#one table spoon olive

[dawntoduskandback]

saturday august 10th

- did my daily hygiene

- cleaned my room !

- didn’t do any study whoopsies

- exercised

- found new friends

- did a hair mask(it worked too!!)

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

felix and his gf being at saltburn and felix noticed ollie acting weird towards her and gets upset at him!!!!!!

The eyes, Chico. || Felix Catton x reader

A/n: YAY TY FOR THE REQUEST! PLS SEND THRU MORE

Warnings: fem!reader, Oliver being a creep, swearing, smoking, if there’s anything else lmk!

Wc: 826

Felix Catton Masterlist

Feeling Felix’s thumb rub circles on your back, you flutter your eyes open and are met with his smile. "Mornin', baby," he greets you, and you respond with a lazy smile, relishing the comforting embrace of his body. His chuckle resonates through his chest, a gentle vibration against you. "It's too early, Felix," you murmur softly, wanting to fall back into slumber.

"Breakfast starts soon, aren't you hungry?" Felix questions, a playful tone lacing his words. You shake your head. "Yes, you are. Don't lie. I can hear your stomach," he asserts with a laugh, and you can't help but crack a smile in response. "Fine," you concede.

You and Felix make your way to the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast awaits. You greet everyone good morning, almost forgetting that Oliver is here at Saltburn too.

You don’t understand why Felix invited him over; they barely know each other. Even when you confront your boyfriend about it, he just says that he feels bad for him, that he's going through some things at home.

Honestly, he's sort of a strange guy. You always catch him looking away from you when you look at him, around school, his eyes widen the slightest when he sees you walking down the corridors, and then he focuses his gaze on the ground. One time, he even bumped into a pole because he wasn't looking where he was going.

But today, he seems even more odd. The unease is palpable as you sit down at the table. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting a warm glow on the scene.

As you and Felix engage in light morning banter, you catch Oliver staring at you. His gaze is intense, lingering longer than is comfortable. At first, you dismiss it, thinking maybe he's just lost in thought. However, the oddity of his behavior becomes more apparent as the meal progresses.

Oliver’s eyes follow your every move, and you feel an unsettling awareness of his gaze on you. It’s as if his attention is fixated solely on you. You exchange a glance with Felix, who seems oblivious to Oliver’s strange behavior at first.

You try to focus on your plate, on the conversation with Felix, but the weight of Oliver’s gaze is distracting. It’s not the kind of attention you want or need, especially coming from a guy who's already odd enough.

You try to enjoy breakfast, but the uneasy feeling persists. Oliver’s eyes seem to follow you, and you sense a strange tension in the air. However, as the minutes pass, even Felix begins to sense the unease in the air.

“You alright, Ollie?” Felix's timely interjection is a relief. Oliver shifts his focus from you to Felix and responds with a casual, "Hm? Oh, yeah. I'm good." A smile graces his face as he savors a spoonful of breakfast as your eyes flicker between the two, watching the interaction. You can't help but wonder if Venetia or Farleigh picked up on the awkward tension in the air.

As breakfast concludes, you can’t shake off the lingering discomfort. “Remind me why you brought Oliver to Saltburn again?” You question your boyfriend beside you as you continue your skincare routine.

Felix, sensing the need for discretion, swiftly moves to the door leading to Oliver's room. "Shh, don't be so loud," he cautions in a hushed tone, closing the door behind him with a sense of urgency.

"Darling, I know he's been acting weird—" Felix begins, coming up behind you, but you swiftly cut him off. "Oh, he's been acting more than weird. I could barely focus at breakfast with his eyes on me," you huff, applying sunscreen to your face, preparing for a day out in the sun by the lake. The tension in the air is palpable as you address the unease surrounding Oliver's peculiar behavior.

"I know, I know. He just has a... tendency to stare. He's probably admiring how gorgeous you are. Aren't you used to the stares?" He bends down to kiss your cheek, and you roll your eyes in response.

"He should know it's rude to stare," you say in a sing-song voice as you pack up your skincare products. "Don't mind him," Felix adds, his large hands wrapping around your bare stomach, giving your hips a slight squeeze.

The hot temperature outside and the high UV ray lead you, Venetia, Farleigh, Felix, and Oliver outside to lounge by the lake. As you settle on the blanket, the odd tension with Oliver becomes more pronounced. He positions himself nearby, and you catch him stealing glances at you.

It’s not the casual glances friends share; they're lingering, intense stares that make you uneasy. You exchange puzzled glances with Venetia, both of you trying to make sense of Oliver’s peculiar behavior.

“That Oliver has a staring problem, doesn’t he?” Venetia comments, readjusting her sunglasses that sit on her nose. “You saw the stares this morning right?” You turn your head towards her as she does the same. “I think everyone could sense the awkwardness between you two.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and turning your head back. “He’s so strange. I still can’t wrap my head around why Felix invited him here.” You try to focus on the conversation with Venetia, hoping to ignore Oliver’s odd glances. However, his behavior persists.

As you and Venetia engage in conversation by the lounge chairs, Oliver’s attention seems solely fixed on you. It’s as if he’s not present in the moment, lost in his own thoughts. The picturesque surroundings lose their charm as the atmosphere becomes charged with an unspoken tension.

“Is he looking,” You say lowly to Venetia, who discreetly looks behind you before humming. “Fucks sake,” You groan, turning your head only to find his eyes looking at his hands. Rolling your eyes, you gravitate your gaze to Felix right beside you.

Felix, sensing the unease, stands up to move his chair closer to yours, a protective gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed, especially when he places his large hand on your thigh. You appreciate his presence, but the situation with Oliver casts a shadow over what should have been a carefree day by the lake.

The discomfort peaks when you decide to take a break and lie down on the blanket, soaking up the sun’s warmth. Venetia joins you, and you both close your eyes, attempting to find solace in the peaceful surroundings.

However, Oliver’s peculiar behavior doesn’t wane. As you lie there, eyes closed, you sense his eyes on you, a prickling awareness that mars the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes to find Oliver glancing at you again, a furtive gaze that makes you uneasy.

Venetia, too, notices the strange dynamic and shoots you a concerned look. You spot Farleigh and Felix in deep conversation, Farleigh glancing at Oliver from time to time before giving you a look, silently communicating the shared discomfort.

“Fuck this, I’m going to take a bath,” You mutter annoyed as everyone watches you get up from your towel. Perching your sunglasses on your head, you walk over to Felix. “I’m going to take a bath,” You lean down to kiss him as he hums.

“I’ll come join you in a sec,” He says, his hands toying with the strings on your bikini bottoms. With a brief exchange of nods, you make your way back to Saltburn and to Felix’s bathroom, which connected to Oliver’s room.

The cold water is already calling your name, promising respite from the tension that clings to the air. Closing the door behind you, you take a deep breath, hoping the solitude of the bath will provide the sanctuary you need.

Little do you know that the shadows of unease follow you into the bathroom. As you start to run the water, the events of the morning replay in your mind. The odd glances, the tension at breakfast—all of it weaves into a disconcerting tapestry.

Stripping off your bikini-clad body, you let out a moan of relief when your warm body makes contact with the cold water. Lighting up a cigarette, another sigh of relief escapes you.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix decides to retrieve something from Oliver’s room. As he opens the door, the scene before him freezes him in his tracks. Oliver, standing too close, is peering through the crack of the bathroom door, watching you in the bath.

Felix’s initial surprise gives way to a flash of anger. “What the fuck, Ollie?” he exclaims, his voice cutting through the silence. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the commotion outside. You hear Felix yelling as you quickly get out the tub, wrapping a robe around your naked body before emerging from the bathroom.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screams as Oliver stammers, caught red-handed, unable to form a coherent response. You move beside Felix, rubbing your hand up and down his arm, trying to ease him down.

“You can’t just invade someone’s privacy like that,” Felix continues, his tone sharp. “What were you thinking, watching through the door like some creep?” His eyes were blown out, his face red as Oliver just stood there distressed.

“That’s so fucked up, Oliver.” You say quietly, though your tone and glare were ice cold. Oliver, looking sheepish and guilty, attempts to explain himself. “I-I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.”

Felix’s frustration deepens, and he points out, “Sorry is going to cut it, mate. What’s been going on with you? The staring, the weird glances—it’s not normal, man. We’re supposed to be friends. She’s my girlfriend, and you’ve been creeping her the fuck out!”

The room is charged with tension as the two friends face off. Felix, normally calm and collected, is visibly shaken by the breach of trust. You stand there, wrapped in a towel, feeling a mixture of concern and disgust for Oliver and an urge to comfort Felix.

Oliver, fumbling for words, finally admits, “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I messed up, and I completely understand if you’re mad.” Felix lets out a dark laugh, throwing his head back as Oliver gulps.

“Mate, we’re more than just mad. What you did is so fucking wrong,” Felix spat as Oliver says nothing but nods his head lightly. "I think it’s best if you leave, Ollie," you tighten the robe around your body as Felix lets out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair as Ollie nods, his gaze on the ground.

“Of course. I’m sorry again,” he apologizes as you give him one final look, grabbing Felix’s arm and pulling him with you back into the bathroom. Felix looks over his shoulder at Oliver, slamming the door shut and locking it.

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce goes to meet the other fathers? Have a barbecue with Clark, Oliver, Berry and talk about their kids?

"Damian told me that I was cool, it's been a while since one of my kids told me that" or "Mia is doing so well at school these days"

those moments when they are all (old men) father proud of the mess the kids are?

The dads: *lounging on beach chairs*

Clark: It's nice to finally get a day off. I think Jon needed it more than me. He's still reeling from growing up and suddenly turning back into a kid again.

Ollie: How'd that happen, anyway?

Duke, walking by: That's just this blog.

Clark: What?

Duke: Nothing. Hey, B, can we use the jacuzzi?

Bruce: Sure, go ahead.

Duke: *gives Emiko a thumbs up*

Emiko: *drains the jacuzzi*

Harper and Cullen: *start cleaning the pipes*

Ollie: I know how you feel, Clark. Roy's the happiest I've seen him with Lian back but it's still a big change. We're working on getting her enrolled in school this fall so she can catch up on what she's missed.

Roy: *sprays the tub with disinfectant*

Jason: *dries it with a leaf blower*

Hal: Speaking of changes, Jaime graduated with honors. I know he's not my kid but I can't help but feel like a proud uncle. Kyle got a new concept artist job, by the way, and I think he really likes it.

Jaime: *turns the jacuzzi back on*

Kyle: *sets up folding tables*

Barry, chuckling: Bart tried to enter a marathon the other day.

Clark: Kon wanted to pay money to go skydiving. I don't get it.

Aquaman: I remember when Kaldur joined an amateur scuba class at that age. Perhaps it's an attempt to feel more human.

Bruce: It's easy for us to forget sometimes too.

Kon, carrying a giant pot: Boiling hot soup, coming through!

Kon: *pours it into the jacuzzi*

Cass: *adds spices*

Tim, with a clipboard: One down, eleven more to go. Bart, stop eating the ingredients.

Bart: It's just tofu.

Tim: That's for Damian. What's he gonna do now, starve?

Bruce: Dick's been coming home more often lately. I can tell Alfred's really happy when he sees us all together.

Dick: *drapes tablecloths over the tables*

Wally: *sets up plates*

Steve, walking in: Mind if I join? Diana's running a little late so she sent me and the girls ahead.

Clark: Of course, feel free.

Donna, holding a basket: Where do these vegetables go?

Barbara: I'll take them. Could one of you get some spoons from the kitchen?

Cassie: On it.

Steve: So where are all the ladies?

Bruce: They're in the living room. Selina's showing off her latest... um... collection. Alfred has tea in the kitchen if you want some.

Steve: Don't mind if I do.

Yara: Should I put the meat in now?

Jon: One sec.

Jon: *scoops some soup aside*

Jon: You're good now. I just needed a vegetarian portion for Dami.

Kon: MORE SOUP COMING!

Ollie: Honestly, I'm surprised everyone's doing fairly well given the industry we're in.

Steph, leading a crowd into the yard: And here's where our main event will be.

Bette: *checking names off a guest list*

Bette: That's almost everyone. Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter are gonna be a little late. Avery's on a mission in Shanghai so she can't make it. Beast Boy and Raven stopped to buy desserts. And the We Are Robin kids just got stuck on a stalled subway train but they should be here pretty soon.

Clark: I think it's a matter of good mentorship and giving them plenty of time and space to get acclimated to the superhero lifestyle.

Jesse: *making lemonade*

Ace: *fills the coolers with ice*

Garth and Kaldur: *handing out drinks*

Barry: And giving them plenty of room to grow at their own pace.

Hal: Very true.

Bruce, sighing contently: You can't help but be proud of them.

The kids, chanting: HOT POT! HOT POT!

[aphroditeinthesea]

Hi! Could I request a Percy Jackson x Daughter of aphrodite reader angst? (this request is inspired by another fic hehe) Where the percy jackson asks the reader to help woo Annabeth (you can decide how if you decide to do this) since she's A daughter and aphrodite and immediately Assumes that she's a master in the love department but the thing is the reader has a huggers crush on percy but she decides to help him out because everyone in camp knows that percy and annabeth are made for each other (just thinking about helping your crush get on with their crush makes my heart acheee😫 Againn if you decide to pick this up you can decide on the ending!!) That's all I wantttt~~ take care of yourself!!!

“ falling feels like flying (til the bone crush) ”

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite 🌊

a/n i <3 writing percy fics just so i can use a pic of logan lerman (he’s so pretty)

⚠️ extreme and painful longing

˚ ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ ⋆

He was so pretty. And that’s coming from a daughter of Aphrodite. Y/N was always admiring him from afar. His black hair that would occasionally be swept away from his face as the wind blew, causing the perfect view of his perfect features. It was confusing how a guy could look that beautiful.

She knew she wasn't the only one who felt that way, of course. Lots of girls had crushes on him. Most prominently, the prettiest daughter of Athena. Who, as if on queue, approached Percy as he was training. She had her curls in a ponytail, no makeup, just sweat that somehow made her glow. She didn't try. And he looked at her like she was all that he worshiped.

“I cant believe youre jealous of her,” one of y/n’s sisters commented.

She scoffed, “I’m not jealous of her,” she faced the other girl, “she’s just a bookworm, who happens to look like if Kate Hudson and Taylor Swift had a baby who was Victoria’s Secret Angel.”

“Mermaid man, twelve o’clock.”

“What?” She turned around to see the son of Poseidon approaching her. She awkwardly flipped her hair to be in front of her shoulders, then a little behind her shoulders, then-

“Y/N! I wanted to talk to you,” he greeted, sitting next to her.

