#leather jerkin

[sw5w]

We Have No Army

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:37:48

The Security Officer behind Captain Panaka in this scene may be Captain Jenn Smeel. Thanks to Shannon Carter for pointing this out!

[env0]

Masquerade is naught but charade, charlatan?

Stand, and deliver!

[crosaidi]

if you're in a relationship with him and not regularly burying hands in that HAIR what even are you doing

[kits-ghosts-corner]

reading about history isn’t enough i need to be in one of those BBC docudramas

[venmondiese]

THE WARM OF BOTH BODIES

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

✧Rating: +18 mdni explicit

✧word count: 3.1k

✧gif credit: aegon ✧ aemond

-ˋˏsummary: Dragons are greedy, and both of your brothers have perverted desires that you take no issue on entertaining. ✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, mummy kink, lactation kink, breastfeeding, threesome (f/m/m), aegond, targcest, polyamory, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation (f and m receiving), aegon is the most submissive to exist, switch!aemond. ✧ this is a part from @targaryen-dynasty 's 3k celebration ! check all the other works too, and as always a pleasure to participate with my silly things and congrats to her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ✧ note: i added my own spice. it didn't say anything about aegond but i am... weak... #i tried

By no means had you known what being alone was like.

After Aemond, you were the fifth child of king Viserys to survive childhood. Daeron was your youngest by two years, and like your sister, you were dotted and cared for by your mother and father… unlike your brothers. 

Your mother had a weird way to demonstrate affection to them, you always thought. With Aegon was non-existent, and Aemond had this burden to be the reliable sibling amongst them all. 

When Aegon had to marry Helaena; you married Aemond. It was how the tradition dictates, and it was under your father’s wish, much to your mother’s dislike.

And just like Helaena, you recently had a daughter with Aemond, Rhaelle, who was the apple of his father’s eye. Yet, the only difference between your duty and Helaena’s is that she wasn’t the one who had to take care of Aegon. Instead, you took care of Aegon’s whims, alongside your husband’s.  

Aegon was greedy, whiny and clingy. He searched you whenever he wanted, following you around like a puppy for your attention. Whereas Aemond was quiet, reserved and embarrassed, but not less greedy. He often wanted comfort, praise for his action and the reassurance that he was doing no wrong in his desires. 

Both of them accepted the other, in a quiet agreement. You were a petulant person, and if you wanted, they knew this, all of it, would be over. So they shut up their differences for the sake of it.

Aegon was curled by your right side, lying on the bed of your chambers. Post coital bliss at its finest, as he was slightly sleepy, and even a bit grumpy when bothered. It had been some cold days, but the fire made it more bearable, and it gave some sense of cosiness to both. He was just resting, a bit sleepy, his head on your stomach as you read some silly book about Valyrian fashion, as his legs were pressed against your shoulder, as you slowly caressed his leg, soothing him like that.

You hear his soft yawn, as the laziness of the evening consumes you both as you are cuddled against the other for the warm. As Aegon draws slowly patterns upon the lower part of your chest, you feel the door of the chambers opening knowing it was your husband 

You lower your book, caressing Aegon’s heel and calf, as you look at Aemond, walking closer to the bed as he makes a slight face at seeing Aegon here, as if he wanted you all for himself. He takes his boots quickly, moving to take off his leather jerkin.

“Hi” You say, softly, and he hums. You can see it in the slight frown on his face. 

Aegon stirs a hit, not greeting Aemond as he sits on the bed, closer to you. Like a lazy cat, he yawns, and you feel his muscles stretching a bit. 

“Did you tuck Rhaelle?” Aemond asks, his shoulders tensed up as he takes off his eye patch and loses up his hair. He was tired, you could see.

“Yes, she is sleeping in the nursery…” You say softly, looking at him. “What is it?” You ask, seeing how Aemond wants something, yet he doesn’t know how to say it, looking at you a bit unsure. 

“Mummy” He whines softly, frowning as his tone was a bit sheepishly, sitting closer to you, by your left side. 

You press your lips together, looking at him as he seems so vulnerable, and tired, for whatever reason he probably will tell you later. Aegon nuzzles your stomach, his interest piqued on Aemond’s word, because if it involves Aemond, it will involve him as well. 

The unspoken words between you and Aemond are no obstacle to knowing what he wants. You know your brothers, surely, but Aemond was different. Aemond was your husband, and you knew him like the palm of your hand. 

Aemond nods shyly, as if agreeing with the thought on your mind, and he scoots closer once you sit better on the bed, leaning back properly on the pillows. Your nightgown is easy to untie at the front, more so when you are lactating and need an easy way to open the dress. Rhaelle would fuss and wail her little lungs out, so your clothes were always easy to undo. 

Now, if Rhaelle’s father and uncle enjoy the same, is another thing. 

You undo the laces in the front of your dress, and you know how Aegon reincorporates to sit, suddenly all woken up and interested in this. The dress is pure cotton, and it is comfortable to wear. You pull the fabric out of the way, and with their gazes following your each movement, you know it is a matter of time for them to hungrily latch onto you.

Aegon curls up to your right side, whereas Aemond does the same on your left. He always preferred your left, since the blind spot faces Aegon, so he doesn’t have to bear seeing him too. Aegon is much more shameless, clinging to you and moving his hips softly against your right side.

You feel both men getting closer, and their breaths hit your nipples as they nuzzle your blossom, in hopes of sucking hungrily.

 “Aegon…” you say softly as he was growing impatient, moving a bit as he pressed his face closer to your breast, restless and eager.

Aemond is never restless; he stayed still as he loved, caring. He always pressed faint kisses, around your tits, before suckling calmly. His left arm always found its way to wrap your waist, keeping you close to him as he delighted himself with soothing milk.

Instead, Aegon immediately latched onto your breast, suckling and trying to get all the milk he could, eagerly as he always seemed relentless, always craving more and more. He’d watch you with bright, purple eyes as he craved for your attention.

You comb their hair with your fingers, kiss the top of their heads and rub their back. They were your older brothers, but behaved like hungry little kittens that needed their milk.

Always was a bit strange, as they weren’t always amicable. It took a long time, for Aemond, at least, to join in. It was mainly due to the fact that Aegon rarely left you alone, even if you were Aemond’s wife. Little by little, they learned how to warm up to each other, and sometimes to your request, they’ll kiss.

The suckling sounds are loud, almost obscene, as you feel both swallow each drop from your leaking milk. Aemond had probably been tasting it since the end of your pregnancy, yet it didn’t tire him at all. And Aegon? He was always hungry, and he suckled and his tongue lapped your breast, milking more and more. 

You can feel how they swallow the milk, both eager. Aemond has a hand around your waist, as Aegon has his hand around your breast and squeezes it slightly as if to have more.

“Mummy” Aegon murmurs, pulling back as he looks at you, and he has wide purple eyes “are we being good?”

The reassurance is a must, you realise with time. “Yes, baby. You both are my good boys” you murmur, caressing the top of their head “Both of you, my best boys…”

They delight themselves in the praise; you hear Aemond’s faint moans, as you feel his body at ease. You caress the back of his head, feeling the loose hairs on your fingers. 

It always made you feel the arousal settle in the lower part of your belly, and feeling so turned on you had to press your thighs together a bit. Aemond loved when your breast grew larger, and full of milk. Aegon was not behind that feeling, as he was the one to propose the idea to ‘help you with the heaviness of them’.

Aegon gulps on the milk like a glutton, and his eyes are closed in the delight of nursing. You feel his cock hardening little by little by your side. Aemond instead, looks at you. His eye is deep and intense, watching your face as his mouth is still working on your nipple, his tongue pressing against the nub getting more milk. His hand on your waist loosens up slightly, slowly moving down all the way to your stomach, and little by little, makes its way to your centre. 

Aegon is oblivious to that, as he suckles and slurps loudly, with not a care for the world, nipping and licking all of the sweet milk that your breast can produce. He whines a bit, scooping closer and closer as he tries to get more and more. 

“Doing such a good job for mummy, darlings…” You say to both, as you feel Aemond’s hand almost innocently brushing against your womanhood. “So good…” You murmur dreamily, sighing as Aegon nuzzles his face closer to your right breast, his nose brushing the skin as his mouth slightly presses a bit harder, eager for more.

They could feel you moving under their touch, almost possessive as they fed from you, keeping you right there at their mercy. The sound of your praise stirred something in both of them, yearning more of your affections, more of mummy’s affections. 

Aemond is the first one to pull away from your breast, beginning to shift as his body moves higher, his mouth kissing all the way up to kiss you in the lips. You hum, feeling the taste of your own milk on his lips. 

“Mummy” Aegon protests, not wanting to be left out as always, as he pulls away from your breast, an obscene sound from it as he moves his head to nuzzle your cheek, kissing lazily to keep on worshipping your body. 

Aware of how his hand was still between your legs, Aemond pressed it harder against your core, rubbing more firmly. As if wanting to draw more sounds from you, Aegon moves his hand to grope softly, carefully your breast, not wanting to leave a part from you unattended. 

“You are such good boys for me, always wanting to please me, hm?” You say, panting a bit from how good your husband's hands on your pussy feels.

“Yes mummy” Aemond murmurs, and Aegon nods in agreement. 

It’s as if Aemond knows your thoughts, because he turns to watch Aegon, moving slightly his other hand to place it on the back of his neck, pulling Aegon closer to share a slow, yet passionate kiss between both of them.

They could feel the milky taste in the other’s mouth, and you could see how their tongues crashed against each other, making it as sloppy as possible as they made out for quite some time, as Aemond’s fingers tried to pry into your clit and pussy. 

You know that at the beginning it was more to put on a show for you, for your delight that they agreed to do as well. If they enjoyed it, you could never know. But now it’s different, watching how they hungrily seek each other’s mouth, and if one tries to pull away, the other is quick to lean, following their mouth to keep on kissing. 

It’s hot, to say the least, and it makes wonders for your arousal to see both of them kiss like this. You think, for a moment, if you could maybe propose the idea for them to follow this lust for each other further. Maybe for another occasion. 

As Aemond’s lips move to kiss Aegon’s neck, you see how your baby seems so aroused, you could always see it clearly with Aegon, how his cheeks turned pinker and he had that blissful expression. You feel Aemond’s hand moving away from your core, and before you could ask anything, they both pulled away from each other. 

Aemond probably murmured something in Aegon's ear, because they shared a look before the eldest slowly turned to you. 

 “Mummy, can we please you…? We wanna taste your pussy… please…” he asked, and you see how Aemond looks at you, awaiting your answer, as his hand caresses your thigh softly.

You caress Aegon’s thigh softly, as they both almost look at you with puppy eyes. 

“Yes, my darlings. Please mummy with your mouths” 

It does not take them long to accommodate between your legs, Aemond presses one hand to your left leg, keeping it still. Aegon does not bother to do the same for your left thigh, as he has other priorities. 

You feel Aegon’s mouth first, his tongue tracing along her slit. Aemond moves his hand to the back of Aegon’s head, pushing his mouth further into your cunt, as the eldest savours your wetness. And at the sound of your moans, he doubles his efforts.

Then it’s Aegon who pulls your husband’s face down to join his mouth, both of them licking and sucking your wet cunt. You can see both of them, their cheeks pressed together as they pleasure you with their mouths at the same time, licking and slurping in unison.

“Fuck, f-fuck, gods…” you moan, your hips moving closer, grinding against his tongues, grabbing Aegon’s hair, short and easy to grab (unlike Aemond’s)

Aegon seems delighted at that, and you feel his tongue darting out to suck your clit eagerly, and you feel your jaw moving at the motion, and he whimpers with need. Aemond is, as always, focused as he slurps and sucks on her entrance, obscene sounds fill the room as his expert mouth works on you. 

They both clearly relish both the taste and the privilege of having their faces buried between your thighs, moving to please you, and their tongues crashing together as they do so. 

“Mummy, you taste so good” you don’t even recognise the sound, the sound muffled by the little space between his mouth and your folds. 

“Fuck, so good…” the other agrees, and your legs tremble, as your hips try to get more and more of their wicked tongues.

Aegon is the one whining, you know that. As you pull his hair, you see his needy eyes looking at you. You press your heel on his back, as if pushing him closer to your cunt. He moans, closing his eyes as he goes back to feasting on your pussy.

Aemond moved to your clit now, and you can see how the sapphire glints on the dim lights. You imagine that both of their cocks are rock hard, throbbing impatiently. 

Maybe it’s Aegon or Aemond (maybe both) the one who drools, while the muffled moans still come and go. You, on your side, are a mess, as you try to keep both of them close to you, feeling Aemond’s hand caressing your breast. Your pussy can’t take longer, and your hips grind against both of their faces, as you roll your eyes back and lean your head back in the pillows, as you feel your orgasm so close.

 “Fuck, babies, so good for mummy, fuck…” you mean it, moaning loudly as you feel them whimper.

“Wanna make you cum so hard, mummy…” Aegon’s raspy voice is a bit clearer, as you clench on his hair.

“Hmmmm” Aemond hums, not separating one bit from your cunt.

As you start cumming, both of them press their mouth against your pussy, wanting to taste your cum as they try to be the one to get more. You are cumming hard, and their greedy tongues only fuel your orgasm even more. 

Feeling your pussy quivering and pulsing around their tongues it's probably one of their favourite things, along with the rest of you. The feeling of your creamy juices made them greedy, and they share it all

Their faces are shiny with your arousal, and even when you retreat, they lick their lips as if wanting more. You can’t exactly see in the faces of your brother’s what they are thinking, but you feel tired to think about anything but the great orgasm you just had. 

You are not exactly sure who started the kiss, but it's messy and sloppy, as you see their tongues sharing the last tastes of your cum, as their hands clenched to the other to keep him close, and keep on the passionate kiss.

It’s Aemond who groans, Aegon pressing his body to his, almost humping his cock to any part of your husband’s skin, who holds him close, one hand on his jaw and the other moving down to the eldest hips.

You move a bit, sitting better on the bed, yet your back still leans on the pillows, body relaxed as you accommodate to watch them devour each other as one does sit to watch men fighting in a tourney. But both of them were involved in different practices, which was a show for you to see and most importantly- enjoy. 

You can see their tongues pressing together, their heads moving to not break the sloppy kiss, messy and passionate. They surely are doing this out of passion and lust, rather than rational thought, but you are not complaining.

Aegon’s hand comes to caress the firm abdomen of Aemond, like you enjoy doing. Your husband is a creature of many sides, and he can be as submissive as he can be dominant. He moves the hand on Aegon’s hip to grip his short hair, and keeps him in place to keep on kissing him. 

“Aem… mummy” Aegon’s little whines come in a low tone, and a bit slurred, as Aemond does not give his mouth a break. 

It takes you a while to notice that Aegon is using his hand to stroke Aemond’s cock, using the side of his thigh to hump and grind his own cock. He was needy, but he was too much of a needy baby to fight for dominance. Aegon relished on being submissive, either with you, or Aemond. 

