#speaking of gold in dragon age...

[lizzybeeee]

The most effective anti-lyrium PSA in existence

if you ever think you look bad for your age, just remember that this guy is supposed to be 18

[merrigel]

Been way deep into Dragon Age lately (replaying Inquisition and now, just getting into Veilguard) SO!! Check out my babies!!

[venmondiese]

DRAGON COINS

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

-ˋˏsummary: Prince Aemond finds his way to the Street of Silk once again, and he finds certain... familiarity with one of the whores. Yet, that doesn't stop neither of you to let your desires take over. (based on this request)

✧pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Bastard!Female Reader.

✧word count: 4.1k

✧warnings: : MDNI 18+, p in v sex, targcest, oral (m) receiving, brat taming, very slight almost unnoticeable implied aegond AND (not so subtle) that reader is aegon's bastard, aemond is a dilf.. hehe, they are both insane.

You were the prettiest woman at the brothel; most men always repeated that to you. And for a fact, you knew it very well. 

You loved dancing; always have. You used to imagine yourself as a royal princess at balls and court events, who wore the prettiest dresses and the most extravagant headpieces, full of veils, patterns, and many details of gold, purple. You imagined, as well, that you would have a nicer figure, full of food, and expensive things, like caviar, and have meat all day. 

Yet you were not a princess. You didn’t dress in purple, didn't have anything gold, you never attended a ball or court. You just looked the part; with bright violet eyes, silver hair and that Targaryen’s appearance that called the attention. 

Your mother told you that your father was a prince; she never said more. You always thought who it could be. Daemon? He was away at that time. Laenor? The rumours of his liking of men didn’t help. Aegon? He was barely of age by the time you were conceived.

If it was a lie, or a truth, you did not know; you only knew that everyone was enchanted by your appearance; your bright eyes, that your mother often compared them to one of a doe; your lips, always pink without the need of any makeup. You were a natural, born to shine among the common people. 

Inevitably, you ended up in a brothel. As a dancer, with exotic clothes from Lys, and some large feather fan for your dances, and you learned how to do your hairstyles the same way Lyseni girls did, since they were the best of the best. 

You were the best of the best. You made sure of it. You had something special, the looks, and the wits. Just not the money nor position for it.  

Most of the time, the Brothel opens at the ninth bell rang of the day, when the sun starts falling down, and people come home from their work, and just some time after men get paid for their daily works. 

It was the eighth toll of the bell when you were helping one of the new girls out. She had auburn hair, and almost as long as yours; and you were helping her do a crown of braids. You heard the consistent knock on the door, and you frowned for a bit, as you walked towards the door. 

It was a hooded figure, tall, and looking around as if he was followed. You frown a bit, watching his shoes; you could tell a lot from a man's shoes. This one wore boots, black and slightly muddy. He also smelt strong, like fire, somehow. Oddly enough, he didn’t speak when he moved his eye to watch you silently.

“We are not open.” you say to him, holding the door close, just so half of your body could be seen. “Wait for the next bell toll”

“Call your Madame” He says, abruptly, rude as men used to be; never lacking that audacity that their demands have.

“The brothel opens-”

“I heard you fine the first time” he repeats, as if he didn’t have the time “Call your Madame” he says, throwing a bag full of coins as if nothing, as if he wanted to buy your silence.

You frowned as you knelt to grab the bag, and from that angle you could see the small silver hairs that he intended to hide in that hood, and the eye patch, covering his left eye as the other one, with a deep purple tone watched you intently. You could see the small dragon patterns on his clothes, and how even his cloak had gold details, with little dragons.

It was prince Aemond. You have never seen him up close before, perhaps you had seen Vhagar around the skies from time to time. You heard that he takes his sons to fly often. Just as his grandsire, he had been left a widow with two sons. Not that he shared a love for his late wife, and he did not care to seek another bride.

Yet, prideful as you were, made a face and turned around, opening the door for him as you guided him towards the personal room of the Madame. Although, it seems as if he knew the place since quite some time. 

You watch intently at the prince, who the Madame compliments as older. You suppose he looks older, you didn’t quite remember how old prince Aemond truly is. You remember the celebrations for his five and twenty name day, but you couldn’t quite recall how many years ago that was.

“Should I fetch something, Madame?” You ask simply to Madame Sylvi, who sits in the middle of the bed, and yet prince Aemond doesn’t mind your presence as he starts undressing, taking his cloak off, followed by his eye patch. 

He has no shame, truly. You watch how he takes off that leather jerkin, embroidered with dragon details made of gold, as if gold didn’t have a better use than to be embroidered on a prince’s clothes that he probably uses once or twice before asking the tailor for other clothes. 

“No, do not worry. You tell Daisy that she is in charge tonight”

Interesting. You think, as the prince takes off his breeches, and you turn around to close the curtains, leaving your Madame to take care of the prince. And yet, you took an unshameful glimpse of his ass, smiling as you walked to finish the braids for your friend. 

And that routine continued for quite a while, you now noticed when prince Aemond arrived at the brothel, sometime before it opened, sometimes near the end of the night. Sometimes he came day after day, and others it was weeks apart. 

