#i hope you like it!!!! :)

[shovson]

🏁 me and you, you and me | for @shovlison

[theusernameiwantisntavailable]

I cannot think of a title beyond "get kidnapped idiot" because my brain is not firing on all cylinders today. Anyway have a Tim!

Version without lighting underneath incase you want just a tied up n beat up Tim

[graedari]

My gift for @ririrules60 for the Fugue Feast hosted by the lovelies at @dishonoredgiftexchange. I chose their prompt of wanting to see the dynamic of High Chaos!Daud and Low Chaos!Corvo

[TUMBLR CRUNCHED HER SO PLEASE OPEN IN ANOTHER TAB OR SAVE ON MOBILE TO SEE FULL RESOLUTION]

[moltensunlight]

Realm of the Departed

Character design belongs to @absolutelynotsanebaby

Artfight attack inbound!! >:) I love Ms. Departed's design so so much, and I was super excited to try and capture that otherworldly feeling they have! I hope I did them justice!!

[goodoldfashionednerd]

I can't believe I haven't seen this before, this format was made for them

[fcthots]

need rough brat tamer!jason i’m foaming at the mouth clawing my walls

I WAS READING YOU STUFF LITERALLY EARLIER. THIS IS LIKE HAVING A MINI CELEB IN MY INBOX. OMG HI.

You’ve been having a rough day, and it’s sort of your fault for being snappy with Jason, but in your defense he said you could be mean to him if you needed someone to be mean to. You’ve got a lot of pent up frustration and don’t know what to do with it. Jason says he has an idea. He says you’re only gonna cum one time all night, and he’s gonna make it count.

He leaves his Red Hood helmet on and makes you open yourself up for him while he watches. Once your close he gets up, grabs your hands, and holds them above your head.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. You’re gonna cum on my cock or not at all. Do that again and I’ll get you so close as many times as I want but I won’t give it to you. Understood?” You nod your head. “I wanna hear you say ‘yes, sir.’”

You don’t want to, just for the fun of it. You wanna see him get mad. You shake your head.

His voice modulator only makes you want him more. “Looks like we’ll have to fix that.” You can’t help the way you moan at that. He puts you on all fours and spanks you until you know you won’t be able to sit comfortably tomorrow.

And if you still don’t say it? Well, he’ll just have to get you close and then take it away over and over again until you’re begging.

[feyhunter78]

Can I have a one shot where Aemond has fallen for the old librarians apprentice? He just stumbles upon her trying teach herself high Valyrian through books but she quite obviously and miserably fails so Aemond is determined to teach her himself. She ends up teaching him some things in return, they both tease and flirt with each other through Valyrian and common tongue and they both fall for each other. He asks her to marry him in the end but IT IS POSSIBLE!!! as she’s like a 4th daughter to a high-ish lord.

You definitely can!!! This one ended up being way longer than I meant it to be XD I hope you enjoy it!!!!!

Apprentice!reader masterlist

Study Sessions

You sat in a back corner pouring over the tomes before you, scratching notes into the parchment, and comparing your scribblings to the ancient texts. “Se ēbrion iksis zōbrie se lēdan lēda—lēda qēlos…” You groaned in frustration, sounding out the word in your mind, trying to wrap your tongue around the last syllable for the word ‘stars’.

“Qēlossās.” A low voice said, making you jolt, and nearly knock over the candle by your elbow.

Prince Aemond appeared from the shadows, dressed in simple trousers and a linen nightshirt, his hair was loose, and to your surprise he was not wearing his eye patch.

The sapphire that replaced his eye sparkled in the low light, and you couldn’t decide if it was more improper to stare at it, or the smooth muscles of his chest that were exposed by his nightshirt.

“The night sky is dark but filled with stars. A line from the Great Valyrian book of Poetry, if I am not mistaken?” He stepped up to the table and leaned down, scanning all the books you had laid open.

You bowed your head. “You are not, my prince.” You started to gather your things, and he held up a hand to stop you.

“Why do you flee? Surely my face is not so hideous you cannot stand to remain in my presence for a moment longer.”

“No—that is not my reasoning at all, I merely assumed you wished to be alone.”