Aemond breaks their kiss, his head falling back to pant, groaning slightly as Aegon uses his hand on his cock. You know Aegon is the most lustful creature since he discovered pleasure, and he was always good with his hands. 

“Mummy…” Aegon whines, wanting you to help him with his cock, and you move on your knees closer to where they were having this exchange of pleasure, because both of them wanted to cum very badly. 

Your hands on Aegon’s cock make him go weak, whimpering as he leans closer to Aemond, moving his lips down on his body, his abdomen and the tip of his cock.

“Good boys, hm? You both are such good boys for mummy, pleasuring yourselves…” You say, that sweet tone of yours makes Aemond’s arousal explode. 

“Fuck-” Aemond mutters, groaning and whimpering as he cums one of his hands moving to grip your shoulder, and as your hands stroke the eldest’s cock, your hand over stimulating movements on his cockhead, as if trying to replicate his tongue movements on Aemond’s tip. 

Aegon is greedy, and he whimpers, still pleasuring Aemond, his hips bucking on your hand, as his own orgasm hits hard. Aemond is the one holding him, as your baby’s orgasm hits him hard, trying not to fall on the bed, panting loudly and whimpering. 

He makes a little sound when you kiss him, wanting to taste Aemond’s cum on his tongue. It was delightful, and you feel his body melting on your touch. You feel how your other brother moves to caress the back of your head, nuzzling your shoulder and kissing it tenderly.

You could get used to this new dynamic, surely.

[broodsys]

me staring intently at all my different screenshot angles on the trespasser armor: okay but. where does the skirt come from. where.

[peachessndreamss]

Wolfswood

Summery : Cregan receives an injury while out hunting, his wife cares for him

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Cannon typical injury and first aid/wound care, cannon typical hunting

Word count : 4k

A/N : Cregan Stark I love yooou. Also, apologies in advance if this is the most boring thing you've ever read.

Winter had arrived with devastating speed and brutality in the North. The first heavy snowfall had destroyed the last remaining crops left out in the fields and the woodpiles stacked as high as two men and just as wide had looked like enough to see them through two winters but soon began to deplete at an alarming rate. 

And when a great boar had been sighted at the edge of the Wolfswood, Lord Cregan Stark quickly called the men of his house to a hunt, knowing it was better to find the creature now and make use of it rather than let it be starved by the winter. 

They had set out in the pre-dawn, 10 men of House Stark, wrapped in layers of leather, wool and fur, mounted on the most surefooted horses the Winterfell stables had to offer. Lord Stark rode at the front of the group, his steward and close friend Martyn Snow riding beside him, the two of them talking as they disappeared from sight. 

Once in the Wolfswood Lord Stark had led the hunt, first on horseback as they tracked the creature deeper into the cover of the dense wood and then on foot, when the terrain had become too dangerous for the horses and the boar needed to be harried out of its hiding place.

Cregan had been moving slowly north, stepping over tangles of brambles and avoiding tree roots thicker than his thighs, the men of the group formed a large crescent shape as they moved slowly, hopefully driving the animal toward a clearing. One of the men at the end of the line gave a sharp whistle to indicate the group should stop, instinctively his head moved toward the sound and in that split second of distraction Cregan missed the rustling of dead leaves and the heavy breathing of an animal charging. 

The great tusk of the boar gored his left thigh. Cutting deeply through the skin to the muscle beneath, bright red blood immediately falling to the leaves at his feet. The power of the blow from the animal knocked him off his feet and sent him slamming into the cold ground, the back of his head knocking hard against a tree root. The metallic stink of blood filled his nose as shouts went up from the men of the household, they abandoned the hunt and gathered around their injured lord. 

“Get the beast,” was all he managed to say before the wintery sunlight faded from his view and he wasn't aware of pain or cold anymore. 

Lady Stark watched the hunting party return from the covered walkway between the Great Keep and the Armory. She expected to see Cregan leading the party, a triumphant smile on his cold reddened face with the great beast slung over the back of his stallion. 

Instead it was Cregan's steward, Martyn, who galloped in at the front of the procession, his horse wet with sweat, its nostrils flaring as it snorted. The animals rider didn’t look much better, the steward’s face was fearful and the same colour as the bark of the weirwood tree, his pale brown leather jerkin was darkened with blood. 

“My lady,” he called when he saw her watching, “Lord Stark’s been hur’, cut by the boar. Please send for the maester,” 

His words caused a lump of ice to form in her stomach, chilling her from her heart outward. There was always a risk when the men went hunting, and more often than not her husband returned home with some small injury or another but this had to have been serious. As she dashed into the Great Keep she caught sight of a wagon being drawn by two great horses, on the bed of the wagon a tangle of fur and blood, she fought a wave of nausea at the sight and ducked inside the keep. 

Her feet were light and silent as she reached the maester’s chambers, not bothering to knock on the old man’s door she threw it open with a crash. 

The maester was startled by her sudden interruption, jumping up from his stool at the desk with surprising speed and agility for a man who was nearing 70. He opened his mouth, ready to scold whoever had so rudely burst into his rooms, but his words died on his lips. 

“Lord Stark’s been injured in the hunt,” she said, praying her voice didn't waver and give away the fear that was gripping her throat like a claw. 

“Injured how?” The maester replied, moving toward the large wooden sideboard that dominated the room. On the shelves were jars, bottles and boxes containing every substance needed by a maester, and probably a few they didn’t need as well. 

“Gored, I don't know where, they've just arrived back, please come now,” she said firmly, not willing to keep Cregan waiting. 

The maester nodded and gathered his heavy leather case from the side, the bag was filled with sharp tools and simple herbs and mixtures for most every day healing.  He followed behind Lady Stark as she led them to the undercroft of the Great Keep, where there was a great deal of noise and disruption. 

The undercroft was a dark, cool, enclosed space usually used for storage, most days it would only see one or two visitors but now it was alive as men lit torches around the walls while others heaved Cregan’s limp form onto the huge oak table that sat in the centre of the space. They stripped him out of his blood soaked outer clothes and left him lying in his linen shirt and woollen trousers. 

The left leg of his trousers was ripped open at the mid thigh, revealing a 5 inch gash, skin and muscle had been torn apart and glistened dark red. A tourniquet above the wound had stopped most of the bleeding but his face was ghostly pale and his lips an unhealthy shade of blue. 

Lady Stark moved slowly toward the head of the table where Cregan’s closed eyes made him look almost peaceful, the maester went straight to the wound and began cutting away at his trousers. 

“Has he been talking?” he asked as he began to inspect the wound more closely. 

“A little, but he was unconscious for a minute or so after it happened,” the steward replied, standing by Cregran’s right hip, wringing his hands together. 

“Hello my love,” Lady Stark said softly, brushing her hand over his forehead, willing herself not to fall to her knees and weep when she felt how cold his skin was. 

His grey eyes fluttered open and blinked slowly, trying to bring his wife’s face into focus, the world around him seemed to shift violently, left and right, up and down but her warm hand on top of his head held him steady. 

“Now, what have you been up to?” she asked softly, as if addressing one of their children. 

Cregan’s whole left leg throbbed painfully and his stomach roiled with nausea, he swallowed once, finding his mouth and throat dry. 

“It's barely a scratch,” he croaked. Lady Stark gave a small huff that might have been out of amusement and stroked her fingers over the crown of his head. 

“‘Tis a dreadful looking scratch,” she replied, “still, the maester’s here now,”. 

Cregan hissed with the pain as the maester applied a green tinged ointment to the wound. Sweat broke out all over his body and he felt his hands start to tremble. 

“Did they get the beast?” Cregan asked, once the initial wave of pain had passed and faded back into a constant throb. 

Lady Stark glanced at Martyn who gave a small nod of his head. 

“Of course, and you shall have the beast's head for your chambers if you want”. 

He gave what appeared to be a weak nod before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. Cregan had known pain before but dislocated shoulders, broken bones and the sharp bite of Valyrian steel were nothing compared to this. 

At his thigh the maester had soaked a small piece of linen in a clear, strong smelling substance that he placed over the wound before tightly wrapping a clean bandage before removing the tourniquet tied high up his thigh. As the blood was allowed to flow back into the lower leg the colour returned to the skin but there were no signs of excessive bleeding at the wound. The maeester turned his attention to Lady Stark. 

“It’s as clean a cut as we can expect from a tusk, most importantly there’s no sign of dirt within, I have great faith that it will heal well,” the maester explained, wiping his hands on a clean piece of linen that was tucked into the belt at his waist. 

“I'll go to my rooms now and make a poultice to fight infection and in the meantime he can be moved to his rooms to ensure he's comfortable,” he added. 

With a small nod from Lady Stark the men still standing around the room went into action, they brought a stretcher and carefully moved Cregan from the table to the stretcher. He was then carried slowly through the Keep and up to his rooms. The masters chambers were the largest but the least used within the Great Keep, Cregan and his wife favoured the smaller but warmer Lady’s chambers, especially as they were the closest rooms to the children’s rooms. 

Once he was settled on the bed she sent for two bowls of water and a cloth before stripping him of the last remaining pieces of clothing. Unable to lift him from the bed to get his shirt over his head she cut the fabric straight up the middle with a small knife, pushing the two halves over his chest and cutting the sleeves apart to expose his arms. She also had to cut away what was left of his trousers, finding some of the material stuck to his skin with blood. 

Once he was as bare as the day he’d been born she soaked the cloth in warm water and set about washing him. Somehow the blood had managed to get up to his neck and down to the bottom of his left foot. She started at his neck, watching as droplets of reddened water ran down onto his chest and collected in the dark mess of curls that started at his collar bone, completely covered his chest and then funnelled into a thick strip that ran all the way down his stomach to the apex of his thighs.  

“I swear you're more beast than man sometimes,” she said softly as she dabbed at his chest, lifting the blood from his skin and hair. 

“It's the wolf in me,” he replied softly. 

Her head snapped towards his face, she’d had no idea he was awake and seeing his soft gaze on her face brought a wave of emotion flooding through her body. The usual surge of love she felt whenever she looked at him, intense relief at seeing his cheeks a healthy flushed colour after how deathly pale he’d looked before and bubbling anger brought on by the extreme fear that still sat in her stomach like a block of ice. 

“The wolf couldn't smell the boar sneaking up on you?” She asked as she felt tears burn her eyes. Cregan offered her a small, reassuring smile. 

“The wolf is more,” he paused a second while he thought, “passive...”. 

Unable to resist him, Lady Stark felt herself smiling and the two of them shared a laugh before she continued to wash him, revealing the pale skin under the dark curls and dried blood. 

“You're lucky it wasn’t more serious,” she said softly as she wrung the red water out of the cloth into a mostly empty bowl before dipping the cloth back into clean water, “if it’d caught on the inside of your leg you'd have been dead before they got you home,” she added, an icy edge to her voice as the fear that had gripped her throat now throbbed behind her eyes. 

“But I wasn't,” he placated gently, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist as she dabbed at his stomach.

“I'm fine,” he added when he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and the angry wobble of her bottom lip. 

She snatched the hand from his, throwing the cloth into the bowl of clean water at her feet. The water splashed up, catching the skirt of her dress. 

“And what if you weren't? What if you weren’t fine?  Your son is barely 9 months old Cregan, do you expect me to hold the entire North until he comes of age? Fighting off every grasping lord from The Wall to Dorne trying to get to him and steal his birthright?” An angry tear tracked down her cheek.

“I cannot be regent, Cregan, I cannot be here without you,”. 

He reached out again and took hold of her balled first at the wrist, bringing her hand towards his face, pressing a soft kiss to her curled fingers. 

“And nor will you be,” he said softly, his lips still touching her fingers, “you and I are going to grow very old together, so old they write songs about us when we're all but turned to dust,”. 

She gave a small, watery laugh through her tears and pulled her hand out of his again. 

“Now you're just placating me,” she said, reaching into the bowl for the cloth and ringing it out. 

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smile, stretching his right arm up and settling it behind his head, the bend in his arm causing his muscle to flex and bulge under his skin. Were it not for the bandage around his leg he would have looked as if he was just relaxing for the evening. 

“I understand well that my most important duty is keeping you happy,”. 

Lady Stark scoffed at him and returned to the gentle washing of his stomach. A small smile tugging up the corners of his lips as he watched her tending to him so carefully. He'd been in a fair few scrapes before this one and was always happy to be tended to by his wife, the mixture of her gentle hand and sharp words always made him feel better. 

“Am I permitted to say how I'm enjoying your undivided attention?” He asked. 

“You may not say it” she replied, flicking her eyes to his face and catching him grinning at her. 

“I shall just think it then,”. 

They both fell into a tense silence as her cloth inched closer to the bandaged wound. The maester had said he would come by later that day to stitch the wound closed once it had time to dry and he could be certain there was no rot. Sweat broke out across his body as her gentle touch began to feel like needles piercing his skin, he kept his jaw firmly shut, unwilling to let a single sound of pain pass his lips.

“Would you take something for the pain?” She asked, not needing to hear him cry out to know he was in great discomfort, she wrang the cloth out again wetted it with clean water again. 

“I would rather keep my wits,” he replied, his voice strained. 

“Then perhaps a little when we’re finished and you can rest?” She pressed. She knew he disliked the effects of milk of the poppy but seeing him in such pain made her heart ache. 

“Perhaps,” he nodded before pressing his lips tightly closed, redoubling his efforts to stay silent.

She finished his bed bath at his left foot, cleaning the dried blood from the bottom of his toes and the ball of his foot. And all the pain that had passed before paled in comparison to the agony he felt as her hands gently tended the most ticklish part of his body. He fought with every ounce of willpower to stay still and not curl his toes and kick his foot out of her hands. 

Once finished she rung the cloth out one final time before standing and carrying the two bowls of water across the room and setting them aside to be cleared away later. 

“Will you sleep for a while? She asked him, moving back toward him and running her hand over his forehead before drawing a soft woollen blanket over his nakedness. 

Cregan nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted and wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep until the dawn of the summer. 

“Alright, will you take a little milk of the poppy?” she asked.

He nodded again, opening one of his eyes to peek at her face. 

“And a kiss to sweeten it?” He asked, letting the corners of his lips quirk up just a touch. 

She laughed softly, taking the small bottle of white milky liquid from the table beside their bed. She unstopped it and helped him lift his head off the pillow, she held the bottle to his lips while he took a small swallow before dropping his head back onto the pillow with his eyes closed. 

“And to make it sweet,” she said, bending and pressing her lips to his. 

As she stood he opened his eyes again although she could already see he was fighting the effects of the milk of the poppy. 

“Kiss the babies for me as well?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she replied, stroking his forehead again and watching his eyes close as he finally gave in and allowed himself to be dragged into a dreamless sleep. 

