#hand-forged iron table stands

[rusticahouse]

Hand-forged Iron Table Stands

You are wondering how you can add some old-world charm with subtle decor elements to your dining room or bedroom. Consider adding new pieces of furniture that are vintage or look antique, like our custom-made Mexican furnishings. Hand-forged iron table stands are a versatile and stylish addition to any home decor. Whether you’re looking to add a touch of modern, rustic, traditional Spanish, or…

[targaryen-dynasty]

HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), kinda non/dub con, p in v, semi public sex, doggy style, degrading, slapping, possessiveness, jealousy

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: This is something I had written and posted on another blog when I (rightfully so) didn't feel accepted and wanted in fandom. So, if any of you remembers this, it was written by me. This is Lingo Jam High Valyrian (it is what it is).

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

It’s way past the Hour of the Owl as you stand in the Throne Room all by yourself, all the tables for the guests of your coronation feast having already been cleared and stored away by the keep’s staff, leaving the room to be eerily quiet and empty. 

You stand in front of the intimidating Iron Throne, looming in the dim light of the candles around you, your fingertips barely brushing the sharp swords that were used to forge it by your ancestors, reminiscing about all the times you’ve seen your father sitting on it. 

Unlike your grandsire and father before you, you chose to wear the Conqueror's Crown and wield his sword, the big, square-cut rubies complimenting the red and gold gown you wear. 

The heavy doors leading to the intimidating chambers open behind you, but you don’t turn around, knowing all too well who intrudes the silence and serenity. His footsteps are heavy, bouncing off the thick columns and walls on his way. 

“Skoros iksis ziry ao jeldan naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke nūmāzma?” you ask, but before you’re able to turn around, the weight of your husband’s chest against your back pushes you forward, the ostentatious crown on your head toppling to the ground at the impact. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?

Both your hands immediately seize the armrests of the Iron Throne for support, more so when Daemon’s hand falls to the place between your shoulders to keep you exactly like you are, bowed forward with no chance to move. 

“Hm,” he hums, applying just a bit of pressure to your back. “How about the wanton farce you put up for that cunt of a Lannister?” he growls, and it’s clear it is not a question but an accusation. 

There is not one breath wasted when he rucks up the skirts of your gown and bunches it around your waist, fisting it with one of his large paws. The matter clearly is serious, and has occupied him for quite some time now, considering he prefers to answer you in the Common Tongue rather than High Valyrian. 

But it’s not like you have much time to really process the meaning behind it, considering he has the skirt of your dress in his hand in one moment, and your small clothes pulled down to your knees in the next. Your cunt is exposed to the chilly air of the Red Keep, and to anyone that chooses to intrude on such an intimate and disgraceful scene, and much to your husband’s surprise, you’re soaked with anticipation, which earns you a condescending scoff from him. 

He has quickly figured that there isn't going to come any reply from you, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the little predicament you’ve found yourself in, and forces a gasp from your lips as his hand not-so-gently collides with your bare rear. 

Your body slightly lulls forwards to escape the stinging pain that blooms on your skin, but to now avail. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you press with despair audible in your voice. 

But he just scoffs again. “Oh, I’m certain you don’t,” his voice is sharp, and the words underlined by another slap to your arse. “Need I remind Your Grace who they belong to?” The title is spoken in a way to make a mock display of his courtesy, displaying how little care he holds over your status at this moment.

You’re not quite sure what he is up to when you feel and hear him shifting and fumbling behind you, although you have a mild guess, until you feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He pushes in even before you can answer, any words or pathetic protests dying on your tongue and replaced by a moan. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says more to himself, his tone suddenly taking on an air of smugness. His words are followed by a groan that flows into a heedless sigh as he bottoms out completely, his heavy stones pressing against your pearl. 

It’s a side to Daemon you haven’t seen or experienced before, despite growing up around him, his several liaisons and wives. There has never been something akin to jealousy coursing through his veins before. Yes, Daemon has always been a little too rough, too impatient and resolving matters by force rather than diplomacy, but you’ve never seen his blood run this hot. 

His upper body slightly bends forward and towers over yours as he rests one hand on the backrest of the Throne, the other still on your hip with your skirts tightly secured.

“What–” the words catch in your throat, replaced by a whimper. “What if anyone sees us?” 

“Jaelan zirȳ naejot ūndegon,” he growls. “Jaelan zirȳ naejot gīmigon bona iksā ñuhon.” I want them to see. I want them to know that you’re mine. 

The whine you release at that is nothing short of desperate. While the thought of anyone catching you two frightens you to the core, you enjoy the possessive side of him, reveling in his desire just for you since you’ve shared it most of your life with your younger sister. 

Pulling out of you almost completely, the tip of his cock is the only thing that remains buried inside of you. While the feeling of the sudden loss makes you whine and push your hips back to force him inside again, it also earns you another harsh slap that’s served to your arse. 

“Ao sagon ñuhon se mazemā skoros nyke tepagon ao, iksis bona shifang?” You're mine and you take what I give you, is that understood?

Daemon then slams his hips into yours as a warning, filling you up in a swift thrust that has you gasping, and knocks the air straight from your lungs. “Gaomagon daor mazverdagon nyke ivestragon ziry arlī,” he snarls. “Gaomagon. Ao. Shifang?” Each word is punctuated with a harsh snap of his hips.  Don’t make me say it again. Do. You. Understand?

“K… kessa,” you hiccup. Yes. 

The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip on your hip to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing off the walls of the Throne Room.

His stones are heavy and the fleshy pouch they sit in slightly sagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he fills you to the brim, and sending shivers to the soles of your feet. 

Daemon forces your hips higher until you’re standing on your tiptoes for him, your body barely supported by his fingers digging into your hip. The angle changes with that, allowing him to shove his cock into you even deeper than before – a change that has him groaning and grunting over and over again. 

Your eyes lull into the back of your head, and the heat in your belly doesn’t diminish, causing a renewed wave of arousal to leak out of your core. 

Not caring if the skirts of your gown are riding down again, he grips the back of your neck firmly enough so you can’t turn your head, fucking you as if his life depends on it and knocking every breath clean out of your lungs. 

Daemon forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against the Iron Throne with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process. 

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs to tremble, his hand that rests on the Iron Throne coming down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease. 

“Qilōni gaomagon ao sytilībagon naejot?” Daemon groans, pulling you back onto his cock and fucking you through your peak. Who do you belong to? It’s almost as if he’s asking for your reassurance, wanting to be sure of your feelings for him. 

“A… ao,” you hiccup. “Ik… iksan aōhon.” You. I’m yours.

His peak crashes over him with your reassurance, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your cunt. His hands trail up and down your sides in nothing else than pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if the pressure has fallen off his shoulders. 

He cups your arse with both hands, and squeezes your flesh. When he doesn’t make any move to pull out of you, however, it’s clear that he is relishing the way your drenched cunt embraces his flaccid cock.

“No one will make you feel as good as I do, dōna ābrazȳrys, and certainly no Lannister,” he rasps. “He would not know how to handle the Blood of the Dragon. You were made for me, and you belong to me. Always have, always will.” Sweet wife. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P5]

(Yandere × F! Reader)

[Warning: addiction, alcohol, ageism, sexism, misogyny, mention of bodily harm, religious trauma]

[A/N: its high time we show yuki some love 🫶]

[Series Link]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They couldn't stand being unremarkable.

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned."

Silence. The stuffy wood walls felt as if it was contracting.

"It's been five years since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sin."

No answer yet as per customary. Lukas tugged at his tight collar, anxious. His blunt fingernails reached inside the gap, letting a puff of air hit his chest dripping with sweat.

"I am lost, father."

"And why did you say that?"

"I have nothing special about me. I never really had to try hard to get what I want, and now... I don't know which path to take."

"You walk with God, my child."

Something within his chest inflated, leaving him gasping for air.

"Is that all there is, Father?"

"We are all nothing without Him. He will show you the way."

Lukas wanted to get out of the booth, but he couldn't. His body was frozen in place. Panic set in as he tried to squirm only to find his strength redundant.

"I don't see it, Father!", he tried to scream, but his voice came out weak, "I don't see it... I need to forge my own."

"And how do you plan to do that, when you are unspecial and lost?"

The priest's voice wasn't singular anymore. It dissolved into a chorus of many, thunderous and firm. Lukas heaved, choking on the taste of pennies. He felt a weight from the other side pressing against the confession window, closing the walls in.

The curtain cracked open. Lukas could only look as a hand reached in and grabbed his collar, harshly yanking him forward as if he was a ragdoll. His body was then unbound, light and fluid like water.

He gasped, his eyes fluttering open. Lukas felt the cold sweat on his neck. Between dream and reality, he almost remembered the bruised knuckle and the familiar fingers that pulled him awake.

___

Yuki figured the newbie was a quick learner, but he didn't think Lukas would pick up on your introversion that quickly.

It was ironic that this newcomer was already half of the foreign staff present in the end-of-year dinner that the foreign dept threw. The other half was you. Together you and him sat, tall and quiet. The cozy private restaurant lounge was bustling with chatters, but not one peep from this pair. Far off from the other side of the long table, Yuki could only steal glances at you who only nodded and smiled at any attempts at conversations that went your way. He was worried that Lukas might try something weird tonight what with alcohol so readily available, but so far he had seen nothing but a rather impressive effort at maintaining social norms. He assumed that ought to clear his mind, yet any time he found himself letting his guard down, he was sorely reminded of the punk rock clothing site. Some parts of him were starting to manifest doubt - was he the weird one for fixating? Was it some... American norms he failed to consider? After all, Australian culture could very well be less intense than its riveting cousin. Deciding at last that he was overthinking, he tried to keep up with the conversations around him.

If something bad were to happen, you'd say something, right?

"Say, Sakamoto", he jumped at Tahara's voice, surprised to see she had her attention on him now, "are you ever gonna get married?"

Instantly, eyes were on him. Yuki shifted, laughing nervously.

"Yeah", another voice chimed in, "You're 26, you're earning good money, you got your family's name. Women must be flocking to you."

That voice would be Hanao, quite possibly his least favorite senior. 33, begrudgingly married and completely removed from the concept of boundaries, he could only get worse with a pint in his hand.

"I have some unmarried cousins who would look great on you", Tahara piled onto the mess she herself caused, "Do you want a blind date with her?"

"Or look around the dept", Hanao exclaimed, his ugly habit of getting loud when he got drunk seeping in, "so many young, beautiful ladies are lining up for you!"

Yuki couldn't help but notice the discomfort on the faces of the "ladies" in question, their gaze downcasted or unsubtly turned away.

"Hanao, that's not fair to them", Yuki finally interfered, treading carefully so as not to trigger another terrible habit Hanao got up his sleeves when alcohol got into his system - getting angry, "they are not lining up for me, I'm sure."

"Nonsense", the older man dismissed, waving him off. Yuki's back felt cold as Hanao fully turned to his younger female colleagues who had gotten stiff and awkward, walled in by the long table and the crowd of coworker.

"Wouldn't you ladies want him? He's a bit dull and quiet, but he's a good kid. He is handsome, and his wallet is thick, too. I'm telling you, if you want a chance you better be quick."

The young women politely tried to move on from the topic, but it only fueled his insistence. Stressed out that Hanao was stuck on talking about marriage, Yuki finished his drink painstakingly fast. Hazy now, he landed the pint harshly.

"Excuse me... I should go for a smoke."

"Hey, what's the rush? Are you embarrassed?", Hanao asked, "It's okay Sakamoto, men only get finer with age! Sit down, I think Ms. Sasaki is interested, right?"

Yuki was already standing up with a cigarette in his mouth by the time Sasaki meekly protested. Something about "Mr. Hanao, you're so mean. He will hate me now!"

He looked at the girl. Yuki barely remembered any interaction they had with each other. Did they ever even talk? She was smiley, cheerful, and she had a sweet voice, but he didn't find anything reeling him in. In fact, the expectant look on her face as she tried to make eye contacts made Yuki queazy. Nervous and tense, he excused himself without even acknowledging her presence.

Sometimes, the body remembers things the mind tries to forget.

The smell of food followed him outside. Yuki hurried to a street corner, anxious for that first hit of nicotine to cool his head. Tipsy and disoriented, he was fumbling with the lighter when he saw you. He must had missed you slipping out of the party when Tahara and Hanao cornered him with their tedious talk of marriage. You were on your phone. Your thumbs were still hovering over the bright screen when you. Clearing his throat to make his presence know, Yuki was startled by the blank stare you gave his way.

"Everything okay?", he asked and walked over to stand by your side. Your eyes didn't follow his movement. You looked straight ahead, your face drained of any expression.

"Yes", you tried to sound casual, but your voice were light as air, "everything is fine."

He finally managed to light his cigarette. The first pull was long and crisp. His flexed shoulders dropped as he leaned against the wall and sigh, satisfied. From the corner of his eyes, he could see you tapping on your phone, your fingers typing up a storm. Something was wrong, he could tell, but he didn't want to push. Beside, he was just drunk enought to feel content keeping your company in silence.

It was by the second cigarette that you peeped: "can I have one, Sakamoto?"

That messed with his buzz. Propping himself upright, he turned over to face you.

"No."

You didn't respond. Instead, you stared at him with desperate eyes and quivering lips. Yuki watched your fingers curling up and flexing. A twinge in his chest made him drop the stern tone.

"What happened?"

You hung your head. Your quiet, exasperated voice was almost swallowed by the city's white noise: "please..."

He sighed and fished out one, seeing that it was no use persuading you. His hand hesitated as yours reached over, starved.

"You've quitted for 3 years. You were doing good."

You didn't say anything.

"Are you sure?" He asked for the last time, and the ache in his chest tugged again as he saw you nodding. He handed over the stick and watched helplessly as you stuck it between your teeth. As a last ditch effort, he tossed his lighter into the nearby dumpster.

"I'm sorry", he sighed and took another drag, puffing smoke out his nose, "you can call me a hypocrite, I deserve it. But I just can't-

He was cut off by your cool skin grazing his own as you took his cigarette right out of his mouth. Gently, you placed the burning end onto your unlit one and pulled until you've successfully kindled.

"I'm sorry", you choked, handing back what you'd stolen. He took it, slow and bewildered.

"It's okay. I'm worried, though. Did Lukas do something weird? You know you can tell me."

Your shoulders closed in. You couldn't look him in the eyes.

"No, not Lukas."

__

Lukas didn't like the hot, crawling excitement his body manifested when you were near. He couldn't focus. After the concert, he didn't want to face you. He tried to tell himself many things: you weren't any hotter than the girls he had back in college, you were too independent, you didn't bother to act feminine,... Didn't matter. You had something else that he wanted.

That was why no matter how tedious and stressful the dinner party was for him, someone who didn't know a lick of Japanese, he would rather sit in silence than to talk to you. You were quiet next to him, as if lost in thought. The entire day, he had noticed you spacing out and getting distracted. It was out of the ordinary for someone as put-together as you to keep saying "I'm sorry, I must have forgotten". The final straw was when you blankly sipped on your drink only to spill on your skirt. You didn't even react, only sighing and wiping it off with the tissue he handed over.

"Excuse me", your voice was monotone, "I'm going to the bathroom."

He didn't know who that was directed at. Only him, he assumed, since everyone else were lost in their own coversation. Seeing that your beer had splashed on the floor near where you sat, he reached over to wipe it off. His hand was nearby the phone you had forgotten when it buzzed, its screen lighting up.

"He is going through an episode again"

Lukas never thought of himself as someone who would snoop - after all, he never really cared for any women to reach that point - yet that text from your mother stirred up a morbid sense of curiosity. He watched the bright screen blinking again as another text popped up.

"Please... talk to your brother. He's threatening to do it again."

The screen door slid open, snapping him out of it. Quicking resuming his position, he smiled at you who were carefully finding your way back to your seat, side-stepping your coworkers. Your weary smile was poorly faked.

Lukas' heart beat fast. He was itching to ask you about what he saw, though he decided to hold it in. He didn't know how to begin the conversation without admitting that he had violated your privacy...that would warrant a strong reaction. Yet, within his curiosity, Lukas caught a glimpse of anticipation. How would you look at him, if you were to get mad? He tried to imagine you scowling, your jaw flexed and fists clenched. He wonder if you would curse him out. Maybe, you would even hit him.

God, he hoped you would.

Lost in a fantasy, he was grounded again when you softly excused yourself out "for some fresh air". Nobody paid any mind when you rushed off, your feet barely touching the ground.

