#secret of brightwater

[words-with-wren]

@chrumblr-whumblr Day Fifteen: Memory Loss

Fandom: Original work (secret of Brightwater) One day I shall figure out a plot for this story.

Word count: 700ish

__

Izzy sat at the edge of the camp. It was a quiet night, the evening bustle of the camp having settled into the slow comfort of nighttime. She could hear the soft pops of the dying fire not far away, as well as soft noises from the nocturnal animals in the trees surrounding them. 

Above, the stars glowed in a powerful light, casting the world in a strange, unearthly glow. The mood was just visible, peering over the tops of the trees and Izzy stared at it for a long time. It had shone in the sky for as long as she could remember, but every time she saw it she felt a strange awe, like it wasn’t something she was used to seeing. 

As long as she could remember wasn’t really an impressive feat anyway. 

Tonight was a good night, at least--she was pretty sure it was. When you can’t remember one day to the next reliable, it was hard to tell what was good and what wasn’t. But she remembered a lot. She remembered her name, she remembered why she was at this camp. She remembered that she often forgot. 

None of that was sure. So she would take the good and enjoy it. 

She was writing in her notebook, capturing the quiet evening while she could. Maybe tomorrow she would wake and this whole night would be gone, never to return. Best hold onto it while she could. 

Someone moved behind her and Izzy jerked her head up, glancing behind her. A shadow moved across the ground between her and the fire. 

“Hello?” she called softly. 

“Oh. Izzy.” It was Estella, slipping through the quiet camp. She shifted her route and moved to stand beside the log Izzy was seated on. “I didn’t see you there.” 

Izzy hummed, adding the note to her book. Estella joined me. I don’t know much about her yet, and I don’t think I ever have. 

“What are you doing wandering around so late?” Izzy asked. 

“Bathroom,” Estella said with a long sigh. “I was trying to find my way back to my tent.” 

Izzy nodded. Then she shifted slightly to one side, as though making room on the log, even though there was plenty. An invitation. Estella accepted it, taking a seat beside her. 

“Is it always so… rough,” Estella said with a sigh, running her hand through her hair. With a sidelong glance, Izzy could see it was lose but lightly curled. Well kept for. Her own hair was kept short, and was unmanageable enough as it was. 

“I’m not really the best person to ask about that,” Izzy said dryly. “But from my memory, yeah. That’s part of what you signed up for.” 

Estella sighed, a long, drawn out sigh. Izzy hid a smile. 

“How long have you been here?” she asked after a moment. 

“I’m not sure,” Izzy admitted. While it was a good day, there were still…gaps. There always would be, she supposed. Always gaps about what happened before, how she ended up lying on the side of the road with no memories. 

Gaps about her childhood, about how she had come to be here, about who…

“You’re not sure?” Estella asked. 

Izzy nodded. 

“My…my memory comes and goes.” She waved a hand, pen still in it. “Gets frustrating.” 

“Oh. I imagine so,” Estella said. Izzy hid a grim smile, unsure if anyone could imagine what it was like to be unable to rely on your own memory. 

“Makes it hard to hold onto anything.” Usually, she would open up so much so quickly. Especially not to someone she hadn’t written about in her book. But there was something about the moon-lit air that made it easier to speak. 

Maybe tomorrow she’d have forgotten about this conversation altogether. 

“Sometimes I wish I could forget some things,” Estella said softly. Izzy glanced sideways at her, trying to remember exactly when she had joined the group. Recently, she knew. She was a friend of Ronan’s. From his past. 

It wasn’t coming, and she knew trying to force the memory wouldn’t help. If she even actually knew to begin with. 

“Everyone wants what they don’t have,” she said. Estella hummed quickly, and the two of them sat together in companionable silence as the night drew on. 

[words-with-wren]

Feel like talking about my kids so! Send me an ask and one of my OCs

Ronan (grew up the son of a Lord until he was betrayed and sold into slavery, escaped and became a rapidly growing legendary figure trying to fight slavery)

Annie (Ronan's little sister who lost all of her family before she was 15, was blinded by a sickness as a teenager and has an intense need to be Useful)

Izzy (half-elf [probably] who doesn't remember anything from more than ten years ago, and in general has memory problems. Fiercely optimistic but also very Lost in life)

Oz (Izzy's twin brother who saved her life ten years ago by committing himself to the Big Bad and becoming her personal Assassin. Basically sees himself as a living weapon. Hasn't seen Izzy for years, she doesn't remember him, her well being is held over his head to control him)

Other: I have a few other characters so if you wanna hear about them then say other and I'll see which OC I want to talk about most!

Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Send me a number and an OC, and I'll answer.

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

How does your OC behave when enraged?

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

[omerflorent]

who: @fiadhvance what: during his travels as he deals with the braavosi pirates, omer makes a stop in the riverlands visiting many, including the vances.

"I've brought you something from the Florent libraries. I've finally gotten around to father's secret room and it was brimming with histories. The maesters will do their best to save what they can but some things have been sealed too long. I don't know. I don't understand how book binding works." He remembered one time trying to bind a book and it had gone so poorly that he ripped up some of his works, though he didn't often discuss those things with her. "There are histories of the Reach in this copy, tales of the clover migration from Brightwater to these lands."

Having tea with little Fifi, well she was an adult still, Omer looked at her and was reminded of the child. Perhaps Cedric was right and Omer found himself an old man growing to view the world around him through the lens of old memories and sepia tones.

"The boys are getting older, you have to come see them soon. Arlo is always trying to crawl off and Callum is still crying but he's crying strongly." Omer jested, he worried about his youngest baby but he worried more about his wife, feared the toll this journey would take on her. One of his surviving aunts offering what help she could.

[no-one-picked-maris]

from brightwater keep

I don't own the gif

This is smut

I didn't proof read it

Oral, fem receiving, doggy style...things this character actually wouldn't do because, friends, this guy does not fuck.

You had not thought he’d remember you  - of lower rank and just as small  (he spat at your feet when you were both aged 8).

"By all rights and BY LAW my FATHER should be lord paramount of the Reach!" you said indignantly.

"Well, he isn't, is he?" the young Prince yelled right back.

You swore to yourself you’d never go back to King’s Landing or see that stupid Prince again. Even worse, once he lost his eye…you were both a little alike.  His disdain grew - 

Ugly girl stupid girl stupid stupid sick girl 

Blind little shit you’d finally said in return to his taunts. His face burned beat red and small fists clenched

oh, oh - 

You’d finally arrived in King’s Landing earlier that morning, raw and cold from your journey - Sickly then as you were aged 8, you knelt nervously near the library’s fire.  

“Cold? Of course,” a familiar spat.  

You turned to Aemond - Gods how he’d grown taller now… you had not thought he’d remember you.  Beyond your control - you suppose.  Raising to properly greet him - a curtsy of course (mind the high rank, oh you must mind it) - you narrowly avoided smirking at the jagged scar across his stupid face.  Assisting your control, embarrassment. He’d also grown so, so handsome and you weren’t quite sure what to make of that. 

The rush of a small breath from across the room indicated, you were reasonably sure, the feeling was mutual.  

“My Lord,” 

“My Lady,” 

Empty ringing in the air.  The silence is uncomfortable and his eyes just roam your body.  The entitlement.  Unshaken, unnerved, impulsive - “I’d like to kiss you, but my ladies have just done my hair,” you said before you could stop yourself - your hand resting on the bottom of your chin, you giggled.

Before turning on your toes and walking quickly towards the north wall, sure you were remembering right, sure there was a secret door at the corner.  You’d enter, go south, get away.  Enter, go south, get away - before you could hear any consequence of your mouth.  Stupid little shit you thought of yourself. 

You thought not much longer as fingers wrapped themselves around your upper arm and pull you close.  You can smell the kid leather, the faint sweat, perfume and whatever else.   The only thing you can do is look straight up.

“I didn’t think you’d be so pretty…” he said, his hand drifting slowly down your cheek.  “A nice surprise.”

You began to shake.  He only squeezed your arm more tightly in response. 

“Where’s my kiss?” He asked - you hadn’t thought he’d return your boldness.  

