#her crown looks like jewels it was not intended

[inkydorky]

Poppy is so in love and Smidge has to tease her !

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (Epilogue)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, breastfeeding kink, smut, angst, domination, swearing, mention of postpartum depression ]

[ description: After a difficult childbirth and finding out what kind of man her late husband was, Aemond finally finds the strength to truly understand his wife. Their life becomes peaceful and successful until Aegon is seriously injured in battle and he is proclaimed Prince Regent. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, the image of himself with Aegon the Conqueror's crown placed on his head had flashed through his mind. He had never thought of depriving his elder brother of the throne, but they both knew that he was better suited to the role.

However, now, as his King lay in his chamber, with burns that caused him so much pain that they made it impossible for him to move, let alone rule the kingdom, when he was proclaimed Prince Regent, the weight of the steel pressing down on his forehead and temples seemed to overwhelm him.

His wife stood beside him, seated on the Iron Throne − she was showing her allegiance to him by wearing on her neck and fingers the sapphire jewels, necklaces and rings he had given her, her gown as usual in the colours of her lineage, blue.

He knew that she did not desire rich, shiny gifts, and his presents were not intended to satisfy her vanity − never able to express his feelings and thoughts aloud, he preferred to show his respect and affection towards her in this way, and she accepted it with calmness and gratitude.

She paid tribute to him as the last person to stand in front of his throne − she bowed and wanted to kneel, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand, ordering her to stand up.

He did not stop her when she approached him, when her hand grasped his, when she lifted it to her lips and kissed it reverently, closing her eyes.

He swallowed loudly, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb, feeling like just grabbing her around the waist and placing her on his lap, the way he would if they were alone in his chamber.

She moved away from him, looking at him with peace − a certainty, a pride that made him feel a warm contentment, something in her violet eyes that always reassured him.

She was his ally.

Not his grandfather's, his mother's, or his brother's.

His.

The mother of his heir.

His wife.

After the ceremony, a council was gathered, led by him, to determine what to do about the situation in Harrenhal, besieged for some time by Daemon. He did not allow his wife to leave the chamber, pointing with his hand to the seat on his right hand that would normally be occupied by his mother. His sire accepted this with humility, allowing his wife to take the seat next to him, herself sitting down next to Ser Criston.

Silence fell.

"How long do we have to tolerate Daemon flying around the kingdom threatening to take the crown from my brother? He laughs in our faces, occupying a stronghold so close to the Eyrie." He said coolly, his voice deep and defiant, certain. He heard his wife draw in a deep breath upon hearing the name of her ancestral fortress, lowering her gaze to her fingers.

His grandfather grunted loudly, twisting in his seat with a quiet creak of wood, looking at the faces of those gathered with a raised eyebrow.

"In my opinion, Prince Daemon wants to provoke you, Your Grace. It is obvious that his target is King's Landing. In my opinion, Harrenhal is a small price to pay to keep the capital, let him hold this fortress if he so desires."

"Harrenhal is the bridge between the North and the South. Daemon will burn Lord Arryn's army if he chooses to come to our call." He replied impatiently, Criston Cole grunted loudly, eager to make his point.

"There is only one King. Prince Daemon must be reminded of that." He said coldly, looking at him intensely, ready to rally their entire army at one sign of his. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking at him with a gaze he knew well.

As always, she was letting him decide if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He nodded at her, allowing her to speak.

"You are the rider of the greatest dragon in the kingdom, my king. You must remain in King's Landing. The Red Keep, unlike the Eyrie, can be conquered. Prince Daemon is just waiting for this. I'm certain that when he hears that you are heading in his direction with his army he will join his wife and they will march here together. Blockade of my uncle's army will still be a lesser loss." She said calmly, looking at her hands, his grandfather nodded, his face expressing surprise and some kind of admiration.

"Your wife speaks with great wisdom, Your Grace, and I agree with her completely." He said, and he looked away, hitting the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, thinking intensely about what she had said.

What if he does indeed move on Harrenhal, and finds only an empty fortress with children, old men and women?

What if Daemon humiliates him, tricks him like a little child hoping he'll swallow his bait, and attacks the Red Keep along with his half-sister knowing he won't make it back in time?

"Forgive me, my Lady, however, idleness is the domain of women, not men." Criston Cole hissed, but fell silent, swallowing hard, his lips pressed together as he met his warning gaze.

"You mistake idleness for wisdom and caution, my Lord. Like many men before you." His wife replied, and he clenched his fingers on the base of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing impatiently.

"Enough." He ordered, a tense silence fell around him, his wife looked away − he could see the vein pulsing fast on her slender, long neck, her cheeks red, betraying her annoyance.

"Mother." He turned to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as he always did, reckoning with her opinion. He saw her swallow hard, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails in a nervous gesture, her big brown eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and dread.

"I think it's a trap, Aemond. Daemon is clever, he lives to mock others. He's always been this way."

He sighed quietly, feeling that despite his deep desire to lead his army to victory, there was much right in the doubts of his wife, grandfather and mother − when his anger and desire to prove himself began to give way to common sense he recognised that indeed if he left the Red Keep, his half-sister would take the opportunity.

"Let our spies continue to watch him and report his doings to us. We should think about luring him out of there somehow. Is there any news from the Iron Islands?" He asked, Lord Lannister nodded and grunted loudly.

"Yes. They agree to a set sum. They will stand against the Velaryon fleet at our call. However, they demand that their independence from the crown be upheld." He said quickly, nervously, adding the last sentence as if on the fly, clearly afraid of his reaction. He sighed heavily and merely nodded.

Their discussion continued for a few more hours, touching on the army, its supplies and the state of the soldiers' morale, their attitudes, whether an agreement could be reached with Lord Baratheon to remain neutral in exchange for the seat on the Small Council that his grandfather had offered in place of his own, knowing that it was his decision that had caused the betrothal to his daughters to be broken off.

When he had heard all he wished he closed the council by dismissing everyone but his wife.

She looked at him with her characteristic composure, watching as he removed Aegon the Conqueror's crown from his head and placed it with reverence on the top of the stone table in front of him. He gazed at its steel surface thoughtfully, tapping the tip of his finger against it, each time causing it to make a quiet clink.

"All my life I have thought about this moment. But it's not how I imagined it." He said finally, his voice impassive and tired. He heard her sigh quietly with understanding, looking down at his hands.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds coming from outside the windows, the loud conversations of guards and servants shouting in the courtyard.

"They'll think I'm a craven." He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uncertainty and frustration rising in his chest − he sensed that she looked at him, her hand tightening on his, as if she wanted to give him the courage to do the right thing.

"He knows this is what you fear most. He'll laugh and mock that you're afraid to face him, but we both know he'll do it because he hopes it will break you. Don't let him dictate to you the terms of when and where you will face each other. It's humiliating." She said with a certainty from which he felt a squeeze in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb running over her soft skin.

"I'm expecting your child."

He shuddered, looking at her with his lips parted in disbelief, his heart began to pound hard at the thought that just a month after she'd given birth to his son, despite their shared promises, he'd come deep inside her when he'd made love to her, unable to stop himself, her hands clenched tightly on his bare buttocks, her sweet moans begging for his seed.

How could he deny her?

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, thinking of the nightmare she'd endured, of how long she'd been unable to recover from it, how close she'd come to leaving this world. He heard her hum under her breath as she smiled softly, shaking her head.

"No. It is a good omen. A sign from the gods that they favour you." She replied, looking at him as if she was the one who wanted to comfort him, his fingers intertwined with hers. "I think this time will be different. I already know what to expect and that I can count on your support, my King."

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a loud, lingering kiss on her smooth skin.

"They have taken pity on me, sending me you as my wife. My Queen." He muttered, drawing her close to him, gripping her waist, seating her comfortably on his lap, leaning against the back of his chair with a quiet sigh, gazing at her familiar, pleasant figure with tenderness.

She smiled warmly at his words, taking his face in her hands, stroking it with her thumbs. He closed his eyes, letting his body loosen, feeling sleepy and tired even though his manhood clearly expressed its pleasure at her closeness, swelling in his breeches.

"I will order a meal to be prepared for you and brought to your chamber. You have hardly eaten or slept for days."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, as always, that she was watching him, that she knew what he needed without asking him unnecessary questions.

While this would surely have caused his frustration with another woman, her initiative didn't bother him; on the contrary, it made his daily life a lot easier, giving him the feeling that he didn't have to think of everything himself.

She was the one who decided what attire he should wear for what occasion, what they would eat for their morning meal, knowing what he liked most. To his satisfaction, she also found herself in the role of mother, establishing a close bond with their son, Jace's attachment to her and how joyfully he reacted to the sight of her made her eager to hold him in her embrace, letting him watch her feed him in the evenings.

His greatest weakness, as he found out, proved to be not the lack of his eye or control over his fiery temper, but the taste of her milk melting across his palate as his son slept peacefully at night with his belly filled with her food.

He clamped his mouth over her swollen, puffy nipples, sucking on them greedily as his fat cock thrust impatiently into her slick interior, teasing with its tip the spot inside her that made her moan shamelessly with pleasure.

"− my King −" She sobbed sweetly with her thighs spread wide, letting him pound into her with deep, fast pushes, purring with pleasure into the skin of her breasts, swallowing loudly her wonderful nectar. His sound vibrated through her entire body making her walls clench against him greedily, squeezing him, his thumb teasing and trailing around her pearl, making her fingers dig helplessly into his naked, sweaty back.

"− this is a meal worthy of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, don't you think? − my wife's sweet, warm milk −" He murmured, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to move his face to her other breast, repeating the same process, justifying his behaviour by the fact that he knew the excess milk was causing her pain and discomfort, and he couldn't imagine it going to waste.

"− yes − it's all yours − f-fuck −" She muttered, tilting her head back, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders with his low groan as he felt her core begin to pulse around his manhood in orgasm, squeezing his seed out of him.

He didn't have the strength to resist and just filled her with himself, sighing in relief, licking her nipple with the tip of his tongue, as oversensitive as the rest of her body − she whimpered, trying to push him away but he wouldn't let her, busy with sucking her milk until she calmed down.

"− Aemond, please − oh gods −" She mumbled softly, completely absorbed in her fulfilment, panting heavily. He remained deep inside her, leaning on his elbow, not wanting to crush her with his body, remembering in the back of his mind about the baby in her womb.

"− what is it? − my wife is overwhelmed? − impossible −" He sneered with a grin of satisfaction − since it appeared that his attention to her breasts aroused not only him, she was soaking wet for him, her fulfilment approaching quickly and violently, making her body completely vulnerable and limp, as if she herself was shocked by how intense the sensation was.

"− I didn't even notice when you filled me again, my King − I'm inclined to think you're drawing satisfaction from my pleasure −" She cooed with a sweet smile, from which he chuckled under his breath, leaning towards her − her hand pulled him closer as their lips joined in a hot, sticky, soft kiss, her swollen breasts pressed against his chest.

He ran the tip of his nose over hers, looking into her eyes, a violet he adored − the shade of her irises slightly darker than his, warmer, shimmering wonderfully in the moonlight illuminating their bed.

He wanted to confess to her the many things that did not slip through his throat, the affection that filled his heart with heat, yet he remained silent, looking at her with a gaze she knew well. She always reacted the same way, her soft hand stroking his jaw as only two words came out of her mouth, spoken in a whisper.

"I know."

[cosmic-cupidsss]

💌 YOUR MAJESTY

—➤ pairing: shoto todoroki

—➤ tags: fluff, no quirks + fantasy au, arranged marriage, inspired by Queen Charlotte. reader is kinda blunt and likes to talk, little to no usage of y/n. Shoto might be ooc.

—➤ note: As King, Shoto must choose a queen to marry, one that would make his irritating excuse of a father happy, Of course you have been chosen as the bride, but meeting your betrothed was more awkward (but cute) than you’d expect.

You didn’t have much family, the only person that took care of you was your elder sister, she was your sole guardian ever since your parents had passed, and since she was the eldest all the wealth and riches had gone to her and the custody of their youngest child, which was you.

You had never really intended to leave your sister’s side, especially due to the ways of marriage, you had always thought that your sister would always be there for you, no matter what.

So imagine your fear when you were to be married off the new crowned King of the land.

You were devastated, especially since nobody had informed you on the matter, you were unknowingly thrust into this chaotic world of royalty without a thought of opinion from you.

There was nothing you could do about it.

You had arrived at the palace, no expectations in hand, and you were greeted by the King’s father, but not the king himself.

“You will meet him on your wedding day” she was told by his mother, she was brief and did not feel welcoming.

For the next weeks of your new life, you were just galavanting around the grand palace, in your luxury new gowns and expensive and sparkly crowns and diamond jewels.

It was nice and all, but you were starting to feel lonely. Very lonely. The staff that followed you around like bodyguards never seemed to talk to you unless spoken to, and they weren’t allowed to speak freely at any point, the King’s mother; who stayed in the palace as well rarely seemed to want to get to know you either, the woman always had a cold attitude towards you, and everyone around her.

No one ever seemed to talk about the King and what he was like, which was really strange to you.

But you read, you took quiet strolls along the maze like gardens of the castle, and slowly, but surely, your wedding day had arrived.

“Is he handsome? Is he kind? Is he funny?”

You had been standing at this one position for hours now, getting your wedding gown fitted on you by several maidens, it had been awkwardly quiet for a while now, and the nerves of your wedding in a matter of hours was starting to set in, you really needed a prescription on the person you are about to be married to.

“What are his hobbies? Does he like art? Reading? Writing? Poetry??” You continued on as you looked at yourself in the mirror, the fact that you looked stunning calmed your nerves down just a bit.

“Does he like fencing-“

One of the maids fitting your dress cut you off, “this is a discussion for after the dress is fitted my lady,” she said with a small smile, she really didn’t want to answer your questions, but you were too persistent.

“Is he unattractive to look at?” You suddenly asked which took the maiden aback just a little, “is that why you will not answer my questions..”

“If he is deformed in some way I’m certain that won’t be an issue…beauty is on the inside after all” you rambled on, you hummed a bit, thinking about your words carefully before contradicting them, “Well beauty is not inside..but if his personality overcomes that then I don’t see any problem!”

The maid started sweating at your release of words, she had honestly never met someone so blunt and talkative, “Your Highness, please—“

“Is he not smart? If so then that’s a rather bad thing to be when you’re a king…but I guess if he is the king he has to be intelligent. Right?” You turned to the maiden with a small smile, “Is he cruel? How does he treat servants that cater to him?”

The maiden was practically sweating, not knowing what to do, she made eye contact with several other maidens, one just uncomfortably chuckled, putting on a faux smile as she spoke “I’m sure you two will have beautiful children together..”

The small smile you had on earlier faded away as she said those words, irking you just a bit, it was already bad enough that you were getting married to someone you hardly knew, but children? Oh heavens no!

You decided not to speak anymore and stare at yourself in the mirror, at least with all the talking you did time was able to pass just a little bit faster, you were almost finished with your fitting.

A sense of uncomfort grew within you the more you stared at yourself in this mirror. Is this who you were to be for the rest of your days? A woman in a loveless marriage with an unknown man?

You weren’t going to do this.

“All done!” The maiden cheered, “and three hours before the ceremony too, we have outdone ourselves ladies!” She said to the other maidens.

They all soon left, and you were left alone in the fitting room. They mentioned the wedding was in three hours? That was more than enough time for you to make your grand escape.

You had walked out out that changing room, clumps of your long wedding gown in your fists as you ran for outside, luckily and surprisingly you weren’t spotted, and it was a very, very, very long walk to the palace gardens.

On your previous walks here, you had always spotted a wall in the garden that led to outside the palace. And it was the perfect escape root, and all you needed to do was climb it.

You knew your wedding gown was going to be a problem, since it was rather long, but you didn’t want to miss your chance. It was now or never!

Picking up the hems of your dress, you run towards the wall and jumped, but gravity was against you, and you fell hard of your bum, groaning in pain at the inconvenience.

"I should've known this wasn't going to be easy..." you muttered to yourself, getting up from the ground, you glared at the wall, eyeing it up and down, how dare this measly wall deny you your opportunity at escaping??

You decided to try again.

You jumped on the walls again, this time latching onto the vines and pulling yourself up, it was a struggle but soon you were able to almost get halfway up.

"Excuse me."

The sudden voice startled you, with a loud shriek you felt yourself fall down the wall again, the fall was much harder this time and you let out a small groan from the pain.

When you got up, you turned to see who called you, annoyed and ready to give him a good earful, but you were surprised when you laid your eyes onto a man, a devilishly handsome young man.

"Are you in need of assistance of any kind?" He spoke

He had pale skin, and red and white half split hair, as well as heterochromic eyes, blue and gray, on there was a large scar on the left side of his face that added an extra touch of uniqueness to his features.

His facial gaze looked rather stern, but softened once he got a good look at your face, but you didn’t seem to notice, you had turned your back to him to face the wall you had fallen from.

"I'm quite fine, thank you." You said, "you can go back inside and wait with all the other servants and guests."

The man gave a small hum, "I was just about to, but I was curious to see what exactly was going on here-"

"Nothing" you cut him off, turning to him, trying to act as normal as possible “nothing is going on.”

The man sighed, “there clearly is something going on here ma’am.”

There was an irritated look on her face, “Ma’am? I am twenty years of age thank you very much!” You exclaimed, “but if you must know I’m trying to climb over this wretched wall” you pointed.

He raised his brow "What for?"

She looked at him weirdly, “that is none of your business.” You stated, earning another eye brow raise from him, you didn’t like that look, and for some reason you felt a need to tell him.

You sighed, "I'm afraid of the predicament that I have been forced into, so I’m climbing this wall to escape my problems..” you felt a little bit better after saying that, “not that you'd care, I believe you are a servant right? No that can’t be it I haven’t seen you before.." you muttered, putting a finger to your chin in question. “Are you a guest of some sort? I don’t know you, so you are not part of my court..”

You chose not to dwell on it, even though you were finding it suspicious how he was able to find his way into the royal gardens, but that wasn’t your business. You checked him out, noticing he was very tall and had a muscular build. He seemed to follow your eyes, a little flustered by how shameless you were being.