Maybe now wouldn't be a good time to test out the validity of his craving. Lukas drew his attention to the rest of the party, trying to forget about it. He didn't understand a single thing, but Sakamoto's side was getting loud: he saw the guy bashfully trying to get through a coversation before excusing himself shortly thereafter with a cigarette in his mouth.

Anxiety bubbled in his guts as he sat alone and confused, bothered by the mental image of you and Sakamoto outside, bumping into each other. Would Sakamoto notice something was up with you? He might - the senior was sensible and keen-eyed. Lukas wasn't in love with small details, but he had seen the way the man covered for your lies on the spot. Short on breath, he caught his own fingers playing with the hem of his button-down shirt. Lukas tried to remind himself that whatever fixation he had on you should come to a stop, but amidst a feverish daze he couldn't resist the instinct to insert himself into your narrative. He didn't care if your mood would worsen. In fact, he hoped it would. He hoped you would take it out on him. Pulling himself up, he hurried after you.

By the restaurant entrance Lukas looked left and right, his heart racing. He didn't like that the reason he chose to be out was to interrupt your conversation, so he convinced himself that he was looking for something else, like a convenient store to get a pack of smoke. After all, he had a bad habit of craving them when he drank. Maybe, he could even look for Sakamoto and ask for one.

Lukas walked down the street, his eyes scanning faces of strangers. They didn't look his way, blurring past him like shadows. He wondered if he looked the same to you - a flash of color that breezed by, flat, voiceless, inconsequential. He didn't have time to let that thought eat him away when he caught Sakamoto's tall form leaning against a wall, half of his body hidden in an alleyway. Lukas took a long stride toward the man only in time for the buildings to move to the backend of his vision, revealing you who were giving a lit cigarette back.

[thekissofaphrodite]

Could you please do Clarisse La Rue X female reader, where the reader is a daughter of Hephaestus and they offer to try and fix, and possibly improve, her broken spear?

THIS IS SO FUN TO MAKE!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING <33

Smudge

Clarisse La Rue X Daughter of Hephaestus!reader

Summary: Fixing a damaged spear and a molten heart.

Warnings: Lovesick Clarisse (+kissing) Language 🫢

Author's Note: I wrote this while there's a literal program going on in my school, I'm shameless 😶

——

There was an eerie and an uncomfortable silence in the Ares Cabin. Apparently, Capture the flag this day didn't go well. Hence, Clarisse La Rue terrorized her siblings, snapping at them and most probably WILL strangling them to death. But one of her siblings finally opened their mouth and said something worth hearing; "I heard The Hephaestus Cabin can take damages like that, You'll have to pay five extra drachmas though"

Despite the disagreement and feud between those two cabins because of their fathers, Clarisse never got her wallet out so fast and ran towards Cabin 9, clutching the remains of her broken spear in hand.

The Workshop-like cabin was in the distance, There was a small queue of campers, waiting for their armours and weapons that they commissioned and repaired.

Clarisse, Being the arrogant, Daughter of the high tempered war God, pushed those campers away, earning groans and nasty side-eyes.

The first person clarisse saw was you, Forging a bronze shield with a hot iron. Your hair held by a huge claw clip in a bun, A brown leather apron was tied on your waist and neck, There was a bead of sweat that rolled down your from forehead to your cheeks, using the back of your hands, you wiped your cheeks, a smudge of charcoal appeared on your cheeks, But you kept going, Unaware.

Clarisse stood there awkwardly, waiting for you to look up and notice her, but you seemed pre-occupied, Just as she was about to clear her throat, Your halfbrother crossed his arms in the table next to you, glaring at Clarisse.

"Oi, La Rue! Gonna stand there like a damn statue? My sister ain't got all day" Your brother addressing Clarisse with his heavy southern accent caught your attention, You looked up at her before dismissing your brother away.

"I got it, Devon. Besides, I'm almost done here, I can take her in"

Your brother's eyebrows furrowed.

"Look, Sis, you've been forging all day since 6 AM, Your wrists are gonna fall off any second"

You laughed.

"I'm pretty sure dad's not gonna let that happen, And...I think I can see Mila peeking over there"

The mention of your brother's girlfriend made him blush madly, Near the entrance, a pale girl with freckles and light brown hair wearing a jumper over her orange camp halfblood shirt was waving at your brother excitedly while holding a small punett basket full of strawberries.

He then rubbed the back of his neck before excusing himself, bringing his girlfriend into his arms.

It was now only you and clarisse inside the workshop , there was a moment of silence before clarisse broke it by placing her damaged spear on your table that made a loud clattering noise.

"Are you able to fix this?" Her voice cracked a little, you felt pity as you examined her spear. Clarisse looked up at you, there was a glint of hope in her eyes.

"It looks repairable, But the electricity.. I'm not sure, It's not going to be that electric, How did this happen anyway?"

Clarissed frowned.

"Jackson"

You stared at her in disbelief.

"That twelve yearold boy did this?"

"Yes— Why does that matter? He's a brat, if I could just snap his neck into two—"

"Hey," you whispered.

"He's just a kid, Let him be. I'm sure I'll get this done in no time." Comfort and reassurance lacing your voice, as you held her hand gently.

You could've sworn you saw Clarisse La Rue blush at the contact.

"So...Are you free?" Clarisse said all of a sudden, It was probably the most cheesiest way of saying 'Will you go out with me' But you won't complain, It's Clarisse.

There was a hint of playfulness in your voice as you responded "Are you asking me out?" Arms folded on your chest as you stared at her in amusement. The Ares girl blushed once more and rubbed the back of her neck, It was almost an unbelievable sight that THE Clarisse La Rue was blushing and acting flustered in front of someone, she mostly acts brute and mean, like totally mean to the point that if she was spotted in a crowd, people would part way.

"Isn't it obvious?"

You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"I'd love to"

Clarisse La Rue was screaming on the inside, but still, she kept a neutral expression, her eyes darting for her spear to yours.

"Great! I- uh... I'll come back tomorrow"

"For me or the spear?"

"Both"

——

The Ares cabin was peace and quiet in the morning, with Clarisse's siblings snoring away, the sun rising from the horizon signalling Apollo's coming, and birds singing softly.

Clarisse never thought she'd be like this, up early in the morning just to get a glimpse of a girl. Her whole life, she devoted herself to making her father proud, training every single day until her limbs went numb, fingers calloused and body sore, yearning for a single praise from her father. But it did. It worked, He gifted her a spear, an electric spear that she deeply treasured, the same spear that broken by that pathetic newbie.

You were her only hope.

So she sneaked out quietly, Carefully trying not to wake her sleep deprived siblings.

each footstep she took towards your cabin made her extremely nervous, but she kept her composure and held her head high like a true daughter of Ares.

Once she reached the entrance, her hands found the door knob and carefully twisted it, Letting it open, She saw you again, But this time you were sleeping peacefully on your work table, dust covered your face while her spear was placed in front of you, good as new with a red ribbon tied to the handle.

You must've pulled up a whole nighter.

She was caught off guard when you slowly started to steer from your sleep, moving uncomfortably.

Clarisse didn't know what to do, so she watched you carefully while you tried to process the world, still dowsy. You saw Clarisse and almost screamed.

"HOLY SHIT— CLARISSE?!" You yell a little too loud because you heard a loud yet distant 'SHUT UP!' coming from your siblings' room.

She just stood there, grinning shyly.

"I'm too early, am I?"

Your eyes found the clock up in the wall that read; 4:36.

"Way too early..."

You looked at Clarisse, then the spear on your table, Sighing.

"..and this was meant to be a surprise"

Clarisse chuckled.

"The spear is the least of my problems, I came here to see you"

Silence

"Me?"

"Yes, you...Do you wanna watch the sunrise?" Clarisse asked, carefully watching your expression, her cheeks flushed with red.

Sunrise?

You love sunrises..

"You didn't have to say it twice." Quickly grabbing your scarf, you held Clarisse's hand towards the fields.

The walk was long and quiet, with only you and Clarisse's breathing, and your boots crunching on the moist grass beneath it.

Once you two reached the small hill, you sat down and leaned back, Clarisse did the same. The sun was slowly rising, signalling Apollo and Aurora's arrival.

"Sorry for the unannounced intrusion earlier, I—"

"You couldn't wait to see me?" You chuckled softly.

Clarisse blushed again.

"Yes, That.." She couldn't admit that it was a little embarrassing admitting that she missed you.

But she missed more than you.

She missed your smile, She missed the way your vanilla perfume mixed with the copper and iron inside you and your siblings' forge, creating an irresistibly intoxicating smell. She missed the way your brows knit together while you focus intensely on hammering out a sword into shape, she missed the way your baby hairs stick on your sweaty forehead, she missed the way your apron wrapped perfectly around your body, bringing out your figure.

She missed everything about you.

You two were engulfed in a comfortable silence, with birds chirping and the trees swaying softly. she turned to you, but before she could speak, she noticed the smudge of charcoal on your cheeks from yesterday, it was a little faded, but still pretty visible.

so acting in her instinct, she moved closer to you and brought her hands on your cheeks, you were a bit startled, watching her wipe your cheeks softly as if tho you were the most delicate porcelain doll.

"Clarisse— What are you—" when she pulled her hand away, you saw a dark smear on her fingers, realization suddenly hit you, you embarrassingly looked away and tried to wipe the mess itself, but Clarisse's hands pushed yours away.

Her palm was now cupping your cheeks, and your gaze fix upon her.

Your heartbeat started beating faster, so did hers.

Clarisse didn't know what made her feel this way towards you, maybe Eros was spying on her and shot her an arrow, maybe Aphrodite was playing games because this was an alluring feeling that she had never felt before towards any person, Yeah, maybe she had a relationship with Silena Beauregard, but it was out of loneliness, Silena needed someone before she even met Beckendorf, and Clarisse needed someone before she met you.

You were the one that brought light to her day, the one that encouraged her to wake up every morning every time she felt little to no enthusiasm.

and now here you are, inches away from her lips while the sun rises.

It wasn't long before her lips touched yours, a burning and a twisting feeling inside your stomach along with butterflies erupted in you. She pulled you closer by wrapping her muscular arm around you waist. Her lips moved in sync against yours, your calloused fingers found her hair as you ran your fingers through it.

And it was pretty much the best sunrise kiss ever.

A/N

HELLO! I'm back with my first request from my inbox! I do hope you guys like this, i know it's been a month since i disappeared but fear no more— I will empty my inbox first before re-opening my requests! SO...STAY TUNED! ANY REQUEST I MIGHT POST MIGHT BE YOURS!

[sacrednova]

Fem!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley. Light Angst.

"Your eyes are graves to me, And I'm falling in. Empty plates and tired mouths surround the table, What we were, is just a myth, a stupid joke, another fable."

The dinner was supposed to be a simple affair—a gathering of old friends, a break from the chaos of daily life. You never expected Simon to be there. The moment you walked in, the room felt too small, suffocating. Your eyes met his, and everything—the years, the distance, the choices you both made—came rushing back like a tidal wave, threatening to drag you under. His eyes, dark and hollow, held the weight of a thousand things unsaid. And you wonder if this moment was always inevitable, as if it had been written long before either of you had a choice.

You sit down beside your husband, his hand brushing yours, a gesture of comfort that feels alien in this moment. Across the table, Simon remains silent, a ghost at a feast. The others laugh, chatter flowing easily, but every word sounds distant, muffled. The weight of the past hangs heavy between you and Simon, thickening the air.

“I don’t love. I only do war.” He’d said it to you so many times that you started to believe it. Even as he held you close, even when his lips moved against yours in a way that felt like more than lust. There was always that wall, an invisible barrier he had built long before you entered his life. And you, ever the optimist, thought you could break it down. Thought your love was the exception, that you were different. But love, like war, has casualties. And you were his.

You think back to those early days, when hope was still something tangible between you. Moving in together felt like a promise, a step toward something solid. But it wasn’t. Simon’s world was built on crumbling foundations, and you didn’t realize it until it was too late. You tried to be his sanctuary, but he only knew how to fight. He warned you, but you stayed anyway. And for a while, it worked. The late nights, the stolen moments, the way he held you like you were his anchor—it all felt real.

But it was a myth. A fable you both told yourselves to keep from facing the truth: Simon was broken, and no amount of love could fix that.

The song playing faintly in the background at this dinner pulls you back to the present. It’s ironic, how fitting the lyrics feel. “We make oaths up to a god we don’t believe in, make a choice to forge a life around a crumbling foundation.” Isn’t that exactly what you did with Simon? You built something fragile, something you both knew wouldn’t last, but you tried anyway. And when it all fell apart, it felt like the world had collapsed around you.

When the arguments started, you tried to brush them off. He never hurt you physically, but the way he lashed out in anger, the way he’d yell for you to shut up—it chipped away at something inside you. Every time he left, you’d sit in the silence, feeling the emptiness he left behind. And each time, it took longer for him to come back, until eventually, he didn’t.

You left because you had to. You left because loving Simon felt like dying a little every day. He was right—he wasn’t good for you, and maybe not for anyone. But the hardest part was that he never stopped you from leaving. He let you go, just as he’d always said he would.

The song’s refrain haunts you: “Your eyes are graves to me, and I’m falling in.” Simon’s eyes used to be your refuge, but now, they’re empty, haunted by the wars he’s fought, both inside and out. The connection you once shared feels like a distant memory, something you buried long ago. But now, sitting across from him, it’s like standing over that grave again, the past rising from the dirt to remind you of what was lost.

When the dinner ends and the others leave, Simon finally approaches you. The silence between you is almost unbearable. He looks older, wearier, the weight of everything he’s been through etched into the lines on his face.

“He’s good to you,” Simon says, his voice low, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile peace between you.

You nod, your throat tight. “He is.” And it’s true. Your husband is kind, stable, everything Simon couldn’t be. But there’s a part of you that still aches for the man you thought Simon could become.

“I always knew you’d leave,” Simon continues, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I just didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and for a moment, you wonder if you made the right choice. But deep down, you know you did. You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save either of you.

The song’s final verse echoes in your mind: “There’s a weight around my finger and it’s dragging me beneath. I’m letting go, I’m letting go, I’m letting go.” That’s what you had to do—let go of the weight Simon had become. The love you had for him wasn’t enough to keep you afloat, and you were drowning.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, though you’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. For leaving? For staying as long as you did? For loving him in the first place?

Simon’s jaw clenches, and he nods, a barely perceptible movement. “Me too.” It’s the closest he’ll ever come to admitting that he wished things had been different. But Simon doesn’t do love. He only does war, and war is all he has left.

You stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between you, a void that neither of you can fill. Finally, you step back, “Goodbye, Simon.”

As you walk away, you don’t look back. You don’t have to. You know that Simon will always be there, standing in the wreckage of what you once had, a soldier on a battlefield that never truly ends.

The past is a grave, and no matter how much you try to bury it, it keeps pulling you in. But you’ve learned to let go, even if Simon never will.

[toskarin]

To celebrate Bandcamp Friday, I've updated both of my tabletop soundtrack packs, OMEN/CONSTANCE and NOMAD/VIRTUE

In a nice little twist of fate, both albums now have a similar runtime, clocking in at just over an hour each! I'm honestly just as surprised as anyone else is

Whether you're diving into the writhing abyss where eyed-things dare not crawl or warming your hands with the fire surging from your rival's overclocked heatblade, Ri47 Heavy Industries is proud to soundtrack your most memorable adventures

As is tradition, I've also knocked a little bit off of both albums' price tags. If you already own either album, you already own both of these updates for free

So what's on the menu? Check below the break!

[Featured Track: Primordial Leviathans and the Vanishing Shore]

OMEN/CONSTANCE: Update 1 takes your table into places far from the light of the sun, featuring three new songs and two new ambient worldscapes themed around pelagic horror and the cruel tide.

With the authentic sounds of survival horror at your side, let the unspeakable sea erode the walls of a normal life, leaving nothing but the smell of salt and bygone rot in its many-mouthed wake.

Whether you would uncover secrets that ought to have been left beneath their shrouds or cling desperately to the side of some great and horrible truth, let OMEN/CONSTANCE - Soundtrack for Oneiric Roleplaying be your most ardent of accompaniments as you plunge boots-first into strangling darkness.

...and whispering water.

[Featured Track: Schimmelreiter]

NOMAD/VIRTUE: Farewell Update stands wreathed in the fires of triumph, featuring three new songs themed around a grand finale and the sacrifices made to forge it, to see this mission to its end — come hell or high explosives.