You bit your lip tentatively before rising on your tiptoes.  What could it hurt, what would he do?  Your lips met his, tasting sweet traces of wine and whatever else.  It was simple, sweet and done.    His hand made its way to your waist so lazily, like the kiss would last forever.  You braced yourself on his chest as you pulled away.  

“Let me go,” you said in the darkened corner of passage.  He only pulled you closer and whispered no into your forehead.  The world suddenly spun and it was then your cheek met the cold, damped wall. 

“Oh!” A gasp of surprise left your mouth as the Prince pushed you against the wall.  He ran his hand up your body resting on your shoulder.  The kisses on your neck teased and tickled.  His hand moves between the wall and your cheek, cupping it so sweetly.  The same couldn’t be said of his other hand - wantonly roaming your body and grasping your breasts and lower still.  You bit your lip again. Stay quiet. Quiet. 

The cold air nipping your ankles told you your skirt was rising higher and higher.  The air kissed each part of your leg followed by the lightest touches of his fingers.  A ridiculous angle, you’re sure, but you’re not sure you care.  The kisses left your neck, a sudden cold vacuum.  Instinctively your hand raised to replace the warmth of Aemond’s affections and pushed yourself away from the wall. His hands let you, as they now travelled down your back, your hips. His hands placed themselves at your hips and pulled you back just the littlest bit. 

You know exactly what’s exposed and you know exactly what he’s going to do the moment before his lips meet your cunt.  You involuntarily intake a breath as his tongue enters you.  The smallest moan left your lips as his mouth explored you - tongue working so diligently, so softly.  You can hear it, so faintly, as his tongue laps you all up.  His hands grips your hips and they’re so full of you.  He pulls you closer and his tongue goes faster.  It’s long and languid against all of your wetness now - then your entrance.

Long and languid.

Then inside.

Long and languid.

Then inside.    

Small moans are echoing off of the walls and they’re yours - uh

A few more moments of this and his lips encircle your pearl.  The simple kisses and slight sucks make your knees shake, a pot of water boiling in your belly.  Like a knife’s edge, you almost fall off.  You press against his mouth and met resistance from his hands - holding you in place. In defiance of your movement.  You bite your lip harder and sunk your head into your arms.  Oh my Gods. He couldn’t have learned this at the brothel?

“I’m too big for you,” he said suddenly, having left your pearl in the care of his hands.  You can feel his cock at your entrance, teasing you softly, deceptively resting.  “Can’t you feel it?  It won’t fit,”, he teased you.  “Do you want to try?” 

You pressed against him, the girth providing resistance.

“Yeah,” you mewled.  

He smirked.  “That’s a good girl,” he said, smiling.  “So good, so pretty,”  he whispered into the crook of your neck.  He rubbed your pearl gently, ensuring your wetness was replenished.  A knife’s edge, you can barely control it. 

His hands gripped your hips and you braced yourself against the wall.  Aemond began to press, the littlest bit. The head of his cock began to enter, the girth providing the sweetest sting.  You heard him spit and felt him dampen his length.  “Take a deep breath for me baby,” he whispered into your neck.  An intake of your breath and he pressed further.  Each centimeter of the tip of his cock kissed the inside of you - he continued to push and his breath began to quicken.   Teasing you with the tip of his cock, he pushed his hips back and forth.  His breath is coming quicker now, you’re sure your hips will be bruised when this is done. He’s gripping so hard, and over your shoulder you can see the desire in his eye. 

He still teases you with the tip of his cock, the tendons in your thighs going crazy and your cunt dripping.  

“Fuck me, baby,” you said - before you could stop yourself, as is your habit.

“Hmmm?” Aemond said, pretending not to hear you.

“Fuck me, baby,” you said again, pressing against him. Just take the hint please please please

He smirked against your neck and moved one hand to your waist.  

You again bit your lip and closed your eyes as he pressed against your entrance.  A couple more teases with the tip of his cock and he pushed inside of you fully.  You felt his breath pour over your neck as his cock kissed your cervix.  You both sunk to the floor, finally, each of your legs giving out.  You felt his weight against your back and the steady rise and fall of his chest.  

It was second nature that made you lower your face to the stone ground, resting upon your hands.  His hands affixed themselves in their place, your quickly bruising, slender hips.  

“Uhhhhh,” you let out - pushing your face into your hands to stifle any subsequent sounds.  With each thrust of his hips the coil inside of you tightened, the water boiled over.  Sweat droplets hit your back and you kept pressing against him.  You wouldn’t be able to stop it when it started and his little ragged breaths shook something loose inside of you.  Harder now, quicker now, rougher now...Don’t stop now. Don’t stop don’t…- your shoulders reached your ears and you touched against your orgasm as he squeezed emerging blackened bruises.

The bubble pops over the surface of the pot, just once.  Shorter and shorter durations between each burst, pressing against his hips and moving up and down.  A bitch in heat, oh yes.  He thrusts quickened so wonderfully, the sound of his hips against yours filled the secret chamber, oh gods you were sure someone heard.  Pressing into your hands and screaming so quietly, boiling over bursting over, feeling each and every inch inside of you in and out and in and out.  

Eventually you fall over the knife’s edge with a heaved shuddering moan.  Static in your toes and panting against the floor - he ruts through your orgasm and shudders to his own.  His weight rests on top of you, sweat glistening on the top of his forehead.  You kissed the side of his lip, tasting salt and sweat and accomplishment.  

What a wonderful welcome. 

[not-sure-what-im-feeling]

The Ivory Isle Pt.4

Finally, characters! I'm going to explain them fairly vaguely for now, but I may expand on them later.

All characters were helped developed and completely designed by @thegoldenduckie. I don't have the designs for them, but I might end up posting other things about their designs.

Part one (the basics)

Part two (species)

Part three (the Carrows' + the Guild)

Chord: He's a robin/finch harpy, and is like... 5'10? 5'11? The point is he's a tall boy. He's kind and giving, with a curious spirit. Lovely signer, loves bread and berries, and Andreas. He grew up on Hawkborne, and has always wanted to see what might be on the mainland, though it's not the safest dream.

Andreas: A human who grew up in Stormkeg training to be a knight. His strong moral compass has him understand what Stormkeg does (especially to dragons) is wrong, and pack up and move across the Isle to Brightwater with Axel. From there he ends up meeting (and falling in love) with Chord.

Axel: Sweet sweet Axel. Friends with Andreas since childhood, hiding his secret love for him, he's cursed to push away those he loves. He is manipulated into hurting Andreas and co., and regrets it so deeply he can barely live with or trust himself.

Maia: Chord's best (and only) friend, she's a satyr down on Terreline. She's pretty suspicious of the others when she meets them (especially Danner, Azazel, and Rene), but eventually warms up to them as they earn her trust.

Danner: His full name being Danner Carrow, he ran away from his toxic (and downright abusive) family a short while ago, living on the run. He was trained in nature magic, using it to protect himself and Azazel (once they meet). He's transgender and that's part of why he became so good at magic for disguising one's self.

Azazel: He used to be a soldier at Stormkeg, not that he'd remember. Ever since he was cursed with a demon, his memories before it have left. He knows that the demon will take over eventually, yet he can't help but fall in love. He makes friends, starts dating Danner, tries to live, but it all comes crashing down when the demon does take over. Who knew he'd have to die by his lover's hand?

Rene: A human necromancer, he taught himself how to revive the dead. He's nicer than you think by his magic of choice, but looking at him you might assume that he's just a sweet cinnamon roll. This is not true. He will fight you should he need to. Regardless, he does still have strong morals. I never said he was a bad person.

Persephone: They all call her Percy, but she used to be a member of the Guild. That is, until she died in a fight. She allowed herself to be revived by Rene, and she grew to see the beauty in magic. Percy may seem hardened and intimidating, but she's quite nice, really. She learned that it's alright to grow, and we're all proud of her for it. Don't challenge her to a fight, because she would certainly win, but at least she'll help you clean up after, with tips on your technique.

[rhea-florent]

Closed starter for @visxionaries Setting: Following the events in the Starry Sept. The Mistress of Whispers of the Reach sought her cousin, the king, to inform him about a particular ripple discovered after the death of a septa.