“What are you—“

"You look strong.” You cut him off, “Help me climb over."

"You're asking me to help you ease your escape?"

You chuckled, "it was more of a statement than a question.." you murmured before clearing her throat, "Yes that's what I implied."

“People inside will notice you are missing” he commented.

“I have no worries about that, once I am missing they will find another poor unfortunate lady to marry off to a king that no one clearly wants to speak of..” you say to him, “so will you help me or not?”

"I have no intentions of helping you"

You looked at him, tilting your head, "I am a lady in distress. You will not help a lady in distress? That is very rude."

You tried to walk back to the wall, but he stopped you by grabbing your wrist, you were surprised by the contact, looking at the man cautiously.

"I refuse to help a lady in distress so that she doesn't have to marry me."

Your eyes widen, and when he let go off you, you stepped back, gasping softly, he caught sight of all three emotions that were evident on your face. You were confused, in shock, dumbfounded. He was impressed at how expressive you were.

"I'm sorry we had to meet this way my lady…" he spoke to you, an amusing smile on his face as he stepped closer to you. “I am to be your husband, call me Shoto”

“[name] call me [name]…” you trailed off, your ideas of running away had faded away, now staring at this man— who claims to be your future husband— at a loss for words.

“I…” you croaked, “I am deeply s..” truly you couldn’t speak at all.

“Your majesty…” you went to a bow, but he took your hand, signalling you to stand up straight.

“As I said before to you, you can call me Shoto..” he smiled again, “no need for formalities..”

You breathed in a laugh, “honestly…” you begun, “If I had known…I wouldn’t have…I..”

“You wouldn’t have tried to go over the castle walls?” He mused, earning a chuckle from you.

“Well yes…and..I wouldn’t have been so anxious to marry you…” you smiled, “If I had known..”

Shoto dear smile grew bigger at the sight of yours, he was already enamoured by you.

“I am so rude..if you wouldn’t want to marry me now, I’d completely understand” you shook your head.

“Who said I didn’t want to?” He remarked, “and if I recall, the ceremony is in an hour, so we must hurry” he took your hand, “don’t want to keep anyone waiting.

You followed him out the garden and into the palace, where the ceremony was to be taken place, and even though you were anxious before, now you were relieved and a bit happy, and so glad that you didn’t succeed in climbing that palace wall.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 7: Confrontation

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, everyone! AGAIN! Because this was originally a single chapter, I didn’t want to leave it on the cliffhanger I did with Chapter 6. Therefore, ya get a two-for-one deal today! YAY! Just got some edits to do of the remaining three chaps and then this instalment SHOULD be done and dusted. Thank you to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ and my boo @randomdragonfires​ for graciously allowing me to yeet this at them in group chat!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, violence, age gap.

Whenever something in his life goes wrong, the solution can be found in a brothel.

It is a precept that has ruled Daemon from the moment he had first seen a whore’s tits at the impressionable age of thirteen, Viserys having finally capitulated to setting him on the path to manhood. He’d found it between the thighs of a buxom redhead, or so he had thought. Now, he’s not so sure. Nonetheless, he finds himself retreating to familiarity of fragrant burning oils and musk, of moans and sighs and the allure of gleaming flesh at times of struggle. It is where he had buried his vexation and frustration over his brother’s repeated refusals to take him seriously, where he had mourned the loss of his nephew, where he had spent the past ten years fucking away the anger and the guilt and the weight of everything he was.

It is where he has gone now, in the wake of that awful, senseless altercation with the lord of the Reach after he had dared to—Hm. Don’t think of it. He’s not looking forward to the scolding his brother will give him when he returns.

Or, it occurs to him, what will come to light as a result of my actions.

That might be the very worst part of the whole affair. When the king goes hunting for a reason that his wayward brother would strike down a member of the nobility, he knows the event alone will not satisfy as a full account of what took place. For why would Daemon Targaryen come to blows over mere implication? And, for that matter, why would Daemon Targaryen be present at Lord Tyrell’s meeting with the princess at all? From there, the web comes unbound, and he is discovered.

Fuck’s sake. This is not how he intended to broach the subject with Viserys.

The familiar sounds of breathy moans and slapping flesh fill the room as he sits upon the chaise, surveying the wares and nursing his fifth goblet of wine. He is pleasantly relaxed from the drink and the heady scent of fucking, the thrum of arousal warming his veins and pooling in his belly. It is not enough to coax a rise from him, but the ever-present stimulation is its own form of satisfaction. While his current associate—one of those on the fringes of his usual circle, an eager lad named Desmond or Desward or some such appellation—blathers on, Daemon idly casts his eyes around the room, taking in the abundance of unclothed forms, the roaming of hands and bouncing of breasts, the open-mouthed groaning of the whores as they earn their keep on their knees, against the wall, over the chair.

“… Which one do you like best, my prince?”

He snaps back to attention at the direct inquiry from his companion. Desmond jerks his chin toward the figures in various stages of undress, cheap jewels glittering under the light of the chandelier.

A much nicer establishment this time around, Daemon muses. He doesn’t voice this aloud, however. “Hm. That one, perhaps.”

He lets his eyes linger on the taller whore, appreciating the dusky glow of her hair as it spirals ink-dark from her crown. She twists her body winningly upon realising he is watching her, biting her lip and tossing her head back to display the elegant line of her neck. She’s not to his tastes, but that is precisely her appeal.

“Thought you would’ve gone with that pale-haired girl there,” Desward says, pointing out the smaller, white-haired waif prancing about with her gown peeled down to her waist, modest tits springing with each lively step.

Daemon swallows. She reminds him of you. No. He doesn’t want to think of you, not after the way you had looked at him. “Explain,” he says coldly.

This man hadn’t been present for those occasions in which his little entanglement with Rhaenyra had come up. So how has he come to that conclusion on his own?

Desmond’s expression twists apprehensively. “I just… everyone knows of your taste for silver-haired maidens, milord.”

Everyone does, do they? He’s not surprised to hear the rumours circling of his predilection for maidens, but the distinction here is new. There’d never been enough common stock with Valyrian features in Westeros for such preference to be made public beyond the closer of his old associates, and talk of the misconduct that had gotten him banished was never all that widespread, or so he has since learned. He can only think of one who might have reignited speculation. Fucking Dargood.

Later, he thinks, striding toward the object of his interest. I’ll deal with him later.

His irritation boils his blood just enough to incite a twitch of intrigue from his cock as he casts his eye over her critically. She’s a pleasing enough shape, though the hair is too fine and the mouth too small. Good enough.

“I hope I am to your liking, my prince,” she murmurs, pushing her shoulders back so that her form is bared a little more easily to his regard.

He grunts, eyeing the finely groomed mound that conceals his eve’s prize, and he cannot help but extend his hand to cup the plumpness of her, to trace a digit through silken petals to toy with the bud at the apex.

Either she’s had a customer already or she’s had her fun before venturing down, he mulls, rubbing the sticky wetness from her soft, swollen entrance between thumb and finger. The give is not the same as it would have been from grease alone. Ah—a whore worthy of the name.

Daemon allows her to grab him by the wrist and lead him through the room, through a darkened corridor and into an empty chamber. ‘Tis one of several, he observes, and quite finely furnished for an establishment of ill-repute. Of course, they are visiting the Street of Silk this time. The standards are far higher than that dilapidated hovel in Flea Bottom.

He pushes the girl away when she makes for the buttons of his jacket.

“I’m not intending to linger, pet,” he says, leading her hand down to the laces of his breeches. She nods, smirking impishly as she works at the fastenings. When they come loose, he presses her back onto the bed, reaching into his pants to withdraw his cock.

“My prince!” She is already spreading her legs like a little slut, fingers plucking hedonistically at her nipples. He leers, fondling the soft warmth of her exposed cunt. She is primed and ready for him, a consummate professional in her art.

He wishes the sight stirred him more.

“Call me ‘Uncle’.” He damns his weakness even as he crawls on top of her and shoves her legs further apart, notching his cock at her entrance.

He’d not had this fucking obsession before you—back when he’d thought himself enamoured with your sister, it had been enough to simply eke out his lusts on the nearest hole available, quick and rough and barely memorable. How you have unmanned him! How pathetic he has become. How woeful it is that he cannot endure something so instinctive, so primordial as mating without the thought of you to help him along.

The girl blinks; smiles. “Uncle! Oh, Uncle,” she breathes, the inflection all wrong, sounding nothing like you.

He plunges harshly into her, the glide hot and wet and too easy. It is nothing like taking your maidenhead would feel like, nothing like the tight resistance of a nervous virgin. He closes his eyes and pounds into the whore below him. This time, it is different. He is in control, he knows he is picturing you and he lets himself, permits the mirage of you to fill his mind’s eye and imagines the way your eyes might widen with mingling trust and hesitation as he breaches you.

“Uncle, my prince, fuck—”

He slaps a hand over her mouth, irritated by the disruption of his fantasy. You would never say such a thing in the midst of your deflowering, he is sure of it. When the whore’s voice is stifled, pitchy whimpers emanating from under his palm, he can almost convince himself it is you, can almost lose himself in the slip of cunt and glide of skin.

Daemon moans your name again—the game is up and it’s not long before he’s either exiled or given you, so what is the point in pretence—and suckles dark bruises down her throat, imagining it is the pale skin of your beguiling flesh. When he opens his eyes to stare into yours, he is confronted with the dull green of the whore’s.

What am I doing? What am I doing? Usually, the shame and aggravation sinks in once the firestorm of ecstasy has burnt itself out. It is just his luck that it strikes mid-coupling now.

“Fuck.” He begins to soften despite his hips driving a determined rhythm, desperate to keep the illusion alive just a little longer. It is not to be. “Fuck.”

He pulls out of the whore, sitting back on his haunches. He cannot go through with it. He cannot slink away, bury himself in a whore and pretend as though it’s you, not when he could be trying to win the real thing. He cannot disgrace you by fucking another and wishing it was your face he sees. It would have been preferable had the revelation come sooner—or later. He does not enjoy exposing his weakness before peasant stock.

He sighs; wipes his hand over his eyes; tucks himself back into his breeches, knotting the laces once more.

“My prince?” she asks, legs splayed and cunt raw and red from his vigorous pace.

He smiles wryly down at her, thumbing three silvers into her hand.

“My apologies, pet,” he says, pulling himself off the bed and heading to the door. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

When Viserys had summoned him after his night in the brothel so long ago, he’d known immediately what it was about.

Foolish of him, really, to have said what he did. “The heir for a day.” To be fair, he’d not meant it as a mockery of Viserys’s pain or Aemma’s suffering, of Rhaenyra’s grief or your confusion. For all the commons had jibed of his anger and resentment, the Rogue Prince forced down the line of succession by a mere newborn, he had never truly felt umbrage toward his own nephew. How could he? He remembers cradling that boy in his arms, still numb with the shock of his cousin’s death, his brother nowhere to be seen. He remembers those gasping wheezes of his, tiny lips tinged purple with the effort of drawing air into lungs that did not wish to rise. Baelon had passed on in only a few hours, taking with him the realm’s hope for another heir. Someone other than him.

The king’s vitriol was understandable, if unjustified; in a rare display of restraint, Daemon had allowed the man to rail at him over the perceived slight, all too aware of who had been whispering in his ear. It was clear that Otto Hightower had gleaned the details from one of those nearby on the night of his unfortunate blunder, and had used the information to strip him of his standing.

He should have known better than to trust those he used to surround himself with. He should have learned by now.

Daemon returns to the keep as the hour of the ghosts sets in, the dim illumination of the torches bracketing the walls casting an eerie reminiscence upon his path. He’s faced Viserys’s wrath one too many times, those occasions blurring together so that he is several iterations of himself simultaneously.

Daemon the soldier. Daemon the drunkard. Daemon the outcast. He walks in the shadow of his former selves.

It is not long before he is confronted by the silent, scowling form of the Lord Commander. He holds his arms up, palms out, a clear signal of surrender.

“I assume my brother wishes to see me?” he asks, only to be provided a brief nod in return.

A man of few words, he notes to himself. ‘Tis welcome to see that some things don’t change.

He is honestly surprised that he isn’t dragged into the Great Hall again—it is already a significant departure from the previous two events that had gotten him exiled. There is less substantiation and more happenstance in these circumstances, he supposes. Well, with the exception of his assault on Tyrell. There is no denying that occurred. But not even Viserys would take a flowery fuck like him at his word, and he is sure to have untruths aplenty to impart.

Instead, he is escorted into the small council chamber, where Viserys sits alone at the head of the table, staring pensively at the wood grain. He barely acknowledges Ser Harrold’s pronouncement. Abruptly, he sits up, takes in the view of his brother and his Lord Commander, and clenches his teeth.

“You may leave us, Ser Harrold,” he says, eyes fixed upon Daemon.

He steels himself. This time, he has nothing to be ashamed of—except for his conduct with Tyrell, and maybe the whore, perhaps both… At least this time he isn’t being accused of lechery.

“I had thought you tempered by the years away.” The king’s grip is white-knuckled upon the arm of his seat. “And yet I learn today a most curious thing: the assault of a noble lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and accusations leveraged by that very same lord against my beloved daughter’s reputation. He claims her to be entangled in an affair with another. Who could have done such a thing, I asked? Who other than Lord Flea Bottom himself—my very own brother?”

Never mind, then. By the end of his oration, his words sound more like the sibilant hiss of a snake than the utterances of a man.

“Brother—”

“You will be silent, wretch!” Viserys snaps, smacking his palm down on the table. His pockmarked face has flushed ugly red, apoplectic with thinly veiled fury. “How could you do this? Ruining Rhaenyra wasn’t enough for you, is that it? You had to go and spoil my second child, my beloved girl, for your own selfish amusement?”

“I have done nothing, Viserys!”

“I am your king!” He pushes himself from his chair by his hand and stalks over to stand before Daemon. He is limping again as he is wont to do these days. “You will address me as ‘Your Grace’!”

“Your Grace.” Daemon bows his head slightly in deference. He cannot afford to anger the man further. “While I’ll confess to the abuse levied upon Lord Tyrell, I cannot admit to something I didn’t do. I haven’t touched her—”

“Oh, you haven’t?” Viserys laughs, but it is a repugnant, mocking sound. His features are firmly arranged into an expression of revulsion. “So Ser Criston’s reports of your—indecent behaviour are falsities, is that correct?”

“Cole?” Daemon asks incredulously. “The man hates me, Viserys. Why the fuck are you listening to him?”

His brother makes a noise of outrage.

“Very well.” A cruel gleam lingers in his eyes. “And what is this I hear of you—you—cavorting about with whores, encouraging them to playact as my daughter so that you may seek your pleasure?”

Daemon’s stomach sinks. Oh, fuck.

Viserys continues. “Your man from the City Watch—Dargood—had little issue telling the tale. What say you to that?” A great many things, brother, and none of them for your ears. The king sneers. “I have half a mind to cut your cock from you and remedy your wickedness once and for all!”

“What would you have me do? Lie? I’ll admit to fucking whores and pretending they were her. Tell me you’ve never let your desires rule your bedsport!” Daemon lets out a derisive scoff. “But I’ll not stand here and be accused of undue conduct when I’ve been nothing short of chivalrous in your daughter’s company.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you? Lech!” Viserys leans back against the table. When next he speaks, his voice is heavy with distaste. “Begone from this city, Daemon. You have outstayed your welcome once again.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

Incredulity. Daemon supposes it is fair. He’d never resisted exile before.

“No,” he repeats firmly. “Save for the business with Tyrell, I’ve done nothing wrong. You have no grounds to banish me.”

“No grounds? No grounds?” The king’s pitch is rising. “Attention! Flattery! Gifts! It is a game I know well! A game you’ve played with my first child, and now my second!”

“I am not after ruining her reputation, Your Grace,” Daemon insists. His brother huffs and spins away, pacing before him. “I would have her as my wife.”

Viserys pauses. “Are you in jest?” He looks almost as though he is torn between laughter and tears. “How do you think you’ll go about getting my throne from her? Do you plan on slaying Rhaenyra and her sons to get your crown?”

It is an abhorrent thought. Daemon cannot believe his brother would think so lowly of him. Briefly, he mourns the bond he once had with him, a bond that has frayed and corrupted under the weight of the Seven Kingdoms.

“It’s not about the Iron Throne, Viserys!” He alters his approach, beseeching his brother and urgently pressing his case. “I am the best match for her, and you know it. A Targaryen prince, a warrior, a dragonrider. There is none other who would compare, none other who could give her a just union such as I, least of all that idiot Tyrell—”

“What of Lord Jason Lannister? I would have her wed into Casterly Rock, far away from your grasping ambition!” Viserys’s gaze is considering, now. No longer is he beholden to the blind rage that had gripped him only moments before. “As for your lofty claim… it is Alicent’s wish that I announce the girl’s betrothal to Aegon, who is also a Targaryen prince and a dragonrider. Why should I not heed her instead?”

He's tempted to laugh, but doing so would only incite further ire. No matter the cost, Daemon will not concede to a green boy who seems more satisfied in acting like a child than behaving like a man. 

“The boy is awful to her, Your Grace. She dislikes him. And the Lannister cunt? A simpleton. She’d be wasted on a fool like him, and you know it.”

His brother tips his head in acknowledgement and exhales frustratedly, leaning against the small council table. Much of the fight has left him.

“You are right… But how can I allow this?” Viserys whispers. He is bowed over the table, slumped and defeated. “How could you do this to her? To me?”

“What have I done?” Daemon draws closer. “I’ve spoken with her, taken walks with her, given her gifts. It is nothing more than that. I doubt she ever saw it as more than an uncle taking interest in his niece, until today. I swear this to you upon anything you wish to name.”

The king chuckles, though it carries no joy. “Such sincerity, Daemon. It is most unlike you.”

“I want her as my wife,” he says again, pleading. “Not for the sake of the throne, or to harm you, or any other reason save this—I want her.”

“I cannot…” is the response, muted and distressed. Viserys glances up at him. “You would destroy her.”