The Farewell Update is intended for use as a multi-staged encounter theme for the culminating battle of your campaign. To this end, the Farewell Update includes a traditional overpowered encounter theme, a surrealistic fanfare for the last desperate push towards victory, and a bittersweet epilogue track for tying up those loose ends before your ride into the ashen sunset.

Whether you cling to hot iron and force just one more moment's advantage, steady yourself against the shearing wind to pull the trigger one last time, or fall from the arms of a loving orbit to save just one life, let NOMAD​/​VIRTUE - Soundtrack for Mechanised Roleplaying be your copilot as you tear yourself free, rising from the wreckage to defy the best laid plans of mechanised gods and electronic devils.

-

Just over half a year from the album's original release date, after two free updates and well into its sequel's lifespan, Ri47 Heavy Industries decided to prepare a third and final update to our debut soundtrack as a surprise to those who got us here in the first place

From our house to yours, thank you for your continued support. - Rin

[valyrielwrites]

As You Are

Oneshot (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Aemond Targaryen / AFAB Reader Word Count: 11,244 Summary: Lady Reader is sent to marry Prince Aemond to forge an alliance between their houses 💕 11k words of pining after one another, and a romantic wedding night that's hard to forget xx Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes

You stood outside the towering doors of the throne room. Your chest was tight with anticipation, eyes blank as you stared at the stone floor and waited for what felt like an eternity, struggling to calm yourself before you heard the roar of the crowd on the other side and it all became real again.

Everyone on this side was quiet - unnervingly so - your own father and mother not quite certain what words of advice or comfort they should have offered you before your whole world changed forever.

"It's time." He said quietly.

If you could have ignored it, you would.

Footsteps and the clink of armour echoed down the hallway as the White Cloaked Kingsguard came into view, accompanying your new husband and his mother Queen Alicent to meet you in the Vestibule so that you may enter the hall as one.

It was a political match, not one born of fondness and familiarity - truth be told. You had never met the young Prince Aemond or any of his family before you had come to the Sept to be wed, and the only words you had exchanged were your wedding vows before you had been whisked away from one another again and brought back to the Red Keep.

He stalked towards you with purpose. His quiet confidence both impressive and so intimidating that even without his Valyrian features or missing eye he would still stand out from a crowd of lesser men. You felt an uneasy flutter in the pit of your stomach when he stopped beside you and tucked his broad arms behind his back with a slight grin.

"My Prince," You curtsey to greet him again, trying to keep your voice calm and even. "Husband."

He observed you a moment, his expression giving nothing away just as it had done in the Sept, but there was an intensity to him now that drew the breath from your lungs and made your eyes widen as he reached down to take your hand and bring it carefully to his lips.

His voice was barely above a whisper, meant for you and you alone, but you felt a heat flush through your body all the same.

"My Wife."

There was nothing indecent about it, as far as everyone else was concerned this was just a man greeting his lady wife for the first time. Yet the way he watched you with his violet eye made you feel as if he could see right through to the bone - so raw and exposed before him that Aemond knew the deepest parts of you that you didn't know yourself. Every inch of your soul laid bare so you could never go unseen again.  

"I trust that the journey back to the Red Keep was without issue?" Queen Alicent addressed your parents, her voice snapping your attention back to the task ahead.

Your mother replied with an "Of course, Your Grace.", but you noticed that Aemond had still not averted his gaze.

Once the last of the pleasantries were said and done you took a deep breath and readied yourself, only slightly reassured by the way Aemond linked his arm around yours when you turned to face the door. You forced yourself to smile as you entered the throne room to great applause, but found that your nerves soon turned to awe once you saw the scope of the festivities.

Hundreds of guests gathered around endless wooden tables and benches. Great houses across the kingdom from Winterfell to Oldtown here to celebrate the union, all sat beneath sparkling black silk woven with silver and starlight that draped from the columns and ceiling - dancing in the heat that rose from the lit braziers that lined the great stone walls. The three headed dragon of the Targaryen's also hung on a black banner on the back wall behind the Iron Throne, surrounded by smaller flags and standards carrying your own house sigil as compliment.

It was a reminder to all those present the strength of this ancient family that you have now married into.

"Remember where you are," His voice was low, warning. "Do not give anything away in front of those eager to take advantage."

You did not even notice that you had been squeezing Aemond's arm until you felt his fingers slip over your hand, carefully easing your grip on him once you arrived before King Viserys to kneel at the conqueror's seat. There he was a sickly figure sat amidst the twisted iron and steel, the King's fading presence almost swallowed by the throne as the years had taken their toll, appearing even frailer still when you compared him to your groom - but you kept your face still and paid your respects as expected.

"Such a comely bride," Viserys smiled and waved his frightfully thin hand to beckon you both to rise. "A good match, better than I had hoped for you. Well done, boy!"

He gave no speech as you had expected, his energy perhaps already spent climbing the steps to the throne before the guests had gathered. However, you noticed the way that Aemond tensed at the compliment as if it were an insult.

Better than he had hoped. Those words lingered in your thoughts for quite some time after you took your seat at the table laid out across the dais, where you sat quietly on your husband's blind side, hardly paying attention when The Lord Hand Otto Hightower delivered a toast to your health and wishes for a prosperous marriage. Better than he had hoped. As if his expectations had been so low.

You cast a glance towards Aemond and search for any fault that might stand out to you but find none on the surface. By all accounts - apart from the patch that obscured his eye - he was handsome in an unusual yet striking way, his strong features somehow appeared softer against the glow of candlelight, and his silver hair flowed loose like silk past his the broad shoulders of his black and red velvet doublet. He wore the colours of his house well, far better than his ailing father - who had quietly been led out of the chamber whilst the rest of the guests were distracted by the festivities.  

For a long time you found it hard to look away from your new husband, until he caught you at least.

He put down his goblet and turned his head so that he could see you properly. "My Lady, did you want something?"

"Oh, I-" You stopped, desperate for an excuse to be less awkward, and grasped the first thing that came to your head. "I just wondered if you would like to dance, my Prince?"

Aemond's brow furrowed, his arm rested against the hard wood of the table as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and let out a contemplative hum. "I do not really..." He replied, your eyes catching the way that his throat bobbed as he paused before continuing. "I am not one for dancing, my Lady."

You pressed your lips together and leaned back into your seat, more disappointed than you had expected to be. You hadn't even had a particular desire to take to the dance floor, only using it as an excuse, but the utter disinterest in joining you had left you slightly unsettled.

"I see," You let out a breath, determined not to show it. He had warned you to give nothing away in public and you were not foolish enough to forget so quickly. "So what do you like then? To occupy your time with, I mean."

He was quiet a moment longer, the silence between you interrupted only by a snicker from the nearby Prince Aegon to remind you that you were not truly alone.   

"I read." He finally said and averted his gaze from you, taking another long pause before elaborating, as if he did not know quite how to talk about himself without being pushed. "I spend a great amount of time in our library."    

You forced a smile to cover the fact that on the inside you were wincing, wondering why trying to get to know your new husband was akin to pulling teeth, and cast a glance towards his older brother - sat next to Aemond on the side of his good eye - who had been knocking back wine as if it was water.

You noticed the mercurial smugness etched onto his face as he looked between the pair of you, slurping as he downed the rest of his goblet and placed it back down on the table with a satisfying clunk.

He smirked and gave you a pointed look as if to say watch this.

"Surely your lovely wife does not want to hear about dusty old books." He said a little too loudly and let out a shrill laugh.

For a second you did not understand the purpose of such a flippant remark, but then you saw the way that Aemond's jaw clenched at the sound of Aegon's incessant giggling, and the considered cold stare that fell across his face at the mention of you. Perhaps it was just the stress of the day, or the natural friction between siblings that every family shared, but it did not take you long to realise that there was a deeper tension between the two.

"I do not mind," You tried to conciliate, turning to Aemond and continued. "Do you have a fav-"

"I mean," Aegon cut you off, "You could be enjoying the finer things in life! Wine, women... more wine and women?" He leaned back in his seat as if to ponder the thought. "You really ought to try to have more fun, dear brother!"

Aemond flexed his hand, tapping his fingers against the table as he inhaled deeply and took a moment to decide whether biting the obvious bait would be worth it.

"Should I?" An amused hum played across his lips. "Although, I confess that I find my current endeavours to be a much better use of my time than indulging in your endless hedonism and depravity."

"You-" Aegon began to reply, but it was you that interrupted the flow of conversation this time - the sound of your laughter cutting through the tension to draw their attention back to you.

Aemond's eye met yours the moment you went to cover your mouth, trying to scrape back some modicum of politeness in front of royalty, but instead of the disapproval you had expected you found a warmth that had not been there prior. You had enjoyed his remark. The realisation clear upon his face as the corner of his mouth curled into a slight smile, a small victory shining in his violet eye as he watched and waited for more.

"Do you agree, My Lady?"

"I do," You replied, blinking slowly as you tried and failed to fight the urge to smile back at him. "Aside from reading, are there any other pursuits that you enjoy?"

This time he did not hesitate to reply, the guarded wall he kept up appeared to shrink a little now that he was more sure of you.

"I am also quite skilled with a sword. I often train in the yard with Ser Criston."

"Yet you do not dance?"

You tilted your head to the side, eyes fixed to his as you felt yourself drawn in closer and more curious than before. At first you had asked because you thought you ought to, now you asked because you wanted it.

Aemond shifted in his seat and let out a slow breath, the tightness in his posture relaxing when he gave you his reply:

"Fighting and dancing are quite different."

"I disagree," You smile and shake your head. "'tis all in the footwork is it not? Battle has a rhythm of its own. What good is a swordsman that lacks grounding or the ability to move? To weave through a crowd and pick out a partner to face off against?"

"You paint quite the picture." That slight smile had not left his face.

"Why not try it and find out?" You challenged him a little, raising a brow as you took a sip of wine.

Aemond did not refuse immediately like he had the last time. His gaze shifted low as he considered, then looked back to you again, then to the crowd that stood in the centre of the hall socialising where the dancing would have taken place.

"... You're very insistent."

It wasn't a no.

"If you don't want to embarrass yourself at your own wedding, I am happy to take your place," Aegon reminded you of his presence yet again, this time clasping his brother's broad shoulder and giving it a playful squeeze as he leaned in to whisper the rest, "... Perhaps in your other duties as well."

Although it was hushed you still heard the scandalous remark, scoffing in disgust a few seconds after you allowed it to sink in what he meant by 'other duties' - and it seemed that your husband also found it exceedingly distasteful.  

"You have had enough to drink." Aemond did not shrug Aegon off, but gave him a warning glare that silently screamed a command to remove his hand. Aegon, ever the fool, did not heed it and continued.

"I am still awake and capable, so have not!" Aegon countered, lifting his goblet above his head in a mock toast. "What do you say, Lady Reader?"

But before you could answer, Aemond spoke.

"You have your own wife to occupy yourself with," He grasped Aegon's fingers and peeled them off his doublet, his voice dropping lower and more threatening. "Surely you do not need mine."

Mine.

You could feel the way your heart leapt at that, how strange you felt for enjoying it, how embarrassed you were that you wanted to hear him say it again and again. 

The way he spoke the word was so different to how it had sounded in the Sept as you said your vows - that your were his and he was yours - not gentle or disinterested as it had once been but guarded, almost domineering, as if this was the only way he could make his brother realise that one more insult against you would not be tolerated.

"I may put my hands on our sister whenever I like," Aegon huffed, and you truly felt sorry for Princess Helaena. "To brush up against Lady Reader is such a rare opportunity."

Before you could even think to say something, the screech of Aemond's chair scraping against the stone floor rang out across the hall, drawing everyone's attention to the dais as he slammed his goblet down and slowly stood to face his brother. Sound after sound diminished - first the music, then the raucous laughter from the benches, then the hushed whispers as all the Lords and Ladies gathered on the floor - until an expectant silence blanketed the entire throne room.

Even Aegon was quiet as he cautiously tilted his head up to meet Aemond's eye, perhaps realising that he really had taken things too far.

Your husband did not move for a moment, flexing his jaw and inhaling before he looked away and remembered where he was. His earlier warning to you to be careful what you showed in public temporarily forgotten as concerned onlookers and gossiping courtiers eagerly awaited to see the conflict boil over.

For a moment you thought it might, but Aemond would not give them the satisfaction.

"Come," He said loud enough for everyone to hear, holding his hand out to you with an impassive face. "Let us join our guests on the floor."

He would give them something else entirely.

Your eyes darted between him and Aegon, then back to the rest of the people gathered in the hall, as you slowly brought your hand up to his.

There was still so much tension in his posture as he wove his fingers between yours but he still managed to move with an unexpected fluidity and grace, guiding you away from the table with his other hand ghosting the small of your back.

"You do not have to -" You began to whisper.

Aemond brought his mouth close to your ear, "Yes, I do."

You felt yourself almost stumble as your foot found the step, the tickle of his breath against your neck distracting your focus, a warm flush pooling in the pit of your stomach at the way he brought his hand to your waist to steady you.

"I'm sorry." You laughed nervously.

He said nothing, did not move his hand as you walked to the centre of the room together, did not heed the whispers or the way that people gawked at he close he was to you - this was the only spectacle he would allow. It was a performance to hide the fissures in his house before others could widen those cracks.

You stood side by side and watched as Aemond waved a hand toward the bards and minstrels that had stopped playing, giving them the go ahead to start again as the rest of the floor cleared of guests to accommodate their Prince. Your Prince.

The rhythm began quietly, each stroke of the drum skin building the anticipation as the two of you stepped away in opposite directions, turning to face each other and take it all in as the sound of long string notes eased you into the introduction. You bowed your head and lifted your arm, tilting your neck ever so slightly as you watched him match your movement and take a diagonal step towards you like a knight circling his equal on the field.

He had taken your words to heart then, 'battle has a rhythm of its own', and he was determined to test it for himself.

You let out a deep breath as he dipped out of view to appear on your other side, snatching your hand back as his fingers grazed yours, a teasing grin etched upon your face as you looked him straight in the eye.

You heard the titter of the crowd, amused on-lookers curious to see what he would do next, but Aemond just stepped back - waiting, watching, his gaze fixed on you - arm outstretched, not in invitation but as if he held a sword.

As if it were a challenge.

You took a step forward and raised your own, twisting your wrist as if you were twirling a thin blade above your head before you met him and crossed - lunging for him only to be sidestepped, his silver hair grazing you as he weaved past to the sound of scattered applause.

"I did not ask at the table," He finally spoke as you turned to face him and tapped your foot, "I apologise."

"For what?" You replied and followed his lead, circling each other with your arms held in a matching guarding stance.  

"For not inquiring after your interests when we discussed mine. I take it you like this?"

You smiled. "Yes."  

You both paced around each other so that you were back-to-back, but you would have given anything to continue looking at his face whilst you spoke. There was something so intoxicating about the way he looked at you, with a gentle intensity that made him feel as if he was the only person in the whole room that could see you.

"I also like to read," You continued, looking over your shoulder to find him doing the same. "... And I enjoy riding."

An amused hum escaped his lips, "Have you ever ridden a dragon?"

You were aware that he already knew what your answer would be. You were not a Targaryen, and you had never seen one of their dragons in the flesh, but you humoured him regardless.

"I have not."

He turned behind you and leaned in to whisper, his one hand coming to rest against your hip whilst the other stroked along your arm until your fingers met again. He was touching you more than he ought to in public, exploring, pushing to see what he could get away with.  

"It is not quite the same as a horse."

You let out a breathy laugh, "Is it not terrifying?" you asked and wrapped your hand around his as he raised it above your head.

"Extremely." Your affections danced as he twirled you, "Enough to make one's heart race. There is nothing as thrilling in this world - to be able to soar through the skies, to touch the clouds and chase storms... Men spend their entire lives wishing for what Vhagar and I can do in an afternoon."

He was much more talkative now that it was only you in earshot, and you realised that perhaps that initial reservedness had only been because of Aegon - that he had known that everything he said would be derided or because he did not want to be embarrassed by his older brother's behaviour.

This was a man of so many unspoken words, so complex and new behind the veneer, someone that you would study endlessly and never tire of.

"Would you take me?" You asked, trying to imagine the way his arms would wrap around you on that dragon, as the wind whipped through your hair and the cities seemed to shrink into insignificance below.

"If you want me to." He stopped and smiled. "If she will let you."