Her sister smirked before walking off with a wink. Her heartbeat quickened, her mind going stupid, “Percsty!” She smiled.

“I have to confess something to you, no one knows, so please don't tell anyone, okay?”

She quickly nodded, “anything, yeah of course. What is it?”

He bit his lips. Oh gods. “I was wondering if you could help me impress Annabeth.”

Heart? Shattered. Brain? Broken. Lungs? Zero air, absolutely nothing.

“You like her?”

He blushed, looking down and fidgeting with his hands, “I do.”

“I can help,” dumbass, “one of the perks of being Aphrodite’s daughter.”

With that, she found herself in cabin three, under terrible, terrible circumstances.

“What’s her favorite flower?”

He thought for a second, “irises.”

Y/N wrote that down in her notebook, which she would promptly be burning at the campfire tonight. The stress was taking her over, she was ready to tear off the pink fluff ball that sat atop the pen.

“Food?”

“Extra olive pizza.”

“Gag me with a spoon,” she blurted as she wrote. “What?”

“What?”

He leaned back on his bed, “you think she’ll like this? I’m not even sure if she likes me back.”

“Trust me,” she sighed, “she does.”

“I dont know.”

“Percy, she does,” she snapped, “especially I planned this whole thing.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he grinned, “I really wanna make sure she likes everything.”

“She will,” she reassured. “You know, I never really pegged you as a romantic.”

“Me neither,” he sighed, “but when it comes to her, gods.”

Y/N frowned, “you really love her?”

He stuttered, “I mean, love, that’s a big word. I- uhm- love her- I don’t,” he took a breath, “I do.”

The only way I can explain what y/n thought in that moment was something along the lines of, “alfkhgnlkhsjk.”

She looked next to him from where she was sitting. That’s when she noticed the framed picture on his bedside table. Him and Annabeth, two years ago it looked to be. His arm around her shoulder, both of them seemed to have been laughing when the candid was taken. That's when it hit her. The bright smiles on their faces were the ones she only ever saw when they  were together. Like they both had smiles reserved for the other.

She looked back at the green eyes that were looking at her, “I can tell.”

She stood in the middle of the woods, a few feet away from the camp entrance. She saw the figure approaching her. She reached for her pocket, getting ready.

“Cheese pizza with extra olives?”

She nodded, “yeah.”

“$11.90,” the delivery boy added.

She handed him the money, plus tip, considering he had to come into the middle of the woods for this.

She walked back into camp. Wondering why she was doing this. If she had been one of her siblings, she probably would've tried to sabotage the whole thing. Make sure that Percy and Annabeth never happen. But the way he talked about her? Like she was the center of the universe? She knew she could never compete with the daughter of Athena. His wisegirl.

“You got the pizza?”

She handed it to Percy as he set up the pink irises in a vase, “here,” she muttered, “there’s no change.”

“One pizza costs twenty dollars?” He questioned.

She shrugged, “inflation.” It was kinda depressing. The best revenge she could get was giving an eight dollars and 10 cents tip. She awkwardly played with the skirt of her dress, “I’ll go get Annabeth.”

She hurried to cabin six. She knocked on the door, lucky enough, the blonde opening it, “hey?”

“Annabeth!” she forced a smile, “Percy was looking for you, he wanted you to meet him by the strawberry fields.”

“Oh?”

“Seaweed Brain!” y/n heard the laugh from archery training. She turned around, catching a glimpse of the new couple. Her hand was in his as they walked. Her nose buried in his shoulder as she giggled. For a second, just a second, he looked back at the daughter of Aphrodite. He flashed her smile, wording, “I owe you.”

Yes, you do.

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part eight

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

TW: Murder. Non-Con.

series masterlist |

"If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary You and I go from one kiss to gettin married." - loml, Taylor Swift.

(TARGARYEN RESIDENCE. 2008)

It was a hail mary from the beginning. Two people who had everything to lose, plotting to have more than they could handle. "She must've known." Alicent breathes, playing with the rosary-styled bracelet on her left wrist. "- I told you not to cheap out on the assassins. We'll get the money back anyways." she scolded.

Her grip on the bracelet tightened. Viserys' took a deep breath.

"I did not hire mediocre mercenaries. It was a recommendation from the goddamn Governor of Texas. If you're searching for good mercenaries, you're not gonna find them because people who kill people for a living don't have a moral compass." he gritted his teeth. His anger doubling at every second he spent in his wife's presence.

"I couldn't care less about their moral compass. You should've hired someone who had a follow through." she hissed, glaring at him. "I'm sorry but I'm not the one who wanted Olivia L/N dead." he groaned, standing up and attempting to exit the door.

She stares at the side, the sight of a crucifix snapping her back into reality. "I don't like the role that you're giving me, Viserys." her voice cracked, her fingers dancing along every bead. Along every Hail Mary. Her breath hitched for a second.

Fearing the person that she's become.

He made her this way. He manipulated her, made her believe that the love that they shared was true. He made her fight for every scrap of his love. He made her a monster. Now, she was finally thirty, fifteen would never cross her mind. "You're the one who wanted to give your children part of Aemma's company. I was following your wishes." he tried to flip the table at her.

Our children. She wanted to correct him.

It might've been her idea, but he didn't give her a choice. Her children would live in poverty without the money that Aemma provided. Alicent didn't have a job. She didn't even finish High School, and it was obvious that Viserys wasn't going to be around for long.

"Don't worry about Olivia. She doesn't have the guts to sue us. I hope that you learn to be content with what you've been provided. Not everything has to be handed on a silver spoon." Viserys remarked.

Aemond breathes. "They're fighting again." he spoke through the landline. Fighting was a normal occurrence in the Targaryen Household, it was always about the inheritance.

"Mom ought to accept that the old man isn't gonna leave us a single dime." Aegon chuckled. His older brother long accepted the fact that Viserys hated all his children from his second-marriage.

"- Rhaenyra has always been the golden child. I don't know why we bother." he added with an eye-roll.

Aemond pressed his lips closer to the microphone. "Dad hired someone to kill Aunt Olivia." he dropped the bomb, and the other line answered with silence. "- Mom figured that if Aunt Olivia died, then all the shares would go to Dad, and there'll be enough for us." he whispered, careful not to be heard.

"He'd rather have someone murdered than give us a tiny piece of Rhaenyra's billion dollar inheritance? I study in New York. I should kill Aunt Olive, make Mom proud for once." his lips pressed into a thin line, seriously considering that random thought.

The younger brother responds with a chuckle.

"You won't do that Aegon. You're not actually a murderer." he laughed, thinking that it was his older brother's way of making a joke. Aegon licks his lips. Right, not a murderer.

OLIVIA L/N FOUND DEAD IN AN NYC APARTMENT WITH NO CURRENT SUSPECTS, POLICE SOURCES SAY.

NEW YORK -- Police sources are revealing more details about a murder in Manhattan. They say that the New York City Police Department is currently conducting investigations about possible motives for the crime.

It happened in Upper Manhattan, sources say that the first person that found the body was Ms. Olivia L/N's daughter, then a neighbor that chooses to remain anonymous.

Olivia L/N is the co-founder of Dragonpine Brewery, which has now expanded into different industries including real estate, technology, and pharmaceuticals. She currently owns 49% of Dragonpine Brewery, but all shares are expected to return to Viserys Targaryen, who too, owns 49% of the company.

The medical examiner ruled her death a homicide due to the blunt force trauma to the head, and stab wounds on her stomach.

Anyone with any information is asked to call the NYPD's Crime Stoppers hotline at 1-***-***-TIPS. ALL CALLS ARE KEPT CONFIDENTIAL.

(PRESENT)

Daemon couldn't stop pacing and forth. Luckily, the bullet didn't hit anything important. You could still use your ankle normally in the future, but it would take time to heal.

"It's a medical miracle. It's the first time I've seen it happen." he remarks, trying to calm himself down.

The entire thing was difficult to process. He found it hard to believe that Aemond suddenly lost all semblance of normalcy and broke. "The gun wasn't registered. He could face charges, unless Alicent drives by with her golden chariot and bribes the judge again." he rolled his eyes, unwilling to let his nephew live scot-free.

"I told her about Aemond's past, the case with the girl and Nick. She could've confronted him about it, brought memories that he couldn't handle. He could've been guilty." Rhaenyra suggested, shaking her head. "Where is he?" Daemon's eyes narrowed.

He peeked through the halls, searching for his nephew's familiar silver-gold locks. "Down at the police station. Jace tells me that Aemond's shaken. Unable to form any statement." she adds with a deep breath. Aware that the story was reaching its climax.

"Alicent won't let him speak anyways. Where's Helaena?" he paused, reminded of his youngest niece. "She's babysitting the kids. Daemon, role-calling everyone won't be enough to distract you from Y/N. She's a wall away, I can hear her heart monitor from here." she pointed out.

Clearly as nervous as he was.

"I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe that we're given a second chance at everything, but we're still making the same mistakes." he sat down on the bench beside her.

He wanted to be a better person. Make his life worthwhile, but with the people around him repeating the same mistakes over and over. "I feel like I'm trapped inside a paradox. We'll die, then we'll get reborn and repeat everything again. It's like that show we watched. Are we in the Bad Place?" his eyebrows merged together.

"I don't know, Daemon. It feels like hell, but then I see my sons and I wouldn't trade this life for anything else." she had a bitter smile on her face. A nurse steps out of your room.

Daemon rises to his feet.

"Is she awake?" he inquired.

"No. I don't think that I'm at liberty to say this but - being unconscious for this long isn't normal. They'll do some tests, but I'm sure she'll be fine." the nurse felt inclined to speak out, seeing Daemon's worried face.

"Are you her boyfriend?" the nurse asked.

Rhaenyra's face softened. "It's complicated." she bit her lower lip.

(HARRENHAL.)

TW: NON CON SCENE (WILL STATE WHEN IT'S OVER SO YOU CAN SCROLL DOWN TO IT)

You breathe in the smell of smoke. Harrenhal was a curse.

"You will die here." you whispered, the prophetic visions finally finding solace inside of you, like they've found solace in Alys.

"You dampen the mood." Aemond pours himself a goblet of wine. "- it will not stop me from having my way." he reminded.

"I know." you whispered.

"We won't be needing this," he stated, cutting swiftly through your gown. He was staring at your body with the intensity of a thousand stars - you could've sworn that it was love - but it was not. "Why are you doing this?" you whisper, covering your breasts.

He does not acknowledge the use of your tongue. He ignores you. He presses a kiss to your jaw, inhaling the scent of your jasmine perfume. A prisoner has never lived more lavishly than you. "Riñītsos," he answered, hands trailing down to pull yours away.

"You sleep beside my sister knowing such stain is upon your honor." you gritted your teeth.

"Stomach up." he commanded - eyes twinkling with lust. "Legs open," he added - seeing you in the vulnerable position.

You couldn't remember anything that happened afterwards.

(NON-CON SCENE OVER)

"I care not about what he's done to your husband. I care more about what you had to go through." Alys looked at you in a crestfallen way. She vowed to protect you, but her visions clouded her judgement. Made her believe that Aemond was their savior.

"It'll be the same tomorrow, Alys, unless you can remedy this curse then rid yourself. Leave my presence." you pleaded, unable to stare into her eyes. The same eyes that you looked at in the mirror. "You may think me cold, that all I've ever grown to love is him. I thought that I could control him, but he is like the wind." she shook her head.

"You cannot catch the wind, sister." your breath quivered.

"What I've done is payment for my sins," she started.

You snap out of the trance. Eyes finally meeting hers.

"What did you do?" you asked.

"I killed him." Alys admitted, only then did you realize the streak of blood of her cheek. "I'm sorry." she apologized, falling to the floor.

"I forgive you." you bite the insides of your cheeks.

You've watched your sister hold the enemy softer than she's ever held you. You watch her let peace slip through her fingers. You watch her betray you and you forgive her, because this is the role she must play. You cannot resent the dancer for the actions of the song.

"There will be a boat going to an island near the Ghiscari Empire. I hope that you find peace there." she handed you three dragons. "What about you?" you tilted her head, feeling the tears trickle down your cheeks. "I must stay." she reminded.

It was the last winter that you'd spend with this body. You lived sixty more years without your husband. Now, you were old and frail - there were lines on the sides of your eyes. Wrinkles that weren't there when your husband was still alive.

"Have some tea." Serenei's daughter beckoned.

You complied.

Feeling every bit of your consciousness slip away.

You had a vision the night before, that this would be your last life. You already broke the karmic chains and learnt all your lessons. There was no need to restart the pain and suffering.

But you sharply argued with the gods.

Told them that you had to be reborn. You needed to see Daemon. You needed a life where you could be with him longer, and happier.

The gods granted you that gift.

And thus, here you are again.

Your throat felt dry; like you haven't drank water in a thousand years. You hear the machine beeping beside you. A feeling of someone's hand on top of yours.

You opened your eyes.

"Daemon," you whispered.

"I remember."

next chapter>>

OK THIS LINE

You've watched your sister hold the enemy softer than she's ever held you. You watch her let peace slip through her fingers. You watch her betray you and you forgive her, because this is the role she must play. You cannot resent the dancer for the actions of the song.

WAS COPIED FROM @faiIwife on twitter. IT MADE MY LIFE IM SORRY.

[thought--bubble]

Subtraction

Michael Gavey X (Preacher's Daughter Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 2,886

Banners by @arcielee

Michael Gavey Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Warnings:: Corruption Kink, Oral sex (M receiving), Fingering, dubcon, coercion, religious guilt

A/N: This was really fun to write because I'm a math gal myself 🤣

Based on THIS request.

Michael is walking on clouds today. As far as he is concerned, today is a great fucking day.

He has been working as a tutor all semester trying to plump up his resume so he can go for that TA position he knows is going to open up next autumn.

Thus far, every student he has worked with is an airhead. The worst was Farleigh, who didn't actually want to learn anything and would just wait until Michael spoon fed him the answers and take off as soon as the assignment was finished.

But today, today Michael was told he was going to tutor you. The cutest little thing he has ever laid eyes on. With your mid-thigh length plaid skirts, high socks, and little cardigans, it was like you walked out straight out of his dreams and into Oxford.

You were a pastors daughter. Prim and proper, always walking around with that little silver cross hanging from your neck. Michael had spotted you as soon as school had started, and it only took about a month before the dreaded Felix Catton had set his sights on you. As if it wasn't bad enough that Michael's only friend Oliver had already been wrapped up in Felix's little web now, Michael had to watch that web get spun around you.

Which is why it came as such a big surprise when you turned him down. Felix had been trying for weeks to hook up with you. Following you around like a puppy, it made Michael sick. Couldn't Felix see how special you are? How could he treat you as just another name in his little black book?