“Umbagon.” He said, the word rolling off his tongue such in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“I am ashamed to say I only know the one line, and a few other basics.” You admitted, still trying to gather all your notes.

“It means stay.” He sat in the chair beside yours, and you sat down as well. “Might I inquire as to why you’re attempting to learn Valyrian?”

“It is the language many of the books in our great library are written in, and I wish to organize them without needing to bother a member of the royal family.” You answered, keeping your eyes on your hands, not daring to face the prince.

“And your studies are going well?”

Your shoulders slumped. “I do not understand why I cannot grasp the language. The written word is my love and my forte, it is why I worked so hard to serve here.” You glanced up at the rows and rows of books. “This is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

Aemond hummed and read over your notes. “I see what the problem is.”

You perked up, and for a moment you could have sworn there was a slight smile on the prince’s lips. “You do? Please, tell me.”

“You need a teacher.” He said.

You slumped once more. “The very reason I decided to teach myself was so that I would not bother any members of the royal family.”

He stood. “I consider it a challenge, not a bother.”

You looked up at him. “You would teach me?”

“I’ve grown bored as of late, perhaps this will serve as entertainment.”

You stood in a rush, curtsying. “My prince, I cannot thank you enough, I promise I will be a diligent student.”

From then on you and the prince would meet every night, and as the nights progressed, so did you handle on Valyrian.

“Se skoros iksis aōha udligon naejot bisa?” He asked, pointing to a line of poetry. And what is your answer to this?

“Even the moon herself envies your beauty?” You scrunched your nose. “I think I would find it too flowery for a proper response.”

“Perhaps you need to hear it, to understand the depth?” He turned your chair, so you were facing him, and held your hand in his. “Sesīr se hūra ziry envies aōha gevives.” The words were like silk, his voice low and calm, his violet eye focused solely on you.

You felt your face heat up, and you stuttered out an answer. “Yn se vēzos envies ao.” And the sun envies you.

Aemond’s thumb was absentmindedly caressing your skin, as he searched his mind for another phrase. “Māzigon sōvegon va zaldrīzes arlī lēda nyke.” Come ride dragon back with me.

“Iksan zūgagon zaldrīzoti.” You said. I am afraid of dragons.

He chuckled. “There is nothing to fear from Vhagar.”

You smiled at him, fond exasperation coloring your voice. He’d tried many times to convince you to join him on Vhagar and each time you said no. “You are her rider, of course you have nothing to fear, but I do.”

You shifted in your seat, noticing he still held your hand.

He’d been doing this more of late, holding your hand, brushing your cheek, complimenting you in Common and High Valyrian.

It sent a giddy warmth through your veins, and gave you a fluttering thing of hope in your chest that you feared could be squashed at any moment.

His eye followed your gaze, and he dropped your hand, reaching for the book of pastry recipes you’d pulled as well. “That is enough Valyrian for tonight, you were to explain the intricacies of latticework on pies, I believe.”

“Ah, yes, it is not as simple as many believe.”

This had been your exchange, Aemond taught you High Valyrian, and you taught him about pastries… Which seemed an uneven exchange to you, but you yearned for that attentive look he fixed you with, so you never voiced your worries aloud.

“Jaelan daor tolie yn ao.” He whispered, almost more to himself than to you. I want no other but you.

You tilted your head in confusion. “My apologies, I did not catch that.”

“I am excited to learn more about your pies.” He said, calmly, tapping one long finger on the painted image of an apple pie.

For some reason you felt as if he was lying, but pushed it away and focused on the recipe book.

You found it odd that the next night, Aemond was late. You waited for him, anxiously adjusting your notes, tapping on the covers of various books, eyes flickering to the doors every other moment. Finally, after an hour had passed you sighed, and gathered your things, before tucking them on the shelf you and Aemond had commandeered for your nightly lessons.

Walking through the aisles, you headed out of the library intent on retiring to your chambers, heart heavy as doubt wormed your way into your mind.

Perhaps the prince had gotten bored of you. Or did not wish to waste his time teaching a girl from a small house, when there were plenty of ladies from much more powerful families vying for his attention. Tears began to slid down your face, and you bit your lip to keep from making any noise. You were a fool to think he would be truly interested in you.

