal Doran cosplay! I patterned and constructed this costume using the few high-def references out there and a whole lot of screenshots. 

For more sewing shenanigans and Stargate brainrot, you can check out my Instagram and my Twitter

(PS in one of these you can even see my point of origin tattoo, in pride of place on my wrist!)

(PPS my Vala coat has a little secret sewn inside when I caught the coat on a nail and had to repair a little rip in the lining with a patch upon which I embroidered a part of the message Michael Shanks signed for me after a friend met him at a con and showed him a pic of me in a genderbent Danielle Jackson cosplay 🥰😭):