Michael's vindication came in the form of a very public rejection where you called out Felix for "only wanting one thing" in the courtyard for multiple students and staff to see.

The public embarrassment this afforded Felix only made Michael more enamored with you. He found himself constantly daydreaming of you. He imagined you sitting on his lap as he kissed you. Your pure innocent lips on his never having been soiled by another man's touch. He imagines pushing up that little plaid skirt and sinking his fingers deep into that cunt, sweet. Innocent, and just for him.

Michael was feeling a bit nervous as he sat and waited for you in the library. He knew his personality left a lot to be desired. If there was anyone in this wretched place, he didn't want to scare off with his brashness it was you.

"Just be normal. Just be normal, " he whispers to himself as he continues to wait, fingers tapping on the thick wooden table.

"She was supposed to be here by now," he wonders aloud. She didn't show up because it's me probably. She's heard all the horror stories of me being annoying or weird. I've already ruined it before I had a chance to meet her. Well, if she's going to be like that, then I wouldn't want her anyway. She's just like all these other posh Neanderthals. Judging someone before they've even properly gotten to know them.

Michael's brain continues to rattle off thought after thought bouncing between sadness, rejection, and anger, as he glares toward the entry to the library picking at the table with his fingernail.

Then you walk in, books clung tightly to your chest, a pink and gray pleated skirt, white knee high socks and those cute black shoes with the straps, a pink cardigan and shining in the light the dainty silver cross you're never seen without.

He sits up straighter, clearing his throat, as he subtly shifts his books, notebooks, and pens on the table.

"Michael?" Your voice sounds so sweet to Michael that he has to force himself not to salivate.

"Yes. That's me, I take it you're my new pupil?" Keep calm, Gavey. Don't act like a creep. He repeats these two rules to himself while sporting a look of indifference on his face.

You reach your hand out to him and tell him your name. He takes your hand and shakes it. So small, soft, and delicate. Perfect hands. Just the right size to be engulfed by Michael's rather sizable hands, he thinks to himself.

"Hello?" You look at him questioningly as he stares at you while absent-mindedly continuing to shake your hand for far longer than was necessary.

What you didn't know was in Michael's head he was all over you, he had you bent over this wooden table, skirt pushed up to reveal your rounded bum, him sliding himself in and out of your body while you begged him for more.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, and his cheeks burn crimson when he realizes he is still shaking your hand. "Right.. umm" he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and pulls on the collar of his shirt. The heat on his face has traveled to his chest.

As you sit, he can't help but watch you. You're so gentle from the way you sit to the way you place your books on the table.

"So what specifically are you struggling with?" He already knows she is failing the class in its entirety, but he can't seem to find another way to initiate conversation.

You whimper, and Michael just about dies

"Everything. Every single thing." You put your hands over your face clearly stressed.

"Oh. Well, we will start from the beginning then." Michael starts with what he thinks will be the easiest, basic statistics.

Even with this, you struggle greatly, the hours spent in the library do prove beneficial but only slightly and the novelty of being with you has started to wear off for Michael due to the sheer shock of how bad you are at this.

Michael rubs his temples, his head just barely hovering over the wood of the library table. "Did they not touch on any of this in secondary school?"

"They did, I wasn't any good there either, but I was able to make it up in other ways"

Michael lifts his head and looks at you quizzically. "Other ways?"

"Extra credit, community service, church duty." You explained this as if it was perfectly normal to pass maths because you picked up an extra shift helping at the church.

Michael blinks as he blankly stares back at you. "Right.......of course...... obviously......"

He looks around the library and sees it's mostly cleared out. "Well they'll be kicking us out of here any minute now" He sighs as he closes the books on the table packing up to leave, relieved that this elongated torture session has come to a close.

You stand up nervously. "No!" You didn't mean to shriek, but you did, voice reverberating around the nearly empty library.

"The quiz is in two days! I..... I can't fail! My father! He will....... oh no, please! Keep going. I'll do anything!"

Michael immediately stops moving and fights the small smirk, clawing its way across his features. Anything. I'll do anything. The words float through his mind like a beautiful song he has been waiting to hear.

Anything.

"Well, you could come back to my dorm, and we could continue......." He starts as he looks around sheepishly.

"Yes! Oh my goodness, yes! Thank you, Michael!" You excitedly collect the rest of your things from the table.

"But," Michael interjects. "We will have to....... make the process more interesting because i was nearly falling asleep a moment ago"

"Sure! whatever you suggest." You beam a smile at him, and he smirks. Oh, he has a suggestion that will keep both of them awake.

Michael opens the door to his dorm, holding his arm out and gesturing for you to go first.

You enter the room and look around. It's extremely neat. No personal effects save for a photo of Michael and his parents.

Michael walks in behind you, closing the door and setting his books down on the small table in the corner.

"Sit." He motions toward the chair across from him.

You place your books down on the table and slowly lower yourself into the chair.

" So I have an idea...... that might give you the proper.... motivation" his eyes travel up and down your form, and he slightly bites on his bottom lip before he continues. "I'm going to show you an example problem. Then I'm going to give you the same type of problem to solve. If you get it right, i remove an article of clothing. If you get it wrong, you do"

"Oh! umm Michael.... I'm not sure. " You nervously wring your hands in your lap. You are terrible at maths you would surely end up naked in no time.

"You said anything, and this will keep me awake. We could always just call it for the night......" He trails off looking to the side.

"Wait! no! ok"

Michael smirks. "Ok, then let's get started.

As expected, you get most answers wrong first, taking off your shoes, socks, and earrings. When you finally get one right, Michael chuckles and takes off his belt.

"Good, good. See? What did I tell you? proper motivation." He scoots his chair forward, a bit closing the space between you.

A few more problems later you are sitting there in nothing but a bra and panties Michael in his shirt and boxers.

As you try to focus on the current problem, you can't help but be distracted by the rather sizable bulge in his boxers.

"T-there," your voice faulters as you slide the paper back towards Michael for his review. He looks it over quickly.

"Sorry darling, that's not quite it." He leans forward, explaining where you went wrong with the formula.

"Oh." You feel the heat pool in your cheeks as you unlatch your bra. Trying to cover your breasts as you remove it.

Michael's eyes light up as he takes in your almost nude form. The bulge in his boxers becomes even more apparent as he races to write you up a new problem.

"What happens when I run out of clothes?" You know, at this point, it is an inevitability that you will end up completely nude, but you are learning and starting to get problems correct. If you can learn just enough to pass the quiz, you could possibly save your grade in this class.

"We will figure something out between the two of us, I'm sure." He brings his hand down to your knee, gently rubbing circles there with his thumb.

You focus completely on the next math problem, trying desperately to hold off the inevitable removal of your panties.

"Bravo!" Michael cheers as you slide a math problem done correctly over to him. "Guess you survive this round" He stands up from the chair and pulls his boxers off, exposing his fully erect cock.

You mean to look away. You should look away, right? That would be the polite thing to do but you can't. He is long and girthy and painfully hard.

He gently rubs at himself, watching you watch him. "Hmmm, next problem," he slides the paper over to you.

"Right, of course." You take the paper and try to focus on the problem as your eyes consistently slide back towards him as he strokes himself slowly.

"I don't mind if you look" He rubs his thumb over the slit and the tip of his cock spreading the precum around the head.

Your entire face flushes with heat. "I wasn't, ummm." You look back at the problem trying to work it out. You feel like you are writing hieroglyphics, as if you have never seen these symbols before.

"Well, that's incorrect, sorry." Michael grins happily as he waits for you to remove your final article of clothing.

"I can't. I can't expose that. " You nervously rub your palms against your thighs.

"How about we just do this?" Michael leans forward and slides your panties to the side.

Your eyes go wide, and you make a loud gulping sound.

"That's not so bad, is it?" Michael runs a finger up your slit feeling the obvious wetness there. "From what I gather, you seem to be enjoying this"

He collects some of your slick and brings it up to your pearl, drawing slow circles around the nerve.

"Oh!" You instantly close your eyes. You have touched yourself before. Something you would always pray for forgiveness for right after, but this felt different. Micheal's large finger and course fingertip make the sensation more intense, and your body instantly reacts, wanting more.

"Ahh." You breathe out as Michael applies more pressure to your bud, increasing the speed at which he applies that pressure.

Michael leans forward, completely kissing up the side of your neck. "It's ok. I won't tell anyone."

"I .... I have to remain chaste. " You moan as he slides a finger into you while holding the pressure down on your bud.

"There are things we can do without....... breaking the seal..... just relax, " He whispers into your ear as he continues sliding his finger against your walls.

You feel the pleasure building up in your lower stomach and instinctually spread your legs wider.

"That's it, good girl, I'm going to make you feel really good, ok?"

Your head rolls back as the pressure continues to build, the guilt in your mind losing to the pleasure coursing through your nerves.

Micheal moves his thumb quickly against your clit and pushes against the spongey spot inside your walls and sends you into a tailspin.

"Oh, Michael! Michael!" You gasp as the pressure in your stomach pulls taught, threatening to snap at any moment.

"I got you, let go for me, beautiful." As he whispers these words into your ear, the band snaps.

"Ahhhh, Mich-" You can't get the words out as your jaw goes slack and your entire body vibrates.

Michael continues his movements while you ride out your high, only pulling his hand away once you whimper at the overstimulation.

Michael takes your juices and rubs them on his cock as he slowly strokes himself. "That was glorious, you look so pretty when you cum"

You watch him touch himself with curiosity. "I can teach you more than maths." he says suddenly as he increases the pace of his movements.

"Come here." He motions you toward him, and like a puppet on a string, you go to him. You have already gone this far. What is stopping you now?

"Get on your knees." You quickly comply, dropping to your knees before him.

"Good, think you are going to learn this much quicker" He brings the weeping head of his cock to your lips.

You flick your tongue out and lick the tip you had heard of oral sex before. Kind of had a decent idea of what it entailed.

Michael groans. "Open up and flip your lips over your teeth."

You follow his instructions and he slides his cock into your mouth pushing past your lips. "Good, good, breath through your nose."

He grips the hair at the top of your head slowly dragging you forward pushing more of his cock into your mouth.

"Use your tongue beautiful" He sighs with pleasure as you slide your tongue along the underside of his cock.

"So fucking good." The grip on your hair tightens as he pushes further hitting the back of your throat, earning him a gag.

"What a pretty sound," He coos as he starts to move his hips while holding your head in place.

"Just like that." His breathing gets heavier as his speed increases. "Fuck, yes. Look at me" He grunts as he starts to batter the back of your throat with his cockhead.

You look up at him with tears streaking down your face and drool slipping from your chin.

"Almost there." He wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "So pretty when you cry"

Michael grips your hair tight, pushing himself fast and hard into your throat.

"You're gonna swallow what I give you" You do your best to attempt to nod while he fucks your face, pushing himself as far as he will go, the hairs at his base coming in contact with your nose and chin.

"That's it right there...... FUCK!" Michael spurts directly into your throat. You hardly have to swallow at all.

He pulls himself out of your mouth and smiles down at you, wiping the drool off of your chin.

"Think we can call it a night, yeah?" He pulls his boxers up and collapses back in the chair a look of lazy satisfaction on his face.

"Yeah, that might be best." You wipe the tears from your face and gather your clothes.

"There are still two more days before the quiz. Come back tomorrow, and we can continue." Michael gets out of the chair and wraps his arms around you from behind, gently kissing your neck.

"I love teaching you. Tell me you'll come back tomorrow."

You blush at his words, "Yes, I'll be back tomorrow"

Micheal sees you out and watches as you walk down the hallway and disappear out of sight before going back into his room and flopping onto his bed with a contented sigh before he chuckles to himself.

"I got what Felix couldn't"

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[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Seven

The letter was sent the following morning by raven, its black wings cutting through the dawn sky, carrying Maera’s final plea for peace to Kings Landing. Within a few hours, the Black Queen would have received it, the delicate script of Maera’s hand laid bare before her, a final attempt to avoid the horrors of war.

However, two weeks had passed since then, and no reply had come. Each morning, Maera woke with a knot of anticipation in her chest, half expecting some notification, some shred of response, but it never arrived. The silence from the Capital was deafening, and it filled her with a growing anxiety that gnawed at her resolve. The lack of a reply made her question whether she should have attempted this last endeavor for peace at all.

As she sat at the breakfast table one morning, Maera could hardly bring herself to eat. The knot in her stomach made every bite of food unappealing, and she found herself merely picking at her plate, jabbing at the food with her fork. Her green eyes, usually so full of fire and determination, were distant as she stared out of the window across the sea.

She could see Blackwater Bay in the distance, its waters a dark, brooding blue under the morning sky. Somewhere beyond those waters was the towers of the Red Keep, where the Black Queen resided—where Rhaenyra sat, openly ignoring the letter that had cost Maera so much effort, so much hope. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, but their soothing sound only served to heighten her unease.

What was Rhaenyra thinking? Was she plotting? Waiting? Or did the letter simply mean nothing to her at all? The uncertainty gnawed at Maera, and she felt a wave of nausea rise within her. This waiting game felt more excruciating than any battle she could have prepared for, and the silence from across the water was becoming unbearable.

“Your fretting with not change the outcome,” a voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Maera’s eyes flicked back to the table, where her husband, the King, sat opposite her. On his knee, he bounced Aemara, their daughter, who was utterly fixated on the spoon in her father’s hand as he fed himself. The little girl reached out desperately, tiny fingers grasping at the air, eager to try the oatmeal that Aemond was enjoying.

The Queen couldn’t help but frown slightly at her husband. Aemond attended to his duties as if nothing was amiss, as if the looming silence from Kings Landing wasn’t a dark cloud hanging over them both. He seemed so unbothered, so calm, and it silently annoyed her. How could he carry on as if this unanswered letter didn’t have the potential to alter the course of the war? As if the fate of their future wasn’t hanging in the balance with each passing day?

When no reply came, Aemond spoke again, his voice steady and assured. “We extended the olive branch, Maera. All we can do now is wait.” As if to emphasize his point, Aemara squealed happily on his lap, her impatience finally rewarded as Aemond gave in and offered her a spoonful of oatmeal. She chewed on it with a delighted gurgle, utterly content in her father’s arms.

Maera continued to push the food around her plate, her appetite completely diminished by the gnawing anxiety in her gut. She had requested eggs, but the very sight of them now made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. With a sigh, she finally spoke, her voice tinged with frustration and unease. “I’ve never been good at waiting.”

Aemond glanced at her, his single eye observing her closely. “I know,” he replied softly, his tone holding a hint of understanding. Aemara angrily babbled on Aemond's lap, her small face scrunching up in a display of frustration as she waited for more food. Aemond couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, and he dutifully gave the baby another spoonful of oatmeal.