You both travelled in time to the music, spinning away from him as you moved to parry and riposte his next attacking movement, and laughed when you heard gasps and claps from the crowd.

Aemond became relentless then, darting towards you to strike again as you both orbited the floor - defending as you fled from him with a wicked grin and the tap of your shoes against the stone. You could feel your blood coursing through your veins, steady breaths quickening as you focused every ounce of physicality on matching him, the push and pull of your dance quickened with the beat until you finally met the moment of conclusion.

Aemond made a disarming gesture, knocking your arm back in a sweeping motion as he closed the distance between you, clutching your waist as he hoisted you into the air, his strong thigh resting beneath your leg, to place you back down half a heartbeat later as the final swell of the song came to its end.

"I thought you said that you did not dance." You breathed, your chest heaving as you tilted your head up.

A rapturous applause filled the room as you both stood there panting, but the cheering and whistles were not enough to pull your attention away from each other as you held his longing gaze. The striking violet of his eye trailed down your face for a moment, watching the way your lips turned up as if he was considering something he should not, as his hand caressed the outline of your dress one last time before he dropped his grip on you and moved away.  

"I don't."

There was a smug smile on his face as he stepped off the dance floor, leaving you behind as the rest of the guests returned to their spaces when the next song began, heading in the direction of Otto Hightower who had been watching from the sidelines. You decided not to follow, to give him some space or room to breathe - seven hells you knew that you needed it - and made your way back into the circle of Ladies gathered on the dance floor that were ready to perform a much simpler carole.  

Out of the corner of your eye you could still see Prince Aegon sat atop the dais, the mock concern he had worn earlier long gone from his drawn face, watching you with a self-satisfied smile as he winked and mouthed the words 'you're welcome' just as you began to move again.  

It all suddenly clicked - why Aegon had been so persistent in spite of the clear animosity he was met with. He had goaded Aemond into dancing with you, knew that poking him would garner that response, and had wanted you to see it.

You felt slight gratitude and disgust all at once, thankful for the favour but displeased with the method, and wondered if he had not meant the things that he said at the table. Had he simply said those words to get what he wanted or was there a kernel of truth to them?

Based on Aemond's reaction though, you doubted his intentions were all that noble.  

The next song came to an end soon enough and in the pause between pieces you looked around the room for your husband, only to find that you had lost him in the crowd - spirited away with no trace or hint to where he may have gone.

That soft longing surprised you, the way you felt as if he had taken a part of you with him when he was gone, the way you no longer felt quite whole, how quickly you had become so drawn to him. Your Mother had warned you that love could take time or might never come at all, that perhaps even warming to one another might be difficult in an arranged match - but with Aemond it already felt like there was something there.

In those brief touches and stolen glances you found a foundation, the potential for a good life together, for more affection than what most people had.

You needed a break from the festivities, some air to clear your head so that you could manage your expectations, stepping off the dance floor to find a balcony or window to refresh your whirring mind. You only made it halfway toward the steps to the gallery before you heard someone call your name, the last person you wanted to speak to at that moment, Aegon swayed toward you as if in a stupor accompanied by the youngest brother Daeron who you had not had the pleasure of meeting yet.

"Going so soon?" His tongue tripped over the words, slurring his speech. "Have I missed my chance to ask you to dance?"

He was drunk, that much was clear, but so were many of the guests, and Aemond was not there this time to act as a buffer.

"Apologies, My Prince. I fear that I have worn myself out." You gave him a watery smile. "Perhaps there is another that would gladly take my place."

Daeron nodded his head at you and went to take his brother by the arm. "Come, let us leave our new sister alone and find our fun elsewhere." He offered a reprieve, albeit brief. You watched as Aegon wiggled his arm away and shook his head.   

"No no - if the Lady is tired we should see her to bed!" He giggled.

"Aegon." Daeron warned.

Your heart dropped when the eldest prince took another step toward you, arms wide with enthusiasm, the thought of him touching you or encouraging others to do so enough to make your stomach churn.

"But it is tradition! Show some respect."

Sure enough it was, although you wanted no part in it.

You had seen it happen at your cousin's wedding to one of the Mallister boys, the way she sobbed and begged the men to leave her dress untouched as they hoisted her into the air to carry her to their wedding bed, the way she had been so quiet and withdrawn the morning after. You had warned your parents that you would not tolerate such treatment, although deep down you knew it wasn't something that she had wanted either.

Women in Westeros seldom had the power to choose their own fate but your Father promised you that much at least - if you did your duty and married Prince Aemond without complaint, they would make sure that you were not mistreated or humiliated in front of the court - but when you looked around for him amidst the crowd, you did not see that familiar face looking out for you with concern.

"Mother and Aemond will not like it." Daeron kept his voice measured, but he cast a cautious glance at you - as if to tell you to flee the first chance you got. "Let us go find him and leave the Lady in peace."

"Where is our brother? 'Tis unlike him to hide from his duty," Aegon stumbled forward, the wine in his cup sloshing onto the floor. "Come Daeron! Pick her up and help her with her clothes, she will not be needing them much longer."

"Aegon!" Daeron hissed.

"It's just a bit of fun!"

You forced a smile and used every ounce of your composure to stop yourself from shaking, not in fear - but anger. "I'm sure my Lord Father will not find it as amusing," You said, but your words were laced with bile and an implicit threat. "And I imagine that the Queen will not be best pleased either." 

You hated this. You hated the fact that you had to hide behind other people's positions, to try to balance the scales enough that he would leave you be, hated that you couldn't reel your hand back and slap him across the face without the fear that it would be the last time you had a hand.

Don't let him touch me. You silently begged The Mother, The Maiden, and any of The Seven that might have cared to keep you safe - although they had never answered your prayers before. Let this be another one of his sick jokes that goes no further.

"You speak too much sense." Aegon rolled his eyes at you, "It's boring."

"My Prince I would really rather not -"

"I have done you a favour tonight by making sure that you had your way with my brother," He laughed, and brought his hand down onto your shoulder, squeezing hard as if to reassure you although it did anything but. "All I want is some entertainment of my OW-"

Aegon let out a pitiful whine as a firm hand suddenly appeared from behind you to clamp around his wrist and twist his grip away, his face scrunched in discomfort when his attention left you in favour of whoever dared interrupt.  

"What are you doing?!"

You felt Aemond against your back, his domineering presence offering an unmistakable sense of relief when he placed his spare hand at your waist so that he could pull you away from his brother to put some space between you. He took a step forward, his gaze formidably cold and jaw tight with a quiet fury, digging his fingers into Aegon's wrist without a care for the pain it caused him.  

"That is enough. You have had your fun."

"Don't be such a twat," Aegon snatched his arm back and staggered a bit off balance, either from shock or too much wine, and laughed as if to shrug the whole thing off. "If we carry her off to your bed now she can't run away scared when she sees... Look, I'm doing all this for your benefit so just -"

"Quiet." His voice was calm - in the same deceptive way that the air feels before a storm begins to lash - stood so still as the atmosphere around him shifted into something heavy, thick, and unyielding. "You can continue to mock and belittle me all you like brother - you can even lie to yourself and dress it up as 'helping' if that helps to ease that depraved conscience of yours. I allowed you to get away with it earlier this evening for the sake of appearances, but you will not humiliate her to get at me again. Do I make myself clear?"

Aegon went quiet, his whole front beginning to crumble as the smarmy smile was wiped clean off his face, giving way to something more broken and unsure than you had ever seen a man wear before in your life.

"I'm fine." You lied, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between them before it could turn into something uglier.

"No you're not." Daeron finally spoke again. "I should've done more to stop him."

And with that Aegon finally decided he had endured enough. Huffing as he shoved his cup into the hands of a passing servant, he skulked away like a miserable fool that had failed to gain the approval of his patrons rather than the prince that he was.

"Take her to the back of the hall. I shall meet you by the door." Aemond commanded, handing you over to his younger brother as he watched the older push past and almost knock Lord Beesbury over.

"Where are you going?" You asked.

"To ensure he doesn't cause any more trouble." He sighed. "I will be back for you, I swear it."

"I shall go after him," Daeron answered. "You two should enjoy your own wedding."

He did not wait for Aemond's reply, instead moving carefully through the crowd in pursuit of his errant brother, walking slow enough that it did not draw further attention. You were grateful for that at least, that none of the guests had noticed Aegon's behaviour and encouraged him, and that you were not a source of gossip and scandal on your first day at court.

"He is a -" Aemond began to mutter until he caught the way you were watching him again.

"A what?"

He paused to consider, a million different insults to describe Aegon all springing to mind as he lifted his arm for you to take. "... A scoundrel."

"Something tells me that was not the first word that came to mind."

You raised a brow and walked with him across the room, weaving your arm around his as if it were the most natural thing in the world now, his other hand coming to rest against the back of yours.

"The first word is not decent for a Lady to hear." He smirked.

"I do not mind suffering some indecency if it means you feel able to confide in me." You teased, although you meant what you said.

He chuckled at that, albeit brief, but it felt good to hear him laugh - to momentarily ease the tension that seemed to cling to his very soul before it could dig its claws in any deeper.

"I would like that." He quietly admitted, taking you back to your seats at the table atop the dais.

The rest of those that had been sat with you earlier had already vacated their positions, finally leaving the two of you utterly alone, but you both still pulled your chairs closer so that it was easier to speak more discreetly.

"I would too." You nudged him a little.

"I have to been seen to be publicly supportive, even if I remain privately disgruntled by his behaviour. Aegon can taunt and mock all he likes behind closed doors but out in the world we must defend our own - he went too far tonight, embarrassed himself and offended you before I have even had the chance to..." His voice trailed off as if he wasn't quite sure how to continue, no matter how desperately you wanted him to.

"The chance to do what?"

"To know you," he said and it felt as if your heart skipped a beat. "To have a fondness for you, perhaps."

His words danced around the obvious conclusion, that even though your match was a planned one, there was space for something much deeper to take root and flourish between you. He wanted to love you, wanted you to love him, the truth of it was plain as day across his calm expression as you reached for his hand and wove your fingers with his.  

You said nothing, not really needing to, instead running your thumb in circles against the back of his hand as you watched his face soften ever so slightly.

"I shall speak with him again in the morning once he is sober," Aemond sighed and continued. "You need not pay him any attention."

"It is difficult not to when one day he may be King." You replied with a half-hearted smile.

"When I cloaked you in the Sept, I brought you under my protection. I will not allow him to bother you as he would a common -" He stopped and let out a hum instead, as if he had caught himself getting wound up again and wanted to moderate his tone. "I am your husband now. You have my name, my honour, my life - and, if necessary, my dragon to remind anyone foolish enough to forget that I am yours and you are mine."

"My Prince..."

Your heart fluttered at the way he leaned into your space, how he was almost as close as he had been in the Sept when he sealed your vows with a kiss - it had been feather-light, curious even, so unlike the intensity you had come to know in the hours since.

"Is that too much? You and I are strangers still, I know." He asked.

You wanted to scream, to tell him that no it wasn't too much - it wasn't enough. You wanted the fire that flickered beneath the surface, yearned for it to set your heart alight as he kissed you properly this time, but you were still in public - still under the ever watchful eye of the nobility, of your families.

So you told him, "We do not have to be." and gave him the confirmation that he needed.

He watched for the way you inched forward, just a little, a hopeful smile on your face as your eyes met his and you felt that lingering uncertainty just melt away.  

"The hour is late." He hummed.

"It is."

Aemond gave you another slightly nervous smile out of the corner of his mouth as he looked down at your hand, still stroking against his, and gave you a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps we should go to bed?"

"To bed or..." you paused, waiting until he looked up at you again. "To bed?"

"I would not force it upon you." He sat a little more upright as he spoke, to give you space to consider.

But you already knew your answer.

"You would not need to."

For the first time in your life you were allowed to want something so carnal, to entangle yourself so irrevocably in another person's body and soul, but even as a married woman it still felt shameful to admit. You could feel a heat rise beneath your cheeks as your heart hammered in your chest, your nerves alight with such a strange sense of anticipation - the fear and elation that came from the acknowledging the truth of it all.

"Say something..." You let out a nervous laugh and whispered, "Please?"

Aemond let out a deep breath that you had not noticed he had been holding, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the table, but never taking his eye off you.

"Shall I have them announce our departure, or shall we just quietly disappear?"

He watched you with a hesitant look in his eye, and it was all you could to stare back and lose yourself in that longing gaze, heart murmuring at the way it slowly trailed down your face to meet your lips and linger there a second too long.

"Yes..." You breathed.

Aemond let out a quiet laugh, "To what?"

You smiled and shook your head to yourself, willing your wits to return before you made yourself look even more of a fool. "To disappear together," your voice was a low whisper, "It may be our duty, but that does not mean that we cannot enjoy it on our own terms."  

He was quiet after that, considered, the expression he wore seemed almost as if he was slightly fascinated at how easy and simple it actually ought to be - that this moment did not have to be one you both dreaded or endured for the sake of what was expected, that you could enjoy it as much as he might.

You allowed your hand to slip from his grasp, fingers carefully stroking along his skin when you withdrew and went to stand on shaky legs, taking the initiative this time as you beckoned him toward a point of no return.

Come. Come with me and I shall give you everything.  

Aemond swallowed before he spoke again, not in a way that made him seem nervous or unsure, but how a warrior prepares for a battle he knows he can win - as if to centre himself, to allow almost a divine certainty to envelop his very being and reforge him into something anew. "Through the door at the back of the hall."

He waited for you to leave first, allowing some distance between you before he also got up from his seat and followed in a way that would not draw attention to your departure, and nodded his head toward Ser Criston Cole once you were over the threshold.

You were equal parts thrilled and terrified when you left the festivities behind, the sound of the crowd growing fainter with every nervous step.

"Where now?" You turned and asked Aemond as he caught up to you, his fingers grazing your sleeve as you both made your way down a long corridor that led out to an open courtyard.

He nodded his head in the direction of an enormous building that was hidden behind a thick interior wall. "No one shall bother us here, not even my brother."

You both continued on to Maegor's Holdfast - the famed castle within the castle where the King and his immediate Targaryen family resided - strolling slowly until members of the Kingsguard came into view at the end of the drawbridge.

"Raise the bridge after we have passed," Aemond commanded. "Lower it for none but my Mother or Sister when they retire for the night."

"My Prince, we were not expecting you!" A tall, bearded brown haired man replied. "Will you stay long? I understood that there are rooms prepared for you and your bride back in the Red Keep."

"We do not want any further interruptions, Ser Arryk." He replied, and the Knight nodded in understanding. It was clear enough that names did not need to be said for them to know your husband referred to Aegon. "Please ensure that we are not disturbed."

Aemond took your hand as you walked along the bridge, quietly warning you to not look down at the dry moat below to see the menacing spikes that jutted up from the stone, and guided you inside toward a twisting stone staircase that led to his personal apartments.

You held your breath as you stepped into the first room, expecting Aemond to be bolder in private and carry you straight off to bed, but you were surprised when he lingered at the door - his hand hovering above the wrought iron bolt as if he was waiting for your approval.

"Thank you." You felt flushed.

"Take your time." He replied and locked the door.

He watched as you took another step forward, inspecting your surroundings as you made your way around the room - noting the living space decorated in green and gold, the bath and dressing room tucked off to the side, and the large four-poster bed that sat atop a platform at the head of the room.

"As Ser Arryk said, there have been rooms prepared for us elsewhere. If you don't like it here -"

"I do." You turned back to him and smiled. "It is yours, My Prince."

"Aemond," He corrected, but there was a feverish look in his eye as he slowly came toward you. "There is no need for titles when we are alone. Call me by my name."

A charged silence hung in their air whilst he waited for your answer, wanting to hear his name on your lips, but there was an anxious flutter that rose in your chest and reminded you that this was all real again - that the touches, the dance, the desire that you felt - it had not been a dream.

"Have you changed your mind?" He asked when you took too long to reply.

"No," You laughed and then softened your voice."I still want to... I just-"  

He whispered, "I'm sorry." and for the first time that evening you saw him doubt himself.

He had latched onto that moment of hesitation, as if he had expected it to come and was prepared, his whole body tensing as he halted his progress toward you. With one glance you could see it all - the questioning if what his brother had said was true, that you would panic and flee at the first opportunity, that you would realise that your longing was misplaced once you truly saw him as he was.  

"Don't be," You reassured and took a step closer. "It's silly, really."

