#iron fleet

[freakassfemme]

too sweet (slightly nsfw drabble) - yara greyjoy x f! reader

Summary: a lyric-inspired drabble about being Yara's crewmate and lover <3

Word Counting: 952

Warnings: slight nsfw

You know you're bright as the morning,

On mornings like this one, Yara loves being on land.

If you had been on a boat and not in her chambers, Yara would've woken hours before this, planning and preparing and delegating for the day to come. She would've missed the warmth of the sunshine wrapping your embraced bodies even closer, and she wouldn't have been able to crawl back into your arms.

Although the sea is her home, she is always happy to retire within your presence, relieving herself of her duties for just a morning or so.

As soft as the rain,

You're Ironborn, just as Yara is, yet she wishes you weren't.

Your recklessness kills her inside just as much as it turns her on. The way you dive head first into danger leaves her heart and her core throbbing, face growing hot for mixed reasons.

You've always been competent in battle, and you've taken down just as many (if not more) men than her. You've always followed closely behind her, watching her back and being the difference between her seeing the sun or not many more times than she could count.

Yara tries not to let herself get too comfortable with your capability, as every time she does, you return to her in shambles, coughing up your own blood with the remains of another person on your hands and sword. Every time, she shakes you, screams at you, curses you and herself, and she's reminded of the anchor she's dropped in you and how vulnerable it makes her.

Despite this, despite the way she slaps you and yells and acts as if she herself is dying, you always laugh up at her through pained winces. You let her carry you back to safety, let her stitch you up yourself and frighten away anyone with actual training, let her soothe her storm through you.

Pretty as a vine,

You stomp around the Black Wind like you were born to take on the water. You look just as roughed up, just as dirty and just as unkempt as any other crewmate on board, but Yara can't help but find the way you wear it particularly easy on the eye.

To any man, the dirty beneath your fingernails is disgusting, but Yara saw the way you lifted barrels over your shoulder like they were nothing. Your hair is unwashed now, but Yara knows what you look like when it's just the two of you naked in a sparkling lake. Your hands are rough, but Yara has seen you scale entire masts without any support, and gods does that stir something within her.

As sweet as a grape.

Yara's never been a huge fan of wine. She'd much rather prefer a bitter or hearty drink, but your dripping cunt is an exception.

It's a delicacy she'd greedily swallow, taking every drop you'd give her until your thighs are shaking around her head and you're clawing at her back and begging for relief.

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait until that day.

And gods below, if you could just wait long enough for her to claim that throne, long enough for her to make things right and make things possible, Yara would marry you in a heartbeat, forsake every other lover in the entire world for you if you would take her as your own.

Not as any salt wife, either, but as a rock wife, binding herself to you for the rest of her days.

She'd hammer some iron into a ring for you herself and wear a matching one around her neck. She'd carve your name into the hilt of her sword, carry a lock of your hair inside her armor, have you braid her hair before a reaving only for her to return with the updo still in place.

If you could wait, she would carry you with her until the rest of her days.

I take my whiskey neat,

You've never complained to her about the way she eyes other women when she's drunk. It's never been in your nature to say anything, but she can always feel your cold stare. If it weren't for the booze, it would eat her alive, the way she can feel your territorial nature radiating from across entire buildings and ships, so she drowns herself in liquor and cider until she's free from the burden of attachment, until she's too fucked out of it to remember her own name. All the while, you never say a word.

You sip your ale, watching her from across the room with narrowed eyes, letting her flirt and fondle and fuck to her heart's desire. And at the end of the night, when Yara's had her fill, when she's washed out the suffocation of having feelings, you guide her back to her quarter's and wait for sobriety to revive her of empathy.

My coffee black and my bed at three,

It's almost routine at this point, the way you slide next to her on the deck and hand her a cup of something invigorating. Your watches are always immediately after hers, yet you have always sat with her throughout her entire shift, and you never complain when she retires early before a long day.

Yara always accepts the cup gratefully, sipping on it and sighing. She would pinch the bridge of her nose and you would wrap your arm around her, letting her head fall to your shoulder. At this time of night, all of the men are asleep, and in between your exhausted banter, the waves and gentle rocking of the boat lure you two into your peaceful rhythm.

You're too sweet for me.

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Eddard IV

When the door had closed behind him, Ned turned back to his wife.

“Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army.

“Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned.

“And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father’s fleet.”