He looked over at Maera, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It seems our daughter has inherited your impatience,” he said with a light-hearted tone.

The clatter of Maera’s fork dropping onto her plate broke the brief moment of levity. She snapped at him, her voice sharp, “Better that than inheriting your impulsivity.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She put her head in her hands, groaning in frustration.

When she finally looked up, she saw Aemond’s reaction—a clenched jaw, his brow raised in surprise at her harsh retort. The silence between them grew thick, and though he didn’t respond, his expression spoke volumes.

Maera shook her head, exhaling deeply to release the tension. She reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing against his before she squeezed his hand in a gesture of reconciliation. “Sorry,” she muttered quietly, her eyes searching his for forgiveness.

Aemond studied Maera’s face for a long moment, his sharp eye taking in the weariness etched into her features. Without a word, he leaned down and kissed Aemara on the head, the gesture tender and deliberate. Then, with a purposeful grace, he rose from his seat, walked over to Maera, and gently placed their daughter into her arms.

The Queen took the child gladly, holding the small, warm body close to her chest. She nuzzled her nose into the soft, silver hair that mirrored her own, breathing in the sweet, innocent scent of her daughter. The simple act helped to steady her racing thoughts, grounding her in the present moment.

She felt Aemond’s rough hand cup her cheek, his calloused thumb brushing gently over her skin. Maera leaned into the touch, finding comfort in the familiar feel of his hand. When she looked up, her green eyes met his single violet one, searching for reassurance.

“Be patient,” Aemond said, his voice low and steady, a command wrapped in a gentle plea. Maera held his gaze, trying to absorb the calmness he radiated, even as her own anxiety swirled within her.

“Distract yourself,” Aemond continued, his tone softening as he offered her a way to cope with the waiting. He glanced out of the window, where the morning sun glinted off the distant waves of Blackwater Bay. “Patrolling with Ēbrion this afternoon will clear your mind.”

His words carried a quiet wisdom, a suggestion born of understanding. Maera nodded, her resolve strengthening slightly as she considered the familiar routine of flying with her dragon. It was a small solace, but a needed one.

Aemond bent lower, his breath warm against Maera’s ear as he brought his lips close, so close that she could feel the soft graze of his mouth against her skin. His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, a teasing edge to his tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

"And I’ll act as your distraction this evening," he murmured, each word deliberately slow, his intent clear. "Keeping you occupied well into the night."

Maera felt a small smile tugging at her lips, warmth flooding her chest despite the weight of the day’s worries. She tried to suppress the smile, to maintain some semblance of seriousness, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, curving upwards ever so slightly.

“Ok.” She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as she brushed her nose against his in a gentle, affectionate gesture. Aemond responded by planting a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, the touch brief but filled with the promise of more to come.

But the kiss didn't last long. Aemara, ever curious and eager for attention, reached up and tugged on her father's silver hair with a determined little fist. The unexpected pull made both Aemond and Maera break apart with a giggle, the sound light and filled with the shared joy of parenthood.

Aemond straightened, his amused eye meeting Maera's as they both chuckled softly at their daughter's interruption. The brief laughter brought a bit of warmth back into the room, a small reminder that even amidst the tension, they could still find moments of happiness together.

As much as Maera adored spending time with her Ladies after breaking her fast, their lighthearted chatter and the comfort of their company did little to ease the gnawing anxiety twisting her stomach into knots. Every smile she forced and every polite response she offered felt hollow, as though her mind was elsewhere. The constant undercurrent of worry, the anticipation of what might come, left her feeling nauseous and on edge. No matter how much she tried to immerse herself in their conversations, her thoughts always drifted back to the unanswered letter and the looming uncertainty.

True relief only came later in the day, during her afternoon patrol on Ēbrion. Aemond had been right; the moment she took to the skies, the weight on her chest lightened, the vast expanse of the world below offering a sense of freedom that nothing else could. As Ēbrion soared across the waters, his powerful wings cutting through the air with effortless grace, Maera felt the tension in her muscles slowly unwind. His black and blue scales shimmered in the sunlight, and his vivid orange eyes gleamed with a predatory sharpness as they scanned the horizon.

From high above, Maera spied boats in the Blackwater, their sails billowing in the wind as they cut through the waves. She kept a careful distance, ensuring that she did not venture too close to the territory controlled by the Blacks. The last thing she wanted was to provoke a reaction, especially in such a delicate time. The sight of the ships, the peaceful ebb and flow of the sea, brought a momentary calm to her restless mind.

After ensuring all was well in the waters, Maera veered her dragon westward, towards the Stormlands. The rugged landscape stretched out before her, a tapestry of rolling hills and dense forests, where the border of the Crownlands met the Stormlands. Ēbrion’s powerful wings beat steadily as they patrolled the area, Maera’s keen eyes scanning the terrain below for any signs of trouble. The wind whipped through her hair, carrying away the remnants of her earlier anxiety.

The weather was as she expected: heavily clouded, with dark, brooding skies that seemed to threaten rain at any moment, but Maera remained undeterred. The tempestuous weather was a familiar comfort to her; after all, she had been born in these lands. The chill in the air and the scent of impending rain brought with them a sense of home, grounding her as she rode her dragon through the turbulent skies.

However, the thick cloud cover made patrolling from a high altitude increasingly difficult. The clouds were dense and unyielding, obscuring her view of the land below.

“Embrot.” Down.

With a firm command, the Queen guided Ēbrion to descend slightly, bringing them closer to the ground where visibility would be clearer. The dragon obeyed, his massive form slicing through the clouds with ease as they descended into the swirling mists.

As Ēbrion leveled out, Maera scanned the terrain below, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. Nothing appeared alarming or out of place. Small encampments dotted the landscape as she ventured south, their banners flapping violently in the wind. The familiar yellow and black colors of House Baratheon were prominent, and beside them, the black banner emblazoned with a green three-headed dragon—the symbol of the Greens—was unmistakable, a clear declaration of allegiance.

From her elevated position, Maera could still make out the movements of the soldiers below. They looked up, their faces a mixture of alarm and awe as they caught sight of the massive dragon circling above them. Despite their apparent unease, the soldiers made no move to attack or flee from their postings, simply observing, seemingly knowing, probably from colour and size, that Ēbrion was of no threat.

The sight brought Maera some reassurance. The Stormlands remained secure, their defenses strong, and no immediate threat loomed on the horizon. With a final glance at the encampments, Maera directed Ēbrion back towards Dragonstone, the beast’s wings carrying them effortlessly through the stormy skies.

The Queen cast a final, sweeping gaze over the border of the Stormlands, her keen eyes taking in the dense forests and rugged terrain below. The trees, thick and ancient, stood like silent sentinels along the edge of the Kingswood, their leaves rustling in the strong winds. The ground was uneven, covered in patches of wild grass and scattered with rocks, the earth beneath them dark and rich.

She was just about to direct Ēbrion to depart when something caught her eye—a sudden glint of metal that flashed briefly through the trees. Furrowing her brow in suspicion, Maera gently pulled on the reins, urging Ēbrion to turn back around for a closer look. The dragon responded immediately, his powerful wings cutting through the air as they circled back and began a gradual descent toward the source of the gleam.

As they swooped near the ground, Maera’s eyes narrowed in focus. She saw a group of knights standing at the edge of the Kingswood, their armor catching the occasional beam of light that pierced through the thick clouds. At first glance, there was nothing particularly unusual about the sight—knights patrolling the borders were common enough in these troubled times. But as she guided Ēbrion even lower, her suspicions grew.

No word had been sent to Maera that the Baratheon forces would be venturing beyond the border into the Crownlands, as Borros Baratheon did not want to incite an attack. The knights’ movements were deliberate, but there was an air of secrecy about them. They seemed to be taking great care to remain unnoticed, their figures half-concealed by the trees as they stood on the edge of the border.

More soldiers emerged from the cover of the trees, their numbers steadily growing as they stepped into the open. Some were mounted on horses, their armor clanking with each movement, while others marched on foot, gripping swords and shields with grim determination. Many carried bows and arrows, their hands poised to strike. The air around them seemed charged with tension, their formations tight and disciplined. Yet, something about them was off—there was no sign of the Baratheon stag, nor the banner of the Greens. There was no display of loyalty, no sigil declaring their allegiance.

Maera’s heart quickened as she scanned the gathering force below, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. It was then that the realization hit her like a cold wave. These soldiers bore no marks of honor, no sigils to indicate their loyalty to any house within the Stormlands. These were not Baratheon soldiers, nor were they allied with the Greens. They were something else entirely—Black soldiers, forces loyal to Rhaenyra, about to invade Green territory.

Before Maera could react, Ēbrion sensed the danger. The dragon let out a fierce, thunderous roar that echoed through the stormy skies, reverberating off the trees and sending waves of terror through the soldiers below. The sudden, deafening sound threw the soldiers into a panic, and chaos erupted in their ranks. Horses reared up, their riders struggling to maintain control, while those on foot scrambled in disarray.

Arrows were loosed in a panicked response, their sharp tips glinting as they shot through the air, aimed desperately at the massive beast above. Maera instinctively flattened herself against the saddle, the cold, hard leather pressing against her as she avoided the deadly projectiles. The arrows zipped past her, some clattering harmlessly against Ēbrion’s thick scales, while others missed entirely, lost to the wind.

“Pālētēs, Ēbrion! Angōs!” Evasive manoeuvres! Attack!

The dragon swooped closer to the treetops, his massive wings beating with terrifying power. The wind from his descent sent leaves and branches whipping through the air, and the closer the dragon came, the more the army below descended into chaos. Panic spread like wildfire; many soldiers, overwhelmed with fear, turned their horses and bolted, fleeing back into the safety of the woods. Others, their courage failing them, simply abandoned their posts and ran on foot, desperate to escape the wrath of the dragon.

But there would be no escape. With a roar that shook the very ground, Ēbrion unleashed a torrent of fire from his maw, the flames bursting forth like a river of molten fury. The searing heat radiated outward as the dragon strafed the ground along the border, his fiery breath scorching the earth in a deadly line of destruction. The flames roared to life, spreading quickly across the grass and dry brush, creating a blazing barrier between the soldiers and the Stormlands beyond.

The fire swept through the ranks of the enemy, and those caught in its path were immediately engulfed. Soldiers screamed in agony, their armor and clothing catching fire as they flailed about in a desperate attempt to extinguish the flames. Some dropped to the ground, rolling and writhing in futile efforts to douse the inferno consuming them. Others ran, their bodies ablaze, only to collapse into lifeless heaps as the fire took them.

The border was transformed into a hellish landscape of smoke and flame, the inferno stretching out like a wall of death, a stark declaration to the enemy forces that any attempt to cross into the Stormlands would be met with fiery devastation.

From her vantage point high above, Maera watched the destruction below with a heart pounding in her chest. Ēbrion’s fire had wrought devastation on the battlefield, the roaring flames consuming the enemy forces and forcing them to retreat. The sight of men burning, screaming in terror, filled her with a strange mix of horror and resolve. It was a terrible thing to witness, yet in her heart, Maera knew it had been necessary. The alternative—an all-out battle, with countless more lives lost—was far worse. The fire had saved the Stormlands from invasion, and in doing so, had perhaps prevented even greater bloodshed. This reasoning, as harsh as it was, brought her a sense of peace amid the chaos.

But that peace was short-lived.

Without warning, a bright fireball streaked through the sky, slamming into Ēbrion’s face with a blinding explosion of light and heat. The dragon let out a thunderous screech, shaking his massive head in pain as the force of the impact rocked them both. Maera’s heart lurched in her chest as she felt the shockwave of the attack vibrate through her entire body.

She frantically looked down at Ēbrion, her eyes wide with fear. Her heart stuttered as she searched for any signs of injury. To her relief, the dragon seemed unharmed—his thick scales had protected him from the worst of the fireball. The rider’s green eyes darted around in alarm, attempting to get her bearings amidst the chaos. A shadow passed over them, blotting out the sun, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

Another dragon, its silhouette dark against the sky, swooped down on them from above. The beast unleashed a torrent of flame, its fiery breath raining down toward them. Instinctively, Maera ducked, flattening herself against the saddle as the flames roared overhead. Her hands gripped the ropes attached to the saddle with all her might, her knuckles turning white. The heat was intense, nearly unbearable, but she forced herself to stay calm.

“Dokimarvose! Geptot jās!” Focus! Move left!

She yanked on the ropes, urging Ēbrion to turn, to catch sight of their assailant. Her heart pounded in her ears as she desperately tried to gain control of the situation, her mind racing to figure out who was trying to kill them.

Ēbrion responded to her commands, his powerful wings beating against the air as he banked sharply, turning to face their attacker. The dragon’s eyes, usually so calm and calculating, were now blazing with fury as he roared in challenge, ready to defend his rider and his territory from this sudden, violent threat.

The beast attacking them was much smaller, a nimble creature that darted through the sky with alarming speed and agility. Its pale green scales shimmered as the sunlight pierced through the clouds, reflecting off its pearlescent horns with an almost ethereal glow. Despite its smaller size, the dragon’s swiftness made it a formidable opponent, weaving through the air with practiced ease.

Maera’s eyes narrowed as she locked onto the rider. The girl was young, her silver hair curly and wild, contrasting starkly with the blood-red cloth she wore. Even from a distance, Maera could see the confidence in the girl’s posture, the way she guided her dragon with practiced precision, clearly experience in the art of dragon riding. As another fireball flew towards them, the Queen was consumed with rage, and had had enough of this dance. A low growl of frustration escaped her lips as she tightened her grip on the reins.

“Naejot!” Forward! She commanded, her voice ringing out through the wind. Ēbrion responded instantly, his powerful wings beating hard as he surged toward the smaller dragon. The air around them whipped into a frenzy as they closed the distance, Maera’s heart pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline.

But she knew she needed an advantage. The smaller dragon’s speed made it difficult to land a decisive blow, and the rider’s skill only added to the challenge. Maera’s mind raced as she considered her options, and then it came to her—she needed the higher ground.

“Vēzot, Ēbrion!” Up! she shouted, pulling back hard on the reins. Ēbrion roared in response, his muscles straining as he ascended, pushing through the clouds. The air grew thinner and colder as they climbed, but Maera’s resolve only hardened. If she could gain the higher ground, she would have greater control.

They soared higher and higher, the clouds enveloping them in a thick, misty shroud. For a moment, the world below disappeared entirely, leaving only the sound of Ēbrion’s powerful wings beating against the sky and the thudding of Maera’s heart in her ears.