“Lady y/n?” Aemond’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

He was flushed and disheveled, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

“Prince Aemond? Did you run here?” You raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh.

He took your hands in his, expression earnest and apologetic. “My apologies for being late, I had to get rid of a particularly enthusiastic lady and her equally enthused mother.”

You had forgotten that the queen was bringing in ladies for Aemond to consider marrying. “Well, if you need to tend to your duties, I understand.”

He shook his head, eye scanning your face. “You were crying?”

You gave him a watery smile. “No, I was yawning.”

“Iksā gevie yn iā quba pirtirys.” He said, releasing one of your hands, his calloused fingers wiping away your tears. You are beautiful, but you are a bad liar.

“Se iksā iā dārilaros, aōha ābrazȳrys kessa daor hae īlva meeting bisa ñuhoso.” You replied, realizing your time together must end if either of you were to marry well. And you are a prince, your wife will not like us meeting this way.

Aemond pressed your hand to his lips. “My wife will find no grievance in our meeting if she happens to be you.”

“You wish to marry me?” You could hear your heart pounding in your ear, surely this was a jest.

“Avy jorrāelan; nyke jaelagon naejot dīnagon ao.” He whispered, pressing soft kisses to each of your knuckles, his eye watching your face for a reaction. I love you; I wish to marry you.

“Yes, kesan dīnagon ao.” You smiled, throwing your arms around his neck, and pulling him down to kiss him.

His hands gripped your waist, his hair falling across your skin like water. His heated lips claiming you as his own, pulling you deeper and deeper until you were breathless and giggling, basking in the warmth of your soon-to-be husband.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper

[runawaymun]

Kita looked down where their hands met, then up at Moriah. “I know you and Ipati aren’t— but— have you ever liked anyone? I’m just admittedly curious.”  It truly was a personal question this time and that came as a surprise to Moriah. She answered, “No. No, I’ve…” It was her turn now to look away, down at her hands “…Never met a man who interests me in those regards.” Kita leaned forward. “But…there are so many more kinds of people than just men.” 

not the scene pictured, but I do love this little section of dialogue so I'm tacking it on anyway :) Merry Christmas, @the-commonplace-book!!!! Thank you for being the best writing partner anyone could ever ask for (and the best platonic partner, too!!) Here, we finally have a drawing of Kita and Moriah! :D

Kita and Moriah are OCs from the sci fi series the two of us are working on. Kita (left) is a pythia from the planet Thol. Moriah is the queen of Ceres. We had no idea these two would hit it off so well when we put them in a room together but, uh, here we are.

GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS 🌈

[shovson]

spiralling | for @raewritesf1

[notgrungybitchin]

Fic: I Need My Love To Be Here

My @beatleskinkmeme Secret Santa gift for @merseydreams. Merry Christmas!

For this kink meme prompt:

John gets panic attacks before going on stage sometimes and Paul is the only one who can help him. After the break-up, John gets a panic attack at the Grammys, Paul is there and helps him and they reconnect.

@merseydreams I hope you like it and that you've had a wonderful holiday. And thank you so much @theoldmixer and @heybulldogs for running the gift exchange!

[moonchild-in-blue]

Soooooooooooo may i request a Pyrops candelaria?😳💖 (latin because it's more specific to search it up, which i recommend if you by any chance don't know it.. there are a lot of different lanternflys but this one is just a funky looking little creature with it's snout)

Pyrops Candelaria - ref. image

This funky little dude was a though cookie to crack - THANK YOU. I love him!

(i'm not sure why the colours are a bit weird here, probably cus artificial light? oh well)

[oddfable]

Matchup trade for @sugutoad

Attack on Titan Matchup~

I ship you with... YMIR!!!!

Not gonna lie, this was a close call. I was STUCK between two characters to pair you with, and ultimately it came down to who I believe would be more your “type” (Erwin) VS who could meet both your emotional needs (Ymir).