[racefortheironthrone]

Is the Iron Fleet a standing force? It seems like it is with the way that's its talked about as separate to the larger Ironborn/Greyjoy bannermen, but if so, how does Balon afford to keep a hundred ships and crews permanently at readiness?

Yes, the Iron Fleet is a standing fleet.

As to how Balon affords it, he basically plowed all the money he inherited from Quellon into building it. Also, keep in mind, the Iron Fleet's only been in existence for limited periods of time - it got built over five years, was in operation for one, and then got destroyed at Fair Isle. Then it had to be rebuilt again, and is probably going to be destroyed again at Meereen. This tends to keep operating costs down.

[dmcheatsheet]

more smallfolk

Two steampunk dwarves. Master and apprentice. The master is very interred in warforged and is a specialist vendor for robot parts, and can implement schematics without a roll. His apprentice is depressed after his best friend was 'let go'/exiled 5 years ago, at the last graduation. He should be happy about winning, and staying, but he just isn't, is it survivers guilt or would he be happier if he left?

Gnome alchemist who

Iron fleet dwarf noble, maybe captain.

George the Dwarf in some old ruin, trying to clear ruble. A few more years and this place would be like an underground mansion. But no one will come... everyone moved to towns and cities, no one kept in touch. Clearing the rubble for him and the monsters inside, let's u try a swarf key party might have, on the Great Gate. But it didn't work. The key is off in some emigrants mantle piece, to be a memento of an era long passed. If it's all cleared, he just sits there. He can keep scraping and trading with the wood elves nearby, he can live in this mansion alone... but all his stories about the culture he remembers as a kid, the names he absent mindedly calls u when ye remind him of someone from his childhood, that's all gone. If that pink gnome girl or a PC hugs him "he's stiff at first, he laughs a little, he tries to find how too. He hasn't felt another since a handshake with the elves 20 years ago. It does take him a while, to remember how. But he hugs u back. Latches on for a good minute before pulling back, teary eyed, still holding your hands. 'Thank you child'"

Beach dwarf crabs. These are the natural state of the hut crabs the dwarves use.

[lonehuna]

[daenystheedreamer]

Blue haired tyroshi I cheered

IN HOTD?? IT HAPPENED??? NOT TOO SILLY FOR REALISTIC GROUNDED POLITICAL HBO GAME OF THRONES????

[invisiblequeen]

Anybody here know Daenerys Stormborn of The House Targaryen, First Of her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons?

DID I DO HER RIGHT?

[vroomian]

How powerful is Vocx compared to Vox? Is either more powerful than the other? How differently is the Voxtech run and what's their reputation like in Hell?

Vocx is more powerful by far. I picture vox as one of those people who smiles on the surface but attempting to teach him anything makes him resent the fuck out of you. Vocx doesn’t have that problem. He’s got pride but he’s got no problem putting away to learn from his betters. So he both has more tricks just from the other overlords and more social connections and powerful friends. Letting other people teach you things is a sure fire way to make friends. People, no matter how awful, all like feeling smart and helping.

Plus I’m kinda yanking the Yrz method of contracting and having Vocx be one of the fairest overlords to work for (except without yrzs moral objections to literally owning people lol. When in rome etc). He treats it like an actual job, with performance reviews and everything. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so being one of Vocxs people is considered pretty desirable. The grunts in the company don’t get contracts but above a certain level, being promoted means being contracted to Vocx.

[ryuuka-balaen]

Norn Emissaries 

[...] are immense and towering Tyranid warrior organisms that act as the express will of a Norn Queen upon a battlefield. Being the living representation of the fleet's traits and strengths, the Norn Emissary of Hive Fleet Karkinos is a behemoth of monstrous resilience that cannot be defeated with anything short of apocalyptic force.

Taking after the distinctive trait of fleet Karkinos wherein the metals on consumed planets are harvested to be utilized in alloyed carapaces, the Norn Emissary can metabolize metals it consumes on the battlefield and immediately implement them into its abnormally thick carapace...