The other rider followed their ascent, her smaller dragon trailing just behind Ēbrion as they climbed higher into the sky. The girl was relentless, her dragon unleashing a volley of fireballs in their wake, but Ēbrion was ready. With a fierce snap of his jaws, he tried to catch the fiery projectiles mid-air, the force of his bite causing the flames to dissipate harmlessly. His massive body twisted in the air, his wings beating with such strength that the gusts sent the smaller dragon spiraling off course, momentarily throwing the rider's aim.

The smaller dragon might have had the advantage of speed, darting through the sky with agility and grace, but Ēbrion had something far more formidable—raw power. His every movement was filled with a force that could shake the very air around them, and Maera used this to her advantage. She held tight to the reins, urging her dragon to keep pushing higher, feeling the wind whipping past her face as they climbed.

As they broke through the top of the clouds, the sunlight burst forth, bathing them in its brilliant light. The smaller dragon had followed them into the sky, but now found itself beneath Ēbrion, perfectly positioned for Maera to strike. The light glinted off the pale green scales of the smaller beast, but it was no match for the massive shadow that loomed above.

"Sīr!" Now! Maera commanded, her voice strong and resolute.

Obeying his rider's command, Ēbrion tucked his wings close to his body and dived straight down, turning their sheer size and power into an unstoppable force. The wind howled in Maera's ears as they plummeted toward the smaller dragon, the air around them roaring with the speed of their descent. The younger dragon, though quick, was not fast enough to evade the gigantic form bearing down on it. It had no choice but to fall with them, trapped by the sheer momentum of Ēbrion's dive.

The ground rushed up to meet them, and Maera's heart pounded in her chest. She could see the landscape below, the trees and hills growing larger with every passing second. She waited until the last possible moment, feeling the adrenaline surge through her veins, before yanking back on the reins with all her might.

Ēbrion responded instantly, his wings snapping open to catch the air and slow their descent. They pulled up just in time, skimming the treetops as they leveled out, the force of their near-fall sending shockwaves through the air. The other rider managed to pull up as well, her dragon narrowly avoiding a crash.

But Maera was not prepared to let them get away.

With a fierce determination burning in her eyes, she urged Ēbrion forward, closing the distance between them. The younger dragon struggled to regain its balance after the sudden dive, but Maera could see the fear in the rider's eyes as she realized she was now at a disadvantage. The smaller dragon's speed was no longer enough to save them.

“Dracarys!”

With a swift, merciless movement, he opened his massive jaws, unleashing a torrent of flame that engulfed the smaller dragon and its rider. The intense heat and blinding light consumed everything in its path, turning the pale green dragon into a writhing silhouette against the backdrop of the sky.

The smaller dragon thrashed desperately within the inferno, its body spinning wildly as it tried to shield its rider from the searing flames. Despite its agility, there was no escaping Ebrion's relentless assault. The green beast roared in pain, its scales glowing with the heat as it turned to face its attacker, trying to protect the young rider on its back. But it was a futile effort.

Sensing his prey's weakness, Ēbrion closed in with predatory precision. His enormous body loomed over the smaller dragon, his eyes burning with a savage intensity.

In one swift, brutal motion, he lunged forward, his powerful jaws clamping down on one of the dragon's wings. There was a sickening crack as bone and sinew gave way under the force of his bite, followed by a spray of blood that stained the air. With a mighty pull, Ebrion tore the wing clean off, the shredded membrane trailing in the wind like a tattered flag.

The smaller dragon's anguished roar split the sky as it hurtled uncontrollably toward the ground, spinning out of control as it bled profusely. It spiraled downward, a helpless, flailing mass of green scales and flames. The rider clung desperately to its back, but there was no saving the beast now. The ground rushed up to meet them, the once-majestic dragon now a broken, burning wreck.

With a thunderous crash, the dragon slammed into the earth, its body crumpling near the flaming line Maera had previously drawn along the border. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, scattering debris and sending up a plume of smoke and ash.

The forest smoldered with a grim intensity, the once-vibrant trees now reduced to blackened husks. Smoke curled lazily upward, hanging heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burning wood and charred earth. The undergrowth, once thick and green, was now a sea of ash and embers, glowing faintly in the dim light that filtered through the canopy above. Here and there, small fires crackled and sputtered, struggling to cling to life as they consumed what little fuel remained.

The devastation was absolute, a stark reminder of the destructive power of dragons. The ground beneath Maera’s feet was uneven, pockmarked with deep gouges where the flames had seared through the soil. Every step she took stirred up a cloud of ash, the fine particles clinging to the hem of her leather skirt and the soles of her boots.

She had dismounted from Ēbrion, leaving the massive dragon to stand guard nearby, his eyes still blazing with the remnants of battle. The beast’s immense form cast a long shadow over the desolate landscape, his chest rising and falling with each slow, measured breath. Though the flames had died down, the air still buzzed with residual heat, causing Maera’s skin to prickle beneath the leather of her attire.

As she walked through the devastation, Maera’s eyes scanned the ground, searching for any sign of the fallen dragon and its rider. The trees, once towering sentinels of the forest, now stood as little more than skeletal remains, their branches twisted and gnarled, reaching up to the sky in silent agony. Patches of scorched earth crunched underfoot, each step bringing her closer to the site of the crash.

The silence was broken only by the distant sound of yelling from the Black army, their voices carrying faintly through the smoke-filled air. But Maera was not deterred. She knew that no matter how many soldiers might come, none would dare challenge her, not with Ēbrion standing just beyond the tree line. The dragon’s presence was a deterrent stronger than any fortress, a reminder of the raw power she commanded.

The forest had fallen into an eerie stillness, an unnatural quiet that pressed heavily on Maera as she moved deeper into the woods. The devastation around her seemed to muffle all sound, the crackle of dying flames and the rustling of her own footsteps the only noises that broke the oppressive silence. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and charred wood, making each breath feel heavy and strained.

As Maera pressed forward, she stumbled upon a clearing, where the destruction was at its most profound. The trees surrounding the open space were broken and splintered, their trunks shattered by the force of the dragon's fall. The ground was scorched, blackened earth stretching out in every direction, littered with fragments of wood and stone that had been torn apart by the impact.

In the center of the clearing lay a pile of twisted remains-the body of the smaller dragon. Barely visible beneath a thick layer of soot and debris, the creature's once-lustrous green scales had been dulled and cracked by the searing heat. Its body was contorted in death, limbs bent at unnatural angles, the remaining wing torn and shredded beyond recognition. The sight was a tragic one, the majestic beast reduced to a lifeless heap, a testament to the horrors of the war that pitted dragon against dragon.

Maera felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest as she gazed upon the fallen creature. Dragons were rare enough as it was, half the eggs laid never hatching. To know that they were now being forced to kill one another, to tear each other apart in the name of war, filled her with a deep sadness.

But it was not just the dragon that caught Maera's attention. In the middle of the carcass, amid the wreckage of scales and broken bones, lay the rider. The young woman was barely moving, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Her silver curls, once bright and shining, were now matted with blood, the vibrant strands darkened by the grime of battle. Her rider's attire, once a bold red like fresh blood, was now filthy and tattered, smeared with soot and ash.

Maera stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the girl who had moments ago been her enemy, now broken and vulnerable on the scorched earth. The contrast between the violence that had brought them to this moment and the fragility of the life before her was stark.

The Queen carefully climbed over the remains of the dragon, the heat from the smoldering scales seeping into her boots as she navigated the twisted mass of flesh and bone. The ground beneath her was unsteady, each step a precarious balancing act as she moved closer to the fallen rider. Her breath was shallow, both from the physical exertion and the tension coiled tight in her chest. As she neared the young woman, she could see her more clearly-lying on her stomach, her head pulled forward, her entire body shaking

"Can you hear me?" Maera called out softly, her voice low and unthreatening, doing her best to temper any menace. "It’s over now." But just as the words left her lips, she gasped as a force suddenly shoved her backward.

“Fuck!” The world tilted as pain exploded through her chest. Staggering, Maera looked down to see an arrow lodged deep below her collarbone, its shaft quivering with the force of the impact. Blood spilled from the wound, warm and sticky as it ran down the black leather of her attire.

Her gaze snapped back up, and she saw the broken rider, bruised, bloodied, but with a crossbow in her trembling hands, aimed squarely at Maera. Despite the woman's fragile state, her aim had been true, and her resolve hadn't wavered.

With a groan, Maera reached up and snapped the arrow, leaving the metal head embedded in her flesh, a flare of pain scorching through her as she tossed the broken shaft aside. Determination fueled her as she stalked forward, unsheathing her sword with a fluid motion. The rider's eyes widened in fear as she struggled to reload the crossbow, her movements desperate and frantic.

But Maera was quicker. With a swift, powerful kick, she sent the crossbow skittering across the scorched earth, far out of the rider's reach. The young woman barely had time to react before Maera had her sword at her throat, the blade pressing against her skin with a cold, unyielding pressure. The rider's breath hitched, her eyes locked on Maera's, wide with terror but still burning with defiance.

The Queen pressed the edge of her sword against the rider’s throat, the blade’s cold steel glinting ominously as she moved it from side to side, studying the young woman’s face. Though battered and burned beyond easy recognition, there was something unmistakable about her features—this was no mere Dragonseed. The realization settled in Maera’s mind, her heart sinking with the weight of the conclusion

“Lady Baela, I presume?” Maera remarked, her tone measured, though she couldn’t suppress the tension underlying it. The thought of facing Daemon’s daughter, one of the Blacks’ most renowned dragonriders, only added to the gravity of the moment.

Lady Baela bared her teeth in a defiant growl, her voice raw and ragged as she spat back, “Lady Maera.” There was no honorific, no acknowledgment of Maera’s title as queen, just a name spat with all the venom Baela could muster.

Maera sighed, noting the lack of respect but choosing not to dwell on it. She was not prideful, and in this moment, titles and formalities felt irrelevant. “It seems you’ve inherited your father’s skill as a dragonrider,” Maera said, a sly smile curving her lips despite the pain radiating from her wound. Her gaze flicked briefly to the twisted, smoldering remains of the smaller dragon. “It’s a shame your beast was caught in the crossfire. A tragic loss, truly.”

Baela’s face twisted with anger as she spat out a mouthful of blood, the dark red liquid staining her lips. “You must get along well with your husband,” she sneered, her voice dripping with bitterness. Maera’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before she could ask what Baela meant, the young woman continued, her words cutting like a knife. “Seems like you both enjoy slaughtering your own kin.”

The accusation hung in the air between them, sharp and piercing. Maera’s grip on her sword tightened, her expression hardening as the full weight of Baela’s words sank in. Her gaze remained fixed on the dragon rider, her voice steady as she asked, “Is that what you think I want to do?”

Baela laughed, a harsh sound that echoed through the smoldering remains of the forest. Despite her swollen eye, barely able to open, there was a gleam of defiant joy in the other, a fire that hadn’t been extinguished by the brutal clash. “Just get on with it,” Baela rasped, her tone laced with mockery and resignation.

For a moment, Maera hesitated, the sharp edge of her sword still pressed firmly against Baela’s throat. The heat of the nearby flames mixed with the smell of charred earth and blood, thick in the air, but Maera’s mind was elsewhere, weighed down by the heavy burden of choice. So many had already been lost in this relentless war. She stared down at Baela, her expression hardening, yet something within her softened. Baela’s dragon was dead, her strength sapped. She was no longer a threat, just another casualty of this endless, merciless conflict.

A different path presented itself to Maera, one that hadn’t seemed possible until this very moment. The Mother had shown her a path of mercy, one where no more blood need be spilled today.

Maera slowly shook her head, the decision made in her heart before her hand followed. She sheathed her sword with a resolute click, stepping back. “Too many of us are dead already,” she murmured, the weight of the conflict visible in the way her shoulders sagged slightly.

Baela’s expression flickered from defiance to confusion, even surprise. The grip of death that she had been bracing for did not come, and she remained breathing, albeit heavily, battered but alive.

Maera’s voice grew firmer, more determined, as she continued, “I sent your Queen a letter, a chance for peace, but she has not replied. Tell her that we expect a response by the turn of the moon. Before she loses any more dragons or riders.” Her words were laced with the authority of her position, leaving no room for negotiation.

She watched as the realization dawned in Baela’s eyes, the younger woman’s defiance dimming slightly as she understood that she had been spared, though the reason why was something she might never grasp fully. Finally, she nodded, the fight in her eyes dimming into something more resigned, her earlier defiance replaced by a reluctant acceptance.

The Queen watched as she tried to stand, the effort drawing a wince from the young woman. Her clothes, torn and charred, revealed patches of burnt and bloodied skin beneath. Baela’s movements were awkward and pained, and it didn’t take long for Maera to notice the unnatural angle of one leg, likely broken from the fall.

Maera huffed softly, her frustration tempered by a sense of duty. She stepped forward, extending a hand to Baela. "Come now. Let me get you back to the border," she offered, her voice even, almost kind.

But Baela recoiled, yanking her hand away as if Maera’s touch burned her. "I don’t need your help," she spat, her voice thick with stubborn pride despite her evident pain.

Maera stood there, watching as Baela limped away into the undergrowth, her steps slow and labored, each movement a struggle. The girl was fiery, just like her father, and Maera couldn’t help but respect that tenacity, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

The sound of large footsteps crunching through the scorched earth drew Maera’s attention. She turned to see Ēbrion approaching, his massive form looming over her as he let out a soft growl, a low, comforting rumble. But as she moved, a sharp pain flared in her shoulder, forcing a gasp from her lips. Maera pressed a hand to the wound just below her collarbone, feeling the warm stickiness of blood seeping through her fingers, the arrowhead still buried deep within her muscles.

She winced, leaning slightly against Ēbrion’s side, his warmth offering a small comfort against the pain. Her mind raced, the events of the past moments replaying themselves as she looked out at the smoldering forest, knowing that whilst mercy seemed to be the right path, it had its own price.

Notes: oooooh we got some dragon battle, shiiiittt 😱😳

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Cockwarming.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my loves, this is a longer chapter than usual because I didn't want to split it up. Updates for a bit may be slow at the moment, but will try update you all as much as I can. Thank you all for the love and well wishes <3 Enjoy

Chapter 79: Moon Tea

Aemond stayed true to his word.

For days, you frequented the Gardens alone, and found that your peace was neither disturbed by the King or your husband. It gave you a reprieve and the chance to breathe away from it all.

A chance to collect yourself, to gather the pieces that had been violently scattered across the earth below. 

And with those days, you sat where you usually did and attempted to read the mountain of books and stories that were piled high in your shared chambers, courtesy of Aemond. Some being novels that you had read already, others being new ones that the Prince thought might spark interest. 

You had to begrudgingly admit, that he was right. 