She watched him for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the steady ride and fall of his broad chest. In sleep he always appeared to be younger, his features softened as sleep took away the worries and the duties he carried on his shoulders every day. 

Once she was happy he would sleep for a while and there was nothing else she could do for him, Lady Stark went in search of Martyn the steward, she knew he would be worried and was waiting for news of his lord and friend. 

She found him outside the stables, running a brush over Cregan’s stallion. 

“Is he alright?” Martyn asked as she approached him. There was a panicked edge to his voice and his face betrayed his worries. 

“He'll be fine,” she soothed with a nod, “he's made of strong stuff,” she added as she placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“I'm sorry he was hurt, my lady,” he said, already looking lighter knowing Cregan was alright. 

“You've nothing to be sorry for, he's a man grown and it's his own fault if he doesn't hear a boar sneaking up on him,” she said, making her voice playful and teasing. 

“I'll pray for him,” the steward said, returning to brushing the huge grey horse that stood patiently in front of him.

“Thank you, I know he'll appreciate that,”. 

She stayed talking to the steward a little longer, the two of them discussing how to make the best of the creature that’d been killed that morning. The sky was quickly darkening and the air turning colder by the minute, although no new snow had fallen that day there was a crisp smell of it on the air and dark, heavy clouds covered the sky, threatening a heavy snowfall that night. 

She left Martyn to his final tasks for the day and returned to The Great Keep, she went first to the nursery to look in on their children. The eldest, Aly, was playing on the floor with her nurse, the two of them racing carved wooden animals across the floor. She paid no attention to her mother when she entered the room, too caught up in her game, while their son slept in his cradle. 

She lifted the boy from his crib and carried him to a chair beside the fire where she sat, focusing on nothing other than the small sound of his breathing and the tiny movements as his chest expanded and contracted with every breath. 

After a few minutes Aly got up from her spot on the carpet, her wooden horse still clutched tightly in her small hand as she walked toward her mother. 

“Where's papa?” She asked, coming to stand beside the chair, reaching out her own empty hand to take her mothers. 

“Resting, the men went hunting this morning, do you remember?”. 

“Will he put me to bed?” Aly asked, letting the toy horse drop from her hand with a small thud. 

“Not tonight, I can do it tonight,” Lady Stark replied. 

The girl sighed heavily, like she'd received some truly dreadful news, her small shoulders slumping. 

“But Papa tells the best bedtime stories,”. 

“I know he does, and I’m sure he’ll have a very special one for you tomorrow night,”. 

After another heavy sigh Aly climbed up into the chair with her mother and younger brother, curling into Lady Starks chest and closing her eyes. The girl found a loose thread on the bodice of her mothers dress and begin to twist it around her finger, in a few minutes she too has slipped off to sleep. 

The warm weight of her children soothed the Lady’s fractured nerves, this wasn't the first time her husband had returned home injured, his body was a tapestry of scars, each one she'd lovingly touched and kissed in turn, learning his scars as closely as a traveller learns a map. 

When she heard the first spatterings of wet snow from the nursery window Lady Stark decided it was time for her to look in on her patient. Calling the nurse over and letting the young woman take the sleeping girl from her lap. 

“Let her sleep a few more minutes, then wake her or she’ll never sleep tonight,” Lady Stark instructed as she stood and carried her small son back to his crib. 

“And I'll be back to feed this one once I've looked in on Lord Stark,” she added, lowering him into the cradle and watching as he settled. 

The nurse nodded and smiled softly as she lowered Aly onto her day bed, covering the girl with a soft embroidered blanket. 

Cregan didn’t stir when the heavy oak doors of his chambers were opened and his lady wife stepped inside, she paused, watching him for a few moments to see that his condition was unchanged, the only difference was that he’d thrown the blanket off his body and was now lying naked, his whole body exposed to the cool air. Moving toward him she noticed his breathing was still easy and his cheeks were a healthy colour. She touched the back of her hand to his cheek and then his forehead. 

At her touch his eyes flicked open and he blinked slowly as the world around him came into focus. He made a small sound of approval that rumbled up deep from his chest as his eyes focused on his wife. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly. 

“Better for seeing you,” he replied, his voice gravelly. 

“You're a dreadful flirt Cregen,” she replied with a smile, knowing his ability to flirt was a far better indication he was on the mend than anything else would be. 

“Come lie with me,” he said, choosing to ignore his wife's chastisement.

“Only for a few minutes,” she replied, moving to the other side of the bed and climbing on it, settling herself beside him and placing her head on his shoulder. 

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to roll onto her side, tightening her body to his in a familiar and comfortable way and she sighed contentedly. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers pushing and playing with the dark curls of hair. Cregan turned his head and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her body sink into his own flesh and bones. 

“I should ban you from future hunts,” she said, her voice muffled by having her face squashed on his shoulder, “make you take an oath never to put yourself in such danger again,”

“Even for you, I could not swear such an oath,” he replied, kissing her forehead again and keeping his lips pressed to her skin, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent from her hair. 

The two lay in silence for several minutes, Lady Stark listening to the steady and deep drum beat of his heart, the thumping sound reminding her that he was still alive, injured but alive and home with her and in their private moment it was easy for her to believe that was the only thing that mattered in all the known world. 

“But I can swear, it will only be death that keeps me from you,”.

[stabbythespaceroomba]

Okay here we go again! If tumblr deletes this I’m gonna scream

Aeron - easy to see what he’s wearing, underclothing can be speculated

Aeron’s layers include breeches, tunic you can barely see under gambeson, gambeson (over something with long sleeves), tabard, gauntlets, gloves and belts, then then cloak

I’d argue you might have another underlayer of an undershirt, but that might just be the tunic you can see. We have nothing canonical for that, but it would make sense!! we can’t see if he’s wearing a quilted gorge or how his gambeson connects around his neck, meaning we can’t see if it’s tied or pulled over his head.

You can see a bit of a dip in the collar though so I would Heavily argue that it is tied down the front

-

Davos is now easy to know! Kieran Burton fed us GOOD today! Living for the fact that it’s Not a woollen tunic!

People into Davos-sexy times will be glad to know that the breeches are not just suspended but laced up (@benjicotblckwood thinking abt you lmaooo)(possible on both sides at the front, from the amount of string but I cannot see due to the shadow) . As is his under shirt, it laces at his neck

The next layer peeks out slightly!

It’s quilted and grey and I’d suggest it’s probably a quilted gorge maybe like

Or something more like that ^

Then comes the gambeson

Quilted and tied at the front, she looks lighter and is shorter than Aeron’s. The leather detailing would give extra protection and could easily be swapped with metal.

On top is his beautiful leather braided jerkin, woven leather gauntlets and cloak!

Everything seems to be tied together and nothing looks too heavy. This is a guy who prioritises moving fast

Layer check - breeches and undershirt, mystery quilted layer, gambeson, jerkin, cloak. 5 layers!!

-

So much work and thought have been put into these two, rather throw away outfits! They’re beautiful! I love how it shows Aeron in quite traditional knights wear. Aeron looks very proper for his station and yet is still underprepared! He doesn’t even have any mail on, bless him.

Davos on the other hand, his clothes are more of a wildcard and yet he’s clearly coming from money, he’s well protected himself and you can see that he’s well suited to fight with his knife. His clothing looks lighter but is no less unprotective (for border guarding, not necessarily a battle field 😬)

-

If anyone has any other idea or thinks I’ve named anything wrongly pls let me know! I’m a HEMA enthusiast and an medieval/early modern church historian not an armour expert!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Dream of Me

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (House of the Dragon) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, smut. Word count: ~1.2k

Summary: Upon learning of Helaena's lady in waiting's dream of him, Aemond is plagued by his own.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day two of the Smuffmas prompts - "dreams and dirty talk". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“Just so you know, if I were going to pleasure you with my mouth, I would do it before I stuck my cock in your cunt, not after.”

The words Aemond had spoken to her play on a loop in his mind as he readies himself for bed, a smug smirk of satisfaction playing delicately upon his lips.

Her shocked expression is one he wants to keep in his mind’s eye as he pleasures himself, but is frustrated to find that his overindulgence of wine at that evening’s supper renders him unable to rouse his cock to attention, it lays flaccid and useless in his palm, causing him to tuck it away with a frustrated sigh.

As he lays tangled in the soft cotton of the bedsheets, his final thought as sleep tugs him towards hazy unconsciousness is that he hopes she will dream of him again.

She has her back turned to him, fingers tracing carefully over the spines of the books on the shelf she faces in the library. He strides purposefully towards her, the dulcet tone of her gasp shooting straight to his stones, making them ache, as he wraps a deft hand around her throat. 

He can feel the heat of her body through his jerkin as he pulls her back against his chest, the skin of her jaw soft as peach flesh as he trails his mouth against it. She shivers against him, not fighting his advances, simply allowing him to do with her as he pleases.

The lacings that fasten the back of her gown tear effortlessly in his grasp as his free hand rips at them, the garment falling from her body, leaving her completely bare to him.

Her hands reach up the shelves, gripping for purchase, whether it is to keep herself steady, or an attempt to get away from him, Aemond is unsure, but desire boils too hotly in his blood for him to care.

He is swift to untie his breeches, grabbing her hips and sinking himself into her tight, wet heat. His name has never sounded sweeter than it does when it topples from her lips in the throes of ecstasy, coupled with the sticky sounds that accompany every push into her. She is so warm, so warm, so very warm…

There is warmth against his flesh when Aemond opens his eye, the bright sunlight that bleeds through the crack in the curtains making him grimace as he scrubs a hand across his face.

He has been dreaming, and yet it had felt so real. He swears he can feel her arousal, the heat of her, and then he sees the sticky translucence that coats his lower abdomen.

Just a dream.

The shame of which he will wash away in his morning bath.

He feels restless throughout the day, nothing satisfies the pulsating ache of want that simmers hotly in his lower abdomen.

The burning in his shoulder from wielding his sword, bringing it down upon Ser Criston’s upturned shield, and watching the wood splinter into fragments across the gravel of the training yard does nothing to quell the storm that rages inside him.

Perhaps it is not physical stimulation that he needs he reasons, nowhere has offered him solace quite like the quiet solitude that can be found between the yellowing pages of a historical tome.

The library is silent as he enters it, the thud of his boots against the flagstone floor echoing off of the vaulted ceiling as he makes his way slowly between the towering shelves. The supple leather that binds the covers of his favourite philosophy and history books feels rough against his fingertips. Nothing could compare with the velvety softness of how her flesh had dimpled beneath the press of his fingertips, but that was all in his imagination. How could a simple dream have rendered him so listless?

He swallows, screwing his eye shut, attempting to ignore the throbbing between his legs.

Just a dream. No reality would ever yield such pleasure. The depravity he had dared to peruse since learning of her dream of him would never be as pleasurable as he had built it up in his mind to be.

He exhales a shaky breath, attempting to calm himself, and when he opens his eye she is there, much more real than anything he could imagine. Yet the sight of her, back turned to him as her eyes wander the shelves feels so familiar. He is frozen in place, until she feels his attention on her and turns slightly, offering the softest of smiles.

He clears his throat, stepping towards her, his voice low.

“I trust you slept well, my lady?”

“Mmm, yes, my Prince, very well indeed,” she responds politely, turning to face him.

His eye roves across her, taking in her delicate features, the gentle slope of her neck, the swell of her breasts in her bodice, the subtle curve of her hips beneath her skirts, before lifting once more to her face.

“Were your dreams pleasant?” He asks with a smirk.

“You mean did I dream of you?” She replies cheeikly.

Little temptress.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispers, stepping towards her, backing her against the shelves. There is no fear reflected back at him in her eyes, as she stares up at him, only glittering excitement. It takes all of his restraint not to grab her by the waist and pull her to him.

“Pleasant, I hope?” Her chest rises and falls in a sudden state of breathlessness.

“You drive me to distraction,” he utters. “Tell me, how easily would your dress tear from your body if I were to tug hard enough?”

Her eyes go wide as her breath hitches, but still she does not look away. “I–I do not know,” is all she is able to offer.

“I ripped it from you in my dreams,” he whispers, ducking his head low to whisper against the shell of her air, delighting in the way her skin erupts into gooseflesh at the feel of his breath. “I sank inside of you, and you screamed my name in ecstasy.”

“Aemond…” she gasps helplessly, hands clutching at the black material of his jerkin.

“It sounds so sweet from your mouth. Does it leave your lips so freely when you pleasure yourself?”

Finally she averts her gaze, her voice small and embarrassed sounding when she answers. “...yes.”

His nose trails a path from her ear, down her neck, stopping when he reaches her clavicle. She smells sweet, like rosewater, her flesh as delicate as the petals from which it derives its scent, exactly as he had dreamed it would.

“Please…” she whines, her fists coiling tighter in the leather that covers his chest.

“Please what?” He asks coyly, lifting his gaze, his face mere inches away from hers.

“Touch me.”

“You would like that, would you not? For me to soak my cock with your maidenhead, leave your betrothed dissatisfied with what he finds on your wedding night?”

“But I want you,” she pleads quietly.

“And I you, my lady,” he grips her jaw tightly in his hand, running his thumb over the plumpness of her bottom lip. “But for now, sweet dreams of each other will have to do. I hope to visit you in yours again soon.”

With that, Aemond abruptly steps away from her, leaving the library in desperate need to relieve the way he strains against the confines of his trousers. He hopes he dreams of her again tonight, and every night after that.

[ollypopwrites]

Dinner and Diatribes;

Gale x F!Tav (she/her, AFAB) [note: references to the fact Tav is Curvy but there’s no descriptors on her appearance besides what she’s wearing]

Summary: Gale gets his perfect night in Waterdeep.

Rating: M (18+ MDNI)

CW: smut (oral sex, PiV sex, fingering, slight overstim, references to Dom!Gale but he doesn’t actually make an appearance this time), insecurity, General Mystra Warning, L-bombs

Word count: 4.5k

Notes: this was originally written with my SorcBard Tav in mind. They end up together post-game and Tav and Gale have not been with each other physically as of yet.

Read on Ao3

Tav appraised her appearance one last time, nerves bubbling up in her when she knew there ought not to be any. She was having dinner with Gale, not a stranger.

Yet, she tugged at the lacy sleeves of her tunic, the cream colored fabric dangling off her shoulders and belling at the sleeves. Her breasts were up and out, figure tucked and smoothed by the sturdy corset she wore. The wrap skirt, slit at the leg with stockings underneath, was periwinkle, hugged her hips and showed some skin. She had wanted to veer away from the normally shapeless practicality of the protective gear she wore throughout their journey.

And she found the delicate pale blue embroidery against the white fabric of the garment to be quite pretty, the silk bows that served as sleeves made her think of romantic ballads. She felt delight at wearing something pretty without thinking of practicality for the first time since being taken by the nautiloid. There was a novelty to sitting down to take time to get ready for something fun rather than something that could potentially end with blood and death.