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

You Don’t Even Know

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

CW: (spoilers) (18+) references to sex, but mostly fluff, nightmares(nondescript), storms, flooding, lightning/thunder, ‘situationship’ mutual pining, comfort, confessions

{Author Commentary: I was particularly inspired by some lyrics from Bedless by PTV: 

'Cause you don't even know you're an angel, foolish am I for the times I come and go'

&

'And sleep inside your worn-in bed, And it woke me up, Like a heart attack, When you talk in your sleep I'll be there to slow your breath'

And this fic kinda switches between close third person perspective with the reader and with Jake, I hope that’s not confusing for anyone.}

“Want me to lock up and everything? You look spent.” Jake couldn’t help a little self-satisfied smirk as the two of you headed back to your room. You’d each taken turns freshening up, you taking off your makeup and brushing your teeth, Jake stealing one of your hairbands from the drawer to tie back his damp hair before stealing some of your mouthwash. It may not have been a regular thing with past hookups of yours, but Jake would always make sure you looked after yourself before bed after the two of you went at it. For the better- your joint activities were typically aerobic, and more than once you’d been tempted to just fall asleep in your sweat-through makeup.

Your casual situation had been going on for a while, and he’d be over at your house pretty frequently when he was in town, so he’d learned your routines. “Yeah, if you don’t mind…” you strolled over to your dresser for a sleep shirt, tossing him his shirt that had landed on it earlier. He caught it, nodding his confirmation before he pulled on his crumpled pants. You stretched exaggeratedly before flopping on your bed. You did feel spent, in the best way. All the tension you usually carried around with you had been melted away, ‘or maybe burned away was more accurate…’ He was good at that, making all the little things in your mind’s periphery disappear, temporarily. He just had a way, of grounding you in your body, making every sensation demand your attention so your mind couldn’t fathom anything outside of it in those moments. You rolled over to pull back your covers, finally sinking into your pillow with a sleepy, satisfied sigh.

Jake had finished redressing and turned off the far lamp before making his way to your bedside lamp. “Want this off?” “Mmm… it’s fine.” Your eyes had already drifted closed as sleep began encroaching upon you. “Hmh…” he emitted a quiet, fond sound. You felt his thumb brush your cheek gently before his footsteps retreated.

Jake made his way around your small apartment, turning off forgotten lights, and tossing a blanket from the floor back onto the couch where you kept it. He took his phone out of his jacket pocket as he started slipping his shoes on.

[MAJOR FLOOD WARNING] flashed on the screen as soon as it illuminated. “Shit…” he’d known it was going to rain, but admittedly hadn’t realized how extreme it had apparently gotten. He stood on his toes slightly to peer out the high window on your front door. The road was indeed flooded, resembling a shallow river. Not a threat from the elevation of the apartment, but certainly not driveable. He considered his… well, nonexistent options before removing his shoes again and padding towards your bedroom. He was scrolling through his phone as he made his way back to your bedside.

“Hey, uh it looks like the roads are no-” he looked up from his phone, seeing you undisturbed. You had curled yourself around a pillow and were breathing softly in the dim light of the small bedside lamp. “Hmh.” He couldn’t help another fond sound as he smiled down at you, putting his phone on the nightstand and squatting down by your bedside. He placed his hand over yours where it hugged the edge of the pillow. He gave it a squeeze, seeing your expression twitch briefly. He gave it a little shake, hoping that would be more effective “Hey…” His voice was still gentle, but in closer proximity, it finally registered. Your eyes fluttered open to his gentle, apologetic smile in the still dreamy dim lamp light. “Hm?” “Sorry to wake you, doll. The roads are flooded, looks like I’m gonna have to crash here.” You blinked a few times as you registered the information, reality crystalizing more fully. “Yeah, ‘fcourse… that’s fine.” He chuckled softly, dropping his hand from yours, “I’ll be on the couch, go back to sleep.” Your hand felt cold at the absence of his as you hugged the pillow once again, closing your eyes again and sinking into your dream's warm haze.

He stood up, taking his phone and flicking off the lamp before heading to the adjacent living room. He’d decided was only right, you hadn’t discussed bed-sharing, despite being together in bed, and a number of other places, a multitude of times. And he figured you were not awake enough to decide how you feel about crossing that line right now. He positioned a throw pillow at one end of the couch before shucking his jeans and settling under the throw blanket in his tshirt and boxers. He shifted a bit before finding the most comfortable position on the unideal cushions. It wasn’t a bad couch, fine for a movie, and a makeout, and other activities that often follow… but not ideal for sleeping. Still, he eventually dozed off as exhaustion caught up with him.