"Then what is it?" He asked so quietly, but his thoughts were betrayed across his face. She is afraid of me. "Have I... done something?"

And just like that it all clicked into place.

The passing remarks and teasing done by Aegon, the back handed compliment that King Viserys had given him - Better than he had hoped - this evening had been death by a thousand cuts for your husband. Despite his earlier confidence he had still mistaken your nerves for regret, for a type of aversion or rejection that was all too familiar to him.

"You have done nothing to displease me Aemond. Quite the contrary, in fact," You spoke candidly, watching carefully, to see if there was something in your expression that could break through the wall that he was ready to build back up again. "It has just been a long day for the both of us."

It broke your heart a little to see that he thought the worst of himself, so you sighed and moved in closer, rested your hand on his upper arm and gently stroked your thumb against the fabric.

He did not flinch from your touch, but did not relax either. So you continued, "I meant what I said back in the Hall, but I -" you paused to let out a breath. "This is new, I have never done this before... I do not know if you have."

Aemond's brow softened at that, at the worry in your eyes. it was not a fear of him, but of the unfamiliar territory that you had to navigate. He recognised it now - as he had learned the day he claimed Vhagar - that talking and dreaming was one thing, but to take that leap and face it was another entirely.

"It was a long time ago." He admitted.

"Did you love her?"

"No," He said and you believed it. There was no nostalgia or sentimentality in his face or tone, his expression shifting into something that looked almost ashamed as he looked away from your gaze. "It was not... something that I would do again if I had the choice. Let us leave it at that."

There was a story behind that look, perhaps one that you might hear one day, something that had left an indelible mark upon him that he wasn't quite sure how to erase - if it even could be. Perhaps that was why he had been so upset at Aegon's interference, why he had made sure that nobody could take that decision from you too.   

"Does it bother you?" He looked up again.

You shook your head, "No."

Aemond eased a little, allowing his shoulders to drop as he slowly brought his hand up and brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. He lingered a moment when you didn't try to pull away, humming and stroking his thumb across the curve of your cheek, with a look in his eye that told you he couldn't quite believe that you were real.

"____." Your name was a whisper on his lips as he breathed his mother tongue, "Gevie iksā..."

"What does that mean?" You asked.

He felt warm as he leaned in, tilting his head down to rest against your own, inching ever closer as he released a shaky breath and sighed, "You are beautiful." and surrendered himself to it.

Aemond had wanted this since the moment he set his sight on you, and now that he knew that you were not just humouring him - that you truly desired it too - he relinquished any persisting guilt or dishonour he felt when you finally met his kiss.

It was slow at first, your lips pressed softly against his for the briefest of moments, testing before giving yourself over completely. You pulled back a little to see him staring, his breath as uneven as yours as he took a moment to gather himself.

"Aemond..." You pleaded, throat tight with a desperate want.  

You felt his fingers at the laces on the front of your gown, gently tugging at the bow and sliding the silk through the eyelets one by one in such an unhurried manner, his gaze almost searing through you as he watched for your disapproval - although it never came - even as your mouth went dry at the way that you bodice fell open to expose the fine linen shift your wore underneath.

His hands carefully grazed the bare skin of your décolletage as he helped to shrug off the top layer of your clothing. It was featherlight, exploratory, curious... Yet you burned for it, were hyper aware of the hitch in your breath and the flutter in the pit of your stomach at the sensation of being touched in a way that you never had before.

You let out a nervous laugh when his hands slid down along the outline of your waist, coming to stop right at the top of your skirts. "I'll move." You whispered, and reluctantly tore your gaze from him as you faced away and granted him access to the lace at the back.

It had taken two servants to dress you in your wedding gown that morning but Aemond seemed more than capable of undressing you all on his own, making quick work of the knot and allowing the pale overskirt and petticoats to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Just like on the dancefloor, you could feel the tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against the tip of your spine, eliciting a surprised gasp from you when you suddenly felt a flutter somewhere else.

Before he had the chance to move or do it again, you whirled and took a small step back to give yourself a moment to breathe. The look of concern he gave lasted for only a moment once he saw the shocked smile on your face, and then his eye began to trail down to take in the silhouette of your body through the thin linen shift you still wore.

"Your turn." You swallowed.

Aemond did not move.

"Would you like to?" He met your gaze again. "Or shall I undress myself?"

"I... I can do it."

You moved in close again and slid your hands up the broad chest of his doublet until you reached the buckle right below the neckline, the cool metal of it fashioned into ornate silver dragons that wove around themselves in an endless ouroboros.

The first one came undone with a satisfying click, all the tension in the fabric suddenly releasing to expose the smooth skin beneath his collar, so you brushed your finger along the outline and took your time with the rest.

Although you had the rest of your lives to explore one another - to touch, to feel, to know in ways that no other could - never again would you be able to experience this first night. So you ignored that instinct for urgency that stirred deep within the depths of your soul in favour of savouring that anticipation, as if it were just as much a part of the final act itself.

Aemond slowly shrugged off his doublet once the last buckle was finally opened, stopping only when you laid your one hand flat against his chest to feel the beat of his heart through his shirt, whilst the other carefully stroked the curve of the muscles on his arms.

Up and up your fingers trailed - from his biceps to his shoulder, along the outline of his neck where it connected to his angular jaw, against his cheek... against his scar. The cut was clean, done with a sharp blade but expertly treated by the Maester no doubt, and sat stark against the paleness of his smooth skin.

Curiosity possessed you the moment your touch met the leather patch that obscured the rest from view, but that wonder was cut short when you saw the way Aemond flinched - his eye wide as if he was almost as shocked as you when you pulled your hand back and offered profuse apologies.

"I thought... I am so sorry, if you don't want to -"

"No," He quickly took your hand again. "No... I was just not expecting you to want to look. I do not wish to scare you."

"You do not scare me Aemond," You spoke quietly, "I wish to see all of you, just as you see all of me."

He smiled slightly, his face softening as his hand slid toward the sleeve of your shift. "Not quite all of you." It was a joke to ease the tension, to deflect from the awkwardness he felt, but the fact that he could find humour in it at all reassured you enough to try again.

"Then perhaps I should not hide." You let out a little laugh and reached for the hemline, pulling it up past your knees to expose the flesh of your thighs - slowly continuing up over your hips, then your breasts, until finally it was over your head and you stood almost bare before him.

Aemond moved back as he shifted the weight from one leg to the other in order to accommodate the growing stiffness in trousers, taking in the sight of you as you took another step closer to him.

"You do not have to show me if you are not ready." You told him, but Aemond shook his head and smiled.  

He said nothing as he untucked his shirt and then reached for the back of its neckline, tugging it up past his shoulders and discarding it atop the growing pile of clothes on the carpet, then brushed his long silver hair out of the way, as your eyes wandered down to admire the way his muscles curved down toward his hips and more.

Then, to your surprise, his hand reached for the strap that kept the patch in place - hovering for a moment before he took one last breath and lifted it away.

It was such a devastating loss when you thought of how beautiful his surviving eye was, what he might look like had that misfortune not stolen that from him - yet what he had replaced it with was oddly captivating in a way. Candlelight danced along the surface of the sapphire that lay in the socket where his eye had once been, and you found it so hard not to stare. 

"Should I put it back on?" He asked.

You had expected to feel pity when you saw it, but all you could conjure was awe - this was a man that had faced such hardship in spite of the status he had, knew what it was to endure.

So you took his hand in yours and brought it to your breast, allowing him to feel the warmth of you as his fingers gently squeezed and cupped your flesh, willing him to continue as you wove your fingers through his hair to rest at the base of his neck.

"No," you felt a tightness in your chest as you replied, "I want you as you are, Aemond."

He answered your desire without hesitation, his mouth crashing into yours to deepen his hold on you - drinking in the relieved moan that escaped your lips as your entire world narrowed to nothing more than his touch.

He was unrestrained, focused, more sure than he had been in the Sept that morning - that first kiss you shared had been for the benefit of everyone else, but this time you were both utterly alone. Aemond poured himself into it with every brush of his tongue, every caress, every ounce of affection that he had to give - it was yours. He was yours - and it sent your heart racing.

His strong arms wound around you and slid down your back until they came to rest against the curve of your ass, gently groping before he lifted you up so that he could carry you at the waist. He grunted slightly at the effort when he felt your legs eagerly wrap around him, but he did not falter as he made his way toward the bed, making sure to put you down carefully as you sank into the mattress under his kiss.

You moaned again when you felt his tongue run across your lower lip, pushing into your mouth to taste you as he positioned himself between your legs and rocked forward to show you just how aroused he was beneath the tightening fabric of his trousers.

"Take them off..." You pleaded, breath hot and unsteady as your husband pulled away.

Aemond watched the way your chest heaved as he shifted so that he was kneeling upright, but just as his hands reached for his belt he stopped, his eyes drifting down between your legs and lingered a second longer than you were brave enough to allow - yet before you could even think about shying away, Aemond's hands had already found you.

He ran slow circles around your clit, although not quite close enough to where he needed to be, testing and teasing for what you might like, observing the way your body responded to his delicate touch.

"How is this?" He wondered aloud, noting your subdued reaction.

"It is strange to have someone else..." You trailed off, slightly embarrassed.

Nobody had ever seen you so exposed before, let alone indulged in you so freely, and although you had a lifetime of being told that it was sinful and wrong to crave something so carnal beyond what was expected from your marital duties - there was a certain thrill to being desired so endlessly.

"Show me?" Aemond's hands slowed as he asked, waiting as you reached down to guide his fingers to the exact point that would be your undoing.

Your head rolled back with a stifled moan as your hands shot up to cover your own mouth, the sensation almost surreal as he stroked a steady rhythm against you and you ground your hips up to meet it. Finally content that you were enjoying his touch, Aemond leant forward to press his lips to yours again - slowly moving lower to nip at the flushed skin at the base of your neck, as he gathered your arousal and pressed a single finger inside.

"Seven Hells..." You hissed.

His laugh was hot against you, "Good or bad?" his finger slid out and then stroked across your clit again.

"Do it again."

So he did.

You keened as he slipped it back in, releasing a moan when he began to stroke and curl his finger in search of that spark of pleasure that threatened to set you alight, all whilst his tongue dragged down the swell of your breasts to find your nipples peaked against the chill night air.  

You had been told of the things that a man might do to take his pleasure, that if he cared enough to prepare it might be pleasant enough for you too, but you had not been warned of this - so you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt the second ease in to join the first, his name falling from your lips as you adjusted to the sensation, your own fingers tangling themselves amidst strands of his silken argent hair as a heat rose in your core.  

"So perfect..." He sighed as you heard the thud of Aemond's boots being kicked to the floor, "My pretty little wife."

Your arousal deepened, his fingers thrusting into you with ease, and you eagerly chased the rapture it brought - moaning, breathing, begging for more as your hips moved in time with his touch. The cold metal of his belt clinking suddenly stirred something in you, and that earlier murmur of gratification found you again when you saw him use his spare hand to unhook the buckle blindly and reach for his cock.

He groaned against your collar, stroking himself to desperately relieve the ache that consumed him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if to hide how wretched he was.

"Aemond..." Your breathless voice won his attention before he was too far gone. "I'm ready, I want it... I need this."

All he offered in response was a broken hum as he withdrew his fingers, adjusting his weight so that he could pull his trousers down the rest of the way and position himself directly between your legs. Your heart leapt at the hard length of him pressing up against your thigh, moaning as he brought his lips to yours once more and kissed you deep and slow.

You were both utterly naked, skin against skin, your bodies intertwined so perfectly that you wondered why you had needed to wait this long to find one another - that even though you had your whole lives ahead of each other, so much time had been stolen already.

Aemond pulled back one last time with a devastatingly soft expression on his face, all the longing and affection he possessed radiating off him in waves as he looked you in the eye and reached down to line himself up.

You both held your breath for a moment and the sound of your own pulse in your ears drowned out everything else inconsequential.

"You are mine..." You whispered, almost in disbelief, reaching up to stroke your thumb across his cheek one last time before your entire world shifted.  

Aemond released that shaky breath, then gave his honest reply, "... Until the end of my days." and half a heartbeat later he slowly pushed in.

His head dropped forward when he felt the way you tensed around him, your body taking a little longer to adjust than you had anticipated - the fullness of his cock so different when compared with the adept fingers that you had only just gotten used to. You let out an uncomfortable gasp at how big he is once he hit as far as he could go, and Aemond of course latched onto it.

"Am I hurting you?" He lifted his head to check on you.

"A little," You winced, but then gave him a reassuring smile.  "It doesn't hurt, it's just... tight."

"I shall take you slowly then," Aemond sighed and reached for your hand, slotted his fingers between yours and lifted it to rest beside your head as his thumb stroked across the back of your knuckle in a soothing motion. "You said that you wanted us both to enjoy this, remember?"

A swell of emotion washed over you, flowing endlessly like the streams of the Blackwater Rush until you can no longer bear alone the weight of how intimate and safe he made you feel.

"Of all the men in the Seven Kingdoms that I could have married," You crooned, stroking his hair back out of his face as you met his gaze with ardent eyes. "I am so endlessly relieved that it was you."   

You tilted your head up to kiss him, heated lips against his own in a yearning embrace, gasping at the way he withdrew his hips only to sheathe himself again in an achingly slow movement - the sensation shifting away from discomfort to something altogether more pleasurable.  

 "____." He growled your name with a restrained groan and you felt him twitch inside you, his muscles tensed as he tried to maintain that unhurried pace, even though every single nerve in his body screamed for him to be unrelenting.

Part of you craved that, to satisfy the urgency that pooled in the pit of your stomach with each thrust, making sure to spur him along with each hitched breath and moan as you raked your fingers down the length of his back and dug your nails in whenever the promise of pleasure teased your core.

"More..."

You pulled him flush against your skin as soon as you were ready for it, almost desperate to chase the high that seemed to slip away every time you inched closer, and something in your husband just snapped. Aemond propped himself up on both arms, squeezing the hand he held as he pushed his weight down onto it and bent his neck to kiss you again - rougher, more feverish, plunging into you deeper and faster than before.

And suddenly he was hitting you at exactly the right angle, your back arching off the bed with a grateful moan every time his hips collided with the back of your thighs, the sound of nothing but your ragged breaths and skin against skin filling the space between your cries of satisfaction.

"A little longer..." He grunted, as if he could sense that you were close. "Together."

The muscles in his back stiffened at the way you lifted your legs up to wrap around his hips, which allowed him to drive into you with a frantic rhythm that finally carried you to the precipice, clamping down around him with a strangled moan.

As you tumbled over the edge he fell gloriously with you, your shared gratification dulled all thought and reason as you came together, shivering at the way he buried himself to the hilt as your orgasm sparked. It felt like you were burning, skin feverish and slick with sweat as Aemond collapsed against you and buried his head in the crook of your neck - drinking in the scent of your perfume as his hips gradually came to a halt once he was well and truly spent.

Your hands trembled as you slowly wrapped your arms around the width of his back and held him there, stroking and cradling him like that for a while, both of you too exhausted or exhilarated to move or think beyond your current state of existence. He was content with that it seemed, made clear by the way he softly hummed and sank further into your touch, his breathing even and satiated for a time as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder and unsheathed himself with a tired groan.

"Stay like this." He asked of you, his voice heavy with fatigue.

You let out a soft laugh, "I'm not going anywhere with you on top of me."

"Good."

He nuzzled in closer and wove his arms around you tight, guarding you as if he were a dragon coveting some great treasure amidst the ruins of old Valyria, enjoying one last embrace before he reluctantly peeled his body from yours and lay back against the pillows beside you, and allowed the sweet solace of sleep to consume you both.  

[nikethestatue]

How The Gift Was Made

Another short banger for my Elain Archeron Week. Enjoy!

“You said happiness comes in many forms. Mine is shaped like you.”

Stepping out of the townhome immediately reminded Elain of her life in the hovel. No, not the pretty street lined with white stately rows of homes, and not the twinkling faelights that decorated the trees and the wrought iron fences. It wasn’t the cobble stones that the street was paved with, or the young faelings who were dragging sleds behind them, speaking loudly and excitedly about the snow mountain in the park, upon which they’d sledding. A gaggle of slender young Fae maidens dressed in pink cloaks were walking with ice skates slung over their shoulders. The park boasted a huge ice skating rink and Elain wished that she could go there too. But she hadn’t skated in years and she was sure she’d make a fool of herself.

