#ic/oc
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skxrbrand · 5 months ago
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Sleep provides no respite. The pounding in his head has worsened and his hands shake. The Reaper catches the Sun's glare and it like taking a blade to the eyes. He winces, yelps, and cringes back into the shadows of his chamber.
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xaallo · 10 months ago
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"NO YOU DON'T!"
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tzeenneth · 2 years ago
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He also likes Thanquol, it’s just his favor takes the form of torment for his own amusement~
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yorozumarugallery · 3 months ago
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Urushitober17
🐈‍⬛
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glasswarproject · 1 year ago
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Recreating the Ice King Crown, from Adventure Time
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daily-dragon-drawing · 11 months ago
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Chocolate and vanilla dragons that are best friends
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#61 & #62 - 可可 (kěkě / cocoa) & 香草 (xiāngcǎo / vanilla) - Ironically, this position keeps them both very warm 🍫🍨🍦dail
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rueghost · 2 months ago
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its 🍦
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skelleste · 11 months ago
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My muse.
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choccy-milky · 2 months ago
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@foundthatoldzeppelinshirt what did u do to me...what in the wattpad is this... i only planned to do a few doodles but then i kept getting more brainrotted and things got out of hand LMAOO (and ofc i HAD to draw hockey player seb at SOME POINT bc its my duty as a canadian citizen🫡🍁🍁 O CANADA!!!)
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quiddling · 6 months ago
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how many eyes does lord bloodraven have?
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archiepelago · 4 months ago
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Holdable
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ruushes · 2 years ago
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dancing lessons! have to pass the time at camp somehow 💃
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xaallo · 2 years ago
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" It's called self love~"
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murmel-malt · 6 months ago
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Snow in the Vale ❄️
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wyvernest · 7 months ago
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cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader
previous(first) part - next part | all chapters list
>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.
cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc
chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother
“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”
Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.
“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”
“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.
“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”
“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.
Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.
“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”
There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.
You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.
“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.
With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.
But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.
Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.
You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.
“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.
“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.
“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.
Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.
He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.
“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”
His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Cregan.”
You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.
Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.
But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.
“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.
A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.
No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.
Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.
“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.
You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.
“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.
But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.
Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.
Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.
You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.
“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”
“It will set eyes upon us.”
“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”
The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.
“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.
You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.
“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”
“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.
You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.
“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”
“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.
The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.
“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”
“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.
“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”
You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?
You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?
“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”
“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.
With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.
“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.
“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”
A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.
He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.
“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”
Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?
You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.
“Is this proper?”
“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”
A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.
“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”
“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.
But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.
“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.
His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.
You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.
“Cregan.” is all you manage.
“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”
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TAGS!! im sorry for those that don't work its tumblr's fault i checked all of them multiple times
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irlplasticlamb · 30 days ago
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dust and stardust. (house bolton oc!)
prints + merch + c0mmission info pinned to profile!
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