On the surface, Ymir comes off as rather self-centered and harsh. She doesn’t hold back on critiquing others, and the language she uses can make it feel like she is verbally attacking you. Deep down, however, Ymir is an incredibly caring person. While her delivery may lack tact, her goal of pushing others to be true and honest with themselves is genuine. Having once lived a lie for the sake of others, she wishes to save others from suffering the life she once had.

Perhaps in the beginning you'd feel slighted by her clumsy attempts at getting you to be less self-conscious. However, after growing closer and getting to know her better, I feel you would take her words less at face value and more for what they are meant to be. She would help you become more confident, and not be afraid to speak up for yourself. In turn I feel like you can help Ymir to be just a tad bit gentler with others. Just a bit.

(Also, we're just gonna ignore the fact that she's living on borrowed time and pretend she gets to live a long healthy life)

Runner-up: Erwin Smith

How you met

It was mere coincidence you two crossed paths. You had been relaxing on the patio of a tearoom, minding your own business, lost in a book. The weather was nice: sunny sky with a few clouds floating by, a cool breeze offering a reprieve of fresh air. A far-off commotion caught your interest for just a moment, before disinterest had you returning to the world recorded in black ink on creamy pages. The loud screech of a chair scrapping on cement startled you into high alert, and you looked up to find a hooded woman hunched over the other side of the table with her back to the road.

“No one’s sitting here, right?” She asks, shooting you a smile. It’s a bit of a redundant question now that she’s seated next to you. Shock briefly robs you of voice, and unable to answer any other way you simply shake your head no.

“Great!” The mysterious woman chirps, resting her cheek on her fist. Without missing a beat, she asks, “What’cha reading?” You were hesitant to answer at first. You didn’t know this woman, and to be quite frank, she was giving off shady vibes. But the politeness your parents instilled in you kicked in, and you politely answered her.

The rest of the evening passed like that, the mysterious woman pelting you with question after question. The mood shifted from awkward and tense to more relaxed and natural. You fall into a spiel where you go on and on about your thoughts on the characters, your input on the events happening in the story, and your own predictions for what is yet to come. Where once the woman was poking and probing at your thoughts with a seeming purpose, she now does it out of genuine interest and curiosity.

You two were so caught up in your own little world you missed the group of law enforcement barreling down the road in search of your mysterious new friend. It wasn’t until the sun was setting and you realized how long you’d been out that you two parted ways. You found yourself crossing paths with her numerous times after that. Too many to be coincidence, if you were completely honest with yourself. And every time you crossed paths, the two of you would wind up back at that tearoom, chatting the day away. Eventually you learned her name is Ymir.

Confession

Ymir has always been forward, though her feelings were never quite framed as serious. Up until now, you’d always take her declarations of devotion and intentions to marry as a joke.

It wasn’t until she followed you into the scouts, graduating from training and joining the Survey Corp, that she genuinely confessed her feelings to you. You two had wandered away from the mess hall into one of the woodsier areas of the training grounds.

Ymir seemed to be a bit more in her head than usual, but she responded in her usual way of teasing you with dry quips and sarcastic jokes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It wasn’t until you two came across a clearing that a different kind of tension developed. The dark sky was decorated with a splattering of diamond-esque stars, so deep and vast you almost feel you could fall right in. You’re staring up into the sky, mesmerized by the sight, when out of the blue you hear “I love you.” Three simple little words, ones you’ve heard from Ymir before on multiple occasions. And yet this time it feels different. There isn’t the same levity to it, no out given to brush it off as Ymir just “being Ymir”.

 Slowly you turn you head and find her staring right at you, a strangely soft look in her eyes. One that makes your stomach knot, a million butterflies fluttering about in nervous frenzy. Ymir repeats herself, voice gentle and sincere. In this moment you know she is vulnerable, being completely honest with both you and herself.

And so, you answer in kind: “I love you too.”

Headcanons

Ymir loves it when you go on one of your rambling tirades. Sometimes, she’ll bring up a random topic and try to start a debate just so she can stare at you lovingly while you go on and on. Occasionally she’ll make a quip or a tease in the middle of what you’re saying, or make a counter argument, just to make sure you don’t run out of steam.