The Lady of Horn Hill gained confirmation of the piece of information she'd gotten from an informant within the silent sisters. Rhea herself had gone to see the woman, look at the corpse of Septa Lyra with her own eyes. The signs were there. Undeniably so. And so, she sent one of her vague notes to Cedric, a piece of parchment with little to no information at all, but the request of a meeting.

“Cousin,” Rhea greeted him with a knowing smile as she unpinned the headdress she wore. It pleased her to see Cedric each time they were brought together, whether for matters pertaining to her work or for personal matters. The former was preferable, of course, but she also found a certain sort of delight in being useful, in being the slithering little viper that brought valuable information for the king to wield as he pleased.

“Our dear Septon keeps many secrets amongst his congregation,” the woman stated with evident sarcasm, her deep Brightwater accent shining through even more so in mockery or cynicism. Rhea held no appreciation for the so-called holy man. Never had and he'd quickly verged towards the list of people the Mistress of Whispers actively disliked. “That Septa, Lyra; she held a dear secret indeed, Cedric”. Here, in the privacy of Cedric's study, the lady was at freedom to state matters plainly. “She was with child. And she was far along, Ced. Something others aided her actively to hide”.

[deadstarred]

LADY MYRIELLE FLORENT OF BRIGHTWATER KEEP , THE WANNABE QUEEN.

THE BASICS ,

name   :   myrielle florent.

title   :   lady of brightwater keep.

age   :   thirty.

marital status   :   secretly set to be betrothed. 

house   :   house florent.

homeland   :   the reach. 

gender   :   cisgender woman.

pronouns   :   she & her.

sexuality   :   bisexual.

faceclaim   :   zhu xudan.

hair color   :   black.

eye color   :   brown.

height   :   five feet, four six. 

religion   :   none, though she'd claim it's the faith of the seven.

western astrology   :   tbd sun, tbd moon, tbd rising.

alignment   :   true neutral.

positive traits   :   open-minded, sociable, strategic, ambitious, tender.

negative traits   :   self-serving, dishonest, manipulative, cowardly, sensitive. 

THE INTRO ,

for as long as myrielle has been alive, she's been told florents deserve better. they had the superior claim to highgarden. they were descended of kings, and myrielle had better behave in a way that suited that.

as long as myrielle has been alive, death has also swung above her head like an axe. a mother who died in childbirth left her a resented child, and the difficulties of said birth lead her to be an ill one. she was ill and small for the first years of her life, doted on by maesters.

her brothers, motherless, never quite seemed to forgive her, and her father became somehow doting and hypercritical all the same. she felt very isolated from her family since she was very small, but myrielle is also deeply loyal to them.

what better to do with an unwanted child than send them to highgarden? myrielle has additionally been a lady in waiting to avantika tyrell since their youth. any grumbles or bad blood about a superior claim are set aside, and myrielle does share affection and love for the tyrells. even though the florents really should—

this bit is tbd and updated as i plot!

myrielle is not without ambition. she could see herself in an advantageous position, even all the way at the top of westerosi politic, if you catch her drift. she views marriage as something purely political or social, not really a matter of love.

hence her promiscuity. men, women, anyone who catches her fancy is someone she's willing and ready to spend a night with. she uses plenty of discretion as to not, ahem, gain a reputation, but in her impatience to be married, myrielle has taken several lovers.

she is presently set to be bethrothed — basically the only reason she isn't already is because i want it to be a wc, and plan timelines and things accordingly with whoever plays that character! it can be purely advantageous on both their parts, they can share an affection, this person can love myrielle and be being taken as a fool, they can be manipulating one another... the possibilites are endless. point is, she's going to be going to be getting married, for maximum lady in waiting drama purposes.

myrielle isn't mean, but she IS firm and she doesn't let herself get pushed around. be mean to her, she'll be mean back. be nice to her, she'll be nice back. scratch her back, she'll scratch yours. she just might stab you in it if it means she can advance her place in life.

myrielle loves a good glass of wine, and perhaps indulges a little too much. it's five o'clock somewhere in westeros, am i right? she's also a major gossip, especially when secrets can be traded for one another, and especially when it benefits her. also especially when she's had said wine.

ultimately, i'm unconvinced myrielle knows what she really wants. she knows she has ambition and likes the security of power, and she knows she's been told what she should want. she just doesn't know she can redirect her energy into anything that isn't social climbing.

will sometimes play mind games for fun. she's not a bad person, she just wants to sharpen her skillset, she swears.

DID YOU KNOW THAT THE FLORENTS HAVE A SUPERIOR CL-

WANTED PLOTS ,

the betrothed : this is the big one. like i said above: this can be any sort of plot, but i will say i don't think it's realistic of myrielle is the one being taken for a ride, but i'm open to hearing people out! this would also need to be a husband that would somehow advance her in some way, either by tendering an alliance or placing her in a more powerful house.

the brothers : myrielle is not close with either of her brothers, and they are intensely resentful of her after the death of their mother. whether this was their own decision or if it was essentially fed to them is up to you, but it's caused a great source of tension for all of them. myrielle rarely saw her brothers as a girl and there is considerable distance between them.

the leech : while myrielle likes to keep around anyone she can just in case they become useful (or because she genuinely likes them!) but... thus is not the case with this person. myrielle cannot hide her distaste, and yet, they keep coming to bother her time and time again. whether they genuinely like her and want to be her friend and she just finds them annoying, they're a flirt she's disgusted by, or they're particuarly cruel to her and she just wants to stop being bothere doesn't matter. they approach, she grits her teeth. that's the plot.

more friends in general , fake ones or real ones.

lovers , most realistically from the reach but also from anywehre.

enemies , someone that sees right through myrielle and into her games.

[novemquadragintillion]

I finished the Black Prism by Brent Weeks and I want to write my thoughts. Sorry to anyone who likes this book - I criticize it a bit.

[⚠️ major spoilers ahead ⚠️ ]

What I liked:

The parallels between how Dazen awoke his red drafting abilities and how Kip awoke his red drafting abilities. OUGH. Especially when we see many drafters using red for destruction in the story. The contrast..

So many misunderstadings and pain due to Gavin's secret about his identity (Liv please I promise, your dad isn't being blackmailed!!) (Kip, please talk to Gavin about the knife 😭)

Gavin's escape from the blue prison was the funniest thing ever holy crap. I was so seriously stressed about it throughout the entire book and then the author BAMBOOZLED me. I love Dazen lmao

I laughed when one of the characters called Lord Omnichrome "Lord Rainbow". amazing 😂 The guy wants such an oh so cool name, listing a few, but someone out there is calling him Rainbow because who tf cares about that guy and his silly self-proclaimed lord titles

I love when a main character has to keep their identity a secret and they feel deep isolation due to living that constant lie! Thank you author. I am a sucker for it

I like that there were adult as well as fat main characters (so rare in action fantasy, from my experience), who I ended up liking and cheering for

Love the title Black Prism!! I instantly think of that one Pink Floyd album cover with the prism and the rainbow of light, which is cool. I wish the story showed me why it is called that though. I learned what a Prism was, but what is a Black Prism? Someone who could draft in complete darkness or something?

Ok now I'm a bit negative here:

Why did all the main female characters have to be love interests or a part of some boring romance, and were constantly thinking about guys or how she looked? Stop it

Yet another fantasy story I've picked up in the past few years that have a war and a wall within the plot. I'm so tired of a wall that MUST be protected at all costs and wars!! I'm not looking for stories like this. Why do I keep picking them up by accident? >_< (I'm looking at you, A Court of Thorns and Roses trilogy, The Shadow of What Was Lost, and Fourth Wing) (btw I did not finish Fourth Wing, and I barely finished The Shadow of What Was Lost. Both I didn't really like). Maybe this is why I don't read american fantasy novels very often anymore 🤔

I didn't like that a lot of the chapters were dedicated to the POVs of other characters, besides the main character. Because, at least one of those other character's POVs I ended up disliking reading. I had a similar problem when reading The Shadow of What Was Lost and the Stormlight Archive series (I really liked the Stormlight Archive though). At least the chapters were short, so I didn't get bored too much

"And Karris had abandoned him. Damn it. What kind of woman abandons a child?" (page 582) You mean, what kind of ADULT abandons a child. The sexism throughout the story didn't have to be there

I picked up this book because I went on google, looking for recommendations on books with unique magic systems. I love creative thinking and loopholes within the boundaries of a rigid magic system, like Lord of the Mysteries, World Trigger, and Witch Hat Atelier's. I found a recc that was for the Black Prism, where I ended up reading. Although it does have an interesting magic system, it wasn't really what I was looking for I guess? So I was a little disappointed tbh 😂 I would've loved to see more characters playing and doing more with the system. Gavin's inventions was a good example, but I wanted to see more

I wish the magic, luxien?, was described a little more. Like when Brightwater Wall was built (freaking walls), what color yellow was it? (maybe I did read that but I forgot?). Since I wasn't sure about the descriptions of the colors drafted, I kept imagining the colors as straight-out-of-the-paint-tube, saturated, colors. Which made me really not like the images I was having in my head tbh 😂

I guess in general, the book was entertaining enough for me to finish, but I won't be reading the whole series. By not reading any more though, I won't find out all of Gavin's goals, which I was super curious about.