Nothing really reminded her of her bleak, dreary existence in the hovel, except for the cold. She shivered and sunk her hands deeper inside her rabbit fur muff. It was freezing and the ice pricked her cheeks and her nose almost immediately, urging her to go back to the house. But she squared her shoulders and hopped down the marble stairs and then quickly scurried across the front yard, opened the gate and hurried down the street. She wasn’t being evasive. Not exactly, but she also didn’t need everyone knowing what she was planning and where she was going.

It was a twenty minute walk and soon she was standing in front of a three story building–it was plain, with a simple, symmetrical facade of nine windows and a door. She knocked loudly and the door opened on its own, or maybe by some magic.

She was admitted to a wide, square foyer, neat and impersonal, with a stone staircase leading upstairs. Women, dressed in healer uniforms, moved quietly about the house. Not women. Females. She needed to remember that. They were females. 

“Lady Elain,” she heard and turning around, she saw Madja, the Healer of Night Court. 

She had no idea how old Madja was, but old enough to have wrinkles and white hair, which were tied around her head, in a style that Nesta usually favoured.

“I received your message, Lady Elain,” Madja continued. “And I would be happy to assist.”

“It’s just Elain,” Elain told her. “I am not a lady.”

The older woman gave her an assessing look and said, “Cauldron Made Seer is a lady, if I may say so myself.”

Elain didn’t know how to respond and therefore, didn’t say anything.

“Follow me then,” the healer beckoned, and Elain followed her through a series of rooms. Some were just sitting rooms–comfortable, spacious. Then they passed by three rooms, with glass doors. Elain peeked inside and saw long tables, behind which healers of various ages were working. Mostly, it seemed like they were making potions and salves, but others looked like they were practising some sort of magic. 

Madja finally opened a door and ushered them inside. It was an office–rather plain, with a desk and a couple of chairs, a bench covered with vials and bottles and heaps of herbs, and bookshelves that covered two walls floor to ceiling.

“So, what ails you, Lady Elain?” Madja asked. “Your visions? Your…transformation?”

Oh, what a polite term for what had happened to Elain and Nesta. Transformation. It sounded like something that one would welcome. Something that one would seek out–a transformation. In reality, it was a little less glamorous. 

Feeling her blood sizzle in her veins and evaporate, leaving Elain’s body a dry husk, while the blackness of the Cauldron pressed and pressed and pressed, until every bone in her body was broken and crushed into dust was not the ‘transformation’ she was looking for. And then, the reforging. Perhaps even more terrifying than the destruction of her frail human body. The re-forging of her organs and bones, fusing together, every muscle and tendon snapping into place, her new blood flooding her veins–all of it happening while Elain was fully conscious, trapped in the freezing darkness of the Void. She felt it all–how her new hair sprouted, follicle by follicle, how her nails grew, how she was able to see with her new eyes, how her tongue tasted the darkness, her ears amplifying every sound. She even felt her womb change–something happened to it, to her utter horror. Her natural womanhood was stripped away and something different was put in place. Something that would change the tidings of her cycles. Something that would…accommodate. She shuddered, thinking about it. An average High Fae male was significantly larger than a human man. The High Lords, the Illyrians were even bigger than the High Fae. And…well, she didn’t dare think about all that came along with that increased size.

“Nothing like that,” Elain answered, her tone clipped.

She didn’t mean to be rude, but she couldn’t help it. 

It seemed like Madja noticed the array of emotions on Elain’s face, and simply nodded. 

“So how can I be of help?”

Elain sat down and folded her hands on her lap. 

Maybe coming here was a stupid idea?

What was she thinking? Why?

He…he didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. 

It was…silly. Foolish even.

She got up and said, “I think this might have been a mistake.”

The healer smiled at her and said, “Please sit, Elain. Just tell me what you’d like and then I can decide whether I could accommodate your request.”

“A potion of sorts,” Elain explained. “For headaches.”

“Of course,” Madja didn’t seem surprised by the request. “But I will need a little more information.”

“Yes,”

“The potion would be for a male? Or a female?”

Elain bit her lip and finally answered, “a male”.

“A High Fae?”

She considered and then shook her head no.

“An Illyrian then?” Madja prodded.

“Yes,” Elain nodded.

“Lord Azriel suffers from headaches,” Madja confirmed and Elain frowned at her.

“How do you know it’s for him?” she snapped.

“Oh, well, I just assumed,” Madja said evasively. “No one knows about the headaches…but you.”

“How could they not know after all this time?!” Elain exclaimed, scandalised. 

It was so obvious! She could almost feel the Shadowsinger’s pain when he was near her, especially when he was rubbing his temples.

“He is good at carrying his pain inside,” Madja explained. “He is stoic and the Fae are encouraged to withstand pain and not be affected by it. Illyrians especially.”

She cocked her head to the side and looked Elain up and down,

“And the fact that you knew…” her voice faded.

“What?” Elain pressed, puzzled by the healer’s ramblings.

“It’s just curious, is all. That you would know,” Madja shrugged.

“Why?”

“No one knew, for over 500 years. And you’d noticed it…felt it…within six months. Forgive me,” Madja got up from her desk and smiled, “unusual cases pique my interest as a healer. And this is most unusual.”

“But why?”

“Come,” Madja motioned to Elain to follow her and they walked over to the long bench. “Why? It’s just a bit strange, don’t you think? That Lord Azriel was the one to figure out what was ailing you. And now you have noticed his pain as well…”

Elain didn’t know what was so unusual about it. 

“Mates can feel each other’s pain,” Madja mentioned, as she began fussing with vials and glass jars.

Elain snorted a laugh.

“He isn’t my mate.”

“No. Of course not. The Autumn Lord is.”

Elain didn’t respond.

She preferred not to think about that.

It was easier that way. To never think about it. That mate of hers.

“Come, you’ll make it,” Madja encouraged.

“What? No, I can’t! I don’t know how to.”

“I will guide you.”

“Can’t you do it?”

The healer smiled at Elain’s panic and explained gently, “You are Made, Lady Elain. Your power is infinitely stronger than mine. It’s vast and infinite. It came from the Cauldron directly. My power is just a sliver of yours, and most of it has been learned. Your power is natural. Believe me, you ought to make it.”

“Oh,” Elain contemplated it, but then unbuttoned her cloak and placed it on the chair. 

“I will measure everything.” Madja began weighing out all sorts of powders and herbs, “and you will mix it.”

Elain supposed that she could do that. It wasn’t very difficult. 

They worked in silence, the healer not much of a chatter–thank the gods. Elain didn’t feel like making small talk. She mixed the powders together in a shallow bowl, like Madja instructed.

“He would be able to mix this with any drink and it would dissolve,” Madja explained. “You can taste it.”

Elain wasn’t sure if she should, but she dipped her finger into the mixture and dabbed it on her tongue.

It tasted nice–floral. 

It reminded her of her own scent.

Jasmine.

Madja watched, a small smile on her lips, but didn’t comment.

“I think he would enjoy it,” she said at last. “It tastes pleasant, no?”

“Yes, it’s nice. I taste jasmine.”

“Yes, indeed,” was all Madja said. 

Madja made Elain make a paper cone, stick it in a small glass bottle and pour the mixture inside. 

Elain still didn’t understand why Madja couldn’t have done all of this herself.

“What you’ve touched,” Madja watched Elain closely, “it will transfer to him,”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I am not exactly sure how it works, but like calls to like–your power, your good will towards the shadowsinger has transferred to the powder. It will make it more potent.”

“I doubt it,” Elain smiled. “But it’s a nice thought.”

Madja looked at her and stated with utmost seriousness,

“Do not doubt the will of the Cauldron. Or the Mother, for that matter. It is you, and no one else, who wishes him good tidings and health. You. And there is a reason as to why the Cauldron chose you. And him.”

Two weeks later

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window- a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, "Az, this one's for you."

The shadowsinger's brows lifted, but his scarred hand extended to take the present.

Elain turned from where she'd been speaking to Nesta. "Oh, that's from me."

Azriel's face didn't so much as shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed-

"I had Madja make it for me," Elain explained. Azreil's brows narrowed at the mention of the family's preferred healer. "It's a powder to mix in with any drink."

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

Feyre never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the bottle from Azriel's hand and examining it. 'Brilliant, 'Cassian said.

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, 'Thank you.' I'd never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and grey like veins of emerald. 'This will be invaluable.'

[kirkwall-tourism-department]

Extra Reading

Some very short emmrook fluff, with hopefully more to come!

I feel like most people's emmrook dynamics fall into either student/professor or idiot/smart. I have a lot more fun with the latter.

The smell of incense drifted out of her new companion's hallway, a warm glow peeking out from beneath his door, a stark contrast to the otherworldly purple haze that hung in the Lighthouse's library. They had returned from their trip to the Necropolis earlier in the day, the professor and his skeletal assistant settling in quickly. Rook prepared herself for a conversation that had become routine at this point- introductions, explanations, questions. Every one had gone differently. Bellara had been beside herself, the history she had searched her entire life for coming back in a blighted, twisted form hitting her like a punch to the gut. Davrin, on the other hand, had responded to the news with the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Based on her limited interactions with the man when they had retrieved him from the Necropolis, Rook was preparing herself to field a deluge of questions she was wholly unequipped to answer. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, and it flew open in response a few moments later, Manfred standing in the doorway, hissing happily. 

“Come in!” The professor greeted her from the other side of the room, still filing the mountains of books he had brought into his new home. After organizing up the shelf he was working on to his standards, he turned to face her. When Bellara had suggested adding a master necromancer to the team, the image Rook had conjured in her head certainly wasn’t what stood in front of her now.  Initially, she had pictured a dour, silent figure robed exclusively in black and with a permanent scowl carved into their face. Instead, they got a sharply dressed, uncomfortably polite man who always wore a whisper of a smile. “How may I help you, Rook?”

“Just wanted to see how you were settling in, talk to you about what’s going on.” Rook responded as she took in the room that had seemingly apparated when Emmrich entered the Lighthouse. Two stories tall, lined with oak bookcases and centered around a spiraling staircase. Rook was unsure if the stone autopsy table in front of her was something Emmrich brought from the Necropolis or if the Lighthouse was able to sense the needs of its inhabitants. Emmrich went to sit at his desk, and motioned for Rook to sit in the chair opposite him. Manfred moved up the staircase, taking a pile of books with him.

“You did begin to explain the situation at the Necropolis, but any further elucidation you could provide would be welcome.” He answered, his hands motioning throughout the sentence to add emphasis. The various bracelets and rings that banded his arms softly jingled as his hands moved, creating a gentle chorus that underscored his voice. 

“Well,” Rook took a breath, preparing her speech. “The Elven gods are real. I disrupted the Dread Wolf’s ritual to tear down the Veil. The imprisoned elven gods escaped, and he got stuck in the Fade. Now the two that escaped are out there, blighted, and planning to conquer the world.” She had never had a way with words. The professor blinked at her, processing the information she had dumped onto his lap.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“You have a surprising amount of levity, given the situation.”

“I don’t really see much benefit in being a pessimist.” Rook shrugged, unsure how to explain how her apparent optimism belied the ironic detachment she felt from the world around her. Forged in the nihilism of the alienage and honed by the Warden’s flippancy towards their own mortality, her separation from the world around her was an effective armor, even if it often left her envying those who walked though the world unprotected, but feeling.

A loud crash rang out above them.

“Manfred.” Emmrich’s eyes widened with concern and exasperation. “I apologize, but I must excuse myself for a moment. I need to make sure he’s okay.” She watched as the professor walked up the staircase, disappearing as it spiraled higher. After a few moments, the itch that appeared underneath her skin whenever she had to sit still for too long surfaced, prompting her to stand and pace the room. The bookcases that lined the room drew her to them, rows and rows of books of mismatched sizes organized as neatly as possible. Trailing her finger on the spines, she read the titles as they passed by. A History of Necromantic Tradition in the Storm Age. In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar. Metaphysical Fade Theory and Practical Applications. Her finger stopped on the massive tome when she noticed the name of the author listed beneath it. Professor Emmrich Volkarin. 

Shit.

It was difficult to not feel intimidated by him. Despite his kind demeanor, she felt out of her depth when she spoke with him. More than once, he had used words she had never heard before and couldn’t guess the meaning of. She had only become literate a few years ago, and even then, it was by the most generous of definitions. Growing up in an alienage didn’t offer many educational opportunities, and after joining the Wardens, she had been taught the bare minimum necessary to finish her training. Despite her literacy struggles, she had always harbored a desire to learn more about the world around her, about the world outside the towering walls of the alienage. Originally, it was driven by spite and jealousy from her childhood- seeing the human children going to lessons in the Chantry, overhearing their conversations about what they had learned that day. Nonetheless, the desire had clung onto her into adulthood.

“Find something interesting?”

“Sorry, just getting distracted.” Rook snapped out of her thoughts, bringing herself back to the conversation at hand. 

“You’re welcome to borrow anything that interests you.” he offered as he sat back down in his chair. Rook tried to stifle the laugh that came out of her. The thought that she would be able to understand any of the texts that surrounded them was completely absurd. The Professor raised a questioning eyebrow in response to her outburst.

“I appreciate the offer, I just…” she trailed off before finishing her explanation, a hot tide of shame beginning to wash over her. Did she really want to admit to him that she would struggle to read even the simplest book in his collection? Her borderline illiteracy usually wasn’t a point of embarrassment for her, given the wide array of other skills she had. Fighting darkspawn rarely challenged one’s academic abilities. In this setting, though, without a sword and shield to demonstrate her other competencies, the deficiencies she did have felt glaringly obvious.  “I’m not much of a reader.”

“A pity.” Emmrich sighed, a slight air of disappointment gracing his dignified features. “Though, I often find those who don’t enjoy reading simply haven’t found the right book yet.” The slight waves of embarrassment that had been lapping at her feet began to rise, threatening to drown her. She had hoped her refusal would have been enough to drop the topic, and she wouldn’t have to make an ass of herself in front of 

Then, Rook reminded herself of who she was. Why was she embarrassed? Who cared if she could barely read? She could kill hordes of darkspawn with her eyes closed- how many literate people could say that about themselves?

“When I say I’m not much of a reader,” Rook explained, “I mean I can’t read very well. So, despite how interesting I’m sure many of these books are, I wouldn’t get much from them.” Emmrich’s expression softened, but instead of the pity she was expecting, he seemed to be embarrassed himself. Suddenly, a light appeared in his eyes.

“Would you like someone to teach you?”

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

(adar pov) (kissing someone on saurons throne you say) (sfw but suggestive??)

You can smell Mairon everywhere in the great ruined tower of Eragion - he must have been living here for months. He's like metal on your tongue and down your throat. This place is layer after layer of forge and smithy, supplies, ores - for your former master, this must have been a heavenly kingdom to rule.

It's abandoned now. Your troops have made short work of the elves guarding it - you imagine this will make Mairon run back here as fast as he is able, when he stops being distracted by Lady Galadriel. If hte two of you stretch him thin enough, each armed with a piece of his crown, one of you will surely be able to strike him down.

There are no traps; there's not even a veil cast over this place. Just the increasing stink of smoke and ash both mortal and immortal, the same skin-clinging heat you'd feel in Mairon's forges back in Angband.

On the top floor is a locked door; your blackened knife breaks the lock easily. You open the door slowly in case of traps or a waiting enemy; none strikes.

The single spot of color in the room is an elf in green robes hunched over a desk, one hand on a machine you don't recognize. He was looking at the machine; now he's looking at you. His face and hair are streaked with forge-ash; his eyes are the only light in the room other than the candles.

"Who are you?" the elf asks, picking up a slender hammer better used on jewelry than on flesh. There's a long, golden chain attached to one wrist that clinks whenever he moves. "Did Annatar send you?"

"I do not know any Annatar. I am here seeking the one you elves call Sauron." You step forward; he steps back, hips against the desk. With the length of the chain, there's no way he can get around the table unless he crawls under it, and that will still give him little room to maneuver. You're glad you left your children to explore the rest of this place; this is exactly the right amount of fear for you to give a captive elf. "He was here. Where is he now?"

"Sauron? Sauron - what do you want him for?" the elf asks. He backs up until he's sitting on the table. You stand between his legs, palms open. "Are you one of his?"

You bark a laugh. "I have not been his for a thousand years. I have come to finish things with the Deceiver. I have little doubt he'd hate the theft of a prize he kept squirreled away so. If you wish for freedom, there are few others you can turn to."