Her eyes drifted over to the corner of the room that until recently had housed a small altar to the Mother of Magic.

In its place was a vase of flowers, Tav’s favorite colors and blooms, which had appeared that morning. The altar itself had mysteriously disappeared the day after they first arrived in Waterdeep. Neither of them had said anything about it, but she knew he had seen her staring at the dusty offerings and long burnt incense laid at the feet of an idol of his former lover.

With one last look in the mirror she bolstered herself. She was no goddess but she had defeated a Vampire Lord, undead generals, a 200 year curse, hordes of goblins and a Netherbrain. That had to count for something.

Taking a deep breath she left through the bedroom door, and was met by Gale.

Well, Gale’s double. A projection, as he was often fond of using.

“Greetings! I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep!”

“Oh, are you?” She asked sarcastically.

“I am indeed!”

Sarcasm was not translated into the projection it seemed.

“If you are ready for the evening to begin, please say so, if not, I shall await your confirmation.”

Tav smiled a little, “I’m ready.”

“Please follow me.”

She followed him down to the same level as the study, and she found herself confused. They were meant to be having dinner. The whole package, she had recalled, he wanted to wine and dine her. She expected to be escorted to the dining room, not the study.

The door was closed, and the projection gave a polite bow to signal its leave. Should she knock? Uncertain, she gripped the door handle and opened the door.

Immediately she was confronted with a wave of unfamiliar smells. Normally the study smelt like the fireplace, leather of bound books, ink and slight sea air from the terrace. Instead this smelled of savory food, crisp night air, and heavy sea spray. The entry was draped by lavish silk curtains hiding any view of the room, tassels and embroidered prints creating lovely textures.

Gale stood waiting for her arrival.

His hair was pulled back and pinned neatly in his new fashion of a small bun at the back of his head. He wore a white tunic, billowed sleeves and a jerkin of sapphire blue, embroidered intricately with bronze filigree. Dark blue breeches, and what looked to be blue shoes which matched his vest.

It also looked as if he had trimmed his beard, the lines smooth and incredibly sleek. Tav had certainly noticed how handsome he was during their travels, and even then he was always somewhat genteel despite the rugged conditions.

This was different. He seemed more in his element like this, maybe not quite so formally dressed, but she could imagine this was the Gale Dekarios which caught the eye of a Goddess. Confident, gentlemanly and remarkably good looking.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“Hello,” she said, aware how nervous and jittery her voice was despite her smile.

“Hello,” Gale grinned. “You look… exquisite.”

She blushed. “And you look very good in blue.”

Gale kissed her cheek, and she gripped his face to make sure he kissed her properly. “I’ve prepared everything,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“For you? Always.”

Like a true gentleman, he offered her his arm and she accepted. They walked through the fabric barrier and Tav audibly gasped at the transformation. The study was changed, made to look like an enchanting garden. Lit up by candelabras, framed by arches made of vines and flowers of every color imaginable, it was beautiful.

The view from the terrace had been expanded, so that from every angle a clear view of the glittering lights of Waterdeep glinted. The entire mirage was topped with a star filled sky and the moon hanging at the horizon of the water. She could feel a breeze, not too cold but carrying the scent of the ocean.

A table sat at the center, intimate, and music was playing from some unseen source. Most likely the enchanted piano. Where she knew the terrace was, his couch still stood, overlooking the view. The sounds coming through beyond the music were real, she could tell. It was simultaneously an illusion and blissfully real.

He led her to the table, pulled out her chair for her and then sat across from her. The smile on her face was starting to hurt her cheeks, only emphasized by another Gale projection bringing them wine. They toasted each other and she looked out on the view of the city.

“Do you like it?” He sounded uncertain.

Her hand came out to grab his across the table. “It’s hard to describe, but like isn’t a strong enough word.” She glanced over to the projection of Gale waiting to be summoned for any need they may have, “although I think the waiter fancies me.”

“I applaud his taste.”

It was very clear how meticulously planned the night had been. From the food to the wine, Gale had an exuberant explanation for his choices. For a moment Tav wondered why she would be nervous at all; they had shared every meal together for months. But, Tav knew that this was the courtship he had wanted to offer her, this was the night he wished he could have given her when he thought it was his last back on the road to Moonrise.

Gale, if he was nervous, did not show it. Instead his eyes glinted with excitement, eagerness, and delight. His gaze was so intense on her, she felt like either the wine or something else was making her brain fuzzy.

After dinner they danced, slow uncomplicated movements to the music from the piano for a while, and then settled onto the settee looking out at the water. The night sky was clear, the breeze from the bay adding a bit of chill that balanced out the warmth she felt from the wine. It was a beautiful tapestry of midnight blue and silver of the moon and stars.

She leaned against him half draped over his lap as her legs stretched out, fingers dancing over his palm which lay in her lap. His other hand gently danced over her arm and down her side. She thought she may melt at the warmth of his lips pressed against her bare shoulder, beard softly scratching as he lingered there.

“You ought to be careful, Gale.”

“Oh? What dangers lurk that I am unaware of?”

“The danger of spoiling me rotten,” she chuckled.

“I’m not averse to such a risk,” he nuzzled behind her ear, “quite the opposite, really. You deserve it, and more.”

Her mind rolled over that, heart full at his earnestness as usual. Even if she didn’t believe it, he certainly did.

“Thank you,” she said thoughtfully after a moment. “This night has been so wonderful.”

“It’s not over yet,” he whispered.

A shiver ran down her spine. No words finding their way to her lips.

“If I may be so bold,” he went on, “I’d like to partake in dessert somewhere more private.”

“Tell me, Chef Dekarios, what is on the dessert menu tonight?”

“You,” he said, a grin evident in his voice. “I’d have laid you across the dinner table if I hadn’t promised us both a bed first and foremost. You truly are a temptress,” his hand broke from her loving grasp to run along the curve of her neck, and shoulder, fingers trailing over the tops of her breasts before cupping her chin, “you incite such an insatiable hunger, even when you are doing nothing more than sitting there across from me. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to finally have a taste.”

Tav’s head tipped back, eyes closed as her skin began to flush and her heart began to thud in her chest. “I’ll allow anything you want,” she breathed. “Name it, it’s yours.”

“Tav,” he murmured.

“Yours.” She repeated.

A tug in her stomach and the strange shift of moving through the weave happened so suddenly, she opened her eyes, confused by her new surroundings. She was on her feet, Gale behind her still, but in the bedroom, no longer shrouded by lovely blue night sky but the warmth of a candle lit room and the familiar walls.

Gale murmured something, and then spun her around to kiss her. Needy, fervent meetings of lips, and tongues. Her fists curled into the fabric of his sleeves, and his settled on either side of her face. She felt a tugging at her back, then the cool brush of an unseen hand. He had conjured a mage hand to untie her corset, the fingers pulling at the strings to loosen them.

Before it managed to get them all the way undone, she was fumbling with buttons on his vest. She shrugged the heavy corset off, the thud of it falling to the ground ignored as she pushed his own garment off his shoulders. Before he could distract her with his hands again, she untucked his shirt and pulled the fabric over his head.

Her fingers danced over his warm skin, feeling hair and scars and firm muscle beneath flesh. Gale groaned, bending to grip her by the generous flesh of her thighs to pull her up in his arms, for the quick journey to the bed where he set her down. Her tunic was tugged off, thrown aside and he grunted in displeasure at the thin cloth bandeau that still covered her breasts.

Tav chuckled, grabbing the scrap of fabric and pulling it overhead. Gale’s eyebrows hiked up at the sight of her tits out, heavy and round with already pebbled nipples, and under the scrutiny she felt doubt creep in.

“Not what you were hoping for?” It was half a joke, a deflection for the blush she knew was on her face, something to do besides wrap her arms around herself.

“Are you completely mad?” He finally met her eyes, looking offended. “May I?”

She nodded, only to be firmly guided onto her back as Gale put one knee between her thighs on the bed and leaned forward.

His hands grabbed, not fully able to grasp, even with hands larger than her own. “Soft,” he thought out loud to himself. “How are you so soft?”

“I-I don't know,” she hitched a breathy tone. “Ah, gentle please,” she gasped when he began pinching and rolling the peaks between his fingers, calloused fingers from years of spell work and a combined over-excited pinch both thrilling and overstimulating, “they’re very sensitive.”

“Very important information,” he murmured, running a thumb over one in a soothing motion that still made her gasp out loud. “I wonder…”

The thought trailed off as his mouth clasped around one nipple and Tav gave an undignified squeal as her hips rolled. Too many layers between her skirt and underclothes to provide her the relief she wanted, even with his knee between her thighs. Each brush of his finger over one, followed by a firm squeeze, made her twitch and the laving of his tongue had her letting out soft little moans.

Finally he pulled away, watching as his hands continued where he left off. One hand danced over her soft stomach, and slipped down towards the waistband of her skirt, tickling the skin there until she gasped a laugh. He pushed down her stockings, tugged her skirt off and looked one last time for approval before he slipped her under things down her legs.

For a moment, his eyes darted over her body. Despite the thrill of being at the center of such avid admiration, she felt the need to do something in the face of it. A conflicting moment of uncertainty, the apprehension of him seeing any flaw in her moving her to try distract him. Her fingers came up to grab, but he gently redirected her wrist to his lips.

“You are perfect beyond imagining,” he said.

“You’re a flatterer,” she breathed, her eyes avoiding his, as they trailed over his torso and to the bulge in his breeches.

“I reject that accusation,” he said, grabbing a pillow and tossing it onto the floor before he got to his knees upon it. “I’m an admirer of art.”

Tav rolled her eyes with a half laugh as she allowed her legs to be spread, heels set on the edge of the bed. He kissed each one as he set them where he wanted, beard scratching and tongue peaking out to taste.

She was a little in awe of him like this. His eyes dark, a slight smirk painted onto his face, softened only when he met her eyes and smiled at her. With his broad shoulders forcing her legs wider as he moved further between them, and his hair coming out of his once immaculate bun, she felt her throat run dry and a heat rush through her body as she admired him.

He stopped suddenly, and she met his look of intentional seriousness. “If you need me to stop,” he said, “say the word and we will.”

She nodded her head.

He kissed the inside of her thigh again, before his eyes slid down his hands massaging around her outer lips. She was wet, it had smeared her thighs, that she already knew. A gentle gasp pulled from her lungs as he took his time, rubbing and spreading her, the same look of deep focus on his face as when he was taken with an interesting tome.

Gale rubbed along the seam of her, before spreading her open and gently rubbing her clit. A choked sound emitted from her after he commented, “you’re soaked, my love.”

“All your doing, beloved,” she replied.

“I do love hearing that,” he grinned. “You’ll have to tell me what else I do to you.”

Any response died away when he licked a long stripe along her. The slightest groan came from him, and he began to work. It was agonizing heaven, the filthy sounds as he sucked and licked at her cunt and the way he gripped her thighs only enhancing the actual sensation of his mouth on her.

Half-formed thoughts kept slipping out of her mouth until only single words and whines were all she could muster. Her hands slid over his, and he laced them together, his efforts doubling after the gesture of affection. Her excitement was running so high, anticipation adding to arousal, that she knew she would not last long.

“Gale,” she breathed, “feels so good — so close —“

He never pulled away, just found what was making her legs writhe over his shoulders the most, what made her hips search for friction, and her breath spike. Her hands gripped his so both of them had a firm grip of her thighs, as she suddenly teetered over the edge, heavy waves of pleasure singing in her veins as he licked her through it.

Except once it passed, he did not pull away. It felt good, so she was not going to push him off, but she was sensitive. Each touch of his tongue on her clit felt like a shock through her whole being making her legs clamp around him. He let go of her hands and pushed her thighs apart again, she thought that alone had her ready to fall apart once more.

Relentless and yet somehow still controlled, he was singularly intent on making her come again. The sensation almost scared her as she greedily chanted for more, more, more in her head and maybe aloud, she couldn’t be sure. Gale was groaning into her, the firmness of his grip surprising her still. She wanted him inside of her.

“Please“ she started to beg, “fuck me.”

He gave a moan, the only time she felt him falter. “One more, my love,” he replied. A demand or a promise, maybe both. “Give me one more.”

He let his fingers work over her this time, still between her legs, watching each movement she made. For her credit, she kept her hips and legs from knocking him away, the rest of her body making up for it. Her back arched, she writhed and gripped the bedding beneath her like it was going to anchor her.

When Gale slipped a finger inside of her, easy enough that he tried a second, she went stiff. “Good?”

She nodded her head.

“Words, please, Tav,” he said gently. It occurred to her he may be asking after her wellbeing rather than to tease.

Either way, she loved the feeling in her brain at the idea of it being a demand. Of him tormenting her in the most beautiful way.

“Good!” She blurted out. “So fucking good.”

His mouth had expertly pulled her apart, but she was finding his fingers to be just as talented. She clamped down around the digits pushing in her as she felt herself falling to pieces.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Good, Tav…” when she opened her eyes, she was met with him staring at hers. As if he could read her mind, he went on talking, “come undone for me.”

Her whole being responded to the request, as if he had the ability to command her body with just a word. She writhed and rolled her hips as she came, a truly unrestrained string of cries that she knew were a bit too loud. Gale’s hand cupped her cunt, and she could feel the pulse of it against his hand — his face giving way to pure want as he moaned.

“Alright?” He asked after a moment.

“Would be better if I had you inside of me,”she teased, giddily.

“Minx,” he grumbled, coming to stand.

“Tease,”she shot back sitting up.

When she kissed him he tasted distinctly of her arousal, and somehow it made her heart skip a beat. Her tongue danced over his, hand trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches, untying as she went. Her hands slipped inside, grasping through his underclothes at the length of his cock, hard and tenting the fabric.

Gale gave a sinful groan, eyes shut tight and when she started to stroke his jaw went slack.

Tav chuckled, “feel good, my darling?”

“Too good,” he grunted, hand gripping her wrist tight. “It’s been… far too long since I’ve — erm, partaken in pleasure on this plane, so to speak.”

Tav frowned, contemplating that, her eyes drifting to the space where Mystra’s altar had once been then back to him. “That’s okay,” she said immediately. “I don’t care.”

“You might,” he replied, wry smile masking what she knew to be embarrassment creeping up on him, “when the night ends rather, prematurely.”

Tav shrugged. “Then we drink some wine and wait until you’re up to more,” she said casually tugging off the rest of his clothes. “I didn’t wait all this time to have you just once tonight anyway.”

Gale licked his lips, eyebrows twitching up in interest.

She tugged at his wrist, “lay back,” she guided him onto the bed, pushing him to sit with his back against the headboard. “We can go slow.”

Gale got comfortable, hands grabbing at her hips when she settled in his lap. Her fingers danced over the orbs mark, raised like a scar but looking almost inked in like a tattoo. The fervor had stalled just slightly, his cock still hard between them but no longer pulsing as it had in her hand.