She HAAATTEESSS that you hesitate to ask for something you want or need, and that you fear being seen as selfish for it. Ymir is all about being true to one’s self and not holding back from even the most selfish of desires. If she notices you hesitating to speak up on something you need, she’ll call you out and then ask for it in your stead.  

Ymir shares your love language of physical touch, and she gives such signs of affection to you freely. Even before becoming “official”, Ymir would often sling an arm around your shoulders and press you nice and snug against her side. Hugs and kisses are also given freely. She is a HUGE cuddler. When sleeping, she'll wrap herself around you like an octopus an act like a second blanket. Sometimes she'll murmur in her sleep, and you'll be giggling all night at the imaginary arguments she has in her dreams.

3 Ship Tropes

Sarcastic bastard with a heart of gold (Ymir) x Shy sweet pea (You)

“I will die for you” (Ymir) x “I will not let you die, I will not let myself die, we will survive at any cost” (you)

Friends to lovers

Family & Children

Ymir strikes me as something of a fence-sitter who leans more towards being child free. Despite her inner caring nature, Ymir's previous life as a false descendant of “Goddess Ymir” would make her hesitant to take up something as important as raising a child. A lot of self-sacrifice and giving needs to go into it child-rearing, both of which would make Ymir grow nervous and antsy. It would take someone special to get her thinking about having little tots of her own.

Ultimately, I believe Ymir would feel safe and comfortable enough with you to give in to the call to parenthood.

Initially you both intended to adopt only one child. However, after coming across a small group of ragtag siblings, you and Ymir fell in love with the little trio. Not having the heart to separate them, you and Ymir took all three into your home and raised them as your own.

Joanne Lee: A curious girl with wavy dark brown hair and bright brown eyes. She is the oldest of the siblings, and a bit of a know-it-all book worm. She can go on for hours and hours, asking silly questions and reciting interesting trivia she learned in school or from books. Joanne takes her role as the oldest sibling very seriously. She prides herself as something of a leader for the other two, a role model so to speak, and does her best to set a good example for them. As such, it is much to her dismay that her little brother constantly finds himself getting into trouble, often unintentionally dragging her into his hairy schemes as well.

Zachary Lee: The middle child, and the only boy out of the three. He has dark brown hair, large brown eyes, freckles and a perpetual pout.  Zachary can be a bit of a hothead at times and is quite protective, those two traits of his leading him into a lot of trouble. His irritation with Joanne’s constant mothering leads him to squabble with his older sister quite a lot.

Marina Lee: Sweet little Marina, with her wavy brown hair and big hazel eyes, is the youngest of the three. She is also the quietest, and far smaller than most her age. She can most often be found tailing Joanne or Zachary, hiding behind their legs. It takes her a moment to warm up to others, but when she does, she’s the sweetest little thing. Whether it be a flower, a pretty pebble she found, or a picture she drew, little Marina loves to give gifts.

Best Friend

The sweetest cinnamon roll who will kill you (not without good reason... probably). Armin is a gentle and inquisitive soul. I feel as though his warm nature and unorthodox way of thinking would help you feel comfortable, like you can easily let loose and unveil your thoughts openly without judgement.

His boundlessly curiosity would have him engage in long conversations with you that could last for hours. If he were to see your mind go blank, he'd do his best to help fill in the gap and figure out what it is you're trying to think of.

I feel like you two would be like two peas in a pod.

[why-not-movies]

Twilight Secret Gift Exchange 2023!

this is my entry for the @twilight-secret-gift-exchange for @jasperhaleobsessed !! here’s a playlist of a you and jasper love story🩷 i don’t use spotify but here’s the youtube music link and the songs listed below in playlist order!!!! (as well as a little moodboard because i couldn’t help myself) im really into the whole new age americana modern cowboy type vibe so this was SO fun to make!! i tried to keep the country music to a minimum because it didn’t seem like ur vibe but i couldn’t help myself since it’s jasper😭 trust that i only listen to good country and have a very merry swiftmas!!