[westeroslive]

let's fight with gentle words til time lend friends,  and friends  their helpful swords  as the court seeks the presence of their sought after.

wanted connections  have been added.  

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         ASLAN  of  house  MARTELL,  the  LORD  of  DORNE  requests  the  presence  of  their  FUTURE BETROTHAL  at  court.  their  portraits  seem  to  resemble  any female fc (preferably poc) -  and  whisperers  among  the  court  seem  to  say  the  following  regarding  their  relationship:  the lion of the sands is in search of his sand queen and you have been chosen. he's forthcoming, demanding and more than anything a challenge you accept. for you do not love him, you do barely even like him - but he's so stubborn, so brash and harsh. he's stated you are his chosen, his sand queen amongst the dunes and you try to escape his clutches, but the callous hands rough from fighting ignites a fire within you and you do not know how much longer you can withstand the sparks growing within you in his pressence. you both belong to the sands and freedom is your most desired ambition for your home and even if he's not been around since you first met as children, he has become more than you imagined. The connection is basically a " i don't like you, but i want you " sort of connection but also an important one for dorne. you character needs to come from an influential dornish house and your character wishes for a free dorne.  you  must  contact  with  @sapphircd  to  discover  the  truth  behind  these  whispers.    this  particular  dynamic  seems  to  be  POSITIVE  in  nature,  and  for  a  noble  of  28-36 it  is  most  surprising

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         GWAYNE  of  house  FLORENT,  the  HEIR  of  BRIGHTWATER KEEP  requests  the  presence  of  their  SIBLING(S)  at  court.  their  portraits  seem  to  resemble  bae suzy, son naeun, park heejung, choi wooshik,  lee seung hyub or any korean fc   -  and  whisperers  among  the  court  seem  to  say  the  following  regarding  their  relationship:  there's hidden secrets in the florent family. the abuse and horrors they have seen and experienced together has created an unbreakable bond between the siblings. the oldest, taking the punishments from the younger, making them loyal to the core to the heir of brightwater keep. yet there is uncomfort in the way the blind is leading those with sight intact. wherever the oldest lead, the younger will follow, but the want to break free from fathers darkness is strong within the younger, wanting to rescue their own rescuer from their childhood.   you  need  not  seek  contact  with  @sapphircd  to  discover  the  truth  behind  these  whispers.    this  particular  dynamic  seems  to  be  POSITIVE  in  nature,  and  for  a  noble  of  age  25-34  it  is  most  surprising

[sapphircd]

࣪𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         lee soo hyuk,  35,  cis-male,  he/him.    announcing  the  arrival  of  GWAYNE  of  house  FLORENT,  the  HEIR  of  BRIGHTWATER  KEEP.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  CHALLENGING  and  WILFUL  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  alchemy.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  piercing hazel eyes which keeps its secrets, a forgotten crown & the need to reclaim what is theirs.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THEMSELVES.

"this is always how it had to end"

full name : gwayne florent. nickname : none. title : heir to brightwater keep.year of birth : year 813 aec.current age : thirty-fice.sexual orientation : heterosexual.religion : faith of the seven. pronouns : he / him.languages : the common tongue. allegiance : house florent.

faceclaim:  lee soo hyuk ethnicity:  korean.  hair:  black  eyes:  hazel brown.  height:  1.84 cm.  build:  slender.  scent:  nightshade.  dominant  hand:  right.  allergies:  none.  scars:  several & a large one on his back.  distinguishing  features:  dominearing demeanor. clothing  style:  fine garment of the reach.label:   the opaque   mbti: ENFJ.   enneagram:   ENFJ type three.   element:  earth.   star   sign:  scorpio.   temperament:   yes.   character   inspirations:  daenerys targaryen, the punisher .   deadly   sin:  unable to let go of his hatred.   heavenly   virtue:  will do anything to accomplish his goals.   godly   parent:   hades.hobbies:  alchemy.   personal goals: take back what house tyrell took from his family.  would they choose family or power?  undecided.

father : axwell florent. mother : melara florent nee blackbar. brothers : undecided sisters : undecided.

"if i can't have you, no one can"

walls covered in drapes of his household, yet a shadow always loomed in brightwater keep. gwayne grew up with a cruel father, a man who did not intend to raise his children in loving embraces, but harsh actions and words of rebellion. perhaps the constant horror of his father's wrath was the reason for the thorns to become so many. it has always been known that the florent's were descendants of the gardeners, the kings of the reach. with the ever-lasting hatred and envy which twisted itself around every nook and cranny of his home, of course, the young florent would let his mind be consumed with it as well. the tyrells had stolen their title, their power, and lands. it was no doubt in gwayne florents mind that his father had been right ⸻ the scars upon his back were proof enough of the truth were it not? with opportunity and greed they once more steady themselves for their ascension. the reach had once more become the savehaven for kings, and emperors and it's like, and one would of course seek out words and dreams if possible. there is too much black within the florents heart to see anything but possibilities in this day and time and when should one strike, if not when the vines have coiled themselves around your neck, thorns prickling skin.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

the dark love : specifically for a tyrell. someone gwayne through all of this in his youth fell in love with, but it ended tremendously bad. with his blade against their neck before lever to see one another again before now. [ alysane tyrell ]

we dive together into madness : the confidant from the reach, someone who will play along to gwayne's plans and schemes of taking back what he believes is his houses right.

[words-with-wren]

1, 6, 17 for Ronan!

1. What memory would your OC rather just forget?

Funny you ask this cos he Did. Tying into my answer for 17, which i answered here.

In general though, Ronan has had a Traumatic childhood and one of his coping mechanisms is to Look the Other Way. He doesn't even like remembering the happy parts of his childhood, before it all went wrong, because that reminds him of how one of his closest friends betrayed him and the trauma and abuse that came after. So at the start of the story, he'd probably say his entire childhood, and works hard to make that a reality. A lot of his arc is learning how to look at that pain head on and face it with the help of his loved ones.

6. How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

Hmmm... this one requires thought.

I like yo think he's pretty stable in his morality...but the more I think about it the more I think it's goals over actual morals that he's strong on. He wants to bring an end to slavery and punish those who arbitrate it, and I think that for that cause he could be convinced to ease his morals. The ends justify the means. He also spent a lot of his adolescents and early adulthood having very little agency, so can be a little weak willed and has to work hard to fight against that I think.