A heavy wind had picked up as the storm outside continued to swell. Jake managed to sleep through it till a loud crash sounded somewhere nearby. He shot up into a sitting position with a startled gasp, blinking into the dark as your living room came into focus. He could hear the wind and rain whipping against the outer walls but also a louder howling of air from the kitchen, which was only separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. With his adrenaline still pumping he gingerly got up, turning his phone light on as he cautiously made his way to the kitchen. The source of the noise was quickly identifiable; a small window above your sink that had a pane that swung up to open. The storm pane behind it had not been lowered, ‘probably hadn’t even been latched properly, should’ve checked it when locking up…’. He hastily lowered the storm pane, grimacing as the rain-peppered wind hit his face. After lowering the inner pane and latching it securely, he took a deep breath, leaning on his palms on the edge of the counter.

Beyond the dull roar of the storm, there was yet another sound. A meek murmuring, barely audible. Jake’s brow tented in concern as he immediately headed to your room. ‘She’s probably terrified. First time staying over and there’s a bunch of crashing around the house, christ.’ He walked into your room slowly, not wanting to startle you, only to find that your eyes were still closed. The pillow he’d last seen you holding was lying on the floor by your bed, but your hand was blinding grasping for it. The soft distressed whimpers were coming from you as your head shook slightly. ‘She’s… having a nightmare?’ He would assume it was probably exacerbated by the loud noise and felt a pang of responsibility. But still, he felt stuck for a moment, unsure what to do. He’d been fully prepared to walk in and see you cowering and explain the window, possibly apologize, and offer comfort if you needed it. And offering comfort was still his instinct but… ‘what’s the line…’

“...Jake- ” An equally quiet and timid, but unmistakable plea from you snapped him back to the moment. ‘Her eyes are still closed… and she’s calling for me in her sleep, 'cause she’s scared…’ His heart clenched. ‘If I hadn’t been here, she’d likely be tormented by that dream till the window pane banging woke her up’. The thought twisted in his gut. But he was there, he could do something. He had to. Before he could formulate a plan his instinct pulled him to your bedside, where he crouched, yet again. “Hey.. hey, it’s ok… I’m here…” He kept his voice soft, reaching out to gently rest a hand on your upper arm. Your extended arm reached yet again, this time gaining purchase on his warm, solid shoulder.

He followed your beckoning pull, and its accompanying whimper, eventually shifting onto the empty side of the mattress previously occupied by the discarded pillow. As he settled on his back you curled into his side, seeking the warm, familiar presence. “I’m right here…” The soft timber of his voice emanated from his chest. Your face burrowed into his neck, your still slightly shaky breaths bringing in his unmistakable sweet, musky smell. He’d shifted his arm from under you to wrap around your back, inviting you to rest more fully against his chest. His hand on your back smoothed up and down as your breathing slowed, subconsciously syncing with his.

Though you seemed considerably calmer, your hand that had pulled him in was now resting on his chest, fingers curled tightly on the loose, hand-cut neck of his t-shirt. With his free hand, he gently pried your fingers open before slipping his hand between yours and his shirt, offering his fingers as a substitute, which you seemed to eagerly accept, closing your hand over his. The same bittersweet pang tightened in his chest at the innocent gesture. He tucked his head over yours, nuzzling it slightly. “You don’t even know…” he exhaled, even quieter than before.

He lay there as the storm continued to swell outside. The once distant rumbling had only grown louder, and bright flashes had begun lighting up the room. His arm tightened around you as the wind sounded like it could shatter the rattling windows. A sudden loud clap of thunder directly overhead made him jolt, and his hand from your back jumped to cradle the back of your head.

“...Jake?” your voice was small and muffled against his chest. “I’m here angel”, he reassured softly. His hand pet your hair in a slow soothing motion, but you could feel his pulse racing. “Jake… are you scared?” His hand stilled. "...Are you ...awake?” You stifled a small laugh. You’d begun drifting in and out after a particularly loud crash, but having found yourself wrapped in his warmth, his hand on your back lulling you back to sleep, you hadn’t wanted to deter him. “Yeah… kindof.” You trailed your thumb across the knuckles of the hand you were still holding.

While it was reassuring that you didn't seem opposed to him joining you in the bed, the question of just how much of it you'd been awake for suddenly made him self-conscious. The cuddling and cooing certainly wasn't a side of himself that presented often. And he'd called you angel -not part of his regular roster of playful nicknames.