“What would our friends say if they knew what you were hiding under those robes,” she mused, arms curling over his broad shoulders.

“I rather think I held my own on our intrepid journeys,” he said, sounding more like himself. “Aside from the creaky knees.”

“That you did,” she agreed. “I would have been lost without you.”

She kissed him, slowly and affectionately, as she lifted herself a bit. Her fingers danced down his body again, taking their time to admire the sturdiness he hid under his wizard robes day to day.

Finger nails scratched through the hair that trailed down his torso, and into the thicker patch between his legs. She gripped him again, and he moaned into her mouth, the kiss matching his needy grasp on the flesh of her hips.

Unable to help herself from teasing, she dragged the head of him through her folds, letting him feel how wet she was for him. His brow furrowed harshly.

As she lined him up and slowly sank down, she was torn between watching every minuscule change in his expression and closing her eyes to relish the perfect fit. He stopped kissing her, the shuddering breath he drew and the way his eyes started to roll back giving her that much more satisfaction.

Her own gasp filled the soundless space between them, walls fluttering at the intrusion. “Gods, you feel so good,” she whined.

Gale was speechless. Voice stolen by deep concentration, and then his eyes opened. For a singular moment Tav felt as if she was the only other person in the world, the pure look of awe and combined sharp focus of his attention made her feel ten feet tall.

How could anyone, goddess or not, take his sincere devotion for granted?

“Do you want me to move?”

“Not yet,” he whispered desperately. “Just — please, let me —“

He pulled her to him, bodies pressing at almost every point. His arms were a tight wrap around her, his cheek pressed against her forehead as she gave him gentle kisses along his neck. It felt not dissonant to their time in the astral, joined in every way, but this felt somehow more intimate. To hold him within her, and still have him hold her safely in his arms — a perfect balance she could hardly fathom.

“Kiss me,” Gale breathed. “Please.”

Tav did as asked, fingers tangled in his hair and very gently rocked her hips. He groaned, grip becoming bruising, pausing the kiss and then coming back to it again. Slowly she started to rock, then raise her hips and roll them forward until she was slowly bouncing, the slap of her skin meeting his filling the room.

Gale broke from the kiss, hands moving to the sides of her face. That same look, as if he had seen something beyond his wildest imaginings; focused, stunned and reverent. She never felt so loved in her life, she was certain.

As if she could will the same feeling into him, she pressed their foreheads together. She moaned, as he hit just right within her. Sensitive, eager and greedy she chased the sensation.

“I love you,” she gasped.

His expression crumpled, and he groaned grabbing her around the waist so she had to stop. She could feel his cock throbbing inside of her. “You are… you — I love you —“ he grunted. “Please, let me — feel you.”

She slowed her movements to a subtle rock, which rubbed against something in her that made her entire body seize up in intense sensation. He murmured affirmations to her, face buried in her hair, his hand grabbing at her ass to pull her back and forth.

“I have to feel it,” he said, need dripping from his tone, “buried in you, I must —“

Her mouth left sloppy kisses wherever she could leave them as she rutted against him. As another sweet peak approached she leaned back, bouncing just slightly to get what she needed. Gale’s eyes flicked down to her chest, to where they were joined, and back to her face. Her body started to pulse, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

It felt so good. The drag of him against her walls, the blunt intrusion as she rolled her hips. Whines fell from her lips, she closed her eyes to focus in on the sensation, head thrown back in ecstasy.

As she peaked her legs shook on either side of him, hips moving out of pure instinct for more as she felt herself tighten around him. Uncontrollable pulses, grabbing and sucking him as far as she could talk him and a gush of wetness that added deliciously lewd sounds.

Gale seemed to stop breathing for a moment, before something in him snapped. He grabbed her hips, and with bent knees and feet planted on the soft sheets began fucking up into her.

More ruthless than she had expected, desperate and selfish and needy. It was nearly enough to get her to the edge again. Grunts from somewhere in the back of his throat joined her shocked cries telling him ‘yes’ over and over again.

He watched as he disappeared inside of her, mouth open as he panted, and then finally he broke.

With a swiftness she didn’t expect he pulled out of her, but his arms came around in a caging embrace so he still rubbed against her wet folds. He whined, as his hips jerked without any sort of pattern, punctuated by the hot splashes of him coming. Sticky, wet and warm.

His body shuddered as it passed, but he did not let go of her as he caught his breath. When she lifted her head to look at him, his head was tilted back and eyes closed as he recovered. She kissed his cheek, and he opened one eye to look at her, a smile blooming on his lips.

“You’ve ruined me,” he muttered.

“And you enjoyed every moment.”

“‘Enjoyed.’” He repeated. “Very light way to put it.”

“Then how would you describe it?”

“Hm,” he breathed. “Having trouble thinking currently. I will get back to you.”

“Now that’s a real accomplishment,” Tav laughed. “I’ve rendered Gale of Waterdeep utterly speechless.”

He laughed, one eye peeking open again before he playfully kissed her on the cheek. As she nestled back into his arms, she knew they would have to break away soon to clean up the mess they had made. But for just a moment she cherished the sound of his heartbeat, calming down and steadying with his breath.

“The first of a thousand nights.” He murmured.

“Hopefully more.”

“I’ll have the rest of your nights, if you’ll allow it.”

“They’re yours.”

Thank you for reading! 💜

[sw5w]

Mesa Show You!

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:39:41

[gnomishcunning]

Hi! Speaking of requests - can I ask for your hcs on Rolan and physical touch? I feel like he's touch-starved but of course would hide it and deny it. Could be sfw or nsfw, however you prefer!

i completely agree that rolan's touch-starved, so this series of headcanons started from that and kinda bloomed into it's whole own thing. i hope you enjoy!

in general-

when you're fighting for your life in hell and then desperately trying to survive the long road from elturel to baldur's gate, some little things fall to the wayside. like processing your emotions, or safe and healthy self-reflection. subsequently, rolan doesn't realize he's touch-starved until he arrives in baldur's gate.

the first inkling he gets is when his apprenticeship to Lorroakan starts. it's the time he's spent away from Cal and Lia in a long while. while at first he enjoys the novelty of privacy and his own room, he's used to laying sandwiched between the two through the night, while Cal snores and Lia tosses and turns.

he sleeps like shit, those first few nights in the tower. the only thing that eventually gets him to sleep is when he starts collapsing into his bed from exhaustion, between working the front counter at Sorcerous Sundries and dealing with Lorroakan's... everything.

it starts to dawn on him with time, the absolute lack of friendly touch in his life. there's no cackling Lia leaning on his shoulder and tugging at his robes, straightening the silver of his apprentice's mantle. there's no fretting Cal, pressing food into his hands or gently nudging his side when he starts getting snippy.

in turn, there's nobody for him to fret over. he can't grab the back of Lia's robes before she charges into danger or trips over her own feet, he can't help Cal with his hair in the morning or ruffle his little brother's hair.

he should be reveling in the freedom, but it's just.

lonely.

he hates the fact he's lonely, he hates the fact he misses a time in his life that was so difficult for him and his family

i can totally see it being a bit of a wake-up call for him, when he realized he'd rather risk his life on the road with his siblings, rather than serve as Lorroakan's apprentice.

the issue doesn't get resolved until Lorroakan's dead, and his sibling move into the tower. thankfully, Rolan isn't put into a position where he needs to verbalize his loneliness. he and his siblings end up kind of clinging to each other - sleeping in the same room, fussing over each other more than necessary - until the netherbrain's defeat, when there isn't an immediate threat to their lives looming on the horizon

casually-

Rolan can be surprisingly touchy. it's an act that's constrained to the ones he loves and very close friends (primarily Cal and Lia, but Tav slips in there too), and he usually disguises it as fussing or his big-brother instincts.

with Lia, he's surprisingly playful. poking, prodding, the occasional horn-grab when she's being particularly annoying. those two can argue like no tomorrow, but it's almost always followed up by a friendly punch to the shoulder.

he's a little gentler with Cal, which stems from the fact both he and Lia view him as the little brother. ruffling his hair, straightening his leather jerkin. very rarely, when he accomplishes a difficult spell, or Cal accomplishes something cool - they'll shamelessly exchange high-fives. Lia almost always calls em both dorks.

with Tav? Tav's a fringe case. they're the only person outside his siblings he can call his friend, which is terribly embarrassing for an Archmage. So Rolan basically vacillates between hot and cold.

he won't go out of his way to find reasons to touch them, he's careful to maintain his and Tav's personal space. they had a tadpole in their head, he doesn't want to accidentally cross any lines about newly-held bodily autonomy. but if the excuse arises from circumstance? well. he'd be remiss to not to comfort his friend.

he fusses, like with Lia and Cal. it's probably a good thing, since Tav has a tendency to throw themselves headfirst into all sorts of danger, and that probably doesn't change post-netherbrain.

he'll clap a hand on their shoulder when they come by Sorcerous Sundries, guide them to sit down and take some time in his office to chat and catch up. gods know when the last time they slowed down - it's his way of insuring they stay out of danger, for at the last half hour they can sit still.

he'll inquire about their business, happily make them a cup of tea, sit down nearby on a sofa or chair. not enough to edge into their personal space, but within easy reaching distance. their cup is never empty, and his fingers will brush theirs when he moves to refill their tea.

if Tav's upset for whatever reason, he won't hesitate to offer a shoulder to cry on, or even a hug. Tav saved his life multiple times over, he'll offer whatever little comforts he can - while silently swearing to hex whoever made them cry. his quiet grumbles make Tav laugh, and he counts that as a win.

if rolan has romantic feelings for tav-

Hahahahaha ohno.

he was hot and cold beforehand? now he's just hot. like, constantly blushing, genuinely delighted to see Tav and seemingly incapable of being chill about it. he's needy, and in terrible denial about it.

his fussiness gets turned up to a 10, and through the right lens, it's almost protective. the friendly hand on Tav's shoulder turns into 'whenever they're in his immediate vicinity'. friendly pats, guiding hands on their back or elbow if they're maneuvering through a crowd

A lot of things are offered under the guise of being a gentleman. if they're somewhere in public with notable people, he'll offer his arm to 'escort' them. he's the Archmage of Ramazith's Tower accompanying the Hero of Baldur's Gate, it's the least he can do!

i like to imagine Rolan thinks he has perfect control over his tail, when in reality, it's the exact opposite. he subconciously emotes all the goddamn time.

this a big problem, when he's interacting with Tav, because they're (a) his friend, and (b) his crush. it tends to curl in the space between them when Tav stands nearby, and if they're sitting down it'll loop around their ankle without him noticing. the spade typically won't stay still, and it's usually Tav's giggling as it flicks over their skin that clues him in to his faux-pas.

he ends up spending a lot of time lying about tiefling body language if Tav's not one.

if they are? Well. He practically invents a new shade of red with how deep he blushes

it really isn't hard to tell rolan has feelings for you, because he's kinda. all over you, seeking physical touch in a way that supersedes what he's expressing with his words. just don't tell him, bc he'll probably spontaneously combust and then never leave the tower, ever again

when the confession finally comes? he's stuttering and red-faced, but he manages the words, and when Tav wraps their arms around his neck, he just. kinda collapses, wrapping his arms around their waist, burying his face in their hair, purring up a storm. he's spent too long dreaming about the way they would feel against him to maintain any pretenses of being above it all.

in a relationship-

finally finally finally, Rolan can be needy without excuse or embarrassment.

learning Tav returned his feelings was genuinely a relief, because he wasn't sure how long he could maintain the facade. like he wasn't already blatantly transparent in the first place buddy

if they're in his vicinity, He's Touching Them

holding their hand, wrapping his tail around their ankle, gently embracing them from behind while they're making dinner. If you sit in separate chairs, he's scooting closer so he can nudge your knee with his own under the table, or caress their thigh.

Tav's not even safe when sleeping. Rolan will migrate across the bed through the night to find them. please be prepared to wake up in a tangle of limbs, with tails and horns in uncomfortable places.

Given how big Rolan is with physical affection, it's no surprise it's one of his biggest love languages as well, in terms of receiving. please, give him affection.

this man melts for the little things. like when Tav strokes his hand with their thumb when holding hands, or carding their fingers through his hair, or scratching at the base of his horns

it's embarrassingly easy to get him to start purring

the thing that gets him to blurt out 'i love you' for the first time, probably no more than a month into the relationship, was when Tav came up behind him and started working his shoulders after a long day hunched over his desk

[dresshistorynerd]

Ranking Men's Costumes in Renaissance Period Dramas - Part I: The Bad

Part II: The Good

I have a bone to pick with Renaissance costuming of male characters. Films and TV never seem to understand French hoods or the concept of tied up hair but the crimes committed with female characters costuming seem to pale in comparison with those committed with male characters costuming. It would be easy to find some atrocities that should be brought in front of the Hague from the bottom of the barrel shows like Da Vinci's Demons and Reign, both of which costuming is basically black leather jackets, pants and boots. If we're lucky, they have some vaguely Renaissance details imitating doublet or jerkin. But these shows make absolutely no effort, even the women's costumes are straight from modern fast fashion shelves (often literally). But I have noticed that even costuming that has some effort otherwise put behind it, still costumes male characters with the most boring costumes and minimal effort. The Tudors didn't have good costumes, but there's some effort towards historical immersion, even if quite lackluster, but the men's costumes are still so sloppy.

My theory is that they think men's Renaissance fashion was too goofy and embarrassing to fit their cool and sexy main male characters. Also men dressing up and taking care of their appearance? That's obviously homosexual behavior, and these hot men who the main female characters are fawning over are Manly and Heterosexual. So they don't dress up in fancy clothing or colour!

To give a fair change to the costuming, I will be selecting only shows and movies which have good costuming for the female characters. If they are not even trying, it feels kinda pointless to point that out. I have selected 10 period dramas. I haven't seen all of them so I'm not going to analyse the costuming any deeper than how good and well made they look and how well they evoke the historical setting. I don't demand historical accuracy, but I will be more harsh on that front if the women's costumes are succeeding in that. But one of the point of period dramas is to immerse into a historical setting, so if the costumes can't evoke that feeling, I think they have failed. Obviously this is not some objective ranking, but my opinions. This is in two parts (because of Tumblr image limits), so I'll start with the five worst costumes in order of best to worst.

5. Ever After (1998)

Ever After is supposedly set in Renaissance France, but the costuming resembles late 15th century and early 16th century Italy much more. It's not very historical, and clearly not really trying to be, going for more of a fantastical style. It works, I think because they make it cohesive and very pretty.

Men's costumes resemble also resemble Italian styles. The Lombardian style sleeves, short doublets and tight pants land it right there. The men's costumes are much more boring than the fun and fantastical women's costumes, but they got the least worse spot in this worst costumes list for several reasons. The pants are actually tight and they have codpieces. The sleeves are actually really great I love them. And there's no leather pants or doublets.