The books that he left you did spark interest, if only you got through the first few pages before being unable to read further. Your attention span had dwindled, and even though you believed Aemond when he said he would keep the King away from you, any noise, any presence of someone walking past, a knight or servant or Lord, you would still flinch, and your heart would race in your chest. 

But still, Aegon had not been seen for days, and Aemond had been kind. 

When you woke that morning, the young Prince had been curled around you as he usually was, awake far earlier than you, but content to let you sleep for if only moment more. It was a routine that the two of you had fallen heavily into.

He would rise with the sun as he always did, and watch over you as you slept, tucked to his chest as a lazy hand would rub soft and featherlike fingertips across your skin, desperate to touch you, yet not wanting to wake you up. 

And you were thankful for it. 

For Aemond’s time away in Harrenhal left little time to sleep, or breathe, or feel safe. Aegon’s attack adding to further lack of sleep or calm, and in a shocking turn of events, you had all three in Aemond's clutches. 

You had wriggled in his hold, and the One-Eyed Prince hummed, pressing a lingering kiss atop the crown of your head. A gesture that you had previously only gotten from your mother or father. 

When you were both dressed and seated at the table, the maids had brought in your breakfast for the both of you. The usual of meats, eggs and fruit, and todays warm bread, whose crust crackled under your excited hands, had olives kneaded throughout. 

You ate together, enjoying the way the soft sponge of the bread had subtle sour bursts of flavour when a hidden slice of olive was revealed to your waiting mouth. It was different, and it was something that you decided in that moment that you liked. 

Joanna placed your tea in front of you, and you thanked her softly, pulling the small glass pot of honey towards you as you put two heaping serves into the steaming brew. As you stirred the tea, Aemond watched you with an inquisitive eye before speaking, your spoon clinking against the side of the china. 

“What are your plans for the day?” He asked, watching as you brought the teaspoon to your lips to lick the remnants of the honey off, sweetness coating the roof of your mouth before placing it back onto the matching saucer. 

“I was going to go for a stroll through the Garden, then perhaps make my way to the Library.” You picked up the steaming tea and brought it to your lips, blowing the steam away.

“I will be joining you today.”

You brought the unsipped tea away from your lips, “Oh? But haven’t you your duties to attend to?”

“I have a duty to my wife.” His eye was focused on you, “And so I have freed my day to spend it with you.”

Freed his day?

Your stomach turned, but for what reason, you did not know.

You nodded stiffly, bringing the tea to your lips to sip, tasting the tart, minty tea move hotly down the back of your throat. You blinked, a spark of familiarity bursting on your tongue. 

“And what shall we do on this fine day?” You asked him, hot tea in your hands still as you looked out to the window. 

The sun was high in the sky, and there was not a cloud in sight in Kings Landing. There was no looming storm, or brusque winds. It looked to be a beautiful day.

“It’s a surprise.”

Anxiety was what you felt. 

Surprise. 

You sipped at the tea again, eyebrows drawn as you tried to figure out why the tea you had been drinking so frequently suddenly tasted oddly familiar. 

“Are we going to see Vermithor?” You asked, knowing that you would not. 

But you so desperately wished to see him. You so desperately wished to fly again. To be by his side. To feel his bond and connect again. To assure him that you were okay. To soar high amongst the clouds, to feel free, to feel you again.

Aemond did not respond, and let the chambers bask in the silence of his answer. 

No.

You looked down and placed the tea back on the table, moving to take a star fruit onto your plate, cutting it up to eat. Aemond watched you the whole time, no longer using your hands to tear the flesh apart, and instead using the sharp knife and fork. 

“Perhaps,” Aemond began, watching your reaction, “I could take you to fly upon Vhagar’s back.”

You swallowed thickly, heart beating against your ribs, hands tightening around the cutlery. 

Vhagar. 

Arrax.

Lucerys.

Dracarys.

“I think I am perfectly content on the ground, thank you.” You grit out. 

You did not want to be anywhere near Vhagar.

You lifted the tea to help wash down the tart star fruit which seemed to have gone bad in your mouth, its sticky flesh stuck in the back of your throat.

As the steaming brew washed over your taste buds you froze again. Why was it so familiar? Tart. Minty. A hint of honey. Aemond’s eye was no longer on you, instead sheepishly looking down at his plate as he cut through a thick slice of sausage.

Familiar. 

“Please Princess, you must drink the tea.” The Dowager Queen had said quietly, the Maester beside you looking with clinical eyes, the colour from them seemingly gone, and nothing but a blank mask upon his face. 

You took another sip, letting the brew settle upon your tongue. Minty. Tart. Almost earthy in its flavour, and yet as you took another trying sip it all came together. Aemond placed some meat into his mouth to chew, eye looking back up at you. 

It was familiar. 

And now you knew why.

Moon Tea. 

It was Moon Tea. 

They were giving you Moon Tea. 

You sipped deeply on the tea in hand, draining the last of the dregs into your eager and waiting mouth. 

It was Moon Tea. 

They were giving you Moon Tea. 

You placed the tea cup back down on the table as you looked at your husband. 

Was he giving you Moon Tea?

Was this his doing?

You moved to open your mouth and ask him, but stopped. 

Aemond, would never give you Moon Tea. Aemond would never prevent his seed from taking. Because Aemond had done nothing but tell you of his desires for an heir and watching you grow with his child. 

You placed a small cut of star fruit into your mouth and chewed in thought.

Could it be them?

Could it be the King?

Was this another part of Aegon to spite his brother? 

Or was this Alicent or Otto’s doing?

No.

The Greens needed an heir to support the treaty and solidify it. 

As Aemond began to finish his meal, the maids entered the chambers to collect the plates and empty cups, Joanna’s eyes flitting to the empty tea cup. 

She was checking if it had been drunk. 

The maids.

The maids had been giving you Moon Tea.

But surely the maids were not doing it of their own volition, after all they barely know you, and if either were caught giving you such a thing, both would be killed for treason.

Aemond stood to move about the room, collecting some tomes on the side table.

But only Maesters, woods witches and brothel mistresses were skilled in making the tea. 

The Maester. 

Aemond came back over to you, books in hand. His pale fingers were wrapped tightly around a pile of three, a familiar black leather bound book that was broken on the top. Aemond looked at you and waited for you to stand. 

You stood on shaky legs, mind reeling. 

The Maester and maids were giving you Moon Tea.

You had allies. 

Kepa.

You bit the sides of your cheeks to stop the smile that attempted to wind up your face, and blinked away the tears that had begun to tickle at your eyes. 

Your mother and father had eyes on you.

The two of you walked down to the gardens together, the sun beaming warmth on the two of you. You led the way to your favourite spot, and Aemond followed, moving to sit at the small table that sat in the centre of the space.

The Targaryen Prince placed the three tomes in the centre of the table before turning to look at you. 

“The road ahead of us is not easy.” Your uncle began, voice crisp, “But I intend to pave the path with good intentions.”

Aemond kept his violet eye on you, the sun brightening the sapphire orb beside it.

Road?

“If you will let me.” He finished, waiting for your response. 

Your mouth felt dry. 

“And what road do you speak of?” You spoke slowly, unsure. 

Behind Aemond, a group of servants came towards you, silver and gold trays in hand.

You looked at Aemond, brows furrowed, before back at the servants, who began to place trays of food atop the table around the books.

Atop the silver and gold trays were cakes and pastries of all kind, rolls of puffed custard, buns with cinnamon and biscuits, all piled high and far too much for the two of you. Some more familiar, the others new to you. 

On one tiny china dish in particular, sat two lemon tarts. 

“Aem, stop!” You giggled, rushing towards your uncle as he snuck into the Keeps Kitchen, small hands grabbing piles of freshly baked lemon tarts in his own. 

“They’re your favourite!” The young boy hushed, grabbing more than his hands could hold, tucking them into his arms before turning to face you, violet eyes dancing in mischief and cheeks blush red.

“Shh! If the Septa-“ You began, smile cracking wider on your face as you turned to look around the darkened kitchen as a noise caught the both of your attention. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Aemond’s eyes widened, one hand flying out to grab yours, a single lemon tart falling to the floor between you before he was pulling you with him towards a secret path, winding down the corridors. 

Your hand flew to your lips as you giggled, half running with your uncle into a dark secret passage, hidden behind a stone door covered in a painting of two lovers entertained, fire ablaze around them.

As you ran through the corridor and through the passage, two more tarts were lost on your escape, falling to the cold stone floors, forgotten by the two young children who had stolen them. 

Loud laughter pealed from the both of you as you heaved in breaths, Aemond’s hands holding the crushed tarts to his robes, sticky crumbs stuck to his green robes in the dark.

“There is a thief amongst us!” You exclaimed, nothing but joy rising in you. 

“No such thing.” Aemond responded defiantly, teeth showing in his wide grin.

“Well, give me the spoils then.” You giggled, greedy hand reaching outwards towards Aemond, who still held the tarts nestled against his chest by singular arm. 

But only two remained.

Aemond’s small hand lifted a crushed tart and held it out to you, smiling. 

You turned to look at Aemond, “Lemon tarts?”

“I remember them being your favourite.” He hummed.

You could not stop the smile that teased your lips. 

“I remember you stealing them from the kitchens.” You teased.

“And I remember you asking me to.”

You moved to sit at the table, spiced Dornish wine being poured into seperate goblets for the two of you. Aemond followed and sat opposite, back stiff as it always was. The man seemed to have a permanent stick up his spine, posture exactly like his mother.

They were more alike than either would likely think. 

“I did no such thing.” You responded contritely. 

“Hm.”

The two of you sat together and nibbled at the plates of treats, sipping from your wines as he reached across the table, picking up the broken leather tome to hand you ‘The Fourteen Flames’.

There was an undeniable shift between the two of you. 

Aemond could be an ally. 

Not only had the One-Eyed Prince stepped away from his duties for the day, he had arranged for desserts of all kinds to be brought to the two of you. He had brought three of your favourite books to read together.

And he had brought lemon tarts. 

You took the book from Aemond and flicked it open at the start, not knowing where you had gotten up to the last time, barely reading the words on the pages, instead thinking about what was to come and what was required of you. 

The two of you nibbled and read in parallel with each other, a silent affair, if not for the soft chewing, sips, or the turning of pages. On occasion, Aemond would hum as he read, and you could not help your gaze from rising to look at him. 

You let yourself observe him, if not truly for the first time since your arrival, in a way that was undisturbed or clouded by rage.

The soft round cheeks that Aemond once had, had melted away from his face, revealing sharp and high cheekbones that hollowed his face. The nose that had once been buttoned and sloped, had now grown aquiline, pointed, and angled, sharp to match the rest of his features. 

You remembered that if the days were humid, or if he had spent much time training, his hair would become wavy and frizz, the volume doubling, much like his mothers.

As a child Aemond had shoulder length hair, that he always wore in the same style, until recently. Today, his hair was pulled backwards from the sides, braided and pulled into a singular, long braid at the back of his head, the rest of his silver locks laying flatly on his back. 

A ray of light shone on one side of the man, and his silver hair seemingly glowed from the light. As though it held light itself. As though it was created for it. For Valyrian blood carried these Godly aspects, and for the first time, you looked at him and realised what it may be like for someone of non-Valyrian descent to gaze upon you. 

It looked heavenly.

Godly. 

Pure. 

Was this how he saw you?

Was this how the realm saw you all?

Was this why you were said to be closer to Gods than man?

The longer you looked, the more you noted about your husband. 

His lips were plumb, a soft pink, and curled lightly up at the sides, as though he was always smirking or on the verge of smiling. His lips, which you had seen sneer, and grin, and frown at you, naturally tilted upwards. And you were stuck with the knowledge that they were soft. 

Then there was his eye.

As children, you had loved his eyes. The way they had expressed so much, had shown so much, without the need for words. You could tell when he was younger if he was upset or excited, and despite how hard he would argue that he was neither, you always just knew. The bright violet would light up when you were near, and the two of you would excitedly talk for hours. And as he has grown, the violet seeing eye had stayed the same. 

Ever telling of his moods and desires.

But now, a large scar cut through his cheek, and the secondary eye you had loved as a child was lost, and replaced with a sapphire orb. A colour which you had once loved, the colour of the night sky when the stars lit the realm, the colour of Forget-Me-Nots in Spring, or Gentians in the late days of Summer, or even, now that you looked at it longer, the colour of blue Monkshood, flowers you knew to grow towards the North.

Sapphire had once been a colour that marked the flowers bloom for you, the stars and their tales, but now it marked a time of change. The eye that was lost was replaced, and so was that part of Aemond. 

With the loss of the young boys eye came the embodiment of the deep and grotesque scarring. The violence, the anger, the rage, and the spite. With the loss of his eye, came the Aemond that he had grown to be. 

Scarred. Tortured. Angry. 

Riddled with sorrow, animosity, and cynicism. 

And over the few days having been spent together, and the tension slowly bleeding away from the two of you, you came to realise that there were still small parts of Aemond inside that you remembered. 

Still holding on. 

Still lingering. 

The Prince’s seeing eye was a reminder of what was, and his missing one a reminder of what is. 

One violet eye. Your memories of youth together.

The sapphire orb. The new memories created.

Good and bad, both there upon his face. 

Both there within him. 

A man of complexity that even you were still trying to understand.

But he had changed.

His demeanour towards you had changed. 

Always you. 

I love you. 

Aemond was not the only one who had changed either. You had changed too. The scars on your body were similar to his eye. A reminder of what has happened. A reminder of change.

A reminder of what has been lost. 

Visual representations of the people that you had turned out to be.

And if you continued to play your cards right, if you continued to slowly gain his trust, if you continued to slowly get him to come to your side, to follow your every beck and call, to carry out his word own doing anything for you, he could help you.

Do anything for you. 

Kesan tepagon ao tolvie run. 

I will give everything to you.

It was slow work, tedious, and something that could not be rushed. Go too fast in creating the bond, and he would know something was amiss. He would know that you were not sincere in your affections or intentions.

He would know.

For Aemond was a smart man, cunning, clever. As he always had been.

But you had been working to his strengths, and his weaknesses, as well as your own, and finally, the fruits of your labour were beginning to show. 

Though there was a shadow of doubt that continued to linger in the back of your mind. 

Was he manipulating you the way you were him?

Was he aware?

For if he was, he did not show it. But after recent events, the matching black robes, his violence towards Aegon, his disdain being voiced aloud, you knew that you were succeeding in what you had known would be a long, and lengthy process. 

Aemond was already a suspicious man. Untrusting. And it would take time. And time is what you had. He would take from you, and you would take in return. 

“What are you thinking?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

You felt your cheeks blush and you cleared your throat, looking down.

He had caught you staring. 

“How different you have become.” You replied, looking back to his violet eye. 

Aemond hummed and placed the book he had been reading back into his lap, closing it shut, and you mirrored him, shutting the busted tome in your own. 