He is upset, resigned, but no longer alight with infuriation. Daemon leans against the table next to his brother.

“I would make her happy. Happier than any other. She could stay in the capital with her family. She could ride that great beast of hers whenever she likes. She could study to her heart’s content, at home where she belongs. Only I can give her all those things, and you know it. I am what she needs.”

Viserys does not reply—only stares at him with something foreign and inscrutable.

He makes his final bid. “Long have I been your staunchest supporter. Did I not wage a war in the Stepstones in defence of your kingdom? I have never asked for anything in return, except this: long ago, you promised that you’d annul my marriage so that I might find a bride of my own choosing. Years, I asked. Years, you denied me. And now… I am free.”

Daemon’s voice rings out in the stillness, the echo lending gravity to his words. He stares unflinchingly at his brother. “Give the girl to me to wife. You owe me this.”

The king is silent, unmoving. It is clear he has nothing left to say. And thus, Daemon has no reason to remain.

He bows and knocks on the door to be let out of the room. Passing through the walkway of the small council chambers as it opens, he leaves the king to his deliberations and hopes that his efforts will pay off.

“For all your degeneracy,” Daemon sneers, “you’re not one to be so loose with secrets.”

The air is chilled with the deep dark of night, the blackness so thick it is almost choking. He doesn’t enjoy the necessity of returning to the scene of his transgressions, but his wayward friend is easy to discover in the depths of the city.

Below him, Dargood pants and splutters, winded after being struck in the gut and dragged from his stool in a cheap, nameless drinking house. Daemon had lugged him rather briskly by the neck to the narrow alleyway beside the tavern, the amber luminosity pooling from the rickety window providing just enough light for him to make out the man’s face.

Dargood coughs. “Times change. A man’s got to do what he must to make coin in this city.”

“City Watch not paying you enough?” Daemon observes him as his eyes begin to droop shut, no doubt a combination of the drink and the knock to the skull as he’d been pulled out the door. He kicks him in the side for good measure, relishing in the yelp emitted when the leather makes contact with vulnerable flesh. “What a shame. Whoever could blame you for selling slanders to the king, then?”

His former ally scrambles to his knees, swaying unsteadily against the stone. “It’s not like that. And ‘slander’ only counts when it’s not true.”

He has a point, Daemon’s mind cannot help but acknowledge.

Dargood babbles on, heedless of the aggravation rising in the figure above him. “I didn’t mention anything outside what I heard and saw—”

“Oh, fuck off!” Daemon clouts him across the temple once more. He collides with the wall with a subdued thump, punctuated by further groaning. “Your father’s a lord. You don’t need the money.”

“Because it’d be so easy for me to beg that man for compassion.” Dargood spits the words out as though they taste foul on his tongue.

Ah, yes—he’d quite forgotten. A lesser son from a lesser house would hardly have recourse to cast himself upon the fires of mercy after amassing a reputation as dissolute as the man’s before him. Whoring, gambling, brawling, and there’d even been some more unsavoury rumours about his involvement in some scheme exploiting the poorest orphans of the city. He’d not cared to ask then, but perhaps he should have. He does not recognise the being before him.

Scum, he realises. He’s scum.

Daemon steps back, assessing the beaten creature that he had once called friend. He sighs. “Go home, Dargood,” he says finally. “Leave this city, or you’ll be made to.”

Before he can turn and walk away, the man lurches to his feet, grappling along the rock behind him. His bloodshot eyes zero in on his target. “So that’s it, then?” he asks, irate cadence marred by the slur in his speech. “You’ll just throw me aside when you feel like it? After all these years, prince.”

A brief flicker of displeasure stirs Daemon’s temper. “Yes—your prince. You sold out your prince for some fucking coin.”

Come to think of it… Wasn’t he making his little remarks before word reached my brother?

The memory has his hands locked tight around the man’s throat before his mind can become fully cognisant of his actions. “In fact”—his fingers squeeze harder—“you sold out your prince for status. Didn’t even need the money to spread your tales, did you?”

“Let—let go!” Dargood chokes, making no attempt to release himself from Daemon’s hold. He ought to be capable of such a feat. His training was thorough enough.

Pathetic. He’s not worth the bother.

Daemon loosens his grasp, surveying the vermin that had been his proudest investiture, a shining example of what the City Watch could achieve with discipline and decisiveness as its fundamental tenets. Now, he is no more than rabble, one among thousands of crooks, delinquents and filth polluting his ancestor’s crowning glory.

“Hm. You disappoint me.” With a final glower of disdain, he adds, “Expect a visit from your Lord Commander when day breaks. I think you’ll find your tenure with the Watch is at an end.”

With that, Daemon revolves on his heel and stalks away, far from Flea Bottom, from these havens of vice lining the streets, and from the poison that had fuelled his life in past years. He has no need for such a meaningless existence now. There is something better and brighter to look forward to.

“My prince! Daemon!”

He ignores Dargood’s supplications even as they grow louder, leaving him behind—where he belongs.

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[elfy-elf-imagines]

— Out of the Woods | Maedhros *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst

▹ Words: ~8k

▹ Summary: Thrust into the world of Arda, you find yourself enraptured by the elven lord Maedhros. Yet nothing is ever easy in times of war as your love story unfolds and then unravels.

▹ Notes: Hi, hello, this is about 6k words longer than I intended. Oh well. This is a rewrite of a oneshot I wrote yearsssss ago, but thought it deserved a rewrite. I hope you guys like this because I deleted the original. You have no choice, YOU WILL LIKE THIS MORE. Please tell me you like it, I crave validation. Jk, jk...unless.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Golden. 

Glittering and gleaming. 

Opulent in an understated way and all too beautiful to be real. 

It was the only way to describe the lavish keep the armored guards escorted you into. Men with delicately pointed ears and unnatural beauty were both your protectors and jailers as they paraded you through the city. You weren’t familiar with your surroundings, never even heard of it. You feel as though a place as beautiful as this would be pasted on every tourist’s brochure and dream board. And yet there was nothing familiar.

Even the people seemed so different from you.

“You have brought a mortal woman before me; why is that?” his voice boomed as he sat straight back and stiff as a board on a lavish throne. You were speaking with the presiding ruler if the golden crown atop his head was anything to go by. He was tall and regal, only made taller by the raised platform his throne was built upon, his figure looming over you with an intimidating presence. 

His hair was like fire, falling in perfect waves that reached the middle of his back. His skin was porcelain and perfection, clear of any slight imperfections or marks that marred your own. He wore formal attire made from silk, with details of glittering gems that made him look like a sun. The heavy crown resting up his head was made of pure gold and dotted with jewels, each worth more than you’d ever make in a lifetime. But what captured your eyes were his own. Light green, they shone like the reflection of emerald leaves off a crystal clear lake. No poem or ballad could ever capture the beauty he possessed. 

He was ethereal, the poster child for what a king should be. 

One of the guards pushed you forward, and you nearly stumbled to the ground, but you’d caught yourself in time. You looked up at him, not even knowing his name yet and already being enraptured by him. A god, that’s what he has to be. There’s no other way he could look like that.

You must’ve died and now stand at the gates of heaven. In your current situation, the most illogical answer has become the only one that made any sense.

“T-they found me, your grace, in the...woods.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and your face flushed hotly as red stained your face. Did you address him adequately? Was there any correct way to address a literal angel? 

His gaze on you was sharp, making you shrink within yourself. His hair may have been made of fire, but he was entirely crafted from ice. Cold, biting, and bitter, you were surprised your skin wasn’t frostbitten. 

“She was rambling like a mad woman when we found her. Despite that, she seems harmless. We thought it best to present her for your judgment, your grace.” The guard spoke with a smooth and even tone, able to look at the elven man unflinchingly. Does one become accustomed to staring at the sun? They must if the guards can directly look at him.

“And so you deign to bring the mad woman before your lord?”

“Times are strange. She may be a gift from the Valar.”

A hush fell over the onlookers before a flurry of whispers filled the courtroom. The lord returned his attention to you, raising a single, inquisitive brow. He was assessing you, determining if there could be any truth to the guard’s words. It made you squirm under the weight of his eyes. They were too piercing and too invasive. He could see past your soul. Your deepest fears and thoughts were laid before him.

“Perhaps there is some merit to the words my guard speaks,” There was a lilt of amusement in his otherwise smooth, dulce voice. It nearly seemed mocking, the way he looked down on you. He leaned to the left side of his chair with his knuckles tucked under his sharp jaw, momentarily taking a more relaxed posture. Yet his gaze on you didn’t lighten; if anything, it became heavier.

“Have you been sent to us by the Gods?”

The throne room became quiet once more. 

Your heart hammered against your chest, a lump stuck in your throat. All eyes were on you, the undivided attention making you want to curl in on yourself. 

“I don’t know.” You mustered up the strength to speak, attempting to keep the fear drowning you out of your voice. Would he cast you out of the kingdom, leaving you to fend for yourself? You couldn’t survive in the woods alone, but you didn’t want to lie and be heralded as a sign of divine intervention. 

You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, the room’s walls closing in on you.

All there was to be done was hope he was as kind as fair.

He hummed in response, neither angry nor pleased. There was no grand statement or judgment, instead, he continued to inspect every detail of you. His eyes scanned you up and down in an almost clinical manner like you were a new art exhibit in his favorite museum. He took notice of your odd clothes, maintained teeth, and healthy hair. Strange for a human in these lands to be so… well groomed. Even with the mud that caked your body, you were cleaner than the other humans before you.

“You place me in a strange place. If I send you away, it may anger the Gods, yet if I allow you to stay, I may be dooming the very people who’ve put their belief in me.” He spoke in such a calm tone as if the fate of your life didn’t rest in his long fingers, each embellished with a ring. 

The anxiety made your body weigh a thousand pounds. You weren’t even sure your heart was beating, the impulse to check your pulse growing stronger. There was worry in your eyes, creases above your brows that were pulled together tightly. 

Yet you didn’t speak, unable to make your tongue form words. 

“Will you not plead your cause to me?” He leaned forward; both brows pulled upward, an almost challenging smirk pulling on his lips. 

Rendered speechless and playing the fool, you opened and closed your mouth as you tried to remember how to speak. 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, leaning back into his seat, his smirk pulling back into a nearly disappointed frown. 

“Very well. I shall make the decision for you.” 

You prepared to be condemned to the wilds, thrown to the wolves who would surely tear you apart. Head lowered, eyes counting the reflections of sunlight inside the room. Tears threatened to fall, but you forced them away. You would face your imminent death with pride.

“You will stay here.

Gasps of surprise filled the room, followed by mutters of the courtesans. You made no such noise, head snapping up to meet the elven lord’s gaze. There was surprise evident in your wide-eyed gaze. You’d expected the worst, yet that was not what you’d been given. 

“In time, we will learn if the Gods truly sent you to us.”

He nodded at the guards around you, and they helped you stand. Shaking and nervous, the guards held your body up as they guided you from the throne room to what would become your quarters. But over your shoulder, you spared one last glance at the elven lord, his green eyes watching your form disappear. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar--” You stumbled over the elvish text, unable to translate the rest of the sentence. There was a crease above your furrowed brows and a slight frown on your face. 

It had only been two months since you were unceremoniously dropped here, yet it felt as if no time had passed, but not in a good way. You were like a newborn babe, stumbling in the dark as you attempted to gain your bearings. The faint throb in your head warned you of a headache, encouraging you to put the book down. A warning you didn't heed, you were stubborn, determined to prove you could assimilate. 

The court has been a dizzying experience to get accustomed to. Most courtesans treated you like a curiosity, a pretty bird for them to teach silly words and feed salted crackers. They were nice enough and greeted you with pleasant smiles, but it all felt patronizing. As if you were nothing but a simpleton child, but perhaps that’s just how they viewed you; elves were immortal, after all. Nevertheless, they have treated you kinder than expected, correcting your choppy Quenya with lyrical giggles and coy smiles. 

The giant oak doors swung open, startling you. Looking up, you watched as Maedhros swept through the library. He grabbed a few books from the shelves and went to a table opposite the room. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and his clothes were more casual than what he would don at court. Your eyes followed his form, only looking down when he briefly looked up from his book. 

Heat flared to your cheeks, eyes returning to the book before you. You haven’t spoken with him since your initial meeting. He’d never invited conversation, and you were too terrified to do so. Instead, you stole glances at him whenever the moment presented itself, content to daydream about the Maedhros turning his eyes to you. 

He’d say hello, inquiring about your stay in Himring. You’d answer him shyly, looking up at him through your lashes. So enchanted by your beauty and quiet whit as the conversation continued, he’d invite you to take a stroll with him around the gardens and then--

Your daydreams were cut short by the loud thump of a book falling. Turning, you watched as one of the library attendants scurried towards the fallen three or so books. A soft sigh left your mouth, and your attention returned to the book you were struggling through.

Picking up where you left off, you struggled through the same sentence. No matter how many times you re-read it, the translation wasn’t clicking. What did tenn’ mean again? A grunt escaped your mouth, the pulsing headache returning. You shut the book, perhaps harder than necessary, and opted to fiddle with the bracelets you wore. 

Was it even worth struggling through this silly language? Surely you’d return home sooner or later and this grand delusion would be broken.

Yet the longer you’d spent here, the less likely the prospect seemed. You poured over every map and searched every geographical book, and nothing seemed familiar to the home you’d known. 

Lost in your mind, you didn’t hear the scratch of a chair being pushed back nor the light padding of footsteps approaching your table. Only when you felt someone’s presence beside you and red hair loosely hanging did you look up? Maedhros had stood beside you, leaned over to be at eye level with you. His expression was perfectly neutral, not portraying a single thought in his head. Tucked behind his back was his left hand, which he’d lost many years ago. There were whispers in court about how it happened, being hung from a cliff for thirty years. How terrible that must’ve been.

“You seem frustrated.” His common was not as smooth as his elvish, yet speaking a common language with someone was nice. Most of the elves here only spoke their native tongue. 

“It’s nothing, your grace,” you looked away from his gaze that was entirely too invasive. You didn’t want to risk that he really could read your thoughts; you didn’t want him to see how often they lingered on him. 

“Your lie would be convincing if you hadn’t spent the past hour stuck on the same page,” he breezily replied, pulling up a chair to sit beside you. 

Has an hour already passed? 

And how did he know you hadn’t flipped pages? Had he paid that much attention…? 

“Some words are confusing in their translations; no need to be concerned.” You didn’t want him to burden himself with such a silly thing. This wasn’t something a lord needed to concern himself with. There was also a flush of embarrassment creeping up on you. You wanted him to see you as competent and intelligent, not fumbling over simple translations.

“Allow me to offer insight. It is my native tongue, after all.” 

You stared at him for a moment, lips pursed. His expression never wavered, and you couldn’t think of any reason to dissuade him from helping you. Apprehensive, you grabbed the book you’d previously pushed away. There was a light shake in your body from nerves, and you prayed to whatever god there was that Maedhros wouldn’t notice. 

Flipping through the page, more delicate with it than usual to avoid Maedhros thinking you disrespectful, you pause on the last page you’d read. You point at the sentence you were struggling with and push the book toward Maedhros. 

He leaned forward to read the sentence, and you took the opportunity to appreciate his side profile. His facial structure was sharp, with a tall, noble nose and a strong jawline. Pristine and void of imperfections, he was even more beautiful this close up. With each breath taken, the warm, heady cologne was enough to send you into a dizzy spell. It wasn’t fair for one person to be so…perfect. 

He whispered the sentence under his breath, then straightened his posture. As he did, you moved your eyes from his face, looking at the book as if that was where your eyes always were. His eyes met yours as he began to speak. 

“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta.”

You mimicked his pronunciation, awkwardly fumbling over the words as you did. The faint whisper of a smile appeared on his lips. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone. 

“Do you know what it means?”

“No, I was having trouble translating.” 

This time he allowed his lips to turn upward into a faint smile, eyes glimmering in the dim lighting of the room. 

“It’s no wonder. This is in Sindarin. My understanding is you’ve been learning Quenya.” He reached over and grabbed the book, pulling it closer to him. 

“What’s the difference?” 

“Quenya is an older dialect, though many of the Noldar still use it, whereas Sindarin is a newer version of the Eldar language.”

You didn’t respond, simply nodding your head as you fiddled with the fabric of your dress. Maedhros closed the book much more gently than you initially did, though he made no move to stand.

“I apologize; I have yet to inquire about your stay here. Have you found the accommodations to your liking?” 

His question was nearly word for word what you fantasized he would say to you. Was he teasing you? Could he truly read your every thought, or was it just a coincidence?

“They’ve been great, better than I could’ve hoped.” You were nervous, so nervous it wasn’t even a joke anymore. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“And how do you find yourself settling in?” He seemed so relaxed and at ease; why can’t you be more like that. 

“I’m getting accustomed, but it’s all so different from the home I knew. I will admit, it is refreshing to speak with someone in a language I am familiar with.” 

Maedhros pauses, slightly tilting his head to the side, something flashing across his face.

“Forgive me; I did not think about how few people share a common language with you.” 

You shook your head once again afraid of accidentally offending him. “It’s no issue; if anything, it forces my Quenyan to improve.” You wanted to be reassuring, to show that you were more than comfortable with your current circumstances. The last thing you needed was the king thinking you were being difficult or ungrateful. 

“But it must be frustrating not being able to convey your thoughts clearly.”

You merely shrugged in response. It was, and sometimes it made you want to scream and break something, but you couldn’t admit that. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful. 

Maedhros hummed in response and pushed his chair back, now standing at full height. 

“I must part from you, but perhaps we could meet here again tomorrow, if only so I may offer my translating abilities.”

A tentative smile appeared on your face, and you nodded in agreement. Maedhros tilted his head in a slight nod and turned, exiting the room with a flourish. 

Only once you were left alone did you let a high and girlish giggle leave your mouth. It echoed in the quiet library, and unbeknownst to you, Maedhros heard it on the other side of the door. 