[rctfyme]

⟨ aaron taylor johnson. cis male. he/him. 30. ⟩ we welcome serion florent to highgarden , the ruling lord of brightwater keep. keep an eye out for their mercurial nature, they tend to cover it up by acting charismatic. rumor has it they are against the peace treaty, and their loyalties lie with houses targaryen and tyrell. you’ll know it’s them when you get flashes of ink-stained fingertips, warmed from the flame of a nearby fire + flowery promises whispered against the column of your throat + an unwavering gaze despite a perpetually empty chalice.

who am i ?

name: serion florent nicknames: ser ("seer") identity: cis man; he/him status: ruling lord of brightwater keep; house of florent age: 30 orientations: bisexual / biromantic relationship(s): unmarried, single

more ?

hair color: dirty blond, lighter in the warmer months eyes: blue height: 5 feet. 11 inches. mother: rhea florent neé serry father: addam florent siblings: heleaena mallister nee florent, twin siblings (tba) half siblings: two (tba)

what am i like ?

positive traits: courageous, sensual, determined, debonair, romantic negative traits: impatient, impulsive, obsessive, possessive, self-indulgent likes: writing, rain, painting, going on walks, betting, indulging in foreign customs, late nights, dancing, anything outdoors, a jovial party. dislikes: early mornings, being interrupted, hot weather, religion, hunting (major soft spot for animals), venturing out onto the water (likes to swim, but not sail) love language: acts of service vice(s): greed, lust, gluttony

what do i want ?

serion florent is akin to a tapestry woven with traits rich and veiled; bravery, allure, and resolute resolve. but beneath the captivating charm, a tempest stirs. restlessness. recklessness. hunger for dominion. a fire wild, untamed, yearning to transcend the confines of privilege and opulent birth. brightwater keep is his cradle - bathed in golden hues, a true scion of house florent. he's always been destined for grandeur. yet within his heart, a fire rages untamed, fueled by tales of sovereigns who etch their names in the chronicles of history. the audacious dreams of a young lord often transcend the confines imposed by bloodlines and birthrights. as serion grew into his own, his charismatic magnetism cast a spell on all who beheld him. a suave seducer, he danced through courtly affairs, leaving hearts ablaze in his wake. his intoxicating aura ignited flames of passion, whispered secrets of sensuality, and painted portraits of forbidden longings. oh, the world was his oyster, and he indulged in its delights with an insatiable appetite. but lurking beneath the enchanting facade was a tempestuous sea, roiling with greed and spontaneity. serion, like a falcon in flight, struggled to rein in his restless spirit. his impetuous nature drove him to maddening dreams of seizing the world with swift and often audacious abandon. the thrill of the chase enticed him, intoxicating his senses and blurring the line between audacity and foolhardiness. fate's tides are shifting, its winds, whispering. time's tapestry unfurls as serion's path unfolds. will the realm bear witness to a visionary conqueror? or watch a tragic hero's fall from grace?

[omerflorent]

Lady Alysa Corbray, the mother of Lord Omer Florent as written by Maester Ronan

Note; House Florent seems to be POC in canon based off art of Alester Florent, I wanted to try and find a way to stay on track with that canon info and point out some parallels 

Changes; She doesn’t die in childbirth with Omer. There’s a big age gap between Omer and Rhea so I figure it’d be neat to give Omer a mother even if he can’t remember her. 

Being a woman of Rhoynish descent and coming from a house of the old way, one may wonder how the Florent Lord fell for the Lady Corbray. Trusted sources take us back to a tourney hosted at Heart’s Home. Lord Corbray wanted to host a tourney to present his daughters to the realm. They were old enough to marry, and he hoped to find men from the Old Way or a strong Vale house where his daughters could raise sons in the old way. This was not to be. 

Allun Florent won the tilt and, with his boldness, something his son would display in the years to come, named the Lady Alysa his beauty. She was taken by the charming knight of the Reach. It’s known to all that chivalry looks different on Reachmen than it does to the stern faces of the Vale. Lord Corbray refused to allow the Florent Lord to spend time with his daughter, ending the events early. 

Letters passed between them. Letters we still have today where Lord Allun used his second name, Alekyne, when writing to her. For months, they shared their dreams, their horrors, and their hopes. When the Crownlands announced a tourney, they agreed they would meet each other. 

And every night for seven days they met under the weirwood tree where they would talk until the sun rose and she had to hurry away before someone noticed her absence. It was the last day when she learned she would marry Mehmet Rowan. They fled in the night and returned to Brightwater. 

They were pre-contracted somewhere along the way to Brightwater and married upon their arrival in a small temple. Running away meant Alysa could never return home. And when she wrote them of her first pregnancy, only her unmarried sister Lyn Corbray responded in secret. 

Not invited to the weddings of her sisters and cousins, she grew comfortable in Brightwater. From her personal writings, she missed her family dearly and often wrote them and her sister, always separately. Her second pregnancy proved successful. She named her son after her father, Omer Corwyn Florent. And for the next two years, she dedicated her time to the boy allowing him to learn the ways of his father and the ways of her people. When he turned two she taught him the old tongue. His lessons would never be completed. 

Tragedy struck the family as she died in childbirth, along with her second son. A darkness fell over the House and the family. Allun neglected the boy with the same big blue eyes as his mother. And when he was old enough, he sent Omer to live among the Corbrays but is a story for another day. 

“Mehmet Rowan?”  “I know.”  - a conversation with Omer and Ronan after Omer reads his writing.

[jaehaerysiitargaryen]

THE BLACK ORDER (An T-ord Dubh)

It was Lord Alekyne Florent who saw the potential in Brightwater and House Florent, he wanted to let go of history. The tears shed by relatives over desires to exclaim to any that would listen, House Florent boasts the superior claim to Highgarden. Lord Alekyne didn’t care about these superior claims, should they have a claim it mattered not at all. They lost whatever they had when the fool who previously led their House allowed themselves to be used pitifully. No. He would turn his attention to the streets of Brightwater. 

Reaching for his boyhood friend, Lord Elwood Blackbar, and presented him with an opportunity to use what they have. Blackbar with their ships, Brightwater with its hand in the underground, they could make a nice team for themselves. If not for the youth the men spent in Bandello, there’s a chance Elwood would have sent Alekyne away. The lord knew it was better to befriend a fox rather than trying to figure them out from the sidelines. 

Landed Knights were the first they sought. Alekyne sending out letters to the strongest keeps; Devenish, hEanraig, and Floinn. Elwood arrived with landed knights from his house. 

Lady Aghna Florent would not be left out of her brother's business and arrived with Mam’s from her nest of Birds. The first night of their meeting, they would travel to the Temple of Florys, where they took an oath over a stone bowl. 

Our secrets die with us. Our honor lives with us.  Our trusts keep us alive.  May we die should we fail.

Cutting open their palms, they bled into the bowl of herbs and powders. They placed their hands over the flames until the wounds heal. The mix of herbs and powders comes from a woods witch, healing the wound and only leaving behind a scar. 

All must go through this ritual when they assume their place on the council in order to gain access to every detail of this organization.

[nooneeverlookedforagirl]

Let me give you the Game of Thrones we all wanted. Not just me and you, but D&D too. They wanted the unexpected and the thrill, we wanted the characters. These are not mutually exclusive.

Arya Stark kills the Night King, but not alone.

Jon makes it to his last little brother just in time to see a battered and bloody Theon cut down defending him. The Night King is injured, but not defeated. He has no interest in meeting Jon head on, so he sends the wights to do so while he advances on Bran.

Rhaegal, wounded but loyal, appears to burn the wights who would have stopped him. Jon has no time to be in awe of the dragonfire which saves his life, only time to charge straight at the Night King and fight. This is why he left his black brothers to die, after all, for Ned Stark's last son. He could not save Robb, could not fight beside him, but he will give his life for Bran if need be.

Yet the Night King cares nothing for honor. Wights gone, he summons his generals. Two White Walkers rush to his defense, preparing to kill Jon, but they do not make it across the courtyard before it is filled with wolves. The largest of them, a she-wolf as large as a pony, leads her pack in the charge. Nymeria cannot kill the White Walker, but she and her pack rip them limb from limb, the screams like nothing Jon has ever heard.

Cruel and careful, the Night King uses his distraction to knock him off his feet. As the killing blow comes down, Jon sees something behind the Night King. Silent as any shadowcat, Arya has snuck into the godswood, into the battle. She drags her blade across the White Walkers throat, and he turns into a rush of blood and a shattering of ice shards.

All of his wights fall with him, but there are other White Walkers yet remaining. Somewhere beyond the walls of Winterfell, Rhaegal and Drogon obey their mother, and turn their wights into nothing more than ash. Relieved of the great burden of the living dead, the men rally to kill the remaining White Walkers. Grey Worm kills one and Sandor another, while Brienne claims two. Under the watchful eyes of the ravens, none escape.

The Starks do not notice this. Jon hugs Arya tight, there in their father's godswood covered with the fallen dead, and cries for the first time since he woke from darkness. Arya, who might have been No One except that she could not forget Jon Snow's smile, pulls him back to Bran and holds him tight.