"And few others I can trust. He weaves a veil over those in his power. How do I know you are not him? He has many names and wears many faces."

"Do you think he'd wear a face like this?" Your Mairon was always uncanny in his symmetry. You were not fair of form even before he made a ruin of your skin.

"He might, to fool me," the elf says. His eyes dart over you - the heavily repaired armor, the chainmail, the faded embroidery on your sleeves and neckline. "Though I suppose there are ways to test such things."

"I'd prefer you not stab me to check what my wounds do," you say dryly - if only because you bleed as black as Mairon does.

"That was not what I had in mind," the elf says; his hands curl on your shoulders as he pulls your face to his, mouth to mouth.

You respond on ancient instinct. His mouth is open against yours. You run your tongue across his mouth, tasting iron and copper; your hands settle on his hips to keep him steady as he lets you in, sating a hunger you do not let yourself indulge in often. He is blood-warm and his hands are eager on you, urging you to kiss deeper, plunder more from him.

His cheeks are flushed when the two of you finally break to breathe. He clings to you as you draw back an inch. "Satisfied?"

"Very," the elf says. "He does not kiss as gently as you do."

You cannot help but snicker at being called gentle; you are hardly that. It is that Mairon works his lovers to the bone. "I am no friend of elves, but the one called Sauron is a greater threat to both of us than we are to each other. Will you let me rescue you?"

"You may. I had thought I'd need to sever my thumb. Do you have any better ideas?"

"Yes," and you bring your black knife up and drive it into the cuff. It melts under the touch of a shard of Morgoth's crown, allowing you to pry the warped metal off the elf's wrist. "Are you satisfied?"

"Very," the elf says, rubbing his wrist. He takes a small bag from the table and tucks it into his robes, then gingerly clambers back onto the floor. You take his elbow to make the fall smoother. "Do I have the honor of knowing who my escort is?"

The dim light of the candles flashes over the steel in his eyes, the crooked smile, turns his hair rusty, and you remember where you've seen his features before. "I am Adar, one of the Moriandor who lead the Uruk legions of Angband against your kin, Nelyafinwe Feanorian and his brothers. Will that be a problem?"

"I've worked with plenty of people who wanted my family dead. At least you're up front about it," the elf says, and there's life returning to his eyes as you walk him to the stairs, crown shard in hand. "I am Celebrimbor Curufinwean, last of the House of Feanor and lord of this city."

"You are going to be just as much of a pain as your uncle was," you say fondly. "We shall battle for the fate of this land later. We have bigger fish to fry."

Including, you think as Celebrimbor takes your hand, the fact that you've stolen into Mairon's tower, Mairon's cellblock, and stolen the prisoner he must be using to control this city. Taken a taste of him in the very heart of the forges. You will take all this elf offers up so that when you face Mairon, he can smell just how much of what was his you have made your own.

BRIMBY!!!!!

Also fact that Adar ASKS for permission to rescue him... I DIED.

[0-animelover-0]

When you hug her/him

A/N: My first marriages in the game was Scout-many-marshes and Ghnorbash the Iron Hand so I had to add them :)

Aela the Huntress

You were feeling lonely just talking to the other Companions. So, you went to Aela and engulfed her in your arms. You could feel the thrum of her heart against her chest and it almost immediately calmed you. Aela froze in her spot and stopped eating the loaf that was in her hand. She was not expecting the sudden hug but she certainly was not complaining. She wrapped her arms around you and smiled at you. "My dear, if you wanted a hug all you had to do was ask."

Ghorza gra-Bagol

Ghorza was rambling on about how her lousy assistant was too stupid to understand how to work the forge. You sighed and placed your cheek on your palm. Ghorza usually complains about such things but you didn't feel like listening to her continuous complaints. You pulled her closer by her waist and wrapped your arms around her. She froze for a second before hugging you back. "Geez, at least let me finish speaking first."

Grelka

Grelka stood at her stand in Riften as per usual. You could hear her talking to customers in her usual sassy tone. You walked to her stand and leaned against the side of it. "How's business?"

"What do you think?" She replied.

You chuckled and placed your hand on her hip as you pulled her closer. Grelka placed both her arms around your torso. "Wha-you want a hug? Now?" You nodded your head and placed it on her shoulder. She sighed and held you for a second before pushing you away so she could go back to selling. "Now go back to what you were doing before. I'll see you at home."

Shahvee

You walked to the docks with a basket of flowers you brought from home. Your boots clicked against the stone stairs as you walked down them. Shahvee could hear someone walking to her so she slightly turned her head to look. After seeing your friendly face she smiled. "Hello love, need anything?"

You held up the basket to show her its contents and her face lit up. "I thought these might brighten your day."

Shahvee stood up and took it from you, smelling the pretty flowers. "Thank you..." You hugged her tightly, making sure to not get in the way of the basket. She set it down and happily wrapped her arms around you.

Balimund

The blacksmith of Riften worked over his forge as usual. The sweat and dirt covered his face as he wiped his forehead. Appearing behind him, you wrapped your arms around his broad body. Balimund tensed but when he noticed it was you his muscles relaxed. "Don't creep up on me, darlin." He said, turning his head to look at you.

You laughed and kissed his cheek. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

He shook his head and took your hands off him before turning around to hug you back. He kissed your temple then your cheek. "Well next time refrain from sneeking and just ask for one."

Derkeethus

It was weeks after you saved him and recently starting seeing each other. You decided to show up at Darkwater Passing to surprise him. You saw Sondas but no Derkeethus. You approached him and smiled politely. "Have you seen Derk?"

The dark elf looked up at you from the ground and nodded, pointing to the entrance to the mine. "Of course. He's in there."

You thanked him and went down to the mine. The first noises you heard was the clanking of pickaxe's hitting the walls. You saw his beautiful green scales and went to him as his back was turned. "Boo!"

Your sudden actions caused Derkeethus to jump. "Divines above! Don't scare me like that Y/n."

You laughed and hugged him as an apology. "I'm sorry, my love."

He rolled his eyes and hugged you back. "No you are not."

You shrugged. "You're right~"

Farkas

The hulking man stood outside, leaning against a pillar. You set your goblet of wine down on a outdoor table and went to him. He noticed you coming closer and he smiled at you. "Oh, is no jobs available for you?" He asked as he placed both of his hands on your waist.

You shook your head and leaned it against his chest. "Just wanted to see you. Is that a problem?~"

Farkas chuckled in his deep voice and kissed your head. "No no, this is just fine."

Vilkas

The scowling werewolf stood outside by the wooden dummies, his sword in his hands. He didn't see you till you cleared your throat to get his attention.

He huffed and turned around to face you. "Yes, love?"

"Come here." You ordered him, your arms opened invitingly

Vilkas raised an eyebrow and slightly smirked. "Liking your role as Harbinger I see?"

You glared at him and put your arms down, rolling your eyes. "Oh nevermind!"

Before you could walk away, Vilkas grabbed your waist. "Ah ah, I didn't say I didn't want a hug from you." He held onto you as he put his chin on the top of your head.

Scout-many-marshes

You could see Scout carrying chopped wood at the docks. You walked to the Argonian and his eyes softened as a loving smile spread across his face. "Hello dearest, how are you this evening?"

"I'm doing just fine. I can help you if you want." You said, motioning to the pile in his arms.

"Oh no I can handle it, love." He responded.

You frowned at him and took some of the wood from him. "No, I'm helping. Even if you like it or not. Now let's get this done before dark." Scout smiled and nodded.

After you too got done, you hugged him and kissed his scaly jaw. "Now sleep well, sweetheart." He nodded with a sweet smile and grazed his clawed hand over the spot you kissed. He definitely will sleep good tonight.

Ghnorbash the Iron Hand

You arrived at the orc stronghold he lived in, Dushnikh Yal. Pushing open the large logged doors, you saw Ghnorbash slicing his weapon in the air and hitting the wooden dummy in front of him. "Ghnorbash!" Your orc warrior looked at the entrance and a small smile graced his lips. He unsheethed his sword and watched as you came closer. If he wasn't strong and sturdy, he would have been knocked down by how fast you jumped on him.

"Excited are we, my love?" He asked jokingly.

You smiled and kept your arms around him. "Mhm."

Ghnorbash picked you up and laughed at the surprise noise you made. "Yes, I can tell." He held you in a tight grip, but not enough to hurt or bruise. His tusked teeth grazed your face as he kissed right below your ear.

Brynjolf

Your mood was down so you went to the man who you loved. This cocky bastard grinned in amusement as he felt your hands cling to the clothing he was wearing. "Feeling lonely lass?" You nodded and he took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Well we can't have that." He gently picked you up and ignored the looks from the other thieves guild members. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his chest.

He carried you to the shared bedroom that you guys had built in for when you would need to stay in the Thieves Guild hideout for any reason. He layed you down on the bed then slid in with you, pulling you close to his body. "I'll lay here with you 'til I'm needed."

Cicero

The murderous jester chuckled his little weird laugh and hugged you back with a big grin. "Is my Y/n needing love?" No matter your response, he held you tighter and closer, enjoying your warmth. "Cicero will hug away your worries, oh yes!"

You just sighed and let him be happy as he continued holding you close. You eventually had to leave for a job so he groaned but knew you had to do your work so he let you go. He kissed your nose and told you to get him if needed, placing his hand on his ebony dagger.

Lord Harkon

The large doors opened as you walked into the Castle. Everyone knew you by now. The person who stole the vampire Lord's heart. Eyes fell on you as you walked down the stairs that led to the main room. "Ah, my dear! You've came just in time."

You raised an eyebrow curious. "Time for...?"

Harkon sipped the thick red liquid from his golden goblet. "Dinner, my dear."

You went to him and lifted his chin. "Stand." Harkon narrowed his eyes but obliged and stood up. You smiled and pulled him into a hug. The room was silent as you did it. Harkon found your way of hugging him weird but he couldn't deny that it felt somewhat nice.

A couple snickers could be heard in the background. "Go back to whatever you were doing!" He yelled towards his fellow vampires as he escorted you out.

Serana

You both sat under a big tree during the night. The stars and moon illuminated the leaves overhead. Serana ran her long nails through your hair, stopping to massage your scalp every couple minutes. You wrapped your arms around her waist and leaned into her more. Serana softly chuckled and smiled at you with her glowing eyes. "Comfortable?"

"Very. Thank you..." You said and kissed her pale neck.

"Hey now, that's my job." She said as she kissed your cheek.

You tilted your head with a teasing smile. "Oh really? Who says?"

"Me." Serana said, playfully pushing your head away from her neck.

[ladyofrings]

A warm Meal

No warnings, just Halbrand and my OC Lothien. Domestic fluff

Previous:

-> A glance across the Hall -> A Glimpse of something More -> A Dance in shadow and light -> The offer of Shelter

The evening air in Númenor was thick with the scent of salt and woodsmoke, lingering in the fading twilight. Halbrand stepped through the door with a familiar weight in his chest, his boots scuffing softly against the stone floor. The savory aroma of something simmering over the hearth greeted him immediately, making his stomach growl before he even realized he was hungry.

He paused, setting down the tools he'd been carrying all day, the tiredness of his limbs catching up to him now that he was home. The forge had been grueling, the heat relentless, but satisfying in its own way. The ache in his arms felt earned, a familiar burn that signaled another day's hard work. But what he looked forward to most wasn’t just the end of the workday. It was this—a quiet moment, stepping into a place that felt more like home than anywhere else he had known.

"Lothien?" he called out, his voice softer than usual.

"In here," came her reply, warm and melodic, just like the hearth she stood beside.

He followed the sound of her voice, moving toward the kitchen, though his steps slowed as he neared the doorway. He stopped, leaning casually against the doorframe, allowing himself a moment to just watch her. Lothien stood by the hearth, stirring the stew in the large iron pot, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. The flickering firelight cast a soft glow over her, illuminating the delicate grace with which she moved.

There was something calming about seeing her like this—at ease, at home, her sleeves rolled up as she worked. She made it look effortless, the way she balanced everything with such quiet strength. He admired that about her. Admired more than he ever let on, even to himself.

"You’ve been busy," Halbrand remarked, stepping into the room, his voice low, an edge of something teasing beneath it.

Lothien turned, her dark eyes meeting his with a soft smile that reached the corners of her lips. "I thought you might be hungry after today." She set the spoon down and wiped her hands on her apron, her movements unhurried, though she seemed aware of the way he was watching her.

He took a slow step closer, his eyes scanning the room—the table already set, bread cooling on the counter, the comforting scent of stew filling the small space. It was simple, yet there was a warmth here, something he hadn’t known he was missing. The tavern where he had been staying offered a bed and a roof, but this...this was different.

"It smells incredible," he said, the teasing note in his voice softening to something more genuine. "I’m starting to think you’re spoiling me, Lothien."

Her lips curved into a playful smile as she shook her head. "You’re already spoiled, Halbrand," she replied, though her tone was light, the affection in her voice unmistakable.

He chuckled, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into the stew, tasting it before giving her an approving nod. "I could get used to this," he said, his gaze lingering on her a little longer than necessary, his words carrying a weight that went beyond the meal in front of him.

Lothien seemed to notice it too. Her cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink, and she looked down at the table, a small, almost bashful smile playing on her lips. "I’m just making sure you eat well after all the work you’ve been doing," she said, her voice quieter now.

Halbrand stepped closer, standing beside her as she began ladling the stew into bowls. He didn’t speak at first, just let the silence settle between them like a comfortable blanket. There was something easy about being near her, something that made the long days at the forge seem less tiring, less heavy. And yet, there was also that familiar tension, the one that lingered in the air whenever they were close. It had always been there, unspoken, but undeniable.

"You’re staring again," she teased, though her voice wavered slightly, betraying her own nervousness.

He smiled, unbothered by her noticing. "I am," he admitted, his voice rougher than before, but not teasing this time. "Can’t seem to help it."

She fumbled slightly as she set the bowls down on the table, her hands suddenly unsure. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. The way she looked at him—there was something in it, something that mirrored the quiet ache in his chest, the pull that had been drawing him toward her from the beginning.

Lothien let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking her head as if to brush off the moment. "You should sit," she said, trying to steady herself as she gestured to the table. "Eat before it gets cold."

He didn’t argue, though he remained close, hovering just behind her as she moved. Before sitting, he placed a hand gently on her lower back, a simple touch, but enough to send a warmth spreading through both of them. He felt her stiffen, just for a moment, before she relaxed again.

As they ate, the usual teasing banter faded into something more comfortable, more intimate. Halbrand found himself stealing glances at her, watching the way the firelight flickered in her eyes, the way she smiled softly as they spoke. She was focused on the food, on making sure he had everything he needed, but every now and then, their gazes met, and there was something in the air that hadn’t been there before.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet but sincere as he set his bowl down.

Lothien looked up, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "For what?"

"For this," he gestured around them, his eyes locking onto hers. "For letting me stay. For... giving me a place to come back to."

She blinked, clearly taken aback by the earnestness in his tone. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips, and she looked down at her hands, fidgeting slightly with the edge of her apron. "You’re always welcome here," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back in his chair, watching her for a long moment before speaking again. "I’m not just talking about the food, Lothien."

She glanced up at him then, her dark eyes widening ever so slightly as she realized the weight behind his words. And for the first time in a long while, there were no teasing words, no playful banter—just the quiet truth of what had been building between them for so long.

Lothien’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers stilling on her apron as she met his gaze. There was a vulnerability in his expression, a softness that made her chest tighten.

"Halbrand..." she began, her voice faltering slightly, but she wasn’t sure how to finish the thought.

He gave her a small, knowing smile, leaning forward just enough to let her feel the warmth of his presence. "I’m not expecting anything, Lothien. I just... wanted you to know."

For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The air between them felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, and yet she found herself feeling strangely at ease. She had been expecting his flirtatious remarks, his teasing glances—but not this, not the quiet sincerity that now filled the space between them.

"Good," she said finally, her voice firmer than she expected it to be. "Because I didn’t offer you shelter for flattery, Halbrand. You’re here to focus on your work and maybe stay out of trouble for once. Nothing more."

Her words were stern, but the warmth in her eyes gave her away. Halbrand chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Of course," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your kindness."

But the way he looked at her, the way his gaze lingered, told her he understood.

[swordbisexual]

A Chest Of Pine And Iron: Chapter One

Being the record of a collection of personal effects found in the traveling trunk of Fenella Rutherford, née Trevelyan.