And so a new tradition began as you and Maedhros met in the library every evening. You’d spend hours with one another, and within the first week, the excuse of studying linguistics had been forgotten. Enraptured in the presence of one another, you were both entirely unaware of the impending war.

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 You were waiting by the gardens. 

Wearing a new dress, fiddling with the bracelets that adorned your wrists. You were so nervous yet equally excited. Maedhros had broken tradition, and instead of meeting you in the library, he asked to meet you near the gardens. 

Your heart was in your throat; nervous goosebumps were all over your skin. It was truly as if all of your fantasies had come to life. Light footsteps echoed on the marbled flooring, and it made you turn. Maedhros, your intended partner, walked towards you, taking long strides. 

A smile was placed on your lips, and Maedhros matched it. Long ago had he shed the detached demeanor he so often presented to the rest of the world. Instead, he was open with his emotions - both good and bad - allowing himself to be vulnerable with you in a way so few people have witnessed. 

“You came,” he spoke as he closed the distance separating the two of you.

“How could I refuse?” Your smile widened, eyes in the shape of crescent moons. He laughed, low and smooth, offering his arm to you. Your hand wrapped around the crook of his arm, and it fits as if your hand was met for his. 

“Shall we?”

You motioned with your hand towards the gardens. “We shall.”  

The two of you walked in near perfect sync, wandering through the gardens, making quiet conversation with explosive banter. He was not as stern and rigid as he once appeared. With the moonlight reflected in his eyes and the stars making him shine, he seemed more like an innocent child than a hardened warrior burdened with war and trauma. 

You wanted to see this side of him every moment of every day. To see his eyes resemble glass and to hear his hearty chuckle as he threw his head back. Eventually, you gave up the guise of being interested in the flowers, even though they were quite beautiful. All your attention was focused on Maedhros, a sight you were determined to imprint in your brain. 

If you were to wake up tomorrow, back in your old bed, in your old apartment, you’d be happy to remember this moment and this moment only. You’d dedicate the rest of your life to writing poems about him, painting portraits, and writing overly embellished love stories. Anything to commemorate Maedhros and everything you’d wanted with him. Even if he didn’t return your affections quite as fiercely. 

“Tell me about your home. You never speak of it.” 

Your expression fell, your smile dimmed, and your eyes downturned. Home. You hadn’t really thought of it as much. It used to be a constant thought, a thing you wished on every falling star to return to. But now… You couldn’t remember the last time you made that wish. 

“It’s…different.” You fumbled over your words. How do you explain something you yourself hardly understand?

“In what way?” Maedhros pries, wanting to know more information. You’d be flattered in any circumstance or with any different topic. Yet the subject of home was complicated and one you hadn’t dared to broach with anyone.

“In every way.” A breezy laugh escaped your mouth, hoping to distract how tense you suddenly became. 

“I’d like to hear it all if you’d be willing to tell me.” 

“I--” You stuttered over the words, a lump caught in your throat. You wanted to tell Maedhros to bear your entire soul to him, but an inkling of fear gave you pause. Would he deem you a mad woman? Distancing himself and becoming as aloof as he once was.

Yet the two of you had grown so close as of late, and if you’d ever hoped to be more than friends, it would only be fair, to be honest.

“I don’t think I’m from this time.” You began, unsure of the best way to start.

Maedhros stopped, turning to face you. You nearly stumble but manage to catch yourself, meeting Maedhros’ gaze. 

“In what way?” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, pressing your hand into a fist. Fortune favors the bold. You have to be bold if you want this.

“I believe when I was dropped here, I was dropped in the past. My world is so different and so much more advanced in terms of technology.”

He gave you a hard stare, not speaking for a few minutes. The moments of silence dragged on, and you were half tempted to flee and never return. Yet your body had become so heavy, and your feet were bolted to the ground. There would be no escape. 

“I don’t know why, but I believe you.” He spoke slowly, as if unsure of his own words as he said them. “At the very least, I believe you believe in what you say, and you have given me no reason to distrust you.”

Your breath that had been caught in your throat was suddenly released as your body slackened. The wide grin you previously wore returned to your face, all the worry lines and creases on your face melting away. 

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” You were breathless, a weight you hadn’t even realized was weighing you down, relieved from your chest. 

“I can only imagine how you must’ve felt, how confused you were.” His tone was soft and took a somber note, his eyes closer to an emerald green than the light color they previously were. 

“I managed to get by.”

Maedhros nodded, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips. 

“Well, please indulge me then, and tell me all the wonders of your home. I’m sure you’ve longed to do as such; you assimilated so quickly, I never would’ve thought you were from a completely different time.” 

You stared at him a moment longer, a breath caught in your throat. Yet this time, it wasn’t from nerves or anxiety; no, the pounding in your chest was for an entirely different reason. It had everything to do with the softness in Maedhros’ eyes as he looked at you. 

And so you indulged his every question and whim, the two of you wrapping around the garden a million times, talking until the moon was at the highest point in the sky, and all was silent. 

You were exhausted, holding back yawns every other sentence, but you pushed through, soaking in the time with Maedhros. Who knew when you’d get another chance? But eventually, he caught on, noticing the droop of your eyes and the lethargic pace you walked with. 

He guided you back to your chambers with all the chivalry gone from your world. You expected him to say farewell and give a single nod, as he always did when parting ways. He did bid you farewell, his smile warm and vibrant, and he did dip his head into a nod. 

But he also placed a kiss on the very edge of your lips before turning and disappearing down the hall. 

Frozen, you stood there for who knew how long, face awestruck and hand resting where his lips previously had been. 

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Time had seemed nothing more than an illusion. 

It seemed to move around you, yet you were the same, unchanged by it. Physically, you may appear the same, yet everything is so entirely…different. Maedhros made quick work of letting you know he intended to court you, and who would you be to deny it. 

All the formalities and technicalities that came with courting royalty was dizzying, but Maedhros was always there to center you. Strolls through the gardens and long evenings in the libraries; it made everything more bearable. It was also worth the stiffness that came with court to see the child-like grin that would light up Maedhros’ face when it was just the two of you. 

But doubt was a terrible thing. 

You constantly feared you wouldn’t live up to not only his expectations, but the expectations of his people. You were a human among elves, and despite not aging, you knew the court talked. Their fascination with you long died out, and anyone who believed you were sent by the Gods was the minority. They hid sharp words behind pretty smiles and musical laughter, but you could see through the fakeness all the same. Their cruel words only helped reinforce the doubts you already had.

And you weren’t the only one weighed down by it.

Maedhros was a far cry from what he used to be. Before the oath, before the torment, and before all the death at the hands of his kin. Could he really be so selfish as to tie you down to him? You were blind to this of course. You knew he suffered from PTSD and trauma, but even as you held him under the light of the moon, you were never aware of just how deep his fears went. 

How when he wept in your arms, it wasn’t only for what he suffered, but what he may suffer when you decide you want better. When you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you. 

His anxiety twisted into something harsh, manifesting as anger rather than sadness. Yet even as he lashed out, you stayed. Your face would remain perfectly passive, seemingly unbothered by it. 

It was another one of those nights.

You both sat on the balcony attached to his chambers, feet dangling over the edge. It was improper for you to be in his bed chambers, especially so late at night, but you couldn’t care about court etiquette at a moment like this. 

Your arms were wrapped around Maedhros, keeping him as close to you as physically possible. His head rested in the crook of your neck, eyes shut as his breathing matched the rhythm of your heart. All was quiet except the occasional sniffle from Maedhros. But after a few moments he was the one to break it. 

He pulled himself away from you, not an inch of his body touching yours. His relaxed posture suddenly seemed so tense and proper; an austere expression falling over his face. The sudden change was enough to give you whiplash, all the worst of your insecurities coming to head.

A moment passed before Maedhros stood, returning to his chambers. Tentatively, you stood, following after him. What made him suddenly change, as if a light had been switched?

He walked across the room, to the decanter holding a red wine. Maedhros took his time pouring it into a crystal glass before bringing it to his lips and nearly downing it all in one drink. He sent it down and refilled the glass, continuing the same pattern. 

The entire time he refused to meet your gaze. Awkwardly you say at the end of his bed, intertwining your fingers in an attempt to distract yourself. It hadn’t worked, all your fears growing the longer Maedhros held the silence. Was it a contest? Was he waiting for you to poke and prod?

“We should dissolve our courtship.” 

If you hadn’t already been sitting, you could’ve fallen to your knees. One simple sentence, that was all it took to make the past years come crumbling to nothing. 

“What?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Why?”

Another glass of wine drank and another glass filled before he dared to answer.

“While I have enjoyed your company, I do not believe us suited to continue any further,” he said. Even still, he refused to meet your eyes. His hand gripped the table he stood before, his grip so tight you were half surprised it didn’t crack under the weight of it. 

“So that’s it.” Your voice was like stone; hard, cold, and unwavering. “You decide to end our courtship, yet you can’t even look me in the eye as you do it.” 

Maedhros didn’t move from his position, you however, stood from the bed. 

All the anger and frustration, needling insecurities and self doubt came bubbling to the surface. You didn’t bother to push it down, or rationalize it so much you can’t even feel anymore. It came together in one chaotic concoction and exploded. 

“Look at me.” You weren’t shouting, but there was force behind your tone. A warning and a threat all in one. Yet Maedhros still kept his back to you. You took three more steps towards him, nearly behind him. 

“I said look at me.” The volume of your voice became louder, the stone facade breaking and cracks of desperation shone through you. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this, you’d thought he loved you the same way you loved him.

Had it all been a mistake, were there signs and clues you’d missed along the way?

Finally Maedhros turned to face you, and within moments all of your anger dissipated. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unshed ones exaggerating his red rimmed eyes. He looked absolutely broken, the worst you’d ever seen him. 

“Why are you doing this?” You dropped the facade of nonchalance. Tears began to well in your eyes, a slight waver in your voice as you spoke.

Still he didn’t speak. 

You closed the distance separating the two of you, grabbing his hand in yours, but he pushed you away. Still you attempted to grab it again and this time he didn’t bother rejecting your touch. 

“Mae please, what is the real reason for this?” You looked up at him like a doe, so wide-eyed and teary. Any shred of conviction he previously held onto crumbled as he looked at your face. 

He thought marrying you would be selfish, but perhaps this was the more selfish option?

“You deserve better. I can’t give you what you deserve.” 

A crease formed on your forehead as your brows furrowed. 

“Fuck it.” 

Maedhros blinked, stunned by your brash words. For a moment he thought he might’ve misheard, he’d never heard you speak like that. But it would appear he hadn’t misheard you.

“What?”

“I said, fuck it. I love you, and you love me, and god dammit, if you’re not best for me then I don’t want better.”

You moved one of your hands from his, cupping his chin, forcing Maedhros to meet your gaze, an attempt to show the sincerity in every word spoken.

“I love you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Your words hung in the room, imprinted on the floorboards and the walls.

The Maedhros’ lips were on yours. The kiss was quick and fervent, expressing everything he’d never be able to put into words. All the love and fear that clung to him like a shadow; his entire soul was laid before you. It was dizzying - you were drowning at sea, and Maedhros was your only lifeboat. 

You clung to his form, never able to get close enough, one of your hands wrapped around his lithe form while the other reached towards the nape of his neck, gently tugging on his hair. He groaned against your lips and you swallowed the noise, deepening the kiss. 

Closer, closer, you needed to be closer. 

He pulled you just as tight as you were pulling him, just as desperate if not more so than you were. His one arm wrapped around your waist and held you against his body. His scent was intoxicating, that same heady cologne he’d been wearing when you first spoke in the library. Your teeth clacked against his, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You needed him to know that every word you’d said, you’d meant. 

There wasn’t a universe you wanted to exist in without him. 

And while that thought terrified you, you repressed it, opting to deal with it later. 

Maedhros needed to know you were all in, and you’d spent the rest of eternity convincing him if need be. 

At some point he pulled back, the rise of fall of both of your chest and heavy breathing the only sound in the room. 

His hand moved from your waist and into your hair, finger combing through it. There were stars in his eyes that you surely replicated. 

“Forgive me, I was being foolish. I don’t want our courtship to end, you’re the woman I want to marry. I never want to leave your side and I promise to never send you away, I swear it.” 

A smile, small and delicate, lit up your features as you frantically nodded in response. Maedhros huffed out a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours, muttering elvish endearments against your skin. 

You closed your eyes, basking in his presence and the musical sound of his voice. 

Oh to freeze this moment and live in it forever. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 Everything was silent and calm, but not in a way that would be soothing and leave behind a sense of weightlessness. Instead, it was harsh and grating, mile-high walls building up around you as you subconsciously prepared for...something. Anything that would cause a ripple and disturb this illusion that encased you. 

You couldn’t deny it anymore and continue to make excuses for what was so clearly right in front of you. War had brought devastation, and with that came change, and with change came the end of a life you’d built. For so long, Maedhros was able to ignore the Oath he and his brothers had sworn. The Silmarils were forgotten but only for a time. Word had reached Ossiriand that the son of Beren and Luthien had inherited the Silmaril his parents had recovered. 

Maedhros, once noble and as bright as the sun, now appeared worn and haggard, his eyes bearing the weight of a consuming madness. Restlessness gnawed at his soul as his insatiable quest for the Silmarils tightened its grip on his heart. 

It was only a matter of time before the bubble burst, and you could no longer delude yourself into thinking he was still the same man you fell in love with. 

“Maedhros,” you said quietly in hopes of not sparking another argument. “Are you certain this is the wise decision?” 

He turned to you, his eyes stern and calculating. It was a stark difference from the love and warmth they used to be lit by. Instead of looking into the sun, you were staring into a fiery furnace.

“It is my duty, as well as my brothers, to honor the Oath we swore to our father. I have no doubt this is the right course of action.” He sounded so detached when he spoke to you. It was the same way he talked to commanding officers and diplomats, not how he should speak to his wife. Not the way he used to talk to you. 

The fear you’d felt, the drop of your heart each time you looked into his eyes, intensified. He was teetering on the precipice of madness. You bit your lip, mulling over the right words to keep him from falling off the ledge. 

“I understand your quest,” your voice trembled with slight trepidation despite your best efforts to keep it even. “But Maedhros, the toll it’s taking on you…I fear for your well being.” 

His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of frustration, impatience, and slight madness evident in his gaze. It made you nearly flinch, but you held your ground. 

“You doubt me?” His voice had an edge so sharp it cut you like a knife. It intensified your anxiety, but you swallowed it, steeling yourself against your nerves. 

“I don’t doubt your intentions, Maedhros,” she replied, her voice steady now, “but I fear for what this obsession is doing to you.” 

Your words seemed to strike a chord within him, his anger momentarily giving way to a flicker of doubt. A moment of clarity within his addled mind. “You think I don’t know the burden I bear?” he murmured, his voice softening now, but the anger still lingered beneath the surface. 

“I know, my love,” you replied, much softer this time. You crossed the room’s threshold, gingerly sweeping your knuckles across his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, momentarily allowing your soothing touch to wash over him. “But I can’t bear to see you suffer like this. Your people need you. I need you. Not just as a leader but as a husband too.”

His eyes opened, and the green within them softened as his anger began to wane. Yet the turmoil was still evident within him. He was a man fighting two wars, one war with the forces of Morgoth and the second war within himself. 

“It’s not easy for me either, and I curse the day I swore that oath.” His confession made the flicker of hope within you get bigger. Perhaps you’d successfully pulled him from the ledge. “But I cannot turn away from my destiny.” 

Just as soon as it appeared, the hope was snuffed out; stubborn and proud, you now cursed what you used to admire about him most. 

“But at what cost, Maedhros? The Oath has led to nothing but tragedy and death. You are losing yourself in this darkness, forsaking all that once mattered. Look around you! Our people suffer, our family crumbles, and still, you are blinded by this madness!” Desperate and pleading, you tried to force him to see reason. 

As if your touch was made of acid, Maedhros pulled away and sidestepped you, a sea separating you from him. The anger returned to his eyes as they hardened once more. The brief moment of vulnerability was gone, and it was difficult to remember if it had ever even been there, to begin with. 

“And for what? For some gems that shine prettily,” you continued; he needed to hear your words, to taste the venom behind them. If he held even an ounce of love for you, he would heed your warning. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears, lost amidst the blaze of anger that threatened to burn the whole world. 

“You know nothing of the weight I carry,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a freshly sharpened sword. “You are my wife, not an advisor; quit constantly questioning me and stand by my side as you were intended to.”

The words caught in your throat faded, replaced with a bitter taste of the last bit of love and hope you held for Maedhros dying. Your eyes fell to the floor; there was nothing left to do. The butterflies he incited within you had turned to ash. Everything the two of you built crumbled, and Maedhros gladly helped, knocking down the pillars it once stood upon. 

The Maedhros you loved was long gone; what stood before you now was a shell of the man he once was.

“If that’s the way you feel.” It was all you uttered before exiting the room, leaving Maedhros in the dimly lit room with nothing but anger and regret. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay and reassure you he hadn’t meant it. But the grip of madness was unyielding, and even in the depths of sorrow, it would not relent.

The Silmarils that had once been a beacon of hope now seemed to mock him, and the emptiness in his heart felt like a chasm he could never fill.

In the stillness of the night, as Maedhros lay slumbering, you stole away into vast open fields. Cloaked in the darkness that came with night, you ran, nowhere in particular, just so long as it was as far away from Maedhros. Your heart was heavy with the weight of your decision and the finality of the ending of a love you thought would last forever. Yet the echoes of the argument lingered; his harsh words and austere face were a haunting reminder of what had been lost. 

“It’s better this way,” you told yourself. 

You would carry the memory of Maedhros until your dying day, praying that he might find solace and release from his Oath. But you couldn’t count on it, and you wouldn’t waste your days hoping he’d change. 

“It’s better this way,” you repeated once more.

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The warm glow of the sun was waning, warning you of the impending cloak of night. 

You stood on the cliffside, staring into the waters below, feet buried in the overgrowth and dirt. The air was cool, and the world was quiet. So serene and perfect that it was hard to believe it was real. You burrowed your feet deeper into the dirt, desperate to ground yourself into reality. 