“You have… grown into a man.” You continued. 

“And you, a woman.”

His gaze was so intense, the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. His pupil almost swallowed his iris whole, and the lid of his eye was half closed, looking at you from under his lashes.

Looking at you with intent.

With desire. 

Hungrily. 

Ravenously.

You looked away, eyeing the untouched lemon tarts on the side of the table. Neither of you making the first move to eat them, instead nibbling at all the other treats around them. You even dared to eat a rhubarb tart, which flavours were not favoured by your tastebuds.

Aemond followed your gaze, and reached for the small plate, lifting it across the table and offering it to you. 

You took the tart from Aemond’s waiting hand. The darkness of the passage shrouding the both of you, a small sliver of light streaming in from an open hole on the side, shining moonlight onto the older boys hair. 

The young Prince smiled brightly at you as you bit into the tart, watching you with excited violet eyes as you hummed, enjoying the sour and sweet pastry. But the young Prince did not move to eat his tart, and instead, Aemond held it in his hand as he watched you devour yours. 

Crumbs covered your lips as you licked them clean, swiping up the lemony custard away from your lips. The young Prince’s eyes darted to your mouth, if only for a moment. A warmth spread through his body and a blush rose on his cheeks, though you could not see it in the dark. 

“They are so much better when they’re fresh.” You had grinned, chewing loudly as Aemond tried his best to not laugh at his niece who ate more like a wild animal than a Princess, but he still did not move to eat it with you.

“Aren’t you going to eat your spoils, Aem?” You had teased, confused as to why the older Prince had not moved to eat the treat that he had stolen. 

A pause. 

He was thinking. 

Aemond slowly moved his arm, tart in hand towards you, and offered you his wordlessly.

A shy smile replaced the once excited one on his lips.

You blinked at Aemond and reached across the table to grasp a tart, putting it on your plate.

Aemond’s hand lingered between the table, unsure of whether to take the plate back to himself, which he eventually did, picking up the fresh tart and placing it upon his own plate. 

You stared at each other uncertainly, waiting for the other to begin. And when Aemond made no move after a few moments past, you picked up a small fork and pressed down into the centre of the tart, cutting it in half, and then half again. Aemond watched with a keen eye as you brought it up to your lips to chew. 

The sweetness of the tart spread across your tongue, subtle hints of lemon mixing with the pastry. You could not help the smile that spread on your lips, eyes closing as you savoured what had been a favoured treat in your youth. 

“They are so much better when fresh.” You spoke, watching Aemond slowly cut into his own, though not lifting it to his mouth. 

“Are you not going to eat yours?” You asked, watching as he seemed to enjoy observing you eat.

Aemond smirked, his eye roaming slowly up and down your body, “My tastes are more inclined to things that are sweet.” 

You blushed, heat rising in your cheeks. 

Aemond was flirting.

Warm spread through your body as you shifted, rubbing your thighs together, “I think you also like the bite that comes with it…. The lemon, of course.” You said coyly, a small smirk of your own spreading on your lips.

“Truthfully, lemon tarts have never been favoured by me.”

“But you used to always eat them as a child.” You argued, brows furrowed, “You would steal large piles of them in the Kitchens for me and-“

Oh.

Aemond gave you a small, shy smile, though it short lived before he picked up his plate, and offered it across the table to you, tart cut in half, untouched beyond that. 

Uneaten. 

"Here." The young Prince handed you his tart in the dark, small smile on his lips.

"Are you sure, Aem?" You had asked, hand hovering in the air between you.

"Take it." He smiled.

An offering that you took.

“I thought you liked them.” You said, almost feeling guilty.

“I liked them because you did.”

-

That night you lay in bed beside Aemond, curled against him to sleep, the heat of his body radiating around you. You shifted, trying to get comfortable, rolling over to face your back to him as you closed your eyes.

The day had been good.

You had spoken without vitriol, ate sweets, and read together. You had walked around the Gardens, purposely avoiding the spot where the Monkshood grew, before you both had stopped at the Godswood, looking up at its bright red leaves. 

Aemond had moved to sit beneath it, but it was too much for you. Too normal. Too familiar, and you had lowered your head and walked back to the chambers, leaving a confused silver haired Prince behind. You ate dinner together quietly, and thanked him for spending the day with you, for the lemon tarts, for the walk, with a list you had compiled in your head, and he had given you a small hum in response. 

When you were readied for bed, he had not looked at you, nor had he moved to touch you like he usually did. And instead, let you crawl into bed first, and then him a while after. Writing hunched over a parchment and singular candle light before joining you. 

The hour was late, and your eyes had grown heavy, lulled by his even breathing and the warmth that he brought in the otherwise cozy chambers. 

Two large hands gripped your waist as you had rolled, pulling you back against him. 

Aemond, you quickly realised, craved physical touch. Searched for it wherever he went. Sought it out in you. Even if it was the barest of grazes of a finger on your arm, a hand through your hair. His hand in yours. Your body wrapped around his. 

Aemond craved it, and sought it out from you frequently, and you let him. 

The thin chemise that you wore did little for your modesty as you felt Aemond’s hardening cock press into the flesh of your ass. You shifted, feeling heat bloom within you at his arousal, rubbing backwards against him. 

Aemond sighed, thrusting slowly up against you as one hand held your stomach, pulling you back on him, the other worming its way beneath your head, reaching out to grip the hand that had rested beneath it. 

Long fingers intertwined with yours as he pushed forward again, anticipation building in your chest. The hand on your stomach slid over the curve of your hip, resting on the bone as he pulled you back to guide you against him, chasing his own pleasure as the chemise slowly rose up your thighs.

Reaching back, you pulled the thin silk further up your body, revealing your bare core to him, before moving back again, grasping his heavy length in the palm of your hand. Aemond groaned and thrusted up into your grip as you gave him slow pumps. 

You bit your lip, and guided the head down, feeling the leaking tip rub his arousal on your inner thighs as you lined him up with your core. The hand holding yours tightened, and you felt a puff of breath blow against the back of your head.

Rolling your hips backwards you let his cock glide through your folds, your slick coating his length. You sighed, back arching as his tip brushed against your bud, pleasure sparking within. 

Aemond’s chest vibrated with a groan as he let you arch backwards towards him, assisting in the angle as you pushed the head of his cock to the entrance of your dripping centre.

Slowly he pushed through your folds, groaning as he stretched you apart on his cock, pleasure blooming in your core as you felt every vein and ridge of him brushing your walls inside. 

There was no pain anymore when he did this. The pain had long gone, and only pleasure was in its place as you clenched around his length.

Aemond pulled out slowly before thrusting back into your heat, fingers twitching on your hip and in your hand. You mewled loudly into the room as he began to fuck you slowly, sensually, and sleepily.

You let your head roll backwards onto his shoulder as he kept a steady pace, the sound of your slick folds filling the chambers as you whined. 

The gentle pleasure bloomed within you, with the angle and the way he was moving, his cock brushed against your inner pleasure spot with each thrust. Aemond had learnt your body well, in ways that you did not know where possible. In ways that he continued to learn, and continued to show you the results. 

You let him fuck you sleepily, his hand moving to gently rub against your bud, soft, slow twists of his hand that gradually brought you closer and closer to your peak, other hand moving beneath you to grab at your breast, using it to pull you tightly against him.

Aemond did not whisper to you that evening, only soft moans and sighs leaving his lips behind you, head buried into your neck as he brought you lazily to your peak.

Pleasure rocked through you as you moaned, hips stuttering backwards as he continued his pace, fucking you through your release, slick coating your thighs and his cock as the fingers on your bud continued their ministrations.

Hot flames licked at you as he continued, his pace faltering as your walls clenched down on him tightly.

Aemond came with a grunt, pushing his cock to the hilt within you as he breathed raggedly into your shoulder, lips occasionally placing soft kisses to the skin. You felt his seed fill your core, its warmth settling inside of you hotly. 

Turning your head, Aemond captured your lips into a searing kiss, keeping himself inside of you. He kissed you until you felt out of breath, your release blanketing you in the fuzzy warmth of fatigue.

You hummed as Aemond pulled away, pulling you tightly against him, his length twitching inside of you.

You shifted, trying to tilt your hips so that his cock would slide from your folds, but Aemond only tightened his hold on you, pulling you tighter to his chest. 

“Shh. Go to sleep.” He murmured into your neck, placing another wet kiss there.

You stopped wriggling, feeling oddly full as you tried to do as he said and fall to sleep. It was distracting having him inside of you, and you would occasionally feel his cock jump within you, causing you to moan quietly and clench, and Aemond would shush you again. 

Slowly but surely, the fatigue of the day swept you to your sleep, with Aemond still buried deeply inside of you.

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[bornagainmurdock]

ice cream // matt murdock

A new ice cream shop had popped up just outside of Matt's apartment. It was one of those shops with a rotating menu, and a dozen of the weirdest ice creams the shop employees could fathom.

It had been over two weeks since you and Matt had gone on a proper date, something that you promised to do once a week as a vow to make time for one another. It was your turn to plan, so you scheduled the day and time making sure Matt was availible, but not the place. This is where the new ice cream shop could come in handy.

"Can you read the menu to me again? I can't decide between a few of them." Matt was facing you, feeling you scan the menu over and over.

You had walked Matt here after he got off from work and decompressed for a bit. You didn't tell him where you were going until you stepped in the front door of the shop and he heard the silly pop music blasting on the speakers.

"Yah I can! Okay, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, you know the regulars. Then for ice cream, there's an olive oil avocado ice cream, mango passion fruit, marshmellow and liquid smoke, blueberry banana, and red hots and sriracha. Then for the sorbets there is raspberry cotton candy, blackberry kale, juniper mint, and mint lemonade." Each one felt like a tongue twister.

"I feel more confused. Are there two you're deciding between?" Matt was smiling, knowing this was the key to helping you decide your own choice.

"I have to know what the olive oil and red hots ones tastes like. How do those sound?" You said, leaning on Matt.

"Sounds great." He said before approaching the counter to order. He got you both one scoop in fear both would be too much if you got more.

Matt paid and you grabbed the bowls and spoons, leading him to a table to sit.

"First bites!" You said grabbing a small spoonful, Matt doing the same, to 'cheers' one another. "Ooo, Matty what do you think? I really like the olive oil one actually. Here have a bite."

You grabbed another spoonful and passed it to his lips.

"I think you're right, the olive oil is oddly really good. I didn't expect to like the red hot one this must either. Here."

He passed a bite to you as well, waiting for your mouth to find his spoon.

"Oh damn! I don't know how they made both of these weird flavors so good but we're coming back here regularly now."

"I concur." Matt said, giggling.

[rottenpumpkin13]

in honor of me having to get parts of my toenail removed, how would agszc be with a regular ol' doctors appointment? no Hojo, no Hollander, just a regular checkup

THAT'S AWFUL WHAT HAPPENED??

• Genesis hates getting sick, but gets sick frequently. As a result, he's accustomed to seeing doctors, and the medical staff at Shinra (including Hollander) are familiar with his medical record. So he tries his best to appear as healthy and normal to the doctor as possible.

Genesis: As you can see, I'm perfectly healthy.

Doctor: Your nose is bleeding and you have a fever.

Genesis: Red matches my coat and I'm naturally hot and attractive.

Doctor: The skin on your neck is purple and spotted.

Genesis: Hickeys. I receive them quite frequently.

Doctor: It looks like irritation.

Genesis: Yes, Sephiroth irritated me before he gave them to me.

Doctor:

• Zack prides himself on his perfect health and enjoys being praised for it. Unfortunately, he isn't used to doctors outside of Shinra and he's a nervous talker.

Doctor: How do you feel?

Zack: I feel fine! No headaches today.

Doctor:

Zack: Not that I usually get headaches. I mean I do, but they're usually so bad I can't even see.

Doctor:

Zack: But my eyesight is great, though. I mean not great great, but better than it was last week, when I was seeing dark spots after doing one too many squats.

Doctor:

Zack: I'm talking too much, aren't I? I hope it's not mad cow disease, because I heard that eating too much beef makes you get that.

Doctor:

Zack: I have mad cow disease, don't I?

• Sephiroth is less nervous than he would be at Shinra (Hojo is his primary physician). But he's not used to doctor appointments outside the labs and doesn't know how to act, assuming they follow the same procedures.

Doctor: Go ahead and take a seat on that table there.

Sephiroth: What surgeries will you be performing today?

Doctor: ....none. It's just a regular checkup.

Sephiroth: Ah, lying to spring a sudden invasive procedure upon me. Very well, I understand. I'll refrain from further inquiry.

*The doctor takes out a stethoscope*

Sephiroth: The first instrument of torture, I see.

Doctor:

• Cloud grew up in Nibelheim, where medical care was questionable and the few practitioners often employed impractical and esoteric methods. Nevertheless, Cloud grew up healthy and strong, so he heeds his mother's warning and "doesn't trust big-city doctors."

Doctor: It looks like your blood pressure is a bit high.

Cloud: Say no more. I have to take a spoonful of salt mixed with olive oil at every hour for a week right after going on a run, and then reward myself with a salty snack to scare my blood pressure into lowering.

Doctor: You will die.

• Angeal is a funny case because he's somewhat of a hypochondriac, but only when he's at the doctor. This stems from his anxiety and the constant worry that he has a problem that needs to be fixed as soon as possible.

Doctor: How are you—

Angeal: I'm experiencing mood swings, changes in my appetite, fatigue, chronic pain, digestive issues, excessive exhaustion, and a persistent feeling that I'm dying. Clearly I have a fatal disease. How long do I have left to live?

Doctor: That sounds like depression.

Angeal:

[decentmonster]

As someone with ADHD/ who struggles with depression, I often lose the fight to eat healthy and resign to eating microwave chicken nuggets

BUT

Smoothies! I am on such a smoothie kick! they are sweet and delicious and easily pre-prepped! I can buy the fresh fruit, divide it up into jars, stick it in the freezer and not have to worry about it going bad! it is wonderful. I have even started immediately pouring the excess smoothie from the blender in ice trays so that I can have an infinite smoothie. If you get the hang of them, they're pretty much one texture always, and are easy to fix up and alter as needed.

I also work at a coffeeshop so I have all I can eat of free overripe bananas, which are terrible for eating as is but are sweet and freeze quite wonderfully. Forget banana bread, make a smoooooothie.

Mango slaps. Any fruit that you think is gonna go bad before you eat it can always be washed, chopped, and added to the freezer.