And look at this, at least one doublet is closed with lacing!! (I apologize for the very low image quality, it was the only picture I found of that costume.)

The biggest gripe I have with the costumes are the boots. Just let these male characters show of their calves. At least not everything is black but the lack of colour is still disappointing too.

4. Becoming Elizabeth (2022)

The female characters have quite excellent costuming. The fabrics are rich and gorgeous, the bodices are extremely smooth and crisp, some of the best I've seen, partlets are on point and correctly used. My only complained is the occasional open hair and yet another case of the weird upward pointing crown-like French hoods.

French hood didn't have any crown shaped thing, it was a hood and the headpiece is actually several headpieces made to reveal the lining of the hood in a crescent shape. So it is very much flat against the head. (I've written about French hood's construction before.) And sure they look more early Tudor fashion, the sleeves should be much more dramatic and the bodice elongated. Like here's a portrait of the actual young Elizabeth. But I think the detailing, great construction and good looking materials make the costuming beautiful and feeling enough like Tudor era.

So how does the men's costuming hold up? Pretty okay, which is why this show is so high up in the list. I haven't seen any leather pants on anyone. Leather jerkins were an actual thing, they just weren't black, and though the leather jerkin in the show was dark brown and not smooth hide, it was not black so that's something. Edward VI does have actual stockings and Renaissance shoes, which is great, but he is a kid and I didn't see any grown man rocking that style which is very cowardly behavior imo. There's some colourful silk jerkins in there too. And they even could get away with all black since that was very fashionable at the time. They are all wearing slashed trunk hose. AND! They have actual accurate codpieces sticking up! That is so rare especially in this period when the codpiece was not just a flat piece of fabric.

Unfortunately this is where the good things I have to say end. All of these court people are for some reason wearing riding boots inside and everywhere all the time. The hose are way too long and the jerkins are way too short. The hose should be just peaking under the hem of the jerkin. Obviously none except the kid uses thigh high stockings. One of the worst things though imo is the lack of structuring in the men's costumes. The women's costumes are so well structured, but the men's costumes are just wet rags hanging on them? The doublets were heavily structured to create a pigeon chest and hourglass effect.

In conclusion, there's clearly some effort made, some very nice historical details, but the overall look is very costumy and sloppy because of the lack of structuring and lacks the historical silhouette.

3. Mad Love (2001)

The movie is set around 1500 Neatherlands (and Spain). I think many of the costumes are gorgeous (like the examples below), though overall the costuming is quite inconsistent. Most of it fits at least okay to the time period and setting, though the red dress here is more along Italian styles, but not entirely off either for early 1500s Low Countries. Some costumes though are 50 years from future. Of the women's costumes alone, this would probably be the worst costuming on this list, though I think better than most Renaissance costuming, which is why it still ended up on this list.

The men's costumes resemble more early 16th century German fashion than Low Countries fashion, which was more similar to French fashion than German. In the red ensemble there's some weird jerkin looking overgarment, but jerkins were not a thing yet and they were never in this style. I will excuse the lack of codpiece since in Low Countries' fashion it was hidden under longer overgarments, even though in this more German style it would have been left in view. The hose are no where near fitted enough, and the boots should not be here at all. Overall this is kind of a mess, but it is better than the last two. We have skirt, we have weird sleeves, open neckline and most importantly, we have colour. Also while this shoulder-length curly hair wasn't in fashion outside Italy at the time, I still appreciate the sluttiness of it.

2. The Borgias (2011-2013)

Now we are getting to the territory, where the lack of effort is starting to be very obvious. Like the costumes till now were not particularly good, but clearly they at least attempted, even if not very hard. So, The Borgias. The show is set in the early 1500s Italy. The women's costumes are gorgeous. Not always the most historically accurate, but at least close enough and very pretty.

The men's costumes however... a deep sigh. Some of them are not that bad, like this first one has kinda Lombardian sleeves and a too small doublet showing off the lacing (in Italy the lacing was almost always ladder-lacing though regardless of gender, but it's something I guess). Most of it though, especially of the leading men, who are supposed to be cool and hot, is absolutely garbage. The same black leather jackets and pants seen in the bottom of the barrel shows. Like the costumes of the female characters and some of the male characters feel like they are from two completely different shows. Like sure they have codpieces, but their pants are so loosely fitted they wouldn't even need the codpieces. (I explain the use of codpieces in this post). And of course they have boots. Of course. In Italy it was even common to not wear shoes at all, they just sewed leather soles at the bottom of the hose. And even the men's costume that have tiniest bit of effort, are so dark and lacking in colour, when the most fashionable young men at the time wore these wildly multicoloured hose and doublets. The feeling I get the showrunners were so god damn afraid of giving the cool male characters any elements or details that could in anyway seen as feminine today, they stripped all the historical elements away. Like they couldn't even give Cesare lacing, they had to make it Manly Buckles?? It's such an insecure performance of masculinity. I admit the last image here is the worst offending example and there were some with a bit of color even, but in other ways most of it is exactly this bad. I will have to hand one thing to them though. They did manage to get the slutty shoulder-length hair right.

If this man is supposed to be sexy, prove it to me by showing his ass with lovingly fitted hose.

1. Rosaline (2022)

This is roughly set in the same time in Italy too as The Borgias, based on women's costumes, I'd say at the very end of 15th century. And those women's costumes are honestly great. They even have hand-sewn eyelets, ladder-lacing and cartridge pleats. Even some of the most high effort costumes don't get these details right. Honestly I only have issue with the hair, the hair goes from okay or outright terrible. They even made this super historically accurate Renaissance apron for a maid.

This got the lowest ranking so you know what comes next. The men's costuming is absolutely unacceptable. I feel like it would be excessive to even describe all the ways these costumes fail since to me they are so obviously bad. The difference between these women's dresses with such gorgeously crafted details and these men's costumes that give absolutely nothing is so stark and gives such a massive dissonance. They are just wearing modern skinny-ish pants, all the colors are so muted and dark, there's no shape, no structure, no codpieces, just sloppy bland jackets and pants. Even less effort than men's costumes in The Borgias have. Except one thing they have over The Borgias, they were able to ladder-lace that doublet. Otherwise these are just bland, boring and actively ugly. And it's so weird that they took this "gritty gruff "realistic"" route, when it's a comedy about Romeo and Juliet? You afford to be a little goofy with a comedy and yet you did this.

Extreme disappointment, do better.

Part II: The Good

[lavenderprose]

I'm sorry to tell you this but Ed thinks Izzy is so hot actually. Ed wants to billygoat that fucking goatee. Ed wants to put his face against that furry chest and fuckin INHALE. Ed wants to put Izzy's thighs around his head and live there for a little while.

It brings me no joy to inform you that Ed sees Izzy across the room sometimes and just goes so absolutely hard that he has to stand facing a corner and list constellations in his head until he forgets about the shape of Izzy's jaw.

Tragically I must be the one to tell you that Ed wants to rip off that leather jerkin with his teeth and get so so nasty with it and Izzy would LET HIM

[chibsandchill]

Your little Hatchling

Pairing: Aemond x GN!Reader

Warnings: Incest (Aemond is reader’s uncle), death, blood, canon-typical violence

Summary: The greens won the war and Aemond has taken you captive, though nothing he does goes according to plan. 

Masterlist

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If it wasn't for the way his hair shone in the pale moonlight, you'd never know he was there. He moved within the shadows as if he was one himself, always watching but never venturing out of their reach. Sometimes his leather jerkin would creak as he shifted, but it was so faint it might as well have been the wind. Or so you wished for that would be far more comforting than the truth. 

Perhaps that is why instead of staring at the outline of your uncle, you looked to the fluttering drapes as they swayed in the gentle ocean breeze. 

But then after weeks of silence, Aemond stepped forth into the light and broke his unspoken vow of silence. You imagined he would say something profound, maybe even a honey-coated apology with hissed terms of affection and a burning gaze, but instead he looked you in the eye and asked: 

"Do you like the ocean?" 

"What?" You croaked, for while the evening breeze was a welcome change from the stifling heat, it did nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. "After everything you've done-" 

"Do you like it?" He interrupted harshly. 

"No." You said. 

He seemed surprised by your answer; a brief widening of his eye, but with an ease gained only by growing up in a nest of vipers, he schooled himself. 

"You told me once, when we were still children," his voice was no louder than a whisper, almost overshadowed by the wind, "that you had never felt as at peace as when your father took you with him on Caraxes and flew over the ocean to Dragonstone." 

"That was before you murdered my brother." 

His jaw clenched but didn't speak whatever words his wicked mind had thought up. Aemond returned to his realm of darkness, and the next day you were given a new cell far away from the ocean and its haunted melodies. 

But even when you no longer heard the waves crashing against your prison, or smelled the salt, Lucerys' scream of terror lingered.

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Constant heat and a sun that never fell reddened your face within hours of being placed in your new room. 

Dorne. 

He brought you to fucking Dorne. 

Dorne was where dragons went to die, where even the tiniest of vipers had enough venom to slay even the largest of beasts. Sprinkled in the sand dunes were the remains of Targaryen heroes and conquerors, as well as their dragons. Age turned everything to dust, and before long you would be strewn across the closest dune, forgotten beneath the waves of those who came before you. 

A speck of dirt in an altogether indifferent universe. Perhaps the Dornish would dance across the dune, celebrate another dragon pest removed, and another piece of justice served. 

The Dornish desert didn't allow for the dragons to hide themselves, it left no dark corners for him to stare at you from. It left him exposed and vulnerable, like a raw nerve or a wound left to fester. 

"Do you like sand?" He dared ask one night when the sun gave them a brief respite.

You ignored him. 

"You told me once in our garden-" 

"They were never our gardens," you were the one to interrupt this time. Age old bitterness barely scabbed over with forced indifference burned at the word our, as if anything in the Keep had ever been yours. For a brief time, that little corner of an overgrown garden in the eastern wing had been yours. Every morning you’d meet there, under the shade of the apple tree and you’d tend to your garden. But like all things, even that small piece of heaven was eventually discovered and it was no longer ‘yours’. 

'Bastard' the court whispered as you walked past. 'Whore' or 'whore's child' if they were feeling kind. 

"They were to me." 

You scoffed. 

"It was never the sand," you found yourself saying even as you wished you'd have ignored him, "I wanted to see the people brave enough to defy us." 

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You were moved again, but this time Aemond gifted you with a bronze-skinned woman from one of the nearby villages. Her name was Ela, and she brought colorful desert flowers that she ground into pastes which she slathered on your burnt shoulders, and with potent smelling leaves she fashioned into exotic teas and with what remained she managed to make sweet smelling perfume. The fragrance was dabbed onto your throat every day before Aemond’s visits. 

"Why are you doing this?" 

His one eye blinked in surprise. You had yet to initiate your rare and rather brief talks. 

"I don't know." He lied. 

"The truth, Aemond, is the least I deserve." 

"'Tis a sin to lie." 

"Murder is also a sin, but you still slaughtered thousands. Why do you insist on dragging this out? It won't make a difference in the end." 

Aemond looked away. "It will."

"It won't." You spat. "This changes nothing but the hatred in my face as I watch you die." 

"Hm." He angled his face away from you. His beautiful face took on a haunted expression."Yes, I suppose that's right. Do you remember when I was born? The few times father spoke to us, he regaled us with tales of how happy you were, how you claimed me. I was your little hatchling, the dragon your father never allowed you to have. Yours was the first face I saw, the warmth of your arms the first I ever felt. I dreamed of your smile when you were gone." 

"It was your father," you corrected with no small amount of venom, "that denied me my birthright." 

"You still defend him," he mused, "even after all his lies. I wonder, why do you not grant me that same kindness? Everything I have done, I did for us." 

Disgust twists your face into something you barely recognize. When did you go from the little child who always smiled despite the insults, who would trail after their lord father with a tattered dragon toy, and who dotted on their hatchling, to this being driven by nothing but hatred and  never-ending lust for blood he'd gladly give if you but only asked. 

Perhaps that's why you didn't ask. You feared the truth of his answer as much as you feared the day when his face no longer made your stomach turn. 

"We could have ran." You argued. "You had the largest dragon alive, who would dare oppose you? We could have flown East and conquered whatever lands our ancestors forgot. No, Aemond. You can blame only yourself for this." 

 "Your father would follow." 

"I understand the concept is wholly unfamiliar to you, Aemond, but that is what a good father does. Care. And you stabbed him in the back for it. Aemond the one-eyed Coward, slaying his uncle in the streets whilst he was unarmed and escorting a child of three summers, struck him down as if he was nothing and left him to die surrounded by people who hated him." You taunted him, enjoying every layer of self-hatred and anger that flashed over his face. You knew not if it was the mention of the neglect he suffered at the hands of his father that broke his mask, or that he had stooped so low as to become a kinslayer. No longer was he Aemond the one-eyed Prince, Aemond the studious and quiet prince. Now he donned new titles, none of them flattering. Years spent in the gardens together had taught you every single one of his insecurities, his fears and every aspect of his pain. 

He moved closer with cat-like grace but with none of their caution, swiping away your tears with a caress of his finger. The promise ring felt cold against your rosy cheeks, the hand-carved rose and thorns curling around the digit was an unwelcome reminder of your affection for him. 

"I had no choice." He whispered, voice thick. 

"There is always a choice." You muttered. 

"My life was not his to claim." Aemond moved closer, fingers threading through your hair. He pulled, forcing you to look up at him. You grit your teeth at the sharp sting, but you welcomed the pain, it burned away at the ember of love that sparked in the depths of your burnt heart. "It has always been yours. My love, my eye, my life." 

"Then you know how this ends." 

"I've always known," he pressed the side of his face against yours, his breath fanned over the shell of your ear. "Do you know why I killed your brothers?”

“Because you’re craven.”

Aemond stood to his full height before removing the leather patch covering the precious stone he had instead of an eye. The sapphire sparkled in the candlelight. He shook his head. “Because he took something that didn’t belong to him. I tried to forgive him, my mother told me he couldn’t possibly understand the consequences of his actions, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive.”

The memory of Vhagar emerging from the clouds was burnt into your eyelids. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw it. Heard the cracks of her wings as she flew closer, the snapping of her jaws as Aemond taunted you, and the look in Lucerys’ eyes as he pushed you off Arrax. You had never seen such terror in a person’s eyes before, or heard someone scream like he did. Parts of him and Arrax washed up on the beach for weeks.

You averted your eyes. “And Jace?”

“When you ran to me, you fell and cut your hand on Lucerys’ blade.” His voice was soft, the softest it had been since Blood and Cheese tore the last chance you two had of a shared future. “Do you remember what Harrold Westerling begged of you?”

‘We have to stop the bleeding,’ he urged you, heavy armor clanging together as he fell to his knees next to you and Aemond. His voice sounded as if it was underwater, distant. Not there. Not with you and Aemond. ‘The maester is on his way but you have to stop the bleeding or he will die. Press here, your highness.’