The mellowness of your surroundings eased the grief within your heart. War was over, and the suffering you’d endured was but a distant dream. Residing in the lands of Aman, you could forget your life had been anything other than something full of beautiful poetic prose. 

Yet it was hard to let go of all of your pain. But as time passed, it became twisted, no longer the stabbing pain of a needle. It poured from you into a melancholia that you would use to paint all your skies a dark blue. It lingered in the edges of your landscape, blurred in the edges and nearly unseen by anyone except for you. 

A soft hum escaped your mouth as you allowed the sound of cascading waves to fall over you. Eyes fluttered shut, the faint mist of water touching your body. 

You only opened your eyes once the sound of footsteps was heard. Your posture stiffened, ears sharpening to hone in on the sounds of the intruder. No one dared to intrude upon you, and if they did, it was preemptively planned, never just a sudden visit. 

Slowly, you turned, but you were still surprised even though you didn’t know what to expect. 

Standing before you, as tall and proud as the day you’d first met, was Maedhros. He was vibrant and real, only a hint of tentative uncertainty marring his neutral expression. He stopped a few paces away, silent as you took him in. Framed by the soft glow of the golden rays of sunlight, he was just as you remembered him, yet with an unmistakable touch of time. 

It wasn’t in the traditional ways of humans; there were no wrinkles and lines imprinted on his face. It was all in the eyes, the centuries of wisdom, pain, and suffering making them heavier than they once were. 

He’d died. You knew that. He cast himself into the fire alongside his brother when he could no longer possess the Silmarils. It was said they burned him upon contact and it was a fate too terrible for him to live. You’d wept for days on end upon learning his fate. 

And yet here he was, as real as the day you’d met. 

“Maedhros.” His name hung in the air as if you were unsure it was truly him. He simply nodded, an affirmation that he was really here, standing before you.  

Silence stretched between the two of you, your eyes locked in a gaze that spoke the words your lips couldn’t find. There was a tempest of emotions within you - joy, relief, curiosity, and a lingering sense of hurt you couldn’t fully let go of. 

And then, like the first rays of sunrise, a smile graced Maedhros’ lips, and it was as if the years spent separated vanished. The arguments disappeared with them, leaving only an overwhelming happiness to see him standing before you. Your strides were sure as you stepped towards Maedhros, and he helped to close the gap, your arms weaving around his body as you embraced him for the first time in years.

He smelled just how you’d remembered, and you buried your face into his chest, determined to remember how his arm felt around your waist. 

“Is it really you?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and delight.

You felt the rumble of Maedhros’ slight laughter as he nodded his head. “ Yes, it’s me, my love.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough that you could see his face but close enough that you could feel the warmth he radiated. “I- I can’t believe it; how is this even possible?” You were nearly out of breath as you spoke, eyes searching for answers within his. 

“A twist of fate, I suppose. I was released from the Halls of Mandos, my time of repentance done.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his grip on you tightening. “I should have listened to you the night that you left. You were right, and I was just to--”

You cut him off by placing a searing kiss on his lips. His words were forgotten, the long speech he’d probably been preparing since the moment you left cut off. There would be an eternity for forgiveness and apologetic words. Right now, you just wanted to remember how his lips had felt on yours.

He melted into the kiss, his lips just as sweet as you’d remembered them to be. The years melted into oblivion; it was just you and Maedhros, with nothing severing the love you held. The kiss was a mixture of vehement remorse and a promise to never forsake the promise of love he’d made to you. Time slowed as the two of you savored the moment, fully immersed in the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you and Maedhros stayed tangled in one another. You’d both been given a second chance, something you hadn’t dared to think would be possible. And yet here he was, so intertwined with you it was hard to see where you ended and he began. It was a chance to reignite a love that had never fully died out.

[jacesvelaryons]

ch 1: idyllic

the reluctant empress

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

previous: prologue

next: updates every friday

summary: Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon is set to meet his intended future bride, yet the first meeting does not go as planned.

rated: pg13 (will go rated R/18+ in later chapters)

word count: 2.3k words

masterlist

“How strange, she thought, to be a part of what would surely become history, and yet still worry that she might trip on her heavy skirt.” ― Allison Pataki, The Accidental Empress

Growing up in the placid, tranquil countryside in the crown lands away from the hustle and bustle of King’s Landing, Y/N had learned to appreciate the simpler things in life. While her mother and sister always wished for finer silks and rarer jewelers, she had her sights on something else.

Despite the blood of Old Valyria running in her veins, she was forbidden from claiming a dragon, and there were no unclaimed dragons that were not guarded voraciously by the dragon keepers in the capital, as Queen Rhaenyra fiercely knew to keep dragons only within her immediate family. Only the main line of Targaryens had right to even claim one.

For now, her beloved stallion will do. There is nothing Y/N loves more than roaming around the streets of her childhood castle, of the quiet yet satisfied populace, a close knit community that did not have much communication beyond trade routes.

Her cream hued dress seemed almost mahogany colored after having been submerged in the dirt and waste, almost unwashed as a pig sty like the servants would lament, but she did not care.

Lying on the grass and feeling the sun kiss her skin as she dazes and enjoys the fine spring weather, her peace and serenity is interrupted when she hears the galloping hooves of a horse she knows is not hers.

“Princess! Your mother, Lady Alicent, commands you to return to the palace at once.” The loyal master of arms of your late father informs you and you groan as you stand up, smoothing the leaves and soot that stick to your hair and clothes.

“Alright Ser Arryk, I shall return immediately.” She climbs on her beloved stallion Majesty, as the knight escorts her back home. As you approach the gates of the brick castle, you see your mother and sister Helaena waiting for her by the cobbled steps.

Her identical auburn hair is in a tight knot on the crown of her head, in contrast to your loose, unruly curls down your back, and you sometimes think you are looking at a mirror of yourself seeing your mother, a preview of how she would appear when she aged. The same auburn hair, yet contrasting spirit.

“Where have you been, Y/N? You should have been studying with your septa.” Alicent coldly inquires, disappointed yet not surprised at her wild youngest.

Looking down apologetically, the young princess gulps as she approaches closer with a palm on the leather reins.

“I- I was studying my High Valyrian and etiquette with Septa Dyanna, and when I was doing well, she let me have a break and I got carried away. I explored the streets of our city, and…I’m sorry mother.”

“This will not be happening again. Get washed up for a bath, your things are packed and we make our way to the capital immediately.”

…

The Prince of Dragonstone wiped his brow as he attended his umpteenth council meeting for the day, having lost track of what needed to be taken care of, whether it was the safety stops in Dragonstone, rising crime in Flea Bottom or trade disputes between merchants in King’s Landing.

As he reviewed the notes he made alongside the commentary of his mother, he sighed as his eyes grew blurry in a daze of exhaustion, head rolling back as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hoping to feel some bout of wakefulness.

Ever since he was nothing but a babe, Queen Rhaenyra had a great future planned for her eldest the moment he was born, even when she was just Crown Princess herself under her doting, yet absent minded father.

“You will be nothing like your grandsire. I will make sure of it” She whispered to him as she looked down at his sleeping form, wrapped in the finest red and gold cloth.

As he hears the surreptitious footsteps of his stepfather’s boots, Jacaerys stands up straight, arms pinned to his side as Prince Daemon, Prince Consort to the Queen arrives to meet him with an indistinguishable expression.

“Lad, we have delayed and put up with your mother long enough. You can no longer delay your quest of finding a bride, Jacaerys. I have not forgotten the slight you have made in rejecting any issue of marriage and robbing your sister Baela of her birth right to be Queen.” The silver-haired warrior warns his son tiredly, brow creased and the wrinkles on his forehead growing.

Jace viewing his step-sister and aunt only platonically was not helped by how Rhaenyra was indifferent to marrying him back into the Velaryon line, where his younger brother, the future Lord of the Tides Lucerys, was already well married to her sister Lady Rhaena Targaryen for over a year.

“Daemon.” The younger exasperates. “I know you have not forgiven me for my avoidance of the altar, but you must understand my reasons-”

“You risk putting all the work us Targaryens and Velaryons have put to work with your delay! With you, the family line could end and our house will have no future. Reasons? What reasons? Pathetic.”

Where the avoidance of romantic feelings had been an issue of contention to his parents, Baela remained among his greatest confidants, a dear friend who advised him and objectively was a source of feedback when the matters of the state overwhelmed or confused him.

“I will eventually marry! I never said that I would remain unwed, and seriously accept whatever bride mother dangles in my face!” Jace slams the table in frustration, knuckles turning white as his fist curled tighter.

Daemon’s explosion of anger turns contained, restrained in a cold, expressionless gaze, unyielding and on the precipice of surrender.

“I have given up in the hopes of making Baela queen, but you will marry by the end of the year, by hook or crook, Jacaerys. You are as stubborn as your mother!”

…

“Your Grace.” Jacaerys bows as he enters the throne room, still bothered from his confrontation from his step-uncle.

Rhaenyra smiled at the sight of her eldest making his way as she sat on the Iron Throne, her ruby and amethyst crown glimmering from the sunlight trickling in from the stained window. Dressed in ermine and silks, she was dressed according to her rank, her voluptuous form after several childbirths adorned only in lavish fabrics, alongside the rings, bracelets and necklaces around her.

“Jacaerys, I assume you had spoken to your father.” She raises an eyebrow in slight amusement, knowing the reason of his arrival. The issue of paternity has always been a rocky one for him, with rumours of his bastardry because he did not resemble his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon. Prince Daemon Targaryen, his mother’s true love after both were widowed and her uncle, of course, was the only father figure he truly knew for most of his life.

“Yes, my queen. I have come to announce my intent to marry. I am aware you keep a long tally of eligible Valyrian maidens for me to marry to strengthen the purity of our blood and house.”

The Queen beckons him to come closer, as her trusted handmaiden Lady Elinda Massey unleashes a gold binded book in obsidian velvet titled ‘The Most Illustrious Valyrian Families’, compiled by the loyal Maester Gerardys.

“Our first choice for your bride was the Lady Baela Targaryen, your sister and Daemon’s eldest, but I think I have a better match for you. Do you remember Lord Maekar Targaryen and his wife Lady Alicent Hightower?”

“Yes. Lady Hightower was your childhood companion and he sired two daughters with the lady. Princess Helaena who was widowed by a Lord Celtigar, and her youngest daughter Princess Y/N.”

“I seek to finally connect all House Targaryen back to the main line to prevent any Valyrian blood to enter other houses. You should marry the Princess Helaena, widowed with a child, yes, but she is still young and has proven fertility, something we urgently need.”

Jacaerys was taken by surprise, his usually controlled expression unable to be reined back in but he gulped and nodded in acceptance.

“Of course, my queen. I have heard of correspondence that the widowed Lady Hightower and both her daughters are to arrive in the Red Keep. When is their expected arrival?”

“In a fortnight, the Lady Hightower and both Princesses of Dalston Keep shall arrive. The only thing we need left to seal the match and bring assurance and stability for the realm’s future is you formally ask for her hand at the Grand Ball three nights after. You reassure the kingdom that House Targaryen will continue and an heir will come.”

…

Cramped up in a worn down carriage that had been given to her father many decades ago, Y/N did not find it comfortable cramped up in her frilly, bulky black mourning gown.

Still mourning the loss of her mother’s uncle, Lord Hightower and the Voice of Oldtown, Lady Alicent and her daughters remained draped in ebony, black veils and ribbons everywhere. Packed in another carriage following their change of clothes, they would change to less muted colours once they were closer to the capital.

Yet the rocky path and turbulent weather said otherwise, as they could not change in time and had to reroute to make in time to the capital without upsetting the Queen and the royal family.

“Y/N, if you were not so careless and got lost in the wilderness, we could have already been there and spared the poor weather we have here!” Alicent scolded her youngest, sleep deprived with shadows under her large, brown eyes. Her black bereavement gown still had undertones of verdigris green, with subtle jacquard patterns of the tower of Oldtown with its green flame seen only in some lights.

Y/N awkwardly avoided meeting her mother in the eye while Helaena held onto her hand for sympathy and comfort, as the latter shook in agitation at the presentation that would change her fate.

Little Jaehaera was left in the care of septas, considering the distance was not too great from the castle and Alicent assumed she and Y/N would return briefly after Helaena would formally become betrothed to the Prince of Dragonstone.

Caught up on a slight slumber before their arrival at their destination, Y/N slowly opens her eyes as she sees the sunlight between the curtains percolate, as a gloved hand moves it aside, while her mother and sister are already wide awake, freshening themselves up knowing how close they are to making a match that would improve their stations greatly.

The musty aroma and ghastly sights of the streets of King’s Landing coming into view, the pungent waste from Flea Bottom wafting, and the curious, desperate pleas of starving children and peasants begging to their windows of their carriage left a burning mark on Y/N’s impression of the great, big city.

As they make it to the behemoth of architecture that is the Red Keep, the carriage makes a halt as it stops by the pavement, the crier announcing the arrival of Lady Hightower and her two daughters the Lady Targaryens.

Y/N reaches the handle to open the door but the doormen swings open the door before she even touches it, nearly tripping on her feet on the way down but she salvages it awkwardly.

Smoothening the wrinkles and stray taffeta on her gown, she gets off the carriage first, as the younger sister and the one who will not be queen, they save the best for last. Her mother follows gracefully before Lady Helaena arrives, her pale features adorned in her silver-blonde hair braided up the crown of her head and the veil making her appear as pale as a ghost.

Yet where Helaena is washed out and her features are diluted and contrast in mourning clothes, it only brings out the best of Y/N's burgeoning beauty. And the prince does not fail to take notice.

Crown Prince Jacaerys, The Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne awaits gallantly, dressed in his full regalia donned in the most formal of ceremonies of the throne. The abdicated King Viserys is too weak and frail, yet mustered the strength to leave his chambers, guided on a makeshift seat with wooden wheels assisted by a handful of servants to see his beloved grandson’s future bride.

Queen Rhaenyra smiles affectionately as she sees her companion in her youth, embracing Alicent after the latter curtseyed at her. Rubbing her shoulder in condolences for their loss, Lady Alicent gathers a smile that does not meet her eyes.

Dazed and distracted by the wonders of the exterior of the castle, a gentle tap against her ankle reminds Y/N to curtsey before the royal family, not wanting her blunder of etiquette to rob them of Helaena’s match that could change their fortunes overnight.

As Jace moves down the escalade to greet the ladies, he stands in front of Y/N, takes her hand and brushes his lips against her knuckles for a peck. “Lady Helaena-”Murmured whispers and panicked eyes abound the court present at the scenario, where Prince Daemon impatiently corrects his stepson, murmurs under his breath.

“That is Lady Y/N, the younger sister, my prince.”

Without missing a beat, Jacaerys nods with an apologetic grin, flashing his charm to make people forget his blunder, before he greets her mother and then his intended betrothed. Like clockwork, he whips out a compliment that all were so beautiful and the Lady Alicent was still so youthful you would think they were all sisters.

Helaena, already skittish and shaken by social events, greets the prince in a rehearsed speel and bow, nails digging into the beds of her calluses until they turned bloody. She, who painstakingly attended each lesson expected for a future queen, in the eyes of the court.

Although expected to marry Helaena, Prince Jacaerys held his breath upon his first impression of Lady Y/N instead. Taken by her wild, independent streak and glaring beauty that was highlighted in their obsidian gowns, he knew he would choose his own destiny.

…

I hope you guys liked it! The story has finally started and drama is just about to start <3 Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist. Updates will be every Friday night PST time.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

A rough chapter 2 for my little personal writing project. Chapter 1 can be found in my pinned post.

This is just me trying to get ideas unstuck from my head, so nothing too polished, but I know there’s some people here into dominate monster men so may as well put this here instead of just rotting in my notes

Wild power imbalance, D/s, spanking, and honestly several other things

The Dragon King does not take lightly to his newest treasure not accepting her place.

Unknown hours passed by as you rested and the sun was starting to set when you finally awoke.

You were alone still in his bed chamber, entirely undisturbed and still warmly tucked under the blankets, but you noticed a box sitting on the nightstand next to the bed with a small note.

‘You will put this on for when I return for you’ was written in a tidy cursive on the note.

The box was ornately detailed, gold pressed into the etchings on it and jewels inlaid all over. You opened it up to find an embossed leather strip, studded with gems and delicate carvings reminiscent of scales and what looked like a dragon’s head in profile. It was lined with soft fabric and as you removed it from from the box you noticed a small lock nestled in the bottom.

Looking at the piece you realized you knew what it was. ‘A collar for a pet’ you thought to yourself. The ends each finished with a metal ring, clearly intended to have the small lock threaded through it.

You ran your fingers over it, it was lovely, but also a symbol of your captivity here and a clear message from the king about your status.

“Ah, you’re awake” came a voice from the doorway. He was dressed casually this time, simple black pants and a black shirt with the top few buttons undone, even his crown was removed.

You had not even heard him enter the room, despite his great size he moved surprisingly quietly and light on his feet as he closed the distance to sit on the bed next to you.

“And I see you’ve found my gift. It will not be your final one, but something for you to wear in the mean time”. His words were gentle and matter of fact, much like all his actions so far, not that you trusted that he would stay like that. There were to many stories of his temper for you to believe this was how he always was.

“It’s a collar” you said, somewhat uneasy.

“Yes, it is. A pretty collar for a pretty pet. Is that a problem?” the tone of his voice told you that it was not actually a question.

“I did not realize how literally you meant it when you called me that”.

His laugh was a deep rumble in his chest, “Oh quite. While you are my newest treasure, you are much too lovely to just be hoarded away. No, your place will be obediently at my side or anywhere else I decide, and this is just a lovely token to reinforce that”.

Truly nothing more than a pet to him. Not that your life before had been anything special, but you had your home and freedom at least.

“Now, I had been hoping to return and find you collared and waiting for me, but I do suppose I will find joy in collaring you myself. Sit up”.

You shrank down in the bed, your mind free from the haze of the wine and resistant to be being claimed like a animal.