Weird as hell things I've tried recently and have worked for smoothies:

spinach (as long as it's less than 1/4 of the total fruit/vegg mix and paired with an overpowering fruit

a Raw egg! No joke, if you whisk the egg with a fork with about a table spoon of Lemon Juice or white wine vinegar, the acid pasteurizes it and chemically cooks the egg, making it completely safe to add to the smoothie. I recommend lemon juice and I promise it won't taste like anything. Egg whites are what they make meringue out of! It's good protein.

Vitamins! Egg shells (as long as they've been baked) and ground very very fine make a really good calcium powder. Use sparingly and blend extra well. If you don't want to go to the trouble, you can always dissolve some daily vitamin pills in warm water and toss that mixture into the smoothie. It's a really easy way to ensure you're taking your vitamins!

unsalted butter or heavy cream are all really good options for adding a thicker mouthfeel without changing the flavor. A dash of olive oil does the same thing! Don't be afraid to experiment.

BIG fan of honey and cocoa powder, especially in a mostly banana smoothie. Matcha powder is also really good.

AVOCADO!!! also any squash like pumpkin Would NOT recommend zucchini unfortunately

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (17)

I am so incredibly glad that Elspeth put my seat next to Venetia, otherwise I would be completely lost at this dinner. The people I know are vastly outnumbered by the people I don’t, and I feel for Felix, who looks so bored stranded between two men (who I can assume are both named Henry). 

“And what’s your name?” The man to my right is already red in the face, and we’re only on the second course of the meal. 

“Evelyn.” I say, shifting slightly in my seat to face him. 

“Henry.” He says, extending his hand to shake. His palms are sweaty, and I try not to cringe at the way he leaves a film on my hand. 

“I figured.” I say, wiping my palm on the skirt of my dress. 

He laughs, even though I didn’t really mean it to be all that funny - but drunk people make the best crowd. “I’ve not seen you about before.” He says. “Or maybe I have -” He chuckles. “Parties here do tend to get rather crowded.”

“This is my first time.” I say. “Venetia brought me home for the summer.”

His eyebrows quirk up. “How are you liking it?”

“It’s great.” I say, turning to my plate to spoon a bite of dinner into my mouth. “The house is beautiful.”

“Oh, yes.” He says. “I remember the first time I saw this house - of course, I was very young, then - but I still remember that grandeur feeling. And the people - James’s mother and father were such lovely people.”

“I’m sure.” I say, trading my spoon for my wine glass. It’s white wine tonight, and it goes down easier than the red. 

He stops himself to drain his own wineglass. “Really such lovely people, the Cattons.”

“Mm.” My eyes drift along the table until they reach the end, where Elspeth and Farleigh are sat around a corner. Even though Elspeth is talking to him, Farleigh’s eyes are on me as he takes a long draught from his glass. He tilts his head as he sets his cup down, and smirks. 

“Truly, it’s a sort of fantasy, being here…”

Mostly prattling to himself at this point, I turn away from Henry and back towards Venetia. Her back is to me though, talking to Oliver. 

“No thanks.” Venetia says, sighing. “It’s just so disappointing. You're just another one of his toys.”

“You're upset.” Oliver doesn’t sound sympathetic at all.

“No! Don't worry! I'm used to it, honestly.” She says it so flippantly my heart breaks a little.  “He never liked sharing his toys. Even the ones he doesn’t want to play with anymore.” She turns away from him, to face me with a sad sort of smile. 

“Venetia…” Oliver hisses. “Venetia…”

She pays him no mind. “Hi Evie.”

I smile. “Hi baby.”

She drops her voice, and picks up her wineglass. “He’s such a bore, my god.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder towards Oliver. “As soon as Felix says no, that’s it. Done.” She glances across the table. “Felix hasn’t spoken to me since yesterday morning.”

“He’ll come around.” I say. “You’re his sister.”

“I know.” She sighs. “Still - there goes my summer entertainment.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t believe for a second that she’s going to stop batting her eyelashes at him. She’ll take a break, sure, but she couldn’t even come up with a word to describe the way he gave her head - she’s going to at least try again. 

“What about you?” She says. “What about last night?”

“What about last night?” I say. 

“Farleigh was on your bed.”

“To gossip.” I say. 

“To gossip,” She mocks, rolling her eyes. “Without me? Alone, in your room, when you’d just gotten out of the shower? Gossip.” 

“Yes, gossip.” I say. “You know about his weird hate-boner for Oliver.”

“I know about his boner-boner for you.” Venetia says. Her eyes skip away from mine, past me, to where Farleigh is sitting. 

“We almost kissed.” I say, hushed. “I think. I don’t know.”

She bites her lip as she grins. “Go on.” Sure, Oliver might be too scared to keep their summer romance going, but that doesn’t mean she can’t doubly invest herself in mine to keep herself entertained. 

“We almost kissed that night on the roof, too, I think.” I say. “I don’t know, he’s not… most guys would just do it, you know? He keeps just waiting.” 

“And you haven’t kissed him because?” She asks.

“I’m kind of enjoying the tension.” I admit, a little sheepishly. 

“Me too.” She says, grinning. “It’s like my own soap opera happening in my house, starring people that I already know and love. I’m so glad that I brought you home, Evie, really.”

“So glad that I could make your summer more interesting.” I say, truthfully. 

“You’ll have to tell me if he’s a good kisser, when you do end up snogging.” She says. “I’ve always wanted to know who’s the best kisser out of the three of us - everyone says Felix is quite bad, and I think I’m alright, but I don’t know anyone that’s kissed Farleigh to check.”

“If we end up snogging.” I say, mocking her accent. 

“Oh, shove off, New Yawk.” She grins. “And if you don’t at least kiss him, I’ll be furious.”

“Well, if you’ll be furious.” I say, taking another draught of my wine. 

“Please,” She snorts. “I know you want to.”

“But-”

“And I already know what you’re going to say, ‘what if we kiss and then it’s boring’ - it’s Farleigh. You can say many things about Farleigh, but you can’t say he’s boring.” She gives me a pointed look. 

I grin. “You know me so well.”

She smiles back at me. “I do, don’t I?”

I glance back to the end of the table where Farleigh sits. He’s leaned over towards Elspeth, saying something that I can’t make out, but like he can sense my gaze shifting, his eyes meet mine, and he smiles. I return his grin, and take another sip of wine, licking the excess off my lips. 

&lt; previous part | next part >

[fic-over-cannon]

A Spoonful of Honey

After the Lazarus pit, after the pit madness, after his attempts at revenge, Jason Todd realizes just how much he has changed when Alfred invites him to tea. In the time Before, Jason and Alfred would have tea together regularly, doctored the way Alfred preferred. A spoonful of honey with a dash of milk added last.

Today the brew isn’t comforting, not the way it should be. Jason expects the taste of his childhood, with maybe a hint of regret. Instead of home, and warmth, and quiet afternoons with Alfred, it tastes like terror. Just the scent turns his stomach. The first sip nearly has him retching. Honey curdles in his mouth, crawling across his tongue like a dead thing. The honeyed scent of the tea conjures the sound of screaming, green tinged memories flickering in the corners of his eyes. The second sip doesn’t fare any better. If anything the flashbacks intensify, a pulsing ache in his temples. Sickly sweet honey clogs his throat, his heart beat accelerating in his chest. His hands shake as he places the cup and saucer on the side table, china clattering delicately. The cloying honey smell seems to stick to his skin. The wrong parts of his past has its teeth in him. Alfred’s expression is inscrutable as always, but Jason thinks he detects grief in his grandfather’s eyes. Standing suddenly, Jason excuses himself, doing his best not to stumble on his way out of the library.

Tea with Alfred was one of the last vestiges of home to be corrupted by the League. It came with memories of being cared for unconditionally, of being listened to and loved. His feelings for Bruce were the first that the League weaponized, but Jason hid and held on to his affection for Alfred a little longer. Afternoons in the library, curled up in an armchair with a book in his hand a cup of tea on the table beside him, sunlight streaming through the windows. Cups of tea over the kitchen table after a hard day at school. Alfred lending a sympathetic ear to his schoolboy troubles. A large mug left on his bedside table after fighting with Bruce, warming his heart as much as his hands. These memories were enough to sustain him, until they became fleeting impressions, and then nothing to hold onto at all. Memories of watching Alfred prepare tea were some of the first to pierce through the haze of anger. When Alfred offered tea again, Jason took it for the olive branch it was. A chance to be a part of the Wayne family again, not just a member of Batman’s vigilantes.

It’s just one more thing in a long list of things that have been taken from him. It shouldn’t matter to him more than the first or the tenth thing he discovered missing, but it hurts in a way that feels like grief. One of the last things to really tell him he was home, that he had held onto with bloodied fingers, and it was all wrong. His favourite drink in the world, and he couldn’t even choke down a few sips. Even now, his fond memories are tainted, the warmth of honey and tea replaced by the metallic tang of terror. Nostalgia is a blade and it is cutting open the tender parts of his childhood that he tried so hard to protect.

ao3 link

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Small flatbreads stuffed with ground 'beef' and green olives; a plate of mlouwi and a Moroccan teaset are in the background. End ID]

بطبوط معمر بالكفتة / Batbout m'mr blkefta (Moroccan stuffed flatbreads with 'beef')

Batbout—also known as toghrift (تغريفت) or mkhamer (مخامر), based on the region—are Moroccan flatbreads which usually have an interior pocket. Large batbout are often served with grilled meats or to sop up juices from tajines, while smaller ones are stuffed with various fillings. Batbout are sometimes made thicker so that a pocket does not form, and then dipped in a honey-butter syrup like baghrir; some Moroccans reserve the term "mkhamer" for this preparation.

Batbout are eaten year-round, but are especially enjoyed during Ramadan as a side dish on the ftour (فطور; fast-breaking) table, where they are stuffed with ground beef, tuna, chicken, or cold cuts. You could also serve stuffed batbout as a main with a green salad or Moroccan cooked salad.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Makes about 15 small flatbreads.

Ingredients:

For the flatbread:

1 cup (120g) bread flour

1 cup (165g) semolina flour

1/2 Tbsp active dry yeast

1 1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/2 tsp sugar

About 3/4 cups water

For the filling:

3/4 cup TVP (textured vegetable protein)

1/2 cup + 2 Tbsp water or vegetable stock

1 tsp soy sauce

1 tsp vegetarian beef stock from concentrate, or substitute more soy sauce

1 onion (yellow or red), minced or grated

3 cloves garlic, chopped

1 Tbsp tomato paste

1/2 small green bell pepper, minced

1/2 small red bell pepper, minced

Small bunch of green herbs (ربيع / rbi'): cilantro and/or parsley

2 tsp sweet paprika

1 tsp ground turmeric

1 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp ground ginger

1/2 tsp ground cumin

Red chili powder or hot sauce, to taste

Squeeze of lemon juice (optional)

Olive oil, to fry

You may use your preferred ground beef substitute in place of the TVP; in this case, omit the water and stock concentrate.

Instructions:

For the flatbread:

1. Mix dry ingredients in a large bowl. Make a well in the flour and add in just enough water to make a smooth, slightly sticky dough. You may need more or less than 3/4 cup.

2. Once the dough comes together, knead it by hand for 10 minutes, or in a stand mixer with a hook attachment on medium-low for 7 minutes, until it is very smooth, soft, elastic, and tacky. Add additional water or flour as necessary.

3. Form the flatbreads. Larger flatbreads may be formed by breaking off a small handful of dough, rolling it in flour, and patting it flat until it forms a round about 1/4" thick. Small flatbreads are often made by rolling out the dough about 1/4" thick on a floured surface, then cutting circles of the desired size out with a cookie cutter or glass.

4. Set flatbreads aside in a single layer on a floured surface, cover, and allow to rest for one to two hours, until noticeably puffy.

5. Heat a large dry skillet on medium and add as many flatbreads as will fit. When they puff up slightly, flip each one to the other side. Continue to cook, turning over as necessary, until flatbreads have dark golden brown spots on each side. You may find that the flatbreads puffing up gives you room to add more to the skillet; continue in this way until all flatbreads are cooked.

Batbout breads may be kept at room temperature for a couple days at this stage, or frozen for use later.

For the filling:

1. Mix all ground spices in a small bowl. Hydrate TVP for about 10 minutes in hot water, stock concentrate, soy sauce, and a spoonful of the spice mixture.

2. Heat 3 Tbsp olive oil in a large pan on medium-high. Add TVP and spread it out in a single layer. Allow it to brown without agitating for a few minutes before stirring it, scraping the bottom of the pan. Repeat this process a few times, adding more oil as necessary, until the TVP is deeply golden brown on all sides. Remove TVP from the pan.

3. Heat another 2 Tbsp of olive oil and fry onion for a couple minutes until softening. Add bell peppers and spices and fry for another couple minutes until spices are fragrant.

4. Add tomato paste and stir to combine. Add olives and herbs and mix. Return TVP to pan and mix to combine. Remove from heat. Add hot sauce and lemon juice, as desired.

To serve:

1. Cut a slit in the side of each flatbread with a small, sharp knife. Stuff with hot filling and set aside. Serve warm.

[recipeshub24]

Golden Seared Cod with Herb Butter Sauce recipe

Ingredients:

4 (6-ounce) cod fillets

2 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 garlic clove, minced

Juice of 1/2 a lemon

2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

1 tablespoon fresh dill, chopped

1 tablespoon fresh chives, snipped

Directions:

Prep the Fish:

Pat the cod fillets dry with paper towels, then season generously with salt and pepper on both sides.

Sear the Cod:

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until it’s shimmering but not smoking. Carefully lay the cod fillets in the hot oil and sear for about 4 minutes on the first side, until the underside is golden and crisp.

Gently flip the cod with a spatula and continue to cook for about 3 more minutes, or until the fish is opaque and flakes easily with a fork.

Make the Sauce:

Transfer the cod to a warm plate and tent loosely with foil to keep it warm.

Lower the heat to medium, then add the butter and minced garlic to the skillet. Cook until the butter has melted and the garlic is aromatic, about 1 minute.

Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the lemon juice, parsley, dill, and chives.

Serve:

Spoon the warm herb butter sauce generously over the cod fillets and serve immediately.

Variations & Tips:

Fish Alternatives: Not a fan of cod? This recipe works beautifully with other white fish like halibut or tilapia.

Add a Zesty Touch: Incorporate some lemon zest into the herb butter for an extra pop of flavor.

Using Dried Herbs: If fresh herbs aren’t available, you can use dried ones—just use them sparingly since they’re more concentrated.

Reheating Leftovers: If you have leftovers, store them in an airtight container and reheat gently in the oven to maintain the texture of the fish.

This dish is all about bringing simplicity and elegance to your table with minimal effort but maximum flavor. Remember to give each piece of fish enough space in the pan to ensure a good sear, and you’ll have a restaurant-worthy dish right at home. Enjoy the process and the delicious results!