This is how the dawn is won.

Afterward, the Starks rally their men to march North. Cersei awaits them, enthroned in Kings Landing, and she has hurt them too much to forget. Sansa, afraid and angry, whispers in Tyrion's ear before he goes. She has known no benevolent monarchs and no merciful women once they have their power. Lysa, Margaery, Cersei, all of them turned against her. So she gives up the secret she has sworn to keep, for the offer of a crown on her brother's head. Arya and Jon head south with the army, but Sansa has sworn never to leave the North again.

As they march south, Daenerys frees Riverrun, naming Edmure and his new daughter her rightful rulers, and meet with the remaining 30,000 men from the Vale. Anya Waynewood remembers Queen Visenya's visit to the Eyrie; she does not need a reminder of why the Vale kings knelt to the Targaryens. When they reach Kings Landing, the Reach awaits them, some 10,000 men rallied from the shadow of Highgarden and Horn Hill.

Plans are formed and ravens sent, but when the armies are gathered the queen remains on Dragonstone. In her place are Jon and Rhaegal, landing before the city and calling the forces to attention. Sansa was not wrong. Tyrion and Varys would sooner a man sit the throne than a woman, birth and expulsion aside, and so would most of the realm. Their greatest challenge had been convincing Jon, reborn without purpose, conqueror of the White Walkers, King in the North, Jon, that he deserved his father's throne.

Tyrion presents an impassioned plea, including a warning of the threat the coldness between his sisters and the queen carried. Sam, crippled yet alive, gives him papers supporting his claim and his late father's writings, which name his son Aegon as the Prince Who Was Promised. Varys, the Mad King's most trusted advisor, is quick to support these claims. After all, why would a Stark bastard be brought back for nothing? He had won the Dawn. He had defeated the Army of the Dead. Now his throne awaited.

Aegon. What better name for a king?

So it is that Jon names himself Aegon VI Targaryen, recognizing Lyanna Stark as his mother, and takes Kings Landing in a bloody battle. When it is done, there is a new Sack of Kings Landing, the city half afire and the Red Keep in ruins, but there is a new king.

Ned Stark had tried to save Cersei's children, but she has no more of them. Jon condemns her for usurping the throne, destroying the sept, and the murder of his father. Rather than executing her, he sends her to the dungeons she had fostered to die as Unella and Tyene and Falyse Stokeworth had.`

Then he turns his gaze to the rest of the realm, demanding obedience. Both Targaryen and Stark had suffered too long under lesser houses. Under Tyrion's guidance, he uses Ellaria as leverage against Dorne and names Bronn the Lord of Highgarden. When the Reach rumbles with the Florent's threat of rebellion he burns Brightwater Keep to ash with her lord inside, and gives the land to Melessa Tarly for her son's service.

A king needs a queen, and Daenerys had been rejected by his advisors. Alys Waynwood and Jynna Mallister are called to the capitol to see the king, although Jon refuses to entertain any of Tyrion's cousins. Both of them are rejected, and Jon insists a Northern girl be summoned, one who worships the Old Gods. The Faith doesn't like that, but aren't in a position to protest yet.

Cersei's screams can be heard from the dungeons, and Tyrion can't bring himself to go down and see her. The sister that he had fought so hard to help would blame him for this fate, he knows. He bars Jaime from the capitol, shipping him back to Winterfell and his lady knight with a hundred men as guards.

House Yronwood, now wed to Oberyn's last daughter, have no interest in rejoining the realm. Jon threatens to kill Ellaria and send them her head, but what does Yronwood care about a bastard who had murdered Doran Martell, when compared to a man usurping the name and throne belonging to Elia's son? She is not Sarella's mother, and Jon will not wed their princess.

When Yara Greyjoy declares her independence behind their own, Jon prepares Rhaegal for a war. They fought against Robb and weakened him, what does Jon care for their houses or Daenerys' promises? The Iron Islands will belong to the Iron Throne or they will be dust and ash.

Daenerys isn't dead.

Varys poisoned her, but she is a Targaryen and they have always resisted poison and illness better than most. For many days she is too weak to get out of bed. When at last she can stand, Grey Worm admits to her that Rhaegal is gone and Jon Snow rules in Kings Landing. He sits on her throne, but she cannot fight against her son.

For some time she is forced to stay on Dragonstone to recover. It is during this time that a ship full of Dothraki arrives. It is largely young men eager to join her men, but two women are on the ship as well. Ornela, the khaleesi who had helped her in Vaes Dothraki, and Jhiqui, Irri's sister. Her bloodriders, Aggo and Kovarro, who had joined her after Drogo's dead, had called for them.

Together they support her while she recovers from near death. They bring her food and wash her hair, they find food testers and sleep next to her at night. Once she had led her people across the Red Waste and fought for their freedom, but now they are her strength. One night, Dany sits with Grey Worm and tells him he is free to go if he wishes to. Her stoic war commander had refused, promising to see her home first.

But where was her home?

The darkness that has encompassed her life is finally broken by the arrival of a Volantene galley arriving in her harbor. Jon is not brave enough to war against her, knowing that Rhaegal would lose a fight against his brother, but Volantis was not afraid. They had sided with Yunkai against her, sending ships and men to their aid.

It is not the soldiers of the Old Blood that have come to Dragonstone. It is an old woman. Her spine is bent and her white hair so thin Dany can see her scalp. Her face is covered in scars, but her eyes are bright and black. She has come not for Daenerys Targaryen, but for the Breaker of Chains, the woman those in the Bay of Dragons still call Mhysa.

She calls herself Vogarro's whore, but the slaves in Volantis call her the Widow of the Waterfront. Nothing she has can help Dany. Instead, she brings a plea from the slaves of Volantis. She says that they are waiting. She begs her to come soon. Slaver's Bay may be no more, but the Free Cities still thrive. Children are bought and sold every day.

And so Daenerys rises from Dragonstone and leaves the Iron Throne behind. If she is not to be a queen, then let her be a conqueror, a rescuer. Grey Worm and his men rally to her side.

Her fleet is reduced, but so are her men. She takes them all, refusing to leave any of her people where the Westerosi might find them, and she summons Drogon from his nest in the hills. With him comes Rhaegal, her son responding to her call despite his rider. When they sail east, two dragons go with her.

Volantis, as Slaver's Bay before her, falls to fire and blood. Daenerys frees the city and gives rule over to her people, the freedmen who fought for their own freedom when the dragons came to their aid.

Months later, a ship with the last Lannister sails into Volantis' bay.

Daenerys is not there. She has gone north, to Pentos, to an old friend and to strangers. The Unsullied who remain in the city are no friends to the Sunset Kingdoms, and least of all Tyrion Lannister.

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate- Chapter 14

Adva liked Triss. While being a skilled mage, there was a nurturing and caring nature to her. They spent many days together, practising the craft of spells and potions. In the three weeks, she never felt so free. Magic surged through her and with every day it grew. It wasn’t just the magic it was not having to wake up at the break of dawn to prepare the morning meal for the tavern, or stay up all night brewing a speedy recovery potion for the working girls who had had one too many customers the night before. Adva and Geralt had to feel into a pattern of sorts; each morning they would meet by the tree and spend the early hour of the morning together. Often or not, Geralt would sit in silence and watch her read or explain to her the various qualities of monsters or beasts. It was comfortable it was Adva favourite part of the day, spending a few hours with the moody Witcher. With each passing day, Adva was privy to a small glimpse at the man beneath all the armour, moods and mutations. A man who was sweet and caring he brought her a small packet of candy peanuts, he would never give them to her just leave them on her desk or would carry the mass of books Triss has dumped on her even little things like holding open the door. It was nice, but it did also reveal a sad side to his nature, a touch starved and painfully lonely man. His touches would linger, burn into her. I made her wonder when the last time someone hugged him, really hugged him. Being an orphan alone in the world, she knew what it was like to have no emotional intimacy; how it hurt.