“I will ask nicely one last time as this is all new to you, but do not test my patience. Now once again. Sit. Up” his voice dropped into a snarl this time.

Still you resisted him, more frozen out of fear though than in defiance.

Swiftly he grabbed your arm and yanked you upright before depositing you face down across his lap, brushing the cloak aside and the cool air in the room shocked your skin.

“I find no pleasure in this, and I do not wish to harm you if you can believe that, but you will learn to obey one way or another”.

His hand came down on your bare backside, striking you fairly hard and causing you to let out a yelp. Then a second time he struck you, making you cry out again.

“Shhh,” he murmured, “That is all, little one. Two strikes for two acts of disobedience. Now you will let me collar you and you will thank me for the lesson and for the gift. Do you understand?”

You nod weakly, your backside stinging.

“Answer me with your words, and remember your manners when addressing me”.

“Yes, my king”.

“That’s a good girl. I hope you will not need me to repeat this lesson for you” he said.

You felt his hands brush your hair aside and slip the collar around your neck before the soft click of the lock told you that it was done.

“And now what do you have to say to me?”

“Thank you for this lesson and for the lovely gift” you answer weakly. Between the cold of the room and the pain from being struck you were shaking, and still draped across his lap you knew he must certainly notice.

“You are most welcome my little song bird. It is the first gift of many I have for you. I want you to be adorned with precious stones and metals, clothed in beautiful silks that show off your delicate form because as my little pet you are a reflection of myself. You will be taken care of just as any of my other treasures and I will make sure you want for nothing. I do truly want your life here to be happy, this is your home and you should enjoy it. Just say the word and you will have anything your heart has ever desired, as long as you obey me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my king”.

“Now, let us move on from this topic, I do not wish for you to submit to me out of fear of punishment. Rather out of adoration and a desire to please. It would please me to have you at my feet, your head on my knee while I attend to my duties as king and to see you looking up at me full of adoration and love, as such I want you to view our bond as a positive thing: I will protect you and provide for you, and you will submit completely to my will at all times.”

“If I tell you to climb on my lap and grind on me while I sit on the throne and welcome guests you will without question or hesitation. If I tell you to bend over and present yourself to me so that I may take you as I please, you happily will. If I tell you to suck my cock you will drop to your knees that moment and suck me until I fill your belly with my cum and you will thank me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my king”.

“Good. Now I wish for you to join me in a bath, you need a good washing after your long journey and I could use some time to relax, but first” he gently lifted you into his arms and pulled you tight to his chest, kissing the top of your head softly once he got you situated, “I will relight the fireplace and draw the bath while you wait here. Having you shivering in the cold will do neither of us any good, especially as despite your little act of defiance you did learn quickly to submit to me”.

Before you registered what he meant, he had quickly tucked you back under the covers of the bed and had moved to busy himself with the fireplace.

You watched him in fascination, he was much quicker and more graceful than a human in his movements, even his footfalls were nearly silent despite his size.

In a language you did not understand, he whispered something as he knelt by the fireplace and a shower of sparks emerged from his fingertips, igniting the logs near instantly in a way that a flint and steel would not have been able to.

Magic. With everything else swirling about in your mind the fact that dragons were highly capable of magic had slipped it.

“It will be a bit before the room is warm” he called as he made his way to the bath, “but I trust you’ll be fine in a warm bath until then”.

The sound of running water emanated from the bathroom as the tub filled and several long minutes went by before the king emerged from the room.

“Come here, little one” he scooped you up unceremoniously into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest as he carried you to the bath before depositing you by the tub in the next room.

“Remove the cloak, I grow tired of seeing you wrapped in that ratty thing, it does not become you”.

Obediently you did as you were commanded, slipping the cloak from your shoulders and allowing it to fall to the ground. Once more you were laid bare before him, only it was much worse this time.

In the throne room you were gripped with shock and fear, but the whole process was detached as he inspected you before. This time however he looked over you with great desire, and especially after outlining his expectations for you felt greatly uncomfortable with his searing gaze upon you.

“Undress me” he commanded.

Your hands shook as you reached for the buttons on his shirt, clumsily undoing them until you were able to slip the shirt from his shoulders. He stood before you, lean and well muscled in the candlelight of the room, an otherwise handsome form were it not for his unsettling nature. Scars adorned his chest and arms, something you did not expect to see.

“Continue” his voice interrupted where you had started to become lost in thought.

Your hands returned to him, this time to undo the ties of his pants. You fumbled with the knot and you could hear the same deep, rumbling laugh as before.

“Oh my little pet, how you shake so. Best get used to this” he pressed another kiss to the top of your head.

With some difficulty you finally manage to untie the knot, his pants hung loosely at his hips, revealing a small patch of soft dark hair that trailed down from his navel. You tugged at the edges of his pants, pulling them down past his hips and surprised to find to find a lack of undergarments.

Clearly he sensed your surprise, not that you were particularly good at hiding it. “I do not like clothing, even in this form, let alone superfluous pieces that aren’t even seen. Now continue, unless something has caught your eye”.

Quickly you turned your attention back to removing his pants, trying to ignore his semi erect shaft that was now in your face as you kneeled to fully remove them. The tiled floor was freezing against you bare skin, but you continued on just to get past everything. Once you reached his ankles he lifted a foot, allowing you to slip them off of him one foot at a time, his shoes already removed sometime earlier while he was running the bath.

There he stood, in all his terrible glory. Scars peppered his smooth skin, nearly hairless save for the trail down his navel to his groin and a light dusting of hair on his chest, arms, and legs. He loomed over you, standing roughly two feet taller than you, but feeling especially large as you knelt before him.

“Look up at me” he commanded.

With difficulty you looked up and met his gaze, save for his smirk his expression was unreadable, his eyes betraying nothing.

“So lovely to see you in your place at my feet” he reached down to ruffle your hair. From an outside perspective it might have almost looked affectionate they way he patted you head, but you heard it in his voice, a condescending tone meant to keep you in line.

Wordlessly he reached down and hooked his arms under yours and lifted back into his arms yet again. There was no affection in his actions, just a show of strength of how easy it would be to toss you around should he choose to.

Still, it almost felt nice in a way. Your heart was racing, threatening to beat out of your chest and you were certain he must notice too. But you felt the warmth of his chest against your bare skin, the strength of his arms wrapped around you as he carried you to the tub. Were he anyone else it would have been an intimate moment, your heart racing in excitement instead of fear and anticipation.

Slowly he lowered both of you into the warm waters of the bath, welcome relief from the cool and tile of the rest of the room. He leaned back against the side of the tub and kept you pulled tightly against his chest as you sat on his lap, with his eyes now closed he could have almost be mistaken as human, almost.

“See? Isn’t this nice, my little pet?” he broke the silence.

“Yes, my king”.

“And look, so many nice soaps and oils for your hair and body. Quite nice. Have you known this luxury before?”

“No, my king”.

“Then let me show you” he reached for a bar of soap and after wetting it he ran it along your shoulders and collarbones. It smelled wonderful, strongly of lavender and warm wood. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he worked the soap into skin.

“You do not need to shake so, I have no intention of harming you” he whispered in your ear, but your rear still stung and did not impart much of a feeling of trust in him.

“And for gods’ sake, do not curl up and hide yourself from me” he shifted you roughly in his lap, changing you from sitting sideways curled in his lap just as he carried you to instead turning you so your back reclined against his chest and pressing your thighs down to make you stretch your legs out in front of you.

Now sitting like this you felt his cock press against your backside, very much fully erect this time. From the eyeful you got while undressing him he was already an impressive size when only partially hard, what you were feeling now was significantly more.

With gentle motions he continued to wash whatever of you was above the water, spending an agonizing amount of time on your breasts. He soaped up both of your breasts and quickly moved from washing them to playing with them, alternating squeezing them playing with your nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, entirely unintentionally. You did not desire his touch on you, but your body reacted all the same.

“Just let go, little one. Enjoy it, want it” came his voice in a soft whisper in your ear.

You hated how wonderful his hands felt on your skin, how he knew just what to do to elicit more sounds from you.

“There you go, just relax. Be clay in my hands so that I may reshape you into the picture of perfection” his hand drifted lower, tracing circles along your stomach before slipping between your thighs.

You shot up in alarm, splashing water everywhere with your frantic movements, and attempting to climb out of his lap.

His grip on you tightened, clearly he had no intention of letting you leave this position. “Sit. Down.” He snarled in your ear. “You were doing so well letting me play with you like that. I thought you were starting to understand”.

You hugged your legs up to your chest, attempting to shield yourself from his gaze and his touch. Not wanting him to continue and also fearing what he would do next.

“Do not cower like that!” His volume rose, doing nothing to calm your nerves, “I am not a patient man, but I will not force myself on you like a common brute. I wish to explore and feel you, but I will refrain from more than that until you are willing”.

Some of the fear receded, you were still wary of his touch but at least were not in an immediate danger it seemed.

“This attempt at bonding is over. I will wash you so to ensure you are up to my standards. You will stand and allow my touch on all of you so that I may get this done quickly and throughly”.

All of the gentleness was gone from his touch as he wrenched you up by the arm to make you stand. He worked quickly, a slight snarl on his lips the whole time. When he slipped a hand between your thighs this time you did not dare move, though his movements were detached and quick, only scrubbing you down.

“Dry yourself off and wait for me in my bed” he barked at you once he was satisfied with his work. “As you ruined my attempt to relax with you, I will finish this bath without you. I will deal with you once I have calmed down and we will discuss your behavior. Do I make myself clear”.

“Yes, my king”.

“Good. Now hurry along out of my sight before I change my mind. Leave the door open on your way out”.

Quickly you scurried out of the bathroom, drying yourself only enough to not slip on the tile and made your way to the warmth of the fireplace to finished drying off before climbing back under the covers of his bed. You were not about to learn what may happen if you were not waiting where he expected you.

It was not long before you heard the sounds of movement from the bathroom, the sloshing of water and grunting. Even from you spot tucked under the covers you could hear his ragged breathing and moans. You had assumed that he wanted the door left open to keep an eye on you, though now you understood it was because he wanted you to be privy to his little show.

There was clear line of sight from the bed to the tub. You could see his face, his eyes squeezed closed and his head tipped back, his hand moving rhythmically under the surface of the water. He was panting hard, chest heaving and his moans descending into growls, clearly getting close.

“I know you’ve been watching me” he called out.

A flush of red overtook you face, you quickly rolled over and yanked the blankets over your head.

“Shy little thing, why don’t you roll back over and keep watching? It seemed like you may have even been enjoying it”.

Enjoying it was not the correct words, but you had been almost fascinated seeing him in what was a nearly human moment.

“You’re still in trouble from earlier, but I can be convinced to forgive you this time if you’ll roll back over for me”.

The pros and cons rolled through your mind. Avoiding his ire was high on your priority list as you did not think your raw backside could handle another spanking, but the thought of facing him while he stroked himself was too much to bear.

“Make your choice, I’m not going to wait around for you” he sounded so close.

You shoved down your embarrassment and rolled back to face him, only this time he was watching you back. His eyes were only barely open but even from across the room you were again reminded that no matter how human he may look at a distance, he most certainly was not.

“Good girl” his voice was a ragged moan, his breath coming much faster. “You got me so hard, your hands on me when you undressed me, sitting in my lap and letting me feel you, and now I’m thinking about how good it would have felt if you would have let me continue earlier. I would have taken my time to warm you up, make sure you could handle me, then lower you down on my cock and taken you so slowly- fuck”

he hissed, “Now that I crave you so much I cannot guarantee I will be able to hold back when I do have you”.

A string of harsh Draconic fell from his lips, common tongue entirely leaving his mind.

More of his mask was slipping, his inhumanity ever more noticeable and it sent a chill down your spine.

His whole body lurched at his release, a growl leaving his mouth like you had never heard before. “Fuck” he panted, “For your sake, you’d better come around to me sooner rather than later, because the longer I have to wait for you the much less gentle I’m going to be”.

Water and more dripped down him as he emerged from bath, his breath still heaving, though he only chose to towel dry himself despite the mess.

“I see you kept the damned cloak off at least” he said as he gestured to the discarded cloak you had left in the bathroom in a hurry. “A good choice my pet. You’re such a lovely sight collared and tucked into my bed, such a wonderful thought knowing your waiting naked for me”.

In a few long strides he was there with you laying in bed.

“Let me see you” he said as he peeled the blanket off of you. “An incredible sight, laid bare before me except for this” he tugged on the lock of your collar.

“But I need you closer, come here” in another show of strength he pulled you on top of him as he laid on his back. “Now isn’t that better? The intimacy of skin on skin”.

For the first time you saw a true softness in his expression, a gentleness in his smile and behind his eyes.

“Isn’t this better? To be held and treasured? I will give you everything you could desire, treasure and protect you, as long as you submit to me. I promise you will have a happy life at my side, much better than anything ever possible before, as long as you obey me without question”.

You had not said a single word since he dismissed you from the bath, every possible word caught in your throat, your mind racing and unable to form a sentence.

“Does that not sound pleasant? So simple. To be a pampered pet on my lap, no worries of your own ever again. All I require is your obedience and for you to desire me. Surely that is not such a high price for what I’m promising you?”

A life free of struggle, free of worry, living in luxury known only to royals, and it would only cost your free will and dignity you mused. Though what was the alternative? The dragon king was not a man who was know to just let his possessions go, your options were either to warm his bed and sit at his feet, or find out what happened to treasure that did not fit into his hoard.

With you face against his chest you noticed a scent, under the smell of the soaps there was something else: his scent. He smelled like wildfire and musk, a pleasant and warm smell. In your first decisive move you buried you face into his neck and snuggled more into his arms.

“Oh, my pet?” surprise tinged his voice, “Does this mean you’ve accepted your place with me?”

Your words were stuck in your throat, you did not want to truly submit to him or anyone else, but you knew any choice here was merely an illusion. “Yes, my king” your words barely a whisper on his neck.

He clutched you to him tighter, “I did not expect for you to accept it so readily. Such a smart little thing to understand how good this will be for you” he turned to kiss your forehead, “Though I wish you made this decision earlier, I have nothing left to give to you right now. But tomorrow morning, I promise to be gentle. Your sudden change of heart brings me such joy, how could I possibly be rough with you after the great gift of your acceptance that you’ve given me. I will make sure you know such pleasure that after you will crave me. Maybe I will even stay with you in my chambers all day so that you may experience all the ways I desire to have you”.

“If you so desire, my king” your voice still quiet against his neck.

“Kiss my neck, I wish to feel your lips on me”.

Wordlessly you complied, trailing soft kissed from his shoulder up to his ear. It was so much easier to follow his commands now that you resigned yourself to him.

“Good girl. Tonight I hope you rest easy in my arms. You must be tired still from traveling here and everything today. Tomorrow we will start settling you into your place here, but tonight I just want you to rest well”.

You felt him raise an arm and mutter a few words in Draconic, which caused the fire to flicker out, plunging you both into darkness. He shifted under you, pulling the blanket over you both.

“Good night my pet, may you find comfort and safety in my arms and in submission to me”.

“Good night, my king”.

[venuszn]

☆ : The Prologue

Cw / Princess x Royal Guard AU, Fem!reader x Bada, Bada is dressed as a man, Male pronouns used, Slight misogyny, Mentions of death, Angst, Slowburn

Series / Enchanted

Wc / 2.2K words

Next

Multiple pairs of busy hands poke and prod you as you inhale what feels like your final breath of air. Your hair, perfectly primmed, lays pinned back revealing your soft but disgruntled face powdered with the latest cosmetics that the maids insisted you try - especially for this occasion. A small hiss shoots from your tinted lips as the bones of the corset dig further into your ribs, as if intending to merge with you.

“Any tighter and I might burst.” You snip, eyeing the old maid that stood at your behind as she laced you into oblivion.

Her eyes flicker to you through the mirror and a meek smile rests on her lips. “Forgive me, Princess. But when you capture the attention of a worthy suitor, this will be the last thought on your mind.” She utters smoothly as her skilled fingers work the laces into a bow - ready to send you off as a gift to whoever would be fearless enough to court you.

Two other maids guide your gown as it slips over you, swallowing you whole and you feel like you’re drowning.

Your frown deepens and you scowl at your reflection. “I look like a disfigured teapot.”

The old maid chuckles briefly, “No, Princess. You look like a decorative teapot, ready for display.”

She takes a step back and admires her work. A gown, coloured by the softest of pinks, graces your frame. Gentle shimmers of jewels and stones dance along your chest and a long silk fabric cascades around your waistline in a waterfall of modesty and beauty - a testament for the standards you were bound to.

You sigh and begrudgingly allow a pair of silk gloves to don your hands.

“Do cheer up, Princess. You’re wearing your mother’s jewels today.”

Your stomach drops and your heart follows. You hated the mention of your mother. You hated how others before you had the privilege of knowing her whilst you did not. You hated how she was able to live on in the memories of those who were not you. Wouldn’t she pay you a visit ? Perhaps come to you during the peace of the moon, gently stroke your hair and show herself to you in a dream or a memory ? But you knew better. After spending countless nights of your younger years weeping into your sheets and praying to the heavens for your mother to return, whether in flesh or recollection, you knew that it was in vain. She passed when you were a child and now you would only dream of becoming half the woman she was. The Queen was amiable and dutiful, she was devoted to the throne and thus, adored and loved by all. However, you were brash and outspoken and you chafed under the corsets and constraints of the crown. The people did not hate you but they did not love you either.

“My mother was able to marry who she loved. I believe that I can do the same, can I not ?” You stubbornly state.

“That was under different circumstances. Now stop frowning so much. A Princess mustn't have frown lines or wrinkles.”

The old maid gently chides as she delicately places a length of diamonds around your neck and you watch as it shimmers along with the tiara that sat poised and tucked into your hair.

“You look breathtaking my dear, just like your mother. I just wish you would refrain from frightening all the men that look your way. Heaven knows you need a strong man, especially due to recent events.” She says, worry knitted along her brows. You cherished her words and admired the beauty of the wisdom written in lines across her face - an honour to her years.