“Yes.” You whispered. 

Aemond kept a vial of the blood the Maester removed from his face on dark twine around his neck. There was some solution in it that kept it from drying. He used to show it to you when you were younger, and when he was anxious he’d trace the glass with his fingers. His mother hated it. She didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the significance of what you had done to save her son. 

“Then you already know why, raqiarzy. And Daemon,” despite the vile things your father had done for your family, Aemond’s voice had yet to lose the admiration that clung to them, the childish idollation he had never quite managed to shake, “was plotting my murder. I had already lost my eye, I would not allow him to steal what little I had left to offer you.”

You laughed, but it’s twisted, broken in a way you had never heard a human laugh before. It rattled deep in your chest, and despite the pain and the tears brimming in your eyes you were unable to stop.

“You’re pathetic, Aemond,” you managed to force out. 

The hurt in his eyes was impossible to miss. “I only ask that you grant me my one last wish before I go." 

Disgust marred your face. Aemond had taken everything and yet he came to you with demands, conditions for a death that was long overdue. Where was your father’s wish when Aemond ordered common thugs to hold him down whilst he snuck up behind, when he drove Vhagar’s tooth into his lungs? 

"What's that?" 

"A kiss." 

"You disgust me.” You spat.  

His one eye met yours again and his lips curled into a crooked grin.You tried to think of your father, of Rhaenyra and Syrax, Lucerys and Arrax, Jacerys and Vermax, of the hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers, burnt by Vhagar before you managed to slay the old beast, of the smell of burning flesh and screaming children as their mother’s were ripped from them, instead of how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. As Aemond leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in a motion so heartbreakingly familiar you dreamt of a world where you had died with your family. Still, your heart raced as his skin met yours, warmth spreading from the spot as fire met fire. He had taken everything from you, and yet you could not stop yourself from returning the gesture, leaning into his touch and were your hands not bound you would trace the sharpness of his jaw, and he would do the same. 

“Liar,” he whispered. 

Aemond closed his eyes, leaning in, about to press his lips against yours when he gasped and froze. Over his shoulder you spotted sun-kissed skin and dark hair. Ela. Crimson covered the black blade in her hand.

In a poetic sense of justice, Aemond falls to the ground, a steady puddle of blood growing under him. Horror is clear on his face and he tries to reach for you, but he has grown weak since the war ended and so he falls limp. You fall to your knees next to him just like that day in Driftmark, wrists easily slipping out of the bonds. Aemond stutters out your name, a thin line of blood running down his chin. 

“Shh,” you coo to him before flattening your hand against his face. “It’s okay, valzȳrys.”

He managed a weak smile. 

“I thought I’d never hear you say it.” 

It was always going to end this way, but that does not lessen the pain wrecking through your body, or the sobs you let out as he started fading away. Your fingers shook as you traced his face, wiping away his tears like he did yours. 

You chuckled. “Neither did I.”

You didn’t plead with the gods that they save him, you wished only that they take you with him. In life you could never be, but in death perhaps you could find peace. 

“I love you.” He said, and then his eyes fluttered close. 

In a flurry of panicked moves, you press your lips to his. Your first kiss. Your last kiss. You felt his lips twitch against yours but he was too weak to respond. There was nothing romantic about the way you moved against him, of the desperation you poured into the kiss, or the tears that fell from your eyes like waterfalls. 

His hold on your hands slacken and that’s when you know he’s gone. Aemond would never let go of you. 

Ela stands in front of you as fierce as her ancestors, and you have never loved them more than at this moment. Weeks of serving you had not killed her spirit. She had robbed Aemond of the last thing he had, but you could not fault her. She saw what you couldn’t admit even to yourself. No matter what he did or how he hurt you, you’d never be able to kill him. His death was never meant to be at your hands. 

“In the front please,” you ask of her, your one last request, though your eyes never left Aemond's face.

Ela nodded and walked over. Her dark eyes met yours and you nodded in response. A flash of pain, and then your blood mixed with Aemond’s again. There was nothing personal in how she stabbed you. The dagger tore through you with ease and it’s over in seconds. She then ran out of the chambers, leaving the dagger still in you. You waited until you didn’t hear her rushed steps anymore before you laid down next to Aemond, lifting his still warm hands to entwine with yours in the way your family never allowed.

“I love you.” You whispered.

Dying was peaceful in the way life never was. 

[venmondiese]

A Cure For A Bad Day

Summary: Aemond has one of his worst days ever, nothing seems to go right. At night, at least, he gets the company of his new wife as he bathes.

Based on Ewan Mitchell's and TGC 'Scene Reactions' when he says "When we did that scene, when he had the rain machine going in, the dye on the eyepatch... it just stained the wig"

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, bath sex, breeding kink, overall very sweet, aemond discovering feelings. ✧Word Count: 5.2k ✧ Ao3 link: here ✧gifs: by myfandomprompts

Aemond is known for many things. He is fierceless, perfectionist, well trained with the sword, and bold. Those things he was proud of. 

And all those things, he was not today.

He trained by morning, and Criston Cole was waiting for him. The sword felt slightly different on his hand, weird, but he just took it that he slept badly and that's why his arm felt numb. 

Now, after losing his eye, he had to learn things differently. He had a considerably big blind spot, and so he learned how to keep it aware of his surroundings as training with the sword. Yet, those things do not have in mind the little rocks on the ground, which he stepped on and twisted his ankle as he tried to defend Ser Criston’s attack.

And with that, he twisted his ankle and slightly cut his hand. 

He was annoyed, but he tried not to pay attention to it. A silly mistake. The rock was on his blind side, how could he notice? It was a rookie mistake, and it burned his cheeks to remember it. 

By the evening, after eating, he decided to ride Vhagar. His girl liked long rides, not so fast but more calm, and prowling around the crownlands skies.

 He did not anticipate the rain. 

For some reason or another, Vhagar was as grumpy as him, and she did not seem to want to go over the clouds in the rain. No, she wanted full on take a bath on the rainfall.

And Aemond had to bear it. But what was worse was when he realised that his eyepatch had dyed his hair. He just picked the worst eyepatch today. 

His hair was slightly silver auburn, and just in some parts. He hated it, and it made his day ten times worse as he realised the eyepatch had been too tight, and it had been suffocating his scar without him realising. 

He had trouble with the sensibility on his left side of his face, and just today he put his eyepatch too tight. It made him furious.

And he decided to make it everyone’s problem. 

He was laying in the bathtub, next to the fire as he had a horrible headache. He came in, demanding a bath as the servants had to rush to get him hot water.

 He took his own clothes off, kicking his boots away, refusing any servants touch as he undoes his own leather jerkin, he unties his breeches, grunting and mumbling in frustration, hating each instance of this day. He thinks a bath will help him to relax even a bit. He just wanted to sleep, and end up with this horrible day. 

His scar itches, and it drives insane. It was as if the itchcame from the deep parts of his cheekbones and it drove him mad. He was at the edge of peeling his own skin to scratch his damn scar. 

Only in his undergarments, he ignores the chilling cold from the chamber, and he walks barefoot as the servants fill the bathtub with hot water. As hot as possible. He walks over the chimney, and throws the eyepatch in, hoping it burns in hell. 

His loose hair, tinted with the dye of the eyepatch. If he only knew who was the mastermind behind it, who decided to spend coins on it; he would kill them. And they better hope this stupid dye can get off with the bath, or head will start rolling. 

The water was hot, but he paid no mind. He liked boiling hot, and he sat against his as he let the attendant boy prepare scents and the oils to put on the water, and to wash him. Aemond didn’t allow him to wash him; yet. He wanted some moments of peace in the hot water, so he remained a good amount of time still.

“Bring me the ointment that Maester Orwyle prepared for my eye” Aemond’s voice is low, yet demanding as the boy gets out, not without bowing to the prince.

He waits, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would calm his nerves, his headache. He believes it works, so he is focused on it, as he accommodates his legs on the water, trying to be relaxed.

Time is a bit dizzy, and when he hears the door open, he can hear the servants speaking hushedly, as if wanting him not to hear. Good, because he didn’t want to listen to them either. 

He can hear the little taps that the shoes do as the maid leaves the oils for his hair on a near table, and takes his hair on her hands, gently. He doesn’t turn to face her; he just wants the damn dye to get off. 

Hands wash his hair, and if he wants to relax, this is making it impossible. The little tugs and the awful way that scrubs his hair to take the dye off, and the weird caresses on his neck from time to time. 

“You are not doing correctly" he grumbles to the servant with closed eyes as his migraine is persistent. "Learn how to wash a prince's hair" he adds, sharply.

“Apologies” The voice comes as a murmur, a bit strained if even, as the hands go to his neck, and all the way up.

“My prince” He adds sharply, he cannot believe his luck today. “When you address a royal member of the Targaryen House, you use their title. My prince” he says, patronisingly and even angry. 

“Yes, my prince” a little cough at the end, he either thinks the maid is trying to hold back a laugh or embarrassment. Not that he cares, as he has his eye closed and a hand on his temple, his head resting on his hand, that caresses his forehead trying to get that awful headache away

Aemond's face was scrunched up in pain, as his eyes were closed. "Are you new at this? I swear... I am starting to believe that they are just sending me incompetent maids to attend to me..." the young prince groaned.

His body stiffens, as arms go to wrap his neck from behind, and before he can sit up properly, he feels the maid kiss his cheek lovingly as she giggles. “Apologies, my prince…” 

The voice is clear as day, and if his hand was going to fetch the little dagger on the table by his side, it stops. 

He turns his head to his right, seeing your wide smile as you wait for his reaction. He groans, rolling his eyes, which causes you to laugh loudly.

His new wife, she always liked to tease him and cling to him, always hugging him, taking his hand in hers or kissing him all over. He didn’t mind; he always allowed her even at court. But he won’t admit that he likes it too.

“Wife” he greets you as he sighs, and he feels your hand rubbing circles in the back of his neck. 

“I know, I do not know how to wash hair. You’ve made it completely clear”

“I thought you were a servant” he says, looking at her. “You are a highborn lady, you don’t need to know how to.”

“True…” you say, moving some of the wet hair out of his face, and squeezing it so it isn’t dripping. “I heard that my prince had a horrible day, and he was in a bad mood. Servants do talk, you know…” you say looking at him with a smile “Wanna tell me about it?”

Aemond sighs and looks at you, as you take the sponge to wash his body. He sighs as you pour some of the water in his chest and start scrubbing softly.

“"A terrible day... I stepped on a rock, and twisted my ankle and cut my arm in the process... Then i wanted to relax with a ride on Vhagar, but it started to rain, the fucking dye of the eyepatch got all over my hair and eye.. I have the worst migraine now..." his voice is rough, and he seems annoyed at the memory of it. “And I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like”

It wasn’t the worst day he has ever lived. Maybe. When he lost his eye it could be the top one. He won Vhagar, at the cost of his eye. It was an amazing thing, traded for the worst thing that has ever happened to him. He was still living the consequences of it today, as his scar stinged on his skin.

“Not your best day, I see” you say softly, scrubbing his chest. He enjoys it, as he looks at you, leaning back in the bath as you scrub his chest. “I’m sorry to hear it”

“I don’t need pity” 

You chuckle “It is not pity” you say softly, looking at your husband. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

Aemond stays silent. He is not used to someone caring about him like this. Sure, his mother cared for him, and so did Helaena But not like this. 

“Be by my side”

The silence is a bit comforting, as you wash his body. He looks at you deeply, and he cannot help but think how stunning you are. You didn’t find any discomfort in washing him, in caring and tending to him. You never once seem disgusted by his lack of eye, by his empty eye socket, or his ugly scar. Never once you discarded him. 

It was more than often that you placed the ointment prepared by maester Orwyle on his eye, his scar, where his nerves were permanently damaged and they brought discomfort to him. You never once complain.

“You look different” he says, looking at you in the dim lights of the room.

“Different how?” you ask, as you finish brushing his hair, making sure the dye is almost completely getting off his wet hair. He has little curls, which makes you smile like an idiot.

“I do not know. Shining. Radiant. Lovely.” He murmurs, moving one of his wet hands to tickle a strand of hair on your ear. “Different”

“So I usually do not look radiant or lovely…”

“Not what I meant” he groans and you chuckle softly. “You were sick. Now you look much better in… spirits.”

“You look different too” You say looking at him with a smile. Your eyes fall to his chest, and you smile. He notices how you get flustered at the sight of his nakedness. 

“More wounded” he says ironically, leaning back with a sigh. 

“Stronger” you correct him smiling. “More… mhm. I’d say more… Hot”

“You think I am hotter when I'm wounded?”

“Not what I meant” you say chuckling under your breath, “I meant… I like seeing you like this... Leaning back is so... manly, and hot…" 

“Oh, do you?” he asks slightly amused, leaning back still as he looks at you, nodding and smiling. Aemond frowns a bit, and he hisses then you accidentally hit his new wound on his wrist. 

“Sorry, love” you say, kissing his hand, and smiling. “You know, when I was little they cured my wounds like this. With a kiss”

“Did they?” He asks, trying to remain interested even with his headache. 

“Yes. Like this” She says kissing near his wound, a very feather-like kiss. “See? Does it feel better?”

You look at him with an adorable expression, as if you truly think that this would make him feel better. Aemond blinks, as he looks at you. 

It ticks him the wrong way that you care about him. Why would you? Perhaps it is a womanly thing. He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps as his wife, it is your burden, having to make a maimed man feel better. 

The prettiest maiden in court, chained to a maimed man, deformed and always wounded, stuck in the pain of his eye to see beyond. Wasting your best years with him. 

And he cannot decipher why.

“Aemond?” You ask as he trails off. 

“Yeah” he clears his throat, awkwardly, and he moves his legs a bit. “I guess so” 

“Where else does it hurt?” You ask sweetly.

He sometimes hates how kind you can be, he doesn’t know what your upper intentions are, but after all, you are his wife even if he can’t decipher you.

“Well, my eye, obviously…” he says a bit embarrassed “And… my left foot, I guess. And my arm, because I slept on it… and…”

You nod, looking at him as he speaks. He is intimidated, he realises. You make sure to hear all of what he has to say, with your sweet eyes. 

You move to the end of the bathtub, and move to kiss his ankle softly, no complaints, no hesitation. Nothing… odd, about it. Only out of tenderness. You kiss his shoulder, and his left cheekbone, softly, to make sure it doesn’t burn on his skin. He just lets you, because it makes you happy, thinking that it helps.

And he doesn’t realise that it actually helps him, in a way. The smile on your face makes him smile too, and he sighs.

“Better?” 

“Mhm” he hums in agreement, looking at your face. “Better when you're with me, yes” 

He is utterly head over heels for you, even if he isn’t good with feelings. He loves you, even when he seems slightly annoyed by you. 