For the last week, she rubbed the balm onto his chest, and stay with him till he fell asleep, sometimes she would doze next to him watching over him. Though he was sleeping better, sometimes ten hours straight, he still looked tired, his constant temperature was worrying. Geralt simple shrugged off her concerns with the news that he and Jaskier were going on a hunt. Both had disappeared for a week to a local forest infected by Ghouls. Every day that past Adva had become more adamant that they would not return. At the end of the fifth day, upon their return from their walk, Triss and Adva fell in the door laughing at some local merchant making a pass at the two women with the temptation of free cheese, to find the two men arguing in the living room.

‘Ahhh Geralt you have returned! We have just had a walk around the town…Smiggle, the Cheesemonger tried to talk Adva into a betrothal with a lump of cheddar.’ Triss’s laugh tinkled then bells in the parlour of the large house.

‘If it had been Brie, he would have got a different answer.’ Adva laughed taken a seat next to Jaskier, who laughed heartily and poured a drink.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Adva that Geralt gave Triss an outraged look, bordering between angry and irritation. There had been many secret looks and meetings in the workshop, behind the thick door. It uneased her. The way her ears burnt when they left made her paranoid. Geralt had been indecisively hot and cold. Some moments made her think they were almost friends than in a second; he would go cold and moody.

Geralt eyes rolled over Adva form, she wore the burgundy dress, with gold embroidery. It was tight across her chest and waist, showing delicious curves and flaring out at the hips to swish as she walked gently. Her hair had grown longer, and now wavy curls danced along her neck and the start of her back, every time she turned her head a waft of her smell invaded Geralt senses. He had spent the last five nights yearning for sleep; the smell had faded to a delicate reminder of her, calling him back to her. No matter how hard he scrubbed the smell clung to him, it has soaked into his very pores. When the last Ghoul had died, he saddled up Roach and headed straight back, not even bothering to clean the Ghoul blood from his body.

‘I thought you were meant to be studying Botany not how to flirt with cheese merchants. Triss your curriculum needs reworking’ Geralt bite out in a low cold tone

Triss glared as the Witcher, with deadly eyes. Five days gone, and the first thing he says to her was that—what a prick.

‘Adva why don’t you tend to the plant in the greenhouse, I have something to discuss with Geralt.’ Triss cooed and quickly ushered the woman out the room.

‘Geralt! The past five days, you have been like a lovesick puppy and that the first thing you say to her’ Jaskier scolded hands-on-hips.

‘I am not a lovesick puppy.’ The Witcher growled.

‘You are…Adva is so nice….you…you don't deserve her.’ Jaskier gave a high-pitched squeal, and he threw down his quill and followed the curly-haired women out to the Greenhouse.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A slow sarcastic clap filled the air as Geralt stared grimily at the fire and burnt limply in the fireplace. Triss’s angry eyes were burning into the side of his face, but he refused to acknowledge her. ‘Well done, Geralt! Push her away.’

Geralt played his flagon taking deep gulps from the vessel, attempting to ignore the annoying Mage.

‘Ignoring me? Very mature, you must have been missing Adva immensely. I know she missed you, she kept pinning after you….’ Triss prodded and rolled her eyes, and he continued with the silent treatment. ‘Still nothing…. Well, I suppose you don’t want to know about the exciting discoveries I have made since you departure.’ Triss teased.

Geralt interest was ignited and his attention laid solely on the Mage, who gave him her best Cheshire smile as she waved her hand the table filled with papers and journals.

‘I sent for all of Tradi’s work; Lord Brightwater seemed to vary keen to get rid of it. Grumpy man. He also added some of Cersi notes as well. Seem your friend left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye to the sour Lord. He wasn’t best pleased. I sent one of the Marquis men to investigate; it appears that she left in the night in a hurry; the portal she used is nothing like I have seen before. No sign of the language in Adva book, I did, however, find an old journal.’ Triss pulled a journal onto her workbench, and pulled several pieces of paper from the book and scattered them in front of the two.

‘Geralt, Adva has been hidden her whole life…very carefully I might add. Cersi, in her journal, details the girl's growth and powers. Cersi seems very impressed with the girl's waterpowers peaking beyond expectation. There are pages and pages detailing everything magical goal she reached as she grew, how her body is formed, whether her body would be able to transform, or if she has bled. Don’t you think it's strange that ever since she left Brightwater, she had been attracting unwanted male attention? I have had to send away the Marquis men; they kept trying salivating over her. My guess's it's in her pheromones; there is nothing magical coming off her. That smell you're so addicted too. You’re her mate, so it does something more to you on a …metaphysical level. But for the rest of us mortals it does something else entirely, have you not noticed how people are with her?  They become enamoured with her, but if you place her in a Whore house, Adva’s scent would be void. Sex gives off powerful odours, enough to hide her in plain sight. Why do you think Cersi did not take her in… and teach her, she placed her where she would be the safest, away from prying eyes of Mages and the like. If we want to find out what is happening, we need to find and talk to Cersi….. Till then I would recommend we take her to Kaer Morhen. She will be away from civilisation, and you can claim her. We need to tell her today…now.’

‘No’ Geralt gripped definitely.

‘Geralt! For the love of Goddess, why are you fighting this! What more proof do you need? Do you want me to wheel her out with the words Geralt’s Mate Painted across her chest before you admit it? An idiot could tell that you are struggling. You are barely sleeping or eating, and you're burning up! My potions are not working anymore. Have you read that book of Witches? You know if you don’t bond with her, you are going to drive yourself mad.’ Triss all but spat.

‘The book said we had a year…’

‘Yes, but with a human mate. WE may not know what she is, but we know she is not human, her bloody scent is enough to send the men around here acting like besotted idiots, for her mate, it must be seven times more potent. Why are you fighting this? Geralt your skin is clammy, I can feel your temperature from across the room. Your mood swings are becoming very wild, even for you. Geralt you are killing yourself…if that happens, who knows what will happen to her.’ Triss was pleading now, not something she usually resorted to, but she was scared for them both.

‘Fuck off Triss…’

‘Goddess help me Geralt... I will tell her myself.’

‘You won't!’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Triss hunched over him, prodding her brazened finger into his armour.

‘Because she deserves better!’ Geralt pulled Triss back as he roared, lifting a table in the process and launching in across the room.

‘Geralt…’

‘She is so pure and untouched. So sweet and innocent. I can’t….I won’t. She doesn’t and will not want me a life partner. I won’t subject her to this sort of life. I love her too much for that’ Geralt boomed

‘Geralt it not about you anymore. What about Adva, maybe she wants to be with you. To have someone, she had been alone for a long time.’ Triss voice broke into a soft whisper as she reached out to comfort the shaking man.

‘I can’t be that someone.’ Uttered heartbrokenly before turning and rushing away.

Triss’s heart broke for a moment, for both of them. Love was a complicated thing. For Geralt he felt too much, he loved so devotedly, and fiercely it broke him every time Yennefer stomped his heart into the ground. If anyone deserved someone, it was Geralt. A plan started to form in her head. It would take some effort to push the stubborn Witcher in the direction of the lovely creature, but it would be worth it, she cared too much to let Geralt send himself to early death, and she was already too devoted to Adva to let her be cast off by the handsome Witcher. Smiling smugly she set off, Jaskier would be easy to recruit. If Geralt weren’t going to act, then she would do it for him. Despite the complete mystery that enveloped the woman, there was one thing she did know, the soul bond was strong, and if they didn’t mate soon, god knows what will happen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Geralt couldn’t help himself. By nature, he was a very sexual being, that itself is one of the reasons there was an attraction between him and Yennefer. That spark of need that burnt between them. They satisfied each other; with a Witcher’s stamina he could go for days, and a mage could at least try to match that. Because of that Geralt could never really say he felt fulfilled with a partner, the nearest being Yennefer and whether that was because of the Jinns magic he couldn’t say. The Witcher had never cursed his sexual desire, he was never short of partners, and his energy seems to be limitless in the area, he has never failed to rise of the occasion no matter how beaten or broken his body. By now he cursed the fate for the situation he found himself in. All 6ft 5 of him stood half-collapsed against a bedroom for that was not his own.