But you adherently believed that there were no men left worthy of your stature and you disliked the games of the little boys that paraded themselves as men.

“I will be perfectly fine. Doesn’t father have a tired list of personal guards that he has been assigning to stalk me every waking hour of the day ?”

“And each one of those guards have been injured protecting you and have been replaced each time. The king only cares for your safety.” She voices in a gentle manner.

You sigh and run your silk clad palms over your dress, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. “What he cares about is marrying me off to some half-witted ape that doesn’t want a wife but a bearer of children and nothing more. That is not me.” You state with firmness.

“Your father has seen to it that you marry a prince actually. He is from the neighbouring border and rumour has it that he is a fine young man. You have nothing to worry about, have some trust my dear.”

You possessed not an ounce of trust. You were wary and hesitant when it came to bonding with others. Throughout your years you had come to learn that most people did not care for the person wearing the crown but cared for the social elevation that would come from associating with it. You had no friends, no acquaintances - unless the maids and the palace walls applied. The remaining atom of trust that you had belonged to the old maid and to your father, although you were angry at him at the moment.

“I have met many princes. I am yet to be swept off of my feet.” You say dryly.

The old maid smiles at you fondly, “Promise me that you will not frighten this one away. It has been decided you marry him, regardless of whatever antics you have up your never ending sleeve of mischief.”

You snort and turn to face her, elbows slightly bent and hands placed proper and poised in front of you as you interlock your fingers. “I cannot promise that, unfortunately.” You say with a slight raise of your brow.

The old maid chuckles once more, “If you so desperately need to escape, you know where to find me, Princess. I was there for your mother and I am here for you.”

You smile for the first time that evening.

“That is if I am able to flee from whichever godforsaken stalker that father has now recruited for me.”

“I hear you will meet him also tonight.”

“How wonderful, I doubt he will last long.”

You now stand before two grand doors. The muffled sound of chatter and violins resonate through the thick solid walls and you do as you have grown accustomed to, you inhale a deep breath and force a smile onto your lips, although it fails to reach your eyes - they remain vacant. But nobody ever realised, and if they did they never uttered a word.

The palace guards that stood upright at their post reached out and opened the doors.

You step forward onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom and your presence alone silences the nattering of the audience beneath you. They look at you, probing you with their eyes as they inspect you, some with curiosity and others with anticipation of whatever scene you intend to cause tonight.

You were now on display, a decorative teapot.

You allow another palace guard to guide you down the stairs, your wrist delicately limp and fingers poised in his hold. You ignore the stares and maintain your posture, back straight and head held high on relaxed shoulders. You mutter a gentle ‘thank you’ as you reach the ground and you catch sight of the king, your father.

The King crosses the ballroom floor, parting the colourful sea of socialites in his steps. He approaches you with tired but kind eyes and reaches for your hand, which you allow, not that the choice was yours but your skin didn’t crawl at his hold and you knew that he was still your father.

“Father.” You curtsy with a graceful dip of your head.

“My dear.” He says gently as he gazes at your attire. “You look beautiful.” His eyes fall on the diamonds illuminating your skin. “Your mother would have loved to witness the fine woman you have grown to become. And on this day in particular, where you meet your future husband.”

Your smile falters for a second and you suddenly remember why you are angry at your father. His kind words now dismissed and discarded. “Oh father, you mustn’t go through all that trouble. There is no rush for me to marry.”

“Nonsense. There is much urgency and you are aware. Hence, the need for a suitable husband and a much more productive bodyguard.”

You press further, eyes flaming with obstinance. “Surely a suitable husband could also act as my protector, rendering the need for a personal guard useless. Shouldn’t he be ready and willing to take a bullet for me, a stab of a sword, perhaps unrelenting torture ?”

Your father gives you a look, as equally intense, telling you to behave.

You almost fail to notice the two additional presences standing before you. Your father clears his throat and extends his arm sidewards.

“My dear, meet your husband.”

The man takes a confident step forward and lowers his top half in a deep bow.

“Your Majesty.” His voice deep and clear as he reaches to kiss your knuckles. “What a pleasure it is to meet my wife. I have longed for this moment, I have spent many nights dreaming of you.”

You fight the urge to recoil under his touch and feign another smile.

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well. Although, we are not married. I am not your wife.” You say gently, forcing the venom down your throat as you stare at him with disinterest.

The prince chuckles with gusto as if you uttered the most humorous of words. “You truly are fiery. Nothing that cannot be tamed under the right man.”

You snatch your hand back but your face remains even-tempered. “And you believe yourself to be that man ?”

“I do. And by next summer you will too, princess.”

Your brow raises in confusion.

“That is when we are to be wed.” He announces with finality.

“Oh, joy.”

Your attention shifts to the man occupying your father's left side. Your eyes meet and you suddenly feel as if mighty waves have swept away the entire room, leaving only the two of you. His tall frame towers over the prince and inches over the king. Deep brown orbs fiercely peirce into you with a steadfast gaze as he stands chest puffed and back stiff. Long arms lay firm and proper at his sides before he takes a bow. You find yourself unable to tear away your eyes.

“Your Majesty.” His voice was light but modulated with something you could not pinpoint.

Nonetheless, it sounded sweet like honey to your ears and you deliberated on whether to force the man to read you a book later on.

As he rose your eyes remained on him. You found yourself captivated by his aura, it was nothing like the men that you were used to. The allure of his appearance and his spirited gaze - you were enchanted by the person before you.

“This is your new personal guard. He is from the Lee family. So the standards are exceptionally high and I trust he will serve you well.” Your father says, moreso to him than to you.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope you will be able to keep up, especially with me.” You say with a slight tease and your father frowns.

“You will never leave my sight, Princess. And I will never leave your side. My duty is to protect you and I will ensure that is the case, regardless of your usual tricks and jests.” Your newly assigned guard stated.

“Oh, so you are aware of those ?” You press with a smirk.

He looks right at you, face expressionless. “I am aware of everything about you, princess.”

You feel your heart perform a skip and a jump and you find yourself leaning in ever so slightly.

“Lovely to know you take your role as my stalker seriously. My father has really outdone himself.”

You were so deeply engrossed in the pull of the tides you had not noticed when your father stepped aside along with your husband-to-be, who now stood peacocking for a horde of ladies.

Men.

“I am not your stalker, princess. I am your guard. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“What is your name ?”

“Bada, of the Lee family.” He states with conviction.

“Well Bada, are you willing to cross oceans for me ? To part the seas if it means my safety ?” You tease further.

“I am. Because it is the duty I have sworn to.”

You frown a little.

“Is everything a duty ?”

“Regarding you, yes.”

Your hands pick up your gown, preparing to march away. “I am a person - not a duty. That is what your predecessors failed to understand. If I were you, I would focus on the sharp stick that appears to be lodged up your backside. Pray it doesn't puncture a vital organ.”

You swiftly turn on your heel and strut away.

Bada doesn't miss a beat and follows your trail, walking behind you with arms tucked at his back. Unbeknownst to you, a slight crack of a smirk briefly played on his lips.

You were truly a handful. But it was nothing he wasn't prepared to handle.

Authors note / Hi all, sorry for the wait ! This is my first time writing a series, especially one that is a royal au. I was researching and hoping I could portray the atmosphere as accurately as possible lol. A little bit of my inspiration comes from Mulan and the time period where my story takes place is during the regency era - much like Bridgerton ! As usual feel free to lmk your thoughts and I hope you'll enjoy 'Enchanted ' 💗

Taglist / / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf , @wiselight @nimixe ! [Feel free to lmk if you would like to be added or removed]

[beesmygod]

REVERSE ENGINEERING THE PURPOSE OF THE CROWN OF ILLUSIONS

just hear me out. then you can tell me if im insane.

in bloodborne, there is a unique piece of head wear called "the crown of illusions". it serves a single purpose: to open an illusory wall revealing the location of an otherwise entirely hidden NPC, annalise, queen of the vilebloods.

the crown is dropped after a boss battle and you are intended to put it on immediately after the fight so that the fake wall can be revealed in a cut scene. they did NOT want you to miss this mechanic. otherwise, why not simply have the throne room blocked by a fog gate? its fine for other bosses, right?

this mechanic is never used again. this is insanely weird because 1. there are other illusory walls in the game specifically in the chalice dungeons (twice, i believe, in the lowest possible levels). however, they function like standard fromsoft illusory walls and are revealed by hitting them with a weapon. the crown does nothing. and 2. there is otherwise no satisfactory explanation for this mechanic at all.

i have often expressed my frustration that when things dont "line up" in fromsoft games its chalked up to dev error or some flavor of "its all dreams/made up" which i refuse to entertain unless its the last possible explanation barring literally all others. this stupid crown has been bothering me for years because of how seemingly inexplicable it is. this has been doubled by the fact that the crown is not unique; alfred leaves a crown of his own (and must have had it to enter the queen's chambers) at the end of his quest and the titular sages of the "sage's hair" item are depicted as wearing crowns.

visually, the sage items are based off the real life concept of catacomb saints (and, in fact, i think "saint" would have been a better translation over "sage" considering this, but thats neither here nor there), hence the gems and jewels and crowns and shit. that part makes sense to me just fine. but where else would this illusion mechanic have been used?

ill tell you where: in the secret 4th layers of the "canon" (non-root) chalice dungeons!

canonically, there is only one chalice dungeon with a 4th layer, otherwise they all end at layer 3. this also intrigued me bc of its irregularity in a system of "dungeons" that are almost entirely copy-pasted rooms; why choose a completely random chalice in the middle of the sequence have an extra layer?

i came up with my own explanation for this that works a treat: the chalice in question, lower pthumeru, has rom the vacuous spider as its THIRD LAYER boss. rom is a boss you would have first encountered outside of the dungeons who has a unique ability: to block rituals and secrets from sight. the rom you fight in the main story is hiding a secret ritual and killing her reveals the ritual to the world. the rom you fight in the dungeons is hiding a secret layer of the labyrinth wherein the hunter will find a truly terrible secret: the source of the beast blood.

we now know this fourth layer IS narratively intended to be a secret layer...because EVERY story-related chalice dungeon had a secret 4th layer! they are "fully functional" if not a bit odd/broken (but not NEARLY not to the point of other hacked dungeons) but with bosses that either fucking suck or are placeholders (...or im coping lol). but look at this: ive timestamped this video at the point where the 4th layer elevator "reveals" itself!

other boss room exits are simply blocked by a fog wall (or, if you're on the last layer, it dead ends and you use the lamp to warp out). this "fade in" effect is the illusory reveal effect! as the linked post from the eternally fascinating hard work from r/tombprospectors reveals, there is some weird ass shit in these layers. enough that i started a red string wall of madness to try to keep track of it all. its not even weird stuff in a game dev way, i mean weird in a plot and lore way. its awesome lol.

the 4th layers were only discovered within the last 2 years. i am confident now about the mechanics of how this was intended to work, but still shaky on the ~lore implications~. what were kings and saints only permitted to see and access? what were they privy to that the rest of the populace of the dead civilization was not?

LORE THEORY: THE ORIGINAL PURPOSE AND USE OF THE CROWN OF ILLUSIONS WAS TO REVEAL SECRET 4TH LAYERS OF THE CHALICE DUNGEONS, AS EVIDENCED BY THEIR EXISTENCE IN THE GAME CODE AND MEANS OF ACCESS. THEY CHOPPED IT OUT DUE TO THE USUAL FROMSOFT DEV CYCLE INCLUDING A PART WHERE THEY SPILL EVERYTHING ON THE FLOOR MINUTES BEFORE LAUNCH AND HAVE TO PUT EVERYTHING BACK TOGETHER QUICKLY

[tyrantisterror]

No Small Feat Art pt. 11 - Seige of the Tower of the Tomb

By request, I’m gonna show off some of the artwork for No Small Feat, a Midgaheim story my friends and I told through the TTRPG system Fabula Ultima. I drew a lot of characters and monsters for it, and my friends - in particular, @dragonzzilla, @scatha5, and @dinosaurana - helped line and color them so we’d have cute little sprites to use on our online battlemaps, which really helped sell the whole “we’re playing an oldschool turn based RPG” vibe that Fabula Ultima’s system is going for.

This is the final part, the end of No Small Feat! Obviously we're going to look at the final boss, but first, we have to talk about her flunkies.

Given that the Fabula Ultima game system is based primarily on JRPGs like Final Fantasy and Chrono Trigger, I felt that it was customary to make sure the heinous arch villain had at least one crew of goofy, lovable henchmen. A Sephiroth is not complete without the Turks, a Magus is not complete without Slash, Flea, and Ozzie, et cetera. So Maelys had a quartet of mercenaries in her employ, who very much were not in this for loyalty to her or her ideology, but rather because they needed the money and most people don't hire clowns in Midgaheim since they're a variety of cambion (half-demons). These ladies are The Jester's Jape, entertainers, carnies, thieves, and ne'er do wells. Their leader is Scarlette, the harlequin. their mage is Bianca, the Pierrot. Their muscle is Azurite, the Buffoon. And their wildcard is Obsidianne, the Mime. I introduced them a little later in the campaign than intended (both because I didn't have finished art of them and because it took a lot of revisions for me to be satisfied with their moveset as minibosses), but they made a lot with the screentime they were given, and hey, cambions don't have a built-in expiration date, so nothing's stopping me from using them again.

After befriending the clowns in their third and final encounter with them, our heroes mobilized to the top of the tomb tower where Maelys was waiting, having just graverobbed the last crown jewel and, with the aid of the seven princes of Hell itself, forged two false crown jewels to complete a crown of her own and become the new queen of the country.

Sadly for her, the forgeries didn't prove adequate.

As all the rivers of magic running through Engelsex convered inside her through the warped crown on her head, Maelys was overwhelmed by their power and twisted into a hideous shape that reflected her inner malice. Our heroes proceeded to beat the shit out of her, as you do when you've done all the sidequests in an RPG and got all the overpowered loot that comes with them.

But no good JRPG boss would only have ONE transformation, so of course Maelys crashed harder than a Resident Evil boos and turned into a nightmarish beast, one that was further warped to resemble two other monsters who had contact with the crown jewels - Kaboldt von Hubert's doppelganger, and the Ravening Beast. Our heroes summoned their closest allies - Leonie, George, and Jack - and also the Jester's Jape, why not, and destroyed the evil wannabe queen once and for all.

And so the day was saved, a new crown was forged, and a worthy successor was found for the throne. To know more than that, you'd have to watch the campaign, or, like, wait several years for me to transcribe it into a book if I ever get around to it. I might, honestly. I miss Leonie.

As a final treat, here are some loose sketches of character designs for the campaign, some of which never got the finished penncil treatment:

Figuring out Kaboldt's doppelganger look took a lot of experimentation.

Same goes for the Ravening Beast, who went through SO many designs before I settled on one that worked for me. One of his early designs got reused as Big Bubba Bugbear.

The jester's Jape went through a lot of concepts too.

I had loose ideas to give George, Jack, and Leonie costume changes for their cameos in the final boss fight, but didn't end up having enough time to finalize them. We get to see George in his non-dragonslayer armor, Jack looking a bit less frail, and Leonie sporting the dragon-themed armor the PCs gifted her at the end of the Menagerie arc.

Oh, and I didn't know where to put it, but at one point the PCs met, and later robbed, Leonie's dad, which meant I had to give him a character design. I tried to make sure his clothes were as tasteful as those that would be worn by a rich medieval merchant who had access to magic dyes.

There was also merchant character that was intended to be a one-off named Long Lankin that the players and I kind of fell in love with who I drew sketches of, but those got lost in my big computer hullabaloo this summer, so unfortunately I no longer have them to share. But I liked him enough that he'll probably show up in another Midgaheim story one of these days.

[starblue2406]

Ok, here are some concept arts from the Arceus and the Jewel of Life movie.

I don't have much to say. Pichu's (Pili in my fic) designs are so cute! Any of them was better than the end, so now it's time to draw Pili in each of her intended appearances.

I just have one thing to point out, it's more mine than something important and objective... But damn it! Apparently, The sign that Damos wore on his necklace was, so to speak, "the family crest."Which, while not obvious, was a valid possibility, however, what bothers me is, Oh my God, I didn't hit that!

It was such a fact that I didn't consider this, that the family crest of Mew's chosen ones is just a poorly done modification of a real-life surname, while the sign on the necklace... Well, I programmed it with a meaning completely unrelated to anything religious or familiar and yes, I know you're thinking "it's your fanfic, you can tell the canon to hell" but As I said, that's more my thing and I don't even understand why I'm so upset, but oh well, I'll get over it.

And here's the icing on the cake... Marcus' concept design... My god, what did they do to my boy.Ok, I realize that the artists had it in for Marcus' hairstyle from the beginning.Apparently, they wanted him to look like Cyrius here and to be honest, it's good that this stayed as a concept.The face looks awful and the rest is very meh.It's good that they put the crown on his forehead to at least make the design more tolerable,I also appreciate that they added the bandages on his arms since then everyone comes up with a bold and dramatic head canon (if I got a quarter for every time I heard a cool head canon of Marcus' bandages I'd have two, which isn't much but it's rare that it happens twice) and lastly, I prefer the clothing tweaks of the final design a thousand times over.

In conclusion, although they never really hit the nail on the head with the hairstyle, they did everything else very well and it's a good thing that the concept art was only about how NOT to do Marcus.My boss Marcus He's too cool and handsome for this world, it's just his hairstyle that makes him so misunderstood, but other than that, everything's fine.

[honourablejester]

Some of my favourite bits from the landmarks/setting of Heart: The City Beneath:

The starting layer, Derelictus, was originally intended to be the massive central station for the cursed Vermissian train network, but it was never connected to the system, so it remained intact when shit went tits up and everything else got metaphysical. It’s a mini-city, the City Between, that’s arranged on the four massive vertical platform levels of a train station.