Track List:

style- taylor swift

lacy- olivia rodrigo

(can we be friends?)- conan gray

roses are falling- orville peck

the last one- maisie peters

how you get the girl- taylor swift

paris- taylor swift

i’m only me when i’m with you- taylor swift

be your husband (live at sin-é, new york 1993)- jeff buckley

butterflies- kacey musgraves

paper rings- taylor swift

she calls me back- noah kahan

hey stephen- taylor swift

love is a wild thing- kacey musgraves

the wedding song- reneé rapp

cowboy take me away- the chicks

our song- taylor swift

cowgirl for christmas- drake milligan

[hirazuki]

for that ship&kiss thing. celebrimbor/maeglin with number 8?? thank you!

…in secrecy | Celebrimbor & Maeglin

•────────────────────⋅☾ ☽⋅────────────────────•

Aman, a cottage near the border with Avathar. Fourth Age.

"You shouldn't be here," comes the response from behind the wooden door -- finely made, though he does not recognize the craftsmanship -- that has cracked open to reveal pale skin, dark hair, and enough traces of his father's favorite cousin to waken a dull ache in his chest.

Celebrimbor cocks his head to one side, in a way that always prompts others to tell him how much he resembles his grandfather; a source of pride, and irritation. "Is your return among the living meant to be a secret? Did the terms of your release from the Halls not permit for visitors? Or, is this a conclusion you have come to for yourself?"

Silence is his reply, and in it Celebrimbor can hear the snapping of fallen twigs -- the sound of wild things in retreat, scrambling deeper into the forest.

Too much, then. He takes a breath, dampens the inadvertent intensity his spirit has ever burned with, and tries again, softer. "You are not the only one who laid low a city."

"It is not the same."

Distance and disdain, coated in a kind of poisonous pride that seeks to deflect, to set apart and deny others approach lest they notice the stain of shame clinging to reborn flesh and detect the softness lying exposed at hough and wrist and throat.

Oh, this, Celebrimbor knows well; intimately, in fact. This, he can work, with all the ease of coaxing naked gold under heat.

"It seems as though someone has yet to hear the full story," he remarks with a mirthless chuckle, allowing his voice to color with the bitterness and self-derision he is always careful to keep hidden in these unblemished lands; well, almost always. "Truthfully, today marks the beginning of a week-long feast in Tirion and I find I am still ill-suited for crowds. Half of those I could think to impose upon are attending; everyone else has a forge."

Dark eyes blow wide at that last statement, akin to the inquisitive perking of coarse-haired ears or the cautious steps skulking out of the underbrush towards a proffered morsel in his uncle's hand or the curious flicking of a tongue in the presence of an unexpected thought, late at night in the smithy; an indication of interest flaring, however reluctantly -- as Celebrimbor expected. He has had long practice, after all, with courting the attention of the supposedly disinterested, and compared to his successes, the Elf before him hardly places for difficulty.

He makes to speak, and pauses. "Which name do you prefer?" he asks, instead.

"I don't," Maeglin says and turns to go inside, the hair he keeps short brushing the top of his shoulders.

The words are cutting, and the door is left open.

Celebrimbor has never met him before, this cousin of his who is half-Sindar, reared in twilight and young in death, born of the union of blinding light and deeply private darkness, but he knows his story -- no; rather, he knows what they say of the traitor of Gondolin.

He knows what they say of himself, as well.

And he may know nothing of Nan Elmoth, save its hazy reputation, nor what signs might mark Maeglin as his father's son, but, after trading a handful of words, he knows this: Maeglin -- Lómion -- is doubtlessly of the house of Finwë.

Sharp; unyielding; obsidian polished to unbearable reflection that yet remembers the fires in the earth --

Celebrimbor likes him. His manner is familiar in a way that is comforting and painful all at once, and he pointedly decides to blame it on the family resemblance; there is only so much room for specters in his heart, and he is not inclined to give ground to shadows, no matter how they may try to claw at his mind.

Fëanor's only grandson smiles, genuinely -- although there are none there to appreciate the rarity of such a moment -- and follows him indoors.

The place is quiet, dim, and sparse; entirely bare, except for the meagerest of essentials: a lamp, a table, a single chair. There are no tools of any trade or decorative items or personal effects, and the degree of dispossession is such that it can hardly be attributed to a preference of aesthetics.