After storming out, he forced himself to tend to Roach and after that momentary distraction found himself in Adva’s room. After five long days, he needed to calm himself with her scent. His nose had picked up the scent and dragged him like a prisoner to the room the other side of the house, where he had no reason or excuse to be in. The Witcher’s heart pumped faster, the first time in almost a century until it was the only thing he could hear. The perfume of her was suffocating, disorientating and intoxicating, he needed to get away but couldn’t tear himself to leave. Geralt could see the strands of scent in a sparkling blue that curled through the air leading to a swirling mass in the centre of the bed.

Swallowing hard he approached the unmade bed, tentatively perching on the side, giving at the rumpled bedclothes. The outline where her body had rested was clear; the scent permeated from where she had slept the past three weeks. Inhaling deeply, he drove through the scents, subtle difference depending on her moods and what she had eaten. He deciphered the scents layer by layer till he found the addictive fragrances that had driven him here, it was dark then the other, a navy blue, almost black. Apple and the sea but musky with a sweetness. Trailing his fingers over the bed, he felt it and saw it. Her want. Her desire. Her wetness.

The scent had soaked into the very fabric of the bed throughout her stay, every night, adding to the aroma. Never had he been so thankful for his Witcher abilities, he saw it. The way her hair cascaded against the pillow as she tossed and turned, clenching her thighs together as she the wetness formed and the pressure became too much to bare. A delicious bead of sweat travelled down her neck, travelling over her left breast and then missing with the other scents on the bed. Clothing would be flung off in an attempt to cool herself down with little or no difference. With reluctance, her hands would travel to her slick thighs in an attempt to rid herself of the ache, her mouth turning into the pillow to muff her sobs of pleasure and growls of frustration as she never managed to bring herself over the edge that she had teased herself along for the best part of two weeks.

Inside of him, two feelings flourished the sense of sadness that she did not know how to pleasure her own body but also pride at being her first and only, the only man that would teach and feel her. A throaty moan push passed his lips. The rough bronzed hand was slowly palming his raging cock; he didn’t know when he had unlaced his breeches, but he could bring himself to think about it. Instead, he found himself settling himself on the bed, ripping his undershirt in the process, his hand never leaving his throbbing member.

Adva could come back at any minute, or Triss discover him, but all Geralt could focus on was the heat that rushed through him with every stroke. The Witcher was accustomed to pleasure himself when a willing bedmate was not to be found but never had it felt this good. Palming his balls, they had been heavier than he could ever remember them being, tight and painful, a grunt rumbled from him as he rolled them in his hands, teasing the skin with his fingertips. His other hand worked his length, a generous amount of pre-cum was already dripping across his tip, along his hand to slide effortless up and down his throbbing cock. Rolling his wrist, he pumped up and down slowly, enjoying the sensation, his eyes fluttered close, and a thousand images passed through his mind. Her laying frustrated on the bed whimper his name softly, her looking down at him as shyly she reached out to touch him, and all he could feel was her hand, while the other stocked his hair as she kissed him softly. It was a tender, pushing him slowly along to his peak.

A hiss escaped him, pushing through his teeth and the scent overpower him, forcing his eyes open. Gold obs burnt down as he watched he hand franticly pound his hard cock. A bead of pre-cum dribbled down. Geralt hips franticly snapped against his hand to meet every thrust, grunts and growl shook against the walls paired the violent sound of rhythmic flesh slapping filled the room, boarding on animistic, with ever sound Geralt chest practically vibrated as he edged closer and closer to release. Pushing himself against the headboard as he dug his heels into the bed as he arched his body, his hand desperately gripped his reddening cock as he feverishly pumped his cock. Grasping his hand out, the Witcher gripped the ornamental bedknob tightly, series of feral roars escaped the panting man. A thick jet of cum spurted out against the chest pooling in his stomach.

All strength sapped from his body, and the Witcher collapsed against the bed, soft pants puffed out from his chest, as slowly his eyes fluttered closed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jaskier twirled to flower in his hand as he tilted from foot to foot as he observed the woman in front of him, he likes her immensely, it was half the reason he agreed with this plan. Adva was refreshing after spending what was like an eternity in the company of Yennefer. Jaskier felt an inner hatred for the violet-eyed Mage; she treated Geralt as a plaything, he did not disagree that there was some endearment on her side, but the way in which she treated his friend was beyond miserable, Ciri and him caught in the middle. The sad thing is Geralt could not see it, he followed her like a minion, and the big bad wolf turned to a lovesick puppy. Adva didn’t seem to mind the Witcher’s countenance, and there was a genuine affection for him. Jaskier might not have the Witcher’s sense, but he saw the looks, the subtle glances and the longing glimpses. If it weren’t for that, he would have set his cap to her himself. Adva was a beautiful woman, gifted with a voluptuous figure, violently blue eyes and plush lips that gave her a disarming smile paired with a caring personality; she was a catch for any hot-blooded man. But the hot-blooded man she seemed to want to be Geralt, especially going from the way her shoulders sagged as she tended the plants.

Adva busied herself tendering the plant in the glasshouse, Jaskier had followed her out and tended to her with soft praises and cheerful stories as an attempt to lift her mood. For the most part, Adva kicked herself for being that upset, Geralt lately had often been in a bad mood, but what had just happen wounded her. There was no reason why, nothing had occurred between them, so there was no reason for her to be hurt by his words, but she had thought they had grown close in the recent months. The Witcher’s scolding upset her.

‘We could go to town. Paint the town red.’ Jaskier lightly suggested as he plucked another flower up from Adva cuttings, causing her to look up and break her away from her thought.

‘…’

‘Come let have a night on the town. My coin purse is empty and I need to refill it with some wealthy listeners. The local tavern is a perfect spot, but I need a muse. Come with me.’ Jaskier cooed as he tucked the wildflower behind her ear.

‘Jaskier…’ Adva started before Jaskier cut her off with a stern look.

‘No…my creative flow is upon me. We will raid Triss’s wardrobe for clothing worthy of you and set off for the tavern. I envision an elegant undo with those pearl pin Triss has, oh and that burgundy dress I saw tucked at the back of his wardrobe. You are going to be my masterpiece, my subject of serenade; all will come to see you and listen to my songs. Now let's get you washed and polished. We are going to eat, drink and sing’ Jaskier bustled as he pushed her out the glasshouse.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jaskier was very pleased with himself, the dress that Triss had ordered was perfect, no man or woman would be able to look away for her. It was tight-fitting column dress in a mix of silk and velvet, at the waist two separate vents shot off in fine mesh material, embroidered in a silver thread, her sleeve made from the same material. The front had a deep V that showed off the milky flesh of her breasts, enticing the eye and showed off a barely modest cleavage. It had taken two gins to get her into the dress and another to let him apply the makeup. Her face was made up by brief sweep of powder, and a dark dusky pink lipstick painted on, making them seem all the more pouting. Two-layer of mascara had been applied to her eyelashes and a light pat of eyeshadow and delicate touch of eyeliner. Adva protested at the reflection at the mirror, but Jaskier ignored her and began to pin her curls over one shoulder with pearl hairpins before pushing her out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

‘Geralt’

The alarmed voice carried throughout the house stirring the Geralt from his post-orgasm doze by Triss’s urgent cry. Casting his eyes around, he found that he had slept most of the day away. The sky was now darkening alarmingly; he was still sprawled across the bed, dry cum still plastered across his chest, his hand still encircling around his half-hard cock. Rearranging himself quickly, he straightened his clothes and slipped from the room as quietly and quickly as possible.

‘Really?’ Triss deadpanned as she tapped her foot outside her trainee's door.

‘What.’

‘I take it I can’t hope the Adva is lying half spend behind that door? I haven’t heard any screaming.’ The Mage deadpanned cross at him.

‘Triss drop it.’

‘Well maybe if you had she wouldn’t be missing. I can’t find her anywhere. One of the servants saw her heading off into town with Jaskier. That was at midday….’

‘Fuck’

So guys, what do you think?

I have a little competition for you. I need a pet name for Geralt to call Adva. Best one or the most recommended wins. My top picks are Goddess and Love as a genuinely think Geralt is the kinda guy who would worship you- Well in my dreams he is!!!

If anyone want to me tagged please message me :P

@broco8​ @threepupsinapuddle​ @introvertedmouse​ @luxyash​ @shesthelastjedi​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ @crazynocturnalkiki​