“And you?”

“And me?” You ask curiously.

“You were sick. Coughing like crazy, and all your body ached.” he says softly, “in confinement, away from me… Do you truly feel better?”

“I am better. Lady Westerling got all of us sick” you say with a slight smirk. “my body still aches a bit, but it’s…” you hesitate a bit, slightly nervous.

“Then join me” he interrupts, moving to try and get you in the bathtub with him. "The hot water will do good to you..."

"It will burn my skin, I hate how hot you take these baths..." you protests, moving his hands off your waist as he tries to pull you in.

"The Blood of the Dragon, wife" he says smugly, smirking. "It is cold, anyways. It is barely warm"

"You like it boiling hot" You say smiling to him, and he presses a kiss on your jaw.

"I do, indeed." He admits "Come on, get in with me"

“Aemond, my nightgown…” you protest, and he rolls his good eye.

“You have others, let it get wet” You seem to give in, as he helps you get in, holding your hand as you enter the bathtub. “It will do good to your aches.” He insists, taking your waist in his hands to place you on his lap.

“I think it is an excuse” you say, blushing a bit as you accomodate on his lap.

“A good one, you must admit” he says looking at you, and he passes his hands all the way up to your back.  “But an innocent one, I must admit” he says, and you tilt your head as if asking him to elaborate “I don’t think I am up for anything, I am too tired for it”

You hum, his still wet hair made him look almost cute. His little curls...

“The dye came off” you say, as he leans to kiss your neck a bit. “I can go to the tailor and ask them to make another eyepatch one for you. More fancy. With real leather. Maybe add some fancy dragon scales in it” 

“Hm. Fine” he says looking up at you, smiling at how delicious you were. He places a kiss on your hand, and he smiles. “What is bothering you?”

You stay still, blinking a bit. “Court. Ladies… at court. They don't seem to like me much. I mean, they like me but I always feel excluded. Like I am doing too much for them to like me”

Aemond looks at you, a bit surprised by it. He places his hands on your waist, and he certainly was thinking about how to comfort you. He wasn’t a court charmer either, so he hummed.

“I thought you had friends.” 

“I do… I guess. They just never seem to think of me when doing things. They do not hate me, no… I am the new one…, and so they just…. Don’t include me”

“I’ll include you” he states nodding. “I’ll bring you with me everywhere. Training, riding Vhagar, in the library, all of it.” He proposes softly. 

“Hm. It would be pleasant.”

You smile softly, your hands, now wet and in the water, move from his abdomen all the way up to his chest.

Your husband was well fit. A prince of the realm, training with the sword since he was little. He practised almost every day, and was very detail-oriented in his field. And that paid off, as he was lean; yet muscular. 

You two were still newlyweds. Maybe three months since you two married, and things were a bit awkward still. You tried to decipher his odd behaviour and he tried the same with yours, starting to know each other personally, yet there was a bond, a silent affection you both shared for the other.

His body felt warm. He had stayed at the bathtub for Gods know how many hours, and he was all wet and shiny. You hand caressed his muscles, going up from his abdomen to where his wispy chest hair were. 

“What is in your mind?”

You hum, and smile “How handsome my husband is” you murmur “How good he is to me…” you add “How much I truly like you…”

Aemond raises his eyebrows, and he looks at you as your hand caress his torso up and down, slowly, as if you were tempting him. 

“Oh?”

You nod softly, and even if he doesn’t know you too well; he knows this face.

You move to kiss his neck, your arms wrapped around his torso as you leave little kisses all over his skin. He chuckles a bit, at your little desperation for the demonstration of love, you were such a physical person for him. 

“Darling, what are you-”

“I just missed you” You say, and he can see in his head the pout you would form if you weren’t so eagerly kissing his neck. 

He chuckles as his hand holds your waist firmly on his lap, and he leans his head back, facing the ceiling as you two spoke. “Very eagerly, I see” 

“You are tired. But let me…” 

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him as you press gentle kisses there, and he smiles, starting to feel the boiling arousal in his abdomen, looking at the ceiling as if it could distract his mind. 

“Very well” 

His arms went to the edges of the bathtub, as he felt the fabric of the nightgown against his chest, and he certainly was starting to enjoy the constant nibbling and wetness of your kisses. 

Aemond lets out a quiet groan, enjoying the gentle bites at his neck, as he feels his neck a little warmer. “You little minx- Did you just give me a hickey?”

Your giggle tells him all, as you move your lips to the start of his clavicle. His good eye closes as he enjoys the way your mouth feels against his sensitive skin. 

“You are simply… delicious” you murmur, your kisses going lower to his chest, before stopping a moment.

“Do not tell me you want to leave a hickey there…” He says, moving his head down to look at you.

As he imagined before, your mouth turns into a pout as you frown; most adorably he must add. 

“Oh, please! Let me try” You ask him “It is a way to show you that I missed you” You add, trying to convince him as he chuckles, making a mocking sound. 

Aemond rolls his eyes as he feels your eager mouth sucking the skin of his chest, as if he was some kind of… not even he knew. It felt strange. Worshiped and feral. That’s how it felt, at least for him.

Once you separate, you look at your work, your thumb moving along the bruised skin with a satisfied smirk. 

“Looks so good on you” you swear, as if it was a matter to be known. 

“If it makes you happy” he says, accommodating on his seat, the water moving along with him. “My turn, then?” 

You shake your head with a giggle “You always make it a mess!”

That he did, and he smiles a bit, seeing the lack of lovemarks of your neck.

It is you who eagerly kiss him, and press your body to his, as if needing him. He isn’t one to complain, as he feels your eager lips pressing against his and your tongue invading his mouth. Rather bold, to his taste. But he likes it.

Your hands on his shoulder make their slow way down, passing temptingly slow from his chest, to his abdomen. He gasps in the kiss, as if he was some kind of maiden, when he feels your hands underwater on his crotch and touching his cock. 

He frowns a bit as he separates, trying to demand an answer. “Wha-” he tries to ask before you shut him up with a kiss, not even letting him speak.

Rather eager, aren’t we… He thinks, but he isn’t one to complain, as your touch is like magic to his dick. In the water is odd, he has to admit, but his member thinks otherwise as he gets aroused from your eagerness.

You smooch him with kisses, and he feels… intimidated, in a good way. You don’t even allow him to breathe without going for another kiss, desperate. Feral.

He has a feral wife, it seems. 

“Darling, what are you…” he asks amused as you break the kiss, just to move your wet skirts all the way up, but he can’t see much of your pussy in the water, which he dislikes a lot. 

“I missed you” you repeat “A lot.” 

“It isn’t as if you were confined in a tower for years. It was barely two days. And I visited you-”

“I need you, husband” you state impatiently, as your knees move to the sides of his hips. “so, if you are tired, I’ll do it” 

He blinks, surprised and taken aback. He is rather amused and aroused, at his bold wife.

“Alright” he says, looking at you as you can do the work alone. 

He isn’t tired for sex, not at all. He can certainly get the energy, maybe not perform as usual, but he’ll do it if you ask. You didn’t even need to ask for it. But seeing you in control is better than that.

You rode him once, for later to admit that it wasn’t your favourite position, because you grew tired quickly. He didn’t mind, but now he thinks he’ll have you riding him at least once a week.

The way your dick enters your body is slow, as you slowly lower yourself on it. He can see your face contoured with pleasure, how you shut your eyes, and your hands grip on his shoulders as you whimper on it, you open your mouth and he leans to kiss your neck a bit, as if wanting to give back the affection you give him.

More than bounce on it, you find it more practical to grind on it. Your hands, that move between his waist and his shoulders, as if you didn’t know where to hold him to help you grind against his cock.

“That’s so good…” you whimper as you grind on his cock. 

The water moves around, the harder you grind, the harder it moves on the bathtub. He is even sure that some of it has overflowed the bathtub, as he looks at your pretty face, as you moan needily. His hand moved to pull down your nightgown, just enough to expose both of your tits in the firm fabric. He pulls it down to expose your shoulders a bit, and it is a sight that only arouses him more.

“It’s so good, baby?” He asks looking up to you, and he leans his head to kiss your nipple, gently. 

He knows you missed him. You are not rough, or a mess on his cock. You are doing it so prettily, so sweetly, he knows that you truly have missed him and his touch. 

“Yeah, so-so good.” You babber a bit, nodding as he kisses your other breast softly. He does not hold you, he has his hand on the back, trying to keep him firm as you ride him. 

His right hand holds your waist, as he notices. Your arms are on his shoulders as you whimper and moan, grinding him, not even minding the water around.

He has to admit, in the bathtub isn’t as comfortable as outside of it. The water doesn’t help to be smoother, if anything, he has the impression it does the contrary. It may be just him, as you don’t say anything against it.

“So eager, baby…” he says amazed, and now he feels like the one worshipping you. He just adores you, he realises, as he sweetly talks you through it “You just needed me, this badly?” He asks, kissing your jaw.

The little nods you give him are enough to get him moving his hips slowly up to meet your little grinds and bounces.

He kisses your breast again, and the other, and the other. He adores you, how the little mewls from your mouth are so arousing for him as you clench your pussy around him. 

“Aemond…” you whine. “Feels.. amazing, so good...” you repeat, as if you couldn't think of anything else, as he looks up to you. 

 He is just surprised you have gotten this far without begging him to take control. They way he’d take your waist and flip you around, to make you hold the other edge of the bathroom, just to take you from behind, again, and again, and again. The water would overflow the bathtub completely, and his seed would be securely in your womb. 

But you don’t ask him, and he doesn’t do it. He likes the sweetness of it. He likes how you look at him needily for both of your lips to meet on a kiss, passionate as your bounces and grind are slightly weaker. 

“My special girl…” he murmurs, kissing you again and again, not minding if they are pecks or if he has the opportunity for his tongue to play with yours. “I love you”

You nod, whimpering and whining as you say it back. I love you, I love you, I love you. Again and again, as if it was some prayer.

“Aemond” you moan into his mouth, 

“I know. Can you feel how good you take me?” He asks softly, kissing your chin, as he holds your waist to help you bounce on his cock. The splash of the water amuses and arouses him, and he groans at the sight of your nightgown fully soaked, glued to your figure.

“Mhm. Yes, yes, Gods, yes” you said, probably numb and already cockdrunk, just enjoying the feeling of his cock so deep inside.

“You want me to fill you, hm? To make you round with my seed, baby?” He asks, looking at you, moving to kiss your neck. 

He is also rambling at this point, as you squeeze him in the perfect way, asking to be filled with cum. He ignores how the water splashes his chest and back, how it is practically soaking the carpet under the bath, and making a mess. He has to remember how wet it might be so you two don’t slide on the floor. 

“Aemond, I… oh, Gods, Aemond!”

You little moans are music to his ears, as he holds your waist to move you down to his cock, to his taste. Not as rough as usual, but certainly desperate enough to want to cum.

“Will you cum for me, darling?” He asks, as he feels your hips grinding more desperately on him, and he throws his head back on the edge as he feels his balls tighten as well. You did wonders on him. “Cum for me and I’ll fill you up as you so much like” he promises, almost feral for you to cum. 

Your release made him moan, loudly, as he held you tight on his cock as he cums as well. He looks lazily at you, panting and whimpering still, which only serves to fuel the last remains of arousal on his abdomen, filling your womb with his cum. He hopes it takes root  and to see you grow pregnant as moons pass by.

“Thank you” you say, breathless against his chest, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

He smiles a bit, by how pleasure drunk you obviously were. He moves you slightly, to pull out from you and accommodate you on his chest, which you take comfort in. “Nothing to be thankful for. I thank you. Having sex is rather… good for when one had a bad day” he says smiling. 

You smile, and look at him, caressing his chest as you remain in this position, calmly breathing as he tries to stop panting. 

“Have I made it better?” You ask, softly, looking up to him.

He chuckles softly, almost amused by how ridiculous the question was.

“Just by having a sight of you, you make my day better” he says. 

Even if he was new to this whole marriage thing, even if sometimes he didn’t know you that well as your ladies-in-waiting and sometimes just allowed you to be even if it bothered him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he certainly adored you, very dearly. 

“I can make it even better” you say almost proudly, and he raises his eyebrow, looking at you laying on his chest. The water wasn’t even hot anymore, but more cold than he could bear. 

“Oh, how so?” He asks amused. “Did you claim a dragon? Only that can top the amazing moment that we just-”

“I am with child” you say simply, looking at him with a smile. 

He stops on his tracks, and looks at you as he takes in what you said. He blinks, looking at you, and you smile awkwardly at him. Was he happy? The prospect always puts him in a good mood. But maybe it wasn’t as you thought? One thing was words, and other actions.

You watch his eye as he seems to have hundreds of thought per second, his face slight confused as he frowns a bit, before his lips turn into smile full of disbelief.

“Are you joking?” 

“No... Maester Orwyle informed me this morning” you say softly. “He says that probably our wedding night was fruitful. I don't know. I don't look that pregnant, after these months. We have to figure it out in these days, so we can see when the birth is due... It's funny, because at first we thought it was from the sickness, that I got the worst part… but I just happened to be sick and pregnant”

That's why Maester Orwyle looked at him with a slight smirk as he helped desinfect his arm after training. You probably asked him to keep the secret so you could tell him.

That's why there was something off about you. He couldn't get exactly what, but something was off. It made sense, how nervous you were and how you tried to tell him before, but he was a fool to not notice it.

“Oh, my love…” he says, as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly to him. “Oh… I don’t… I... What can I even say to that?”

He is surprised, and he can’t believe it. You were pregnant. You actually were. His little offspring, growing in your womb right at this moment. Your stomach was not firm by any mean, he couldn't decipher it even if he liked so.

“That is… That is the best thing anyone has ever told me” he admits, chuckling a bit in surprise. “You are going to be a mother. And you are going to make me a father” 

"We are, indeed" You say smiling to him. "In some months, it will be me, you and a weeping babe"

He can feel his nose burn as he smiles, the image on his head as he forces himself not to cry of happiness, a weird chuckle comes out of his mouth.

"You are right" he says looking at you. "So, you are definitely moving to my chambers now, aren't you? No more personal chambers, no more confinement when sick. You are not leaving my side, not you or our little dragon" He states nodding, not for discussion. He can't have you just wandering around without him near to protect both of you.

He smiles, as you giggle. His day certainly got better, all thanks to you. His hands caress your back soothingly, as he is just... happy. He forgets about his horrible day, how his ankle still hurts or how his scar stings on his cheek and forehead as he smiles. What is that compared to the joy of knowing that he will be a father? A father to your children as well?

“Now, how come Lady Westerling got my pregnant wife sick?” he teases you as you roll your eyes. “She is in so much trouble, who does she think she is? Both my wife and my sweet baby? Oh, she is not going to see sunlight ever again-”

“Aemond!” you giggle, but he smooches your cheek with kisses that only makes your giggles grow louder.