The rest of the house, presumably, is the same.

It says much and, paired with Maeglin's fingers that have been ceaselessly fidgeting ever since he answered the door -- anxious creatures, ever seeking for something to distract, something to soothe -- it amounts to nothing less than an endless, silent scream.

In a display that is incredibly Fëanorian in its brashness and its intimacy, and, plainly, horrifyingly foreign to his host, Celebrimbor reaches out and takes one of Maeglin's hands in his own, turning it so as to place it against his cheek, and presses his lips into its palm.

Maeglin freezes, going still like the hares in the early morning mists of Eregion -- standing upright amidst the holly trees and rays of first light, statues poised to flee.

"If your hands long to make, cousin," Celebrimbor says, exquisitely aware of his own hypocrisy, "you should let them."

[feyhunter78]

I literally just asked for a different one but I came up with another. Can you do a one shot where Aegon falls for the Maesters assistant who argues with the maester after asking the husband whether to save the wife or child and not the woman herself. He likes her fire and stubbornness and invites her to drink with him. They bond over trauma and stuff and he gets all suggestive saying oh the things I would do to you and that fire of yours… he then proceeds to ask her to marry him. Again is okay as she’s a 4th daughter to a high-ish lord. After the proposal starts though he goes on about how he would fan the flames to make them higher and any other man would put them out and that sort of stuff. It ends in them sharing a sweet kiss though

Don't even worry, I love getting multiple requests, especially when they're both such good prompts!!!! This one I really ended up enjoying, it was a lot of fun to write!!!!

The Maester's Assistant

Aegon sat next to Aemond, hand on his shoulder as they both grimaced at the screams coming from Aemond’s wife. This was the first of their babes, and Aegon knew it was taking all Aemond had to remain outside.

“Perhaps a drink will calm your nerves?” He suggested, offering his flask to him.

“I do not wish to drink; I wish for my wife to no longer be in pain.” Aemond spat, slamming his fist against the bench, and standing.

The door flew open and the maester hurried out, followed by a young woman. You were quite beautiful and had a furious look on your face.

You grabbed the maester’s sleeve. “The princess and her babe can be saved; we must change her position—”

The maester cut you off. “My prince, Lady Alyra is in great pain, I fear if she does not give birth soon, we shall have to chose between her or the child.”

“No, we will not, and even if that time comes, it should the princess’ choice, my prince. It is her life we are gambling with.” You said, standing between the maester and Aemond.

“If you kill me, I will haunt all of you and this wretched place for the rest of your lives.” Alyra screamed, her voice filling the hallway.

Aemond’s face drained of blood, and he pushed past them and into the birthing room. “Save my wife, we will have another child if she so wishes, but I will not lose her.”

Aegon stepped back from the door, thankful he was not the one having to deal with his goodsister.

“That is the twice you have spoken out of turn, you will remain outside until you are called for.” The maester hissed, pushing you further into the hall.

You stumbled and Aegon stepped forward, catching you. “Are you alright?”

You brushed off your skirts. “Yes, thank you.”

He offered you, his flask. “Quite bold to stand up to the maester like that, I admire a woman with fire.”

“I am working, I should not drink.”

He shook the flask, and you glanced back at the door.

The screams went silent, then a small cry rang out.

“It seems your work is finished for the day.” He smiled, flask still in his outstretched hand.

You sighed. “I will have a drink, but not from that, it would be inappropriate.”

Aegon tucked his flask away and held out his arm for you. “Perhaps I might escort the lady to the finest winery in the lands, then?”

“Oh, will we take your dragon to Highgarden then? I have always wished to ride a dragon; they seem to be magnificent creatures.”

He smirked, as he took your arm and led you down the hall. “There is no need to leave King’s Landing if you wish to ride a dragon, my quarters are just around the corner.”

You looked at him with a shocked look on your face, but his smirk stayed.

“Does that line every truly work?” You deadpanned once you recovered from his words.

“You would be surprised.” He said truthfully, thinking back on how many women had followed him back to his chambers after he uttered that line or one similar to it.