[A leather-bound diary, the first of several that share its appearance, of a medium size and battered on its cover and edges, with a well broken-in spine. Some pages are warped and wavy, and the book falls open in places where folded notes and pressed flowers were kept, as evidenced by loose pages that emerge and the odd dried, crumbling petal or leaf. This is the diary of the Herald of Andraste, later Inquisitor, though on its first page it is simply labeled with four words, written in a neat, if not expert, hand: “Property of Fenella Trevelyan”]

18 August 9:41

Herald of Andraste. I confess that, for the first time in my life, I might actually believe in her divine grace.

Maker forgive me for the blasphemy, and all that. No one else will read this, and I don’t think the Maker cares much for the scribblings of the youngest Trevelyan, herald or not. Then again, he might be looking over my shoulder right now, in which case: 

MAKER, WHEN THERE WAS ONLY DARKNESS, YOU WERE THE LIGHT.

[This is written in large capitals, thrice underlined, and takes the whole of the bottom half of this page. The entry continues on the next.]

There. Now that that’s done.

Maker, Andraste, and whoever else is listening, help me get through this all right.

I’ve been told that I was asleep for days, calling the name of the Lady and the Divine and reciting the Canticle of the Apotheosis. Strange, that I did any of that, especially since I’ve struggled with recalling any of the Chant no matter how much I studied it. Ask me to sing “She of the Highwaymen Repents” and I can do it without a thought, but the Apotheosis? I can barely even remember it right now. I certainly can’t remember what I saw, or not in any way that I’m supposed to remember. The vision at the Temple was…

It’s an odd sensation, even just recalling it. I was standing outside of myself, looking myself in the face while the Lady shone just outside of our vision. I saw my own fear and wonder, and wondered if I’ve always looked like that. If I’ve always looked so young, and so scared, and if I still look that way. It was as if I didn’t know that woman. As if I was looking at her for the very first time in my life, and for one fleeting moment, as if I was seeing a vision of the Lady born anew. Maker forg never mind.

There is a polished brass mirror in the quarters they’ve given me here, and looking at myself just now, all I see is the same face I’ve seen for eight and twenty years. A little too round, a little too freckled, on a frame that’s just a little too big to be called strong or graceful. The only place I’ve felt like either of those things is with a sword or a staff in the training yard, but even then the feeling goes away as soon as I put my weapon down.

None of that really matters now, I suppose. This isn’t Ostwick, and there’s no daily lessons in the Chant and no garden to disappear to when I’m trying to avoid them. There’s only soldiers, a war room, and snow as far as the eye can see.

And the mark. There’s the mark, too.

It doesn’t feel like anything right now, save for maybe the passing itch deep in my palm in a place where I can’t scratch. Only then do I want to break skin and dig my fingers in past the bones and pull it out. I picture a shifting black and green thing, all spiked on the edges and blinking at me with as many eyes as that pride demon, and I picture flinging it onto the council table and storming right back out and disappearing into the Frostbacks. Of course, such behavior doesn’t suit either the Herald or a Trevelyan, and the feeling passes as soon as the itch does. 

Good thing, too. I’m not used to this much snow.

As for the war council, it is difficult of think of myself as its leader. Even waiting in the council chamber for those first brief moments alone before the rest arrive - Commander Rutherford first, always, followed closely by Cassandra, with Leliana slipping in like Cassandra’s shadow and the Lady Montilyet bringing up the unhurried, sauntering rear - I feel much like I did when I waited with my parents for my brothers to come in from their duties. Only when they all look to me do I remember that I am their leader, and I am the one to tell them where to go and what to do and how the Inquisition should proceed. Not a single person has ever wanted my opinion before, and now here I am with my word taken as the Maker’s own law.

That might be more blasphemous than anything I’ve written here, but is it? Do they know that? Do they actually believe that I’ll be the one to lead them? Do they know who I am?

Do I know?

I’ve rambled on enough. It’s starting to make my hand itch again. I don’t know how far the borders of Haven extend, but I think I’d like to go as far as I can out towards them this afternoon. The air up here is colder and crisper than any I’ve ever breathed behind the walls of Ostwick. Perhaps there will be answers out there, and if not, then I can at least pretend I’ll find them.

[maria-tries-to-write]

Hello. I'm not really sure if you're okay with this, if not, please, forgive me. Or if you don't like it and it won't be interesting, then, too, please, forgive me. I would really like to ask for the second part of this.

It's been a while, since Aemond forged a marriage-like bond between himself and Y/n. Of course, he would have married you the first second, you were in his hands, but there was still a drop of something similar to nobility and understanding in the prince. His embrace are still suffocating, his kisses are still demanding, sometimes, he still allows himself to touch you where he shouldn't, but he doesn't go further. He even lets you get ready for bed behind a curtain, although he does not hesitate to show off his naked nature in front of you and calls you to do the same. You think a lot about how it happened and why. It looks like his mother is really to blame. The part of it. Part of it is your fault, too. But the more time passes, the more you come to terms with your situation. Either it's your heart and mind, that hide you from reality, creating a pleasant picture in front of you, or your prince is really not so terrible.

Sometimes his iron grip feels incredibly safe, even warming. Sometimes, he kisses your shin with such tenderness and love, when he ties your shoe. Sometimes, your ego almost rejoices, when you realize, that you are, literally, the only person, who can contain the outburst of his anger. And else, Aemond understands you, literally by a sigh. Once, it so happened, that you were present about a scene, where Aemond threatened one of the servants. The prince was out of sorts from the very morning, and the poor young man stumbled and Aemond snapped. You took one deep breath, to calm down, and your prince noticed it, and your prince did the same. He exhaled, opened his eyes and told the young man to get lost. Later, you could, almost, without fear enter into a conflict between Aemond and his victim. And one day, you saw some attractive overseas fruit. Your eyebrows only lifted for a moment in interest, and that evening, standing in your bedroom, Aemond was trying to figure out whether this fruit should be cleaned and how to eat this thing at all? What is this at all? Is it really delicious? And what if you don't like it and you get upset, and then, he gets upset too... The cruel prince understood you, literally from half a word. Sometimes it seemed, as if he could sense your mood and condition.

You woke up in a really bad mood. Either the dream was bad, or it was stuffy, or something else, in general, you just opened your eyes, and already hated the whole world. You sat down on the mattress, turned your head to the table, and there were your favorite flowers and a tempting snack. And where did it come from there? While you were shuffling to the flowers, Aemond came into the room and for no reason, from the threshold, began to overwhelm you with compliments and kisses. And else, there was a case, when you were sitting on the terrace, watching the sunset. You just thought, that you were very thirsty, and swallowed a lump of thick saliva, as the prince got up from his seat and, without words, left. And then, he came back and handed you a cup of pleasantly cool water, saying, that he wanted to drink, and thought, maybe, you wanted it too. But you can see in his eyes, that he's lying! Or not lying...

Honestly, you don't understand well, what is happening and how, and it seems, that you don't really want to understand... It's weird, it's creepy, it's not clear. And yet, you have to admit, that it's nice...

Of course, he still scared you, of course, you still cried because for him at night, but Aemond was always there, to comfort you. Sometimes, it seemed to you, that he deliberately pretends, that he does not understand the reason for your tears. Or, maybe, he really doesn't understand... Sometimes it was difficult to understand, what was going on in his head.

It's always been important to Aemond, what you think. Aemond has always consulted with you. Yes, you don't know everything in the world, but you weren't a fool either. But for Aemond, you have always been and will always be the goddess of wisdom and justice. And also beauty, love and fertility. But you prefer not to think about it yet...

Okay, but dear, wtf am I supposed to do now? Give up on writing? Give you my blog?? Cause, honestly, I could never write something as good as your ask 😭😭

Jokes aside, so happy to see someone with such a talent following me, it makes me so giggly like “they like my works even though they’re so talented”

[kall-me-kaos]

I'm a HUGE fan of Stardew Valley, but the inclusivity is a little.. Lacking. I took it upon myself (as a cure for boredom) to doodle up a few diverse NPCs for the Stardew Valley world. For the next few posts I will be making and explaining (in depth) my NPCs and how they fit into the universe. First up is Shay Roe! Shay is a 36 year old trans woman who is predominantly post-transition and very comfortable in her own skin; as an NPC she isn't seen until you have finished / only if you finish the Jumino quests, where she appears at your doorstep, mentioning the Juminos told her you were a friend of the forest so she just had to meet you. Her house, however, cannot be found unless you pass through the treeline during the flower dance, where you will find her cabin; if you find her this way before completing the Jumino quests you will unlock a scene of her struggling to piece together a few slabs of runic text, if you offer to help her this is also a way to unlock her as a villager! Shay is a translator for the arcane, having the ability to speak Dwarf, Jumino, Shadow creature and Runic (such as the runes seen in the caves!); she works closely with Gunther and he usually refers to her as his 'right hand woman'.

Villagers she seems close with are Rasmodeus, who she claims to have had an 'on-and-off' relationship with, Caroline who she lovingly teases, recalling her wedding where Pierre got so nervous he fainted. Her closest friend by far is Jodie, who she recalls staying with when she first came to the valley; at her four heart event (or around there) if you enter Jodie's house she can be found inside, looking at baby photos of Sam, she explains she is his god mother, as she is the god mother to Vincent too and explains she can recall when most of the younger members of the valley came into the world, or when they first crossed paths. Shay is a bachelorette but is quite difficult to take beyond friendship; she expresses that she is often too busy with work for relationships, but as you progress with her she will start to take time for herself and put more effort into seeing you. Trivia: Shay loves / likes - Fried Calamari, Topaz, Amethyst, all artisanal goods except from all types of honey (which she hates!), Star fruit, ancient fruit, Autumn Bounty, Salad, Truffle Oil / Truffles in general and all forged metal bars (copper, iron, gold, iridium, radioactive etc. Rarer the mineral, the more she loves it) Shay Hates / Dislikes - Prismatic Shard, diamond, Weeds, Joja Cola, All Trash,  Rotten Plants, All Bait, Magnet, Sap, Fish, Seaweed, All Algae, Hay, Sea Urchin, Bug Meat, Snail, Slime, Oil of Garlic, Strange Bun, Void Mayonnaise, ALL flowers except Poppy, both Pink and Chocolate cakes and Frozen Tears. Upon discovering her house and looking inside, a note can be seen on her coffee table; it is a snippet from a news paper, suggesting that a 14 year old Mason Roe is missing. The excerpt is dated from the first year of gameplay.

Shay can be found - Monday - Walking around town from 8:30am onwards, returns home at 12 midnight. Tuesday - Joins the girls (and Harvey) for their workout class, she stands beside Harvey and can be seen cheering him on. Returns home after the class. Wednesday - Visits Marnie at 8:30am, if you walk pas the pair together speech bubbles read 'Really, with the mayor?' and 'Under a bush???'. Returns home when Marnie closes. Thursday - Visits pub, can be found drinking wine and eating an autumn bounty. Returns home at 12 midnight. Friday - Enters pub at 12 noon, sits on the table shared by elliott and co; can be found drinking wine and gossiping. Saturday - Visits Krobus in the sewers, can be found talking to him and gossiping. Returns home at midnight. Sunday - Visits the Dwarf in the caves, can be found talking to her and gossiping. Returns home at midnight.

Heart events 2 Hearts - Shay appears at your doorstep after you have completed the Jumino quests, proclaiming how cool it is to finally see the community centre back how it used to be when she was a kid; she walks you there and talks to a yellow Jumino, where she translates that the Juminos are very pleased with you and that they'll now be able to help you (a nod to the Junimo huts you can buy /earn) 4 Hearts - Shay is found sat on Jodie's sofa, looking through a book of photos; she notices you and starts to gush about having lived with Jodie while she was pregnant with Sam and how she is Sam and Vincent's god mother. She explains how she's seen all the younger characters in the village grow up, admitting that she worries about the Mulners, despite her animosity with George (the reason they are 'enemies' isnt clear at this point). 5 Hearts - Shay invites you to stay at her's for the night, suggesting you join her for a pamper day as your farm seems to have you stressed; when you get there, you can view a film exclusive to befriending her and, if you agree you like the film, you can receive an exclusive film poster! she puts a face mask on you and you chill, enjoying jasmine tea and a film. 6 Hearts - Shay can be found talking to Evelyn outside of her house when George wheels out; the tension between George and Shay turns to arguing, George admits that he doesn't like her because he thinks she's a witch, that's why she's so close to Rasmodeus, but she denies it. You have to choose a side, whoever's side you DO NOT choose you lose a heart with. If you choose Shay's side she takes you back to the woods and admits that George isn't the only one who is cruel to her, that Kent didn't like how close Jodie and Shay had got so kicked her out and that she has been yelled at by willy a few times for washing herself in the river (she cannot get running water where she lives). she admits you are one of the few people she trusts, and that you're her best friend, that she knows she can rely on you

8 Hearts - At her 8 heart event, Shay can be found trying to pick a dress to wear to whatever celebration is coming up (dress options customised to the event coming up closest to this event!); she'll ask you to choose a dress and jokingly offer you one, if you accept you will be put in a dress and dance with her in the forest clearing outside of her house. Once you stop dancing she will become flustered and try to laugh it off, you can now ask her out!

[arezenithofyouthlove]

Short fic based on my art from my dear friend @scifellgoddess:

Javier Asrahan sits down, curling into himself. His amour is cold and unfeeling, forged steels protecting his skin and trapping warmth. His cloak drapes over his form in a mocking pretense of cover, the fabric as bloodless as it is comforting. Javier feels strangely bare, almost naked, exposed, weak.

Even in this state, he still holds his sword, his weapon, his tool, and his only constant in life. His free hand can do nothing but clench harder into itself and he won't feel nails digging into flesh but at least his mind can conjure up the image of his heart, right there in his hand, still beating and pumping blood and mana despite it all, the only source of pain that still exists and will live on with him, being crushed into mush of blood and meat and nothingness.

Javier thinks of alcohol. He wants a drink, he thinks, after everything. A spoiled Young Master, he muses, will laugh if he ever hears that. The man, legs crossed lazily over the chair, will take one look at Javier's sorry state and drop the bottle he's drinking to the floor. He will then say "I am afraid that there is no more for you" and leave the broken shards and the spilled wine splattered on the wooden floor. And in that same beat, he will turn to the owner and ask for another bottle.

Javier can not see The Young Master's expression or his face. In that place, there are only angry lines and dark light, mocking even without features. He doesn't think it's a matter of memory, because Javier has had years to look at one Lloyd Frontera, and not once did they not meet eyes, even if only briefly. No, because Javier still hates him with all of his being and misses him just as much in turn. There is no lost love, he tries to reason, and yet, here he is, curling into himself in defeat, in victory and triumph, reminiscing at the reminder of Lloyd Frontera.

.

Lloyd Frontera watches as a man slowly approaches his direction. His armor drags behind him, heavy and bloodless. It seems to make him somewhat sluggish and tired, with his long dark cloak drapes along half of his side, matted with filth, drenched in sins. Lloyd doesn't say anything even as his gaze lands on a familiar head of hair, its color standing out entirely from the blazing red of Hell.

He does a not-quite smile, smirk, or grin, and lets his mouth settle on a grimace. Who would have thought, the Hero of the people, the Knight of Blood and Iron, just like his tasteless, crude, and brash Young Master, would one day end up in the deepest corner of Hell. What irony.

When the knight comes, he is unnervingly silent, his eyes unseeing of the Hell around them. Instead, he just sits on the chair at the other side of the table and curls into himself, expression unreadable. He doesn't seem heroic or strong now, Lloyd muses to himself. He just looks as much as a child as Lloyd has always deemed him to be.

Lloyd laughs, barely because it's hard to do so when his throat swells with blood still, and makes a show of swaying the wine bottle in his hand. He hums as it sloshes quietly against the glass, but he does not offer a mocking word or teasing joke to accompany the act like he used to do. Instead, he turns to Javier and drops the bottle, letting it shatter on the ground, pieces of glass flying and wine completely wasted. This seems to affect the Knight, a flash of recognition finally shining in his dark gaze. They meet, eye to eye, though Lloyd wonders if Javier is really seeing him or simply remembering a memory.

It's hilarious, witnessing the usual sharp and cautious Javier Asrahan become this mindless sheep, this thoughtless deer before him, like Lloyd is the start and end catharsis of all of his troubles and miseries. That's quite funny, for him to be the one minor detail that writes out the legendary tale of Javier Asrahan's life. Funny, indeed.

END

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