He found a fumbling explanation forcing its way to the surface. "Your kitchen window got blown in-" "hm?" You responded noncommittally, your eyes having drifted closed again. "I got it latched, -storm pane was open." he added hastily. You smiled to yourself at his babbling, responding with a simple "hm." "I thought you woke up, but you were talking in your sleep…". Well that caught your attention, "...what did I say?" You kept your tone casual but prepared yourself for something embarrassing, knowing his presence often reappeared in your dreams after he left. His pause only made your pulse increase. "...You were calling for me, scared." He stated, his hand trailing through your hair again, unconsciously. "I think you were just having a nightmare-" A sudden loud crack cut him off, making you both flinch closer to each other.

He'd just been considering offering to go back to the couch, but… "I couldn't leave you like that." You let the warmth of his words settle in your chest, though you knew you may have been reading into them too much. "I'm glad you did… thank you." "You don't have to thank me- I mean… I'm glad I was here." This was coming out wrong, but how could he say it? How could he tell you?

"I'm sorry I'm always leaving." His voice was softer than ever, barely audible over the wind and rain. You untucked your face from his neck, shifting away just enough to look up at him. He looked down at you, eyes unsure, his mouth slightly open as he tried to read your reaction.

"You never have to, Jake." His eyes widened at your words. His hand left yours, only to rest on your jaw so his familiar calloused thumb could caress your cheek tentatively. "...Can I kiss you?", he breathed. His need for permission confirmed that this would be different, different from all those prior. You smiled at him, reaching up to brush his hair back “Anytime.” Lightning briefly illuminated his face, sparkling in his eyes before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!

{Tag List: @star-boxer @doodle417 @greta-van-chaos @weightofdreams-gvf @prophetofthedune @gretnabancheese @shutupdevvie @holdingup-fallingsky @t00turnttrauma @groggyvanfleet @garagebandvanfleet @gretavanflowerpowerrr​ @razorbladekiszka​ @hyperfixated-gvf​  @dannyandthekiszkas​ @rhythm-of-space​ @allieisacrybaby​ }

[greenaswildfire]

"Meleys is a beloved dragon"

By whom, my man? Really, by whom? Maybe TB and their allies only, because if we consider the smallfolk (oh wait, what did rightful queen Rhaenyra and even showrunners say, that smallfolk don't matter, right? let's see if this discourse holds up later on...) and the families of those who were murdered by Meleys and Rhaenys, ofc everybody with a single braincell would be overjoyed by their deaths = one less dragon to kill their families and ruin their crops.

[lavellane]

so is it actually confirmed that datv will not bring up the vir'abelassan choice ? lol ?

[little-lovett]

i’m not a fan of the possessive, self righteous i-know-the-show-better-you’re-a-fake-fan energy up in here i see sometimes. we’re all here because we adore this show. that is a beautiful thing!!!! we love something SO MUCH collectively that we have a little community to be crazy about it together. so why bring in all that gross dividing energy? sweeney todd is a piece of art and a very complicated one at that. we are allowed to interpret it a certain way and still respect different interpretations. let us have our messed up ships. let us have our stupid headcannons. let us have our favorite actors/actresses. no one’s changing the objective story or manipulating characters beyond recognition. we are watching and analyzing and learning new things about these characters and this story we all love so much. i understand the deep passion and appreciation for the original story and production of sweeney todd. i share that. i also love geeking out about sweenett and josh groban and annaleigh ashford. two things can be true at once. i think a lot of this division comes from differing feelings about the revival. first of all, can we be happy this incredible musical is THRIVING on broadway and getting thousands of new fans? so many people have been pulled into this delicious, dark rabbit hole only because of the revival, myself included. of course some things in the show were adjusted for modern audiences. mrs. lovett reads sexier and sweeney a bit softer because people like that shit (also modern audiences are dense and cannot pick up very subtle messages.) i believe the original production intended that dynamic between sweeney and lovett as well. stephen sondheim The Creator has indicated such himself. this one is just more upfront with it so audiences can understand explicitly and get the most out of the show. people love dark, sad romances and evil hot girls. and the show is doing AMAZING. you can have your harsh criticisms on the current production and actors. you can be boring and hold a hateful grudge against the revival. fine!! you’re missing out!!! but don’t make it the problem of people who love it and are having fun. please stop ostracizing people and giving yourself a medal for having a closed mind.

happy new year xoxo

[tartetasin]

Sharing here too, I had a dream where Hisami/Letty took off because an image of Hisami affectionately calling her “princess” (in a thinking bubble) blew up??

[flowersandfashion]

'what would I wear to the met gala?' I would paint my body like a hyper-realistic stone statue covered in moss. an effigy of the elites, consumed by the time garden as they consumed it. destroyed, decomposing and returning to the earth.