You raised an eyebrow. “I have no doubt I would.”

Aegon laughed and held the door to the kitchen open for you. “My lady.”

“Thank you, good sir.” You replied, your voice a performance of politeness.

Two hours later you found yourself leaning up against Aegon, one bottle of wine in your hands versus the two in Aegon’s.

“He treats me like a common child, I am a lady of the court, and I have worked hard to have this opportunity to study under him, but his methods are barbaric.”

Aegon nodded, his words slurred. “I have lived my entire life knowing my parents despise me, well I speak falsehoods I am not entirely sure my father knows I still exist. Either way, I have tried, and it is never enough for them.”

“That, my prince, is the burden all women face. We will never be good enough, never be worth more, even if our efforts say otherwise.” You clinked your bottle against one of his.

He dropped his, letting it roll away, and grabbed your free hand, pressing it to his lips. “Lady y/n, you fought for my goodsister today, you shall be my personal healer, if Alyra does not request you first.”

You pulled back your hand. “That is kind, my prince, but you are drunk and slobbering on my hand.” You wiped the back of your hand off on his tunic. “I doubt you will remember this come the morn.”

“That fire, that wit.” He caressed your cheek, suddenly seeming stone-cold sober. “If you would only allow me, I would fan that flame into an inferno.”

“Now, you are a poet?” You giggled, meeting his lavender eyes.

“If I was a poet, I would spend my time raving about your beauty, how it calls to me. How your tenacity, inspires action in others, and how your spirit of fire makes my heart and my cock yearn for the flames of your anger to turn upon me.” He leaned closer, his lips a hair breath from yours, brushing against them as he spoke. His voice was low and sent heat to your core.

Your face was flushed with warmth, your heart pounding in your chest. “I do not know what to say.”

“Say you will be mine, Lady y/n.” He said, placing your hand on his cheek and nuzzling into your touch.

“I have been likened to fire before, other men have crumbled and turned to ash.” You warned him, caught between a rush of affection and a rush of fear. Perhaps you had been foolish to follow the prince down here.

“I do not care, burn me, purify me in your flames until I emerge a man worthy of your affection.” His lips were kissing down your bent arm, and goosebumps followed their trail.

You gently removed your arm. “Prince Aegon, if you truly feel this way, find me tomorrow and ask again.” You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then left.

It was noon, and you were starting to believe your own fears, Aegon had sobered up and either forgotten his words or regretted them.

A frenzied knocking at the maester door sent you rushing to open it, fearing the worst.

Instead, Aegon stood there, hair wet, new clothes and a panicked look in his eyes.

“My prince? Is everything alright?” You asked, ushering him inside.

“Your favorite color is blue; it’s calming and reminds you of the ocean. You became a healer to help women and children survive not only the birthing bed, but the rest of their lives.” His words tumbled out and he grabbed your shoulders.

“Yes, these things are true. Do you feel sick?” You gently removed his hands.

He intertwined your hands and fell to his knees. “Y/N marry me, let me burn alongside you, I do not care if there are scorch marks, I will cherish each one.”

You started at him scanning his face, sincerity oozed from his very skin, and you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yes, yes, I will marry you.”

Aegon stood and pressed his lips to your temple. “My ember, I swear to you, I will spark a blaze within you, no other man will ever be able to step foot near you, no other touch will satisfy as mine does.”

“Loud voices often shout words they are not willing to back.” You teased.

He nipped at your earlobe. “I have no qualms about waiting, I shall take you on this table right now. The pleasure I give you will stoke your flames higher and higher until the table is nothing but charred wood and ash. Even then I will not stop, not until you are writhing beneath me, and the whole of the Keep hears that smart mouth of yours screaming my name.”

You could not deny his words had your heart racing, and you grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him. He tasted of Dornish wine and citrus, his plush lips moving against yours with a skill that left you dizzy.

“My wife.” Aegon breathed against your lips, smile evident in his voice.

“My husband.” You echoed, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

“You shall be the greatest healer the realm has ever known, and I, your most valued patient.” He promised, pressing swift kisses all over your face and drawing a giggle from you.

“My favorite patient.” You smiled.

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