I fucking love the Vermissian stations in general: there’s the one precariously arranged around massive crystal stalactites that continuously threaten to fall and crush the station, there’s the flooded one with broken pumps and intact vending machines, there’s the one that’s a terrifying amusement park, there’s the one with glass floors suspended precariously over an artificial lake containing a captive sea monster, there’s the one that’s an eerie fake city where there’s nothing unique, all the tiles, streets, shops, etc are the same one tiled over and over again, and then there’s the crown jewel, Terminus, the metaphysical turntable station where the turntable can be rotated dimensionally to hook up to every single possible line. I love the Vermissian. I adore this mad train network so much.

There’s a grove full of aggressive drug dealer druids who supply the Cities Above and Beneath, and one of the suggested quests you can get is from a burly naked druid who has to get a shipment of hallucinogenic mushrooms to a Vermissian Sage, but he can’t be having with that technological hellscape nonsense, so he hires you to ship it for him.

There are seven temples to the Moon Beneath, one central one and six subsidiary ones each devoted to one of the six Damnic Virtues. My favourite is Athane, Temple of Sagacity, which has developed into an endless debating floor because the priests have come to believe that something catastrophic will happen if the debate ever ends, so one of them always has to be standing and lecturing on something. They are desperately grateful if literally anyone else would be willing to stay a while and hold the floor on any subject for long enough for them to get a break.

In the Tunnels of Wet Filth, where the sewers from the City Above flow down to and where the ground is covered in liquid filth, there’s a doctor named Aster who advertises his ‘purgatives’ that can cure you of any illness. Since witchdom is a blood-borne disease in this universe, you can meet a witch who would like to be rid of it, and asks you to escort her up there. The thing is, apparently his advertising is absolutely not false, as she actually can just hyurk up her magic after his purgatives. So, like. He lives in a literal cesspit that can curse you with eternal stench to enter, but he is absolutely not lying about his product?

There’s a mobile predatory library stalking around tiers 2 and 3 of the Heart with a dragon-larvae at its heart hungering for knowledge. The librarians are all mind-controlled slaves, and that is absolutely a fate that can happen to you, if you spend too long or take too much damage in there. But it has an absolutely staggering collection, and if you’re looking for answers, it genuinely is the place to go.

The headquarters of the Hounds, the cursed remnants of a massacred army sent to conquer the Heart, is the Bunker, a central command structure in the heart of a web of trenches and razorwire, because the Hounds are basically WWI vets cursed to immortality by an ancient sentient hellscape. I’m going to give you one of the potential quests here verbatim from the book, because it’s fantastic: “A one-eyed quartermaster hires you (D10, Haven) to carry a single bottle of rotgut whiskey to the Bunker so the commanders of the 33rd have something to drink. Can you make it there and keep the bottle intact?” Followed by: “That quartermaster shouldn’t have paid you up front, and you drank the whiskey without ever going to the Bunker. Now you’re being hunted by thirsty and unpleasantly sober immortal soldiers. How are you going to make amends?” Rule one: do not deprive immortal traumatised vets of their alcohol, what’s wrong with you?

The Ghastling Plain down in tier 3 is a sea of ash underneath a perpetually burning ceiling-sky, where people live in stilt houses and ‘fish’ for eyeless lizards and strange land-squid in the ash beneath, or sail on skiffs across the surface of the ash. It’s desolate and beautiful.

There is another mobile rogue library called Papilous, this one extra-dimensional, where dream moths suck secrets like nectar out of people’s ears and librarians gently brush the thought-pollen from the moths into books. It’s actually Silent Hill, in that there is a benevolent and a malevolent version of Papillon, nested inside each other, and one can cross between them by accident. The inhabitants of either version do not believe that the other exists.

There are eight extra-dimensional Heavens you can access (especially if you’re a Deadwalker), and my favourite is the Source, which the gnolls of one of the surface nations discovered through their mechano-occult investigations, and from which they draw the energy that powers their machinery. It’s a great mechanical labyrinth of electrum and gold that courses with energy, including lethal surges of it, and is defended by constructs that prevent mortals from messing with the circuitry, as Expedition 23 found out to the tune of a single survivor. The gnolls have been sending living expeditions into it from the ziggurant in their capital city in the south, but delvers in the Heart can also make their way in. The twain can meet, which I find amusing: two different blasphemous mortal expeditions into a heaven meeting accidentally in the middle.

One the subject of what happens if you die while already illicitly in an afterlife, the book has this fantastic note: “Short answer: we don’t know. Make it up. No-one’s supposed to get into heaven while they’re alive, let alone get stabbed in the gut and bleed out there, so metaphysics tends to handle it on a case-by-case basis.” Which, you know. Fair.

This is such a gnarly setting. I deeply enjoy it. Especially the trains. I just. I really, really love the trains?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miss raven 🐦‍⬛ you like shiny things right?? what are your thoughts on rollo’s ring. didn’t you call it chunky before

Many times, yes— I find it super ugly, chunky (as in, it’s a weird shape and takes up a lot of space) and hard to coordinate with a look, but it works fine on Rollo.

There are a few Raven-Rollo interactions I've received; these will be differentiated from the usual Rollo at the Writing Desk interactions by a different phrase in the header. "Will today be the day?" is a reference to the opening scene in Hunchback of Notre Dame; Quasimodo asks a bird (nesting in a gargoyle's mouth) if they're ready to fly yet.

Will Today be the Day?

“… You’ve been staring at my hand for quite some time now.” Rollo’s observation was abrupt, an accusation with a sharp point. He casted Raven a suspicious look as they walked side-by-side. “Crowley-dono is your guardian, is he not? I would have thought him to instill better manners in his kin.”

She leapt, frazzled by the truth he bore. “Y-You’re absolutely right! My apologies… I will avert my gaze.”

Rollo scoffed. “What is it that you are planning, hmm? Do you intend to make off with my possessions the instant I lower my guard? Perhaps you’ve picked up a habit for pilfering from Ruggie-kun. It wouldn’t surprise me—you Night Raven College mages are all the same.”

“No, it’s not like that!!” Raven shyly brought her index fingers together, her eyes cutting away from him. She suddenly found the sidewalk to be of great interest. “It’s, erm…”

“Don’t mumble. Spit it out already.”

“Corvids—ravens, crows—have a penchant for shiny objects. I can’t help that my eyes are drawn to them. It’s in my nature.

“Hmph.” Rollo made to cover the crimson gemstone that crowned his finger. “You have surprisingly juvenile interests. At the very least, it appears to be harmless so long as you control your desire to acquire those trinkets for yourself.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t have such a desire in the first place! Besides, things that sparkle look their happiest when they're with their true owners."

"... Did I hear that correctly? Things that sparkle look happy?"

"Not literally, of course. I took creative liberty with the phrasing." Raven cocked her head to one side. "But don't you think when a piece of jewelry catches a stray beam of sunlight, it looks like the jewel is winking at you? That's what I mean when I say they look happy with their owners."

"Not ever," Rollo replied stiffly, "and your comparison doesn't work. Ownership means nothing; a jewel would shine all the same regardless of who wears it."

"Now you're just sucking all of the romantic lyricism out of it."

"It didn't need that to begin with."

He turned away—as if that were the end of the conversation—and elicited an excited squeak from Raven.

"Oh...!" She fixated on the gleam of gold and scarlet that peaked through a crevice between his fingers.

The ring smiled at me.

Her heart leapt, and she smiled back at it. (Rollo scowled, his displeasure obvious.)

“If you don’t mind, may I see it up-close?” Raven asked. “Just this once. I promise I won’t bother you again about it after.”

“… You may, but you’d better keep your promise. I don’t want to hear another word about this later.”

With that, Rollo offered his ringed hand to her. His fingers splayed out to allow for a good glimpse of his accessory. Raven bowed her head—a sign of thanks—and gingerly took his hand in her gloved ones.

She had expected him to be frigid—his fingers were so long and bony. But no, he was flesh too. Warm and pliant.

Of course he is. I don’t know why I was thinking of anything less. He is only human too.

Raven slowly guided his hand, watching the way the sunlight gathered on the ring’s facets at different angles. The band and prongs were golden, and the center stone was a gorgeous red.

Ruby? Garnet? Or something else entirely…? Cut into a lozenge shape—diamond-like prism, with additional flat faces she could see herself in.

“Oooh, pretty,” she cooed, sounding slightly dazed.

As Raven did this, Rollo inspected her.

She was a small thing, no taller than his shoulders. Dressed in black (like a certain lizard he loathed), perhaps she would have registered as more of an enigma had there not also been a sort of… fluffiness to her, thanks to her voluminous feather shawl and skirt. The top hat skewed at a jaunty angle really did make her look like a childish miniature of NRC’s headmaster.

He honed in on her ears. They were pointed, certainly not the shape of a typical human’s. She had mentioned her tendencies as a corvid earlier, implying animal heritage—but the ears suggested fae, not beastman.

He took in the rest of her face. With her eyes cast downward like this, her thick lashes shaded honeyed amber colored irises. Sun dappled raven hair, highlighting the small, mysterious smile at her lips as she regarded his ring.

Such a simple-minded girl, he sneered. It’s no wonder she’s so easily manipulated by mages and sympathizes with their cause.

A creature captured and tames to be in service to vile villains—Rollo would be lying if he said some part of him vaguely felt pity for her circumstances. Perhaps if she was removed from NRC and given the proper guidance and instruction, she could see reason. (… despite how annoying he found her to be.)

No, she’s too far gone to be rescued, he argues with himself. Draconia has already sunken his claws into her feeble mind.

What a shame, the voice in the back of his head simpered. She could have been saved from sin. We could have understood one another.

Her eyes suddenly fliicked up. “… Rollo-senpai? I think I’m done. Thank you for letting me look.

He quietly gasped—he had been caught staring. Cheeks heating, Rollo hastily pulled his hand away. His shame was masked with a stern frown.

“… That is enough. Let us never speak of this again.”

“Hehe, it’s the very least I could do for you.” She grinned in an irksome manner, the snaggle-toothed smile reminding him of the less savory smirks sent his way by other NRC students. “It can be our little secret.”

"I do not wish to share any sort of a secret with you."

Raven raised her brows. "Were you not the one who requested that we no longer bring up this incident? So it's our little secret, whether you want it to be or not~"

"Which I don't," he clarified stubbornly.

That was the truth--wasn't it?

[fern-the-fox]

fairest of them all (somewhat)

i am honestly in love with the dress and that pretty color of purple 💕

I mean how do you turn The Evil Queen into THE Queen? Honestly the only thing taken from reference was the sleeves, id like to add more detail but id rather not have the dress overshadow the royal herself.

Shes a support for Knuckles, she is in possession of the Master Emerald but is really just using it as the Magic Mirror. Figuratively and literally as a mirror 🪞

I never intended for her to be evil, just a slight flirtatious rivalry to counterbalance Knuckles (who was next on the poll).

(I need practice with crowns..😅 and jewels)

id like to draw her more, but dynamic poses are hard to find without her too sexualized or without her legs looking weird. I found it easier to practice posing when i take different parts of different photos (referencing into my own, not directly tracing) and collage it together. It helps me find the dynamics

If anyone has any recommendations, feel free to send a ask! Id love to hear your ideas for this au, i might make more in the future

[lunamaraproject]

LUNAMARA: Fragments [2]

🦢

Felix makes sure to stop at the Overlook, as ever. No need to rush through the palace halls to her highness’s side with more portents of their once glorious city’s decline. Instead, he takes a moment to enjoy the view of what else they lost, in the century before. For a short while, he can forget even the weight of the report he carries in his arms.

The Surface is beautiful, even now. 

“Felix!”

He turns his head to look, though he needn’t do so. He knows he will find Cassius Corvus there, and a smile comes easier when he is proven right. It’s returned, though neither of them hide their tiredness from each other. It would be silly to do so, when they know each other’s tells so well. 

“You have manna dust in your hair, Cas,” Felix says, but only after he’s started sweeping his fingers through said dark locks. “You’re meant to eat it, not wear it.”

“I thought you might appreciate the fashion statement,” Cassius bats his hand away, though not hard. “You’re so predictable. Aren’t you bored of looking at it by now?”

“Why would I get bored of it when it’s always changing?” Felix turns his gaze back out to the world below. The glow of their great city used to illuminate all of its trees and mountains as it passed overhead, glimmering off of lakes and rivers and oceans, even highlighting the movements of the many myriad organic animals. 

And the little human towns too, though those are long gone from the Surface now. The scars carved into the earth are all so overgrown one could mistake them for cliffsides and ravines, if it weren’t for how eerily, unnaturally straight they are. 

Cas peers down. “Looks the same to me, Fi.”

“That’s because you have no eye for beauty.”

“I have an eye for you.”

“Oh stop,” Felix laughs, hip-checking him with a grin. “Aren’t you meant to be with little Elsie?”

Cas’ smile falters a little. His gaze moves away. “I’m giving her some space. She tried to commune with Her Majesty again.”

Felix’s own cheer cannot sustain itself. “Still no luck, then.”

A shake of the head.

“I guess this would be a bad time to deliver this report then?”

“Mmn.”

Silence falls between them, punctuated only by the sound of distant, crumbling rock. Something large has collapsed, but the echoes indicate it’s quite far. Hopefully no district that still has anyone awake in it. 

“You know this isn’t sustainable, right?” Cas says lowly, voicing what they shouldn’t voice. It’s not that anyone would berate him for saying it, but still.

“It’s what the Queen decreed before she lead the charge into the Dream,” Felix shrugs a shoulder. “Who are we to deny orders?”

Cas’ jaw clenches. “She’s not going to wake up, Felix.”

“I’ve been accused already of treason today, you know.”

“Be realistic! It’s been 120 years of decline now, as of yesterday!” Cas raises his voice, gesturing around him at the once glorious spires and pillars and waves of carved stone that established Lunamara as the most beautiful city in the sky, the jewel of a golden crown. Now it is the only city in the sky. “Things are not getting better, are not going to get better, if we all just try to sleep through it! We’ll end up lifeless rocks!”

“I, personally, wasn’t ever intending to do any such thing.”

“Then you’ll be left here alone in an empty city!”

“No I won’t,” Felix says, looking right at Cas. “You’ll be here.”

It’s clear that Cas has a lot to say about that, but can’t seem to pick one to start with, and so like too many people trying to cram through a door at once, nothing comes out at all. He stands there, fists clenched and shaking a little like he used to when they were children, and would bicker and argue about meaningless things like archery games and who sat in the front of the skysail. No matter how old they get, however many centuries pass, some things never change. 

Cas finally opens his mouth, but Felix doesn’t get to hear what he intended to say. There’s a crunch and a rumble, and Cas is suddenly much taller than him. Felix's stomach lurches, and he flails his arms helplessly. He’s falling–

And then Cas snatches him, right out of the air, yanking him close with a glow of magic and backing well away from the sudden chasm in the overlook. They cling to each other for a long, silent minute, almost straining to hear the sound of the broken chunk of Lunamara hit the ground. They don’t, of course. The surface is much too far away. Felix is supporting Cas as much as Cas is supporting Felix. Once the numbness of the near-fall passes, Felix immediately turns and starts moving them both over to a bench carved into the wall, sitting down with Cas leaning against his shoulder. “... you could have saved your magic and let me fall,” Felix says eventually.

Cas lifts his head and squints at him. “Why in Luna’s name would I do that?”

“Well,” Felix holds up his empty hands. “I dropped the folder. So it would have saved Rufus the trouble of throwing me off himself.” 

Considering this, Cassius pats Felix’s arm. “Let’s just… keep it between us.”

🌗

More from LUNAMARA:

Fragments [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]<-- More every Thursday!

Comic [Prologue]

Art by Luka (http://nousanti.tumblr.com/) Story by Pidge (http://pidgestories.tumblr.com/)

[mzuark]

The Boondocks was kinda problematic

TW: N-word because Boondocks

I've been thinking about the Boondocks recently and I was wondering about how much of it aged well. Some of it did for sure, like the R. Kelly Trial, Luna, and that Obama episode, but there's a handful of things that I think were dumb back then and only got worse. Here's 3 big examples:

Ed and Rummy are two fan favorites who generally represented early 2000s politics via George Bush (Ed the face) and Donald Rumsfield (Gin Rummy, the behind-the-scenes guy). One running gag with them was that Ed was a fucking moron and Rummy was his straight man. Everything Ed said was meant to be seen as stupid and Rummy was supposed to be talking sense into him. One example of this was with the famous "Nigga Technology" bit, technology for niggas. Nigga, in this context, is used as a general ignorant motherfucker and not just black folks (Which has some wild implications right out the gate by the way). So Ed would buy something new on the market and Rummy would try to convince him that it's silly and superfluous. Some examples were texting, wireless headsets, and iphones. Aaron Mcgruder couldn't have been older than 30 when those episodes were written up but they make bro look like a fucking luddite. "New tech bad, old thing good." Now I don't know about you, but I think texting was a handy invention that's made the world a much more convinient place, headsets too even if they do make you look homeless. The iphone joke was made in season 3, which was around 2009 so I think the writers might've realized they would look ridiculous making that same argument for an objectively good device.

A second example that kinda rubs me wrong was Cristal, like the champagne. Now this might be a little spicy but I believe that sex workers are people. Cristal got done dirty as hell in that episode because they kept insisting that her life of hoing and being a human trafficking victim was self inflicted and entirely her own fault. Nobody fucking chooses to work for a pimp, no matter how funny he is. Oh but she's a trifling gold digger so it's okay, what a concept. Then there's the side joke about whether or not all women are hoes and it's just like...eh.

Finally, I want to talk about Return of the King. This is the jewel in the crown of Boondocks social commentary and I really don't think it achieved what was intended. The episode's climax was a speech by Dr. King taking down pretty much everything you can think of about black culture and entertainment, especially fucking BET, and causing societal change. If any writers are reading this, I regret to inform you that you can't get a bunch of black people in one room, call them and everything they care about stupid, and then expect a positive outcome. It's not that it's a bad message, it's just incredibly condescending and unhelpful. That speech does more to help racists than actual black people from what I've seen. The old "Black people vs Niggas" joke that Chris Rock once made is another example of that, appealing to "the good ones" and putting everyone else under an umbrella with very unspecific parameters.

So in conclusion, I loved The Boondocks but damn has it not aged quite as well as I thought.