You danced the most on busy days, and you refused to dance when you did not want to. You were as spoiled as a little princess, which gained you some popularity among the workers and the clients. Some of them called you a ‘little princess’ and others a ‘spoiled cunt’, and yet you didn’t mind because you knew you could be both. 

It was probably one of your new dances, with a bold sound of the lute as you moved the expensive fan around, as if teasing the audience with more peeks of your body. This was a busy day, and so, a lot of men were gathered around watching whatever lewd display it was shown on the occasion. 

A jousting was held by the Royal Family, and so a lot of lords and knights came to the city, which means that the street of Silk was at its full capacity, and every man looking for a woman to fuck. And you also knew that most squires that wanted to be knights came here to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before a joust. 

Yet, you don’t miss the one purple eye that watches you intently, still hiding before one of his expensive cloaks with dragon designs. He wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was, at all. Perhaps he could be several years older, yet you know better than him. He could read books, but you have to survive day to day. 

Your long hair was braided in a Valyrian-Lyseni way, as you wore some gold detailed hair rings as you asked for them especially for tonight. Men had an appetite for women with that Valyrian looks, and you were an especially fine one. 

With every turn of your hips, you saw the expectancy of his eye, in the back of the crowd yet in the middle and not missing a thing. Prince Aemond was an especially eager one, instead of screaming and cheering at the swift movement of your body, he just remained quiet.

He was observant, he was ambitious, and you were the best. 

You weren’t surprised when he made a signal for one of the girls serving the ale, and whispered something in her ear. And you weren’t surprised either when the same girl was waiting for you at the edge of the platform where you performed.

He wanted you. 

And gods damned you if you didn’t want him. Because even with the whispers and rumours about prince Aemond, he was still one of the most divine Targaryen on earth. He might be older than you, but that never stopped you, at all. And with a chance like this? 

“He is a very exclusive client” Madame Sylvi says, as if instructing you as she walks you through the brothel “Likes very exclusive things, all of them you will please. If he wants to talk, you hear. You will touch him if he asks you, and you’ll do anything he wants. He usually gives you orders; how to be, what to do, what to say. You’ll do that- He likes having things in control and preparing for it. And something else; he doesn’t kiss” She says slightly annoyed. “A rule of his. He doesn’t like it. Not then, not now” 

You walk, not at all bothered by that rule. You shrug, and take notes, but something in your gut tells you it will be different, somehow. 

“I have been told you wanted me, my prince” you say softly, as you enter the exclusive room that Aemond was in. 

He looked at you; a hum left his lips without entertaining more in the conversation. He looked at you, as if thinking for a while. His shirt was undone, and his boots were still on, as his pants were a bit messy. . 

“Wine?” You ask walking toward the small cabinet with cups and some of the best ale and wine. Particular rooms were for expensive clients, those who paid stags… sometimes you could get a bag with some coins with the face of King Jaehaerys.

“No” he says simply. 

You shrug, the small jewellery tinkling as you walk, serving the wine for you to drink. If he didn’t need one, that’s okay. But you needed a small sip for courage, for your hips to lose up a little bit. 

“Are you Lyseni?” Aemond asks, his cold and stoic tone not changing. Most of the time, you’d say yes, to please the men like him that knew that Lyseni girls were the best whores. But you think prince Aemond asks for other reasons.

“No”

“A bastard, then” 

You watch him through your eyelashes. Was he more interested in your services or your blood? You were sure that both could please him very much.

“Yes.”

He hums, as if the thought interests him very much. You are aware of the bulge on his pants, by the way his legs are apart and he is leaning back, very much interested in you. 

“Care for a dance, my prince?” You ask, taking in your hand the fans, walking closer to him. “I’ve been told I am the best. I don‘t think you deserve anything but” 

It’s the small nod he gives that encourages you to move your hips, with no music but the one in your head. Years and years of dancing, you know the thrill by now. 

Translucent fabric from Essos, gives nothing to imagination, and it serves to give a more lustful touch to your body. It pushes your breasts up in the right way, and you can see the one eye of the prince roaming in your figure.

As you leave the fans, walking closer to him, he then asks again.

“You are Waters, then. A bastard from my father?” 

“Nuh-uh” you murmur, your hands going to his breeches, undoing them. 

“My uncle” 

“No”  

“Hm” he hums, looking at how his pants are undone, and his cock is rock hard, resting against his low abdomen, as if demanding attention from you. 

There was something about Targaryens that was so divine. 

“My brother, then?” 

You smirk, raising your eyebrows as if the mere question amuses you.

“I think you might know…” you murmur, watching him closely. Maybe he was old to keep up with your games, and less eager than most men who you attended to; with no problems in engaging with your games. 

Prince Aemond was a mature man, who had real duties to attend, and more concerns rather than which whore will he fuck today. And that aroused you. How little he seems to care about you, playing hard to get. It made you eager, and you realised that you were falling for his games instead.

“That makes you...” he murmurs, watching your lips. 

Targaryen. Valyrian. Dragon bound. His niece. All of those words he could say. Yet he doesn’t say anything else, words lingering in the air.

You raise your eyebrows, and a slight smirk appears on your lips. 

“Mhm. I might just be, my prince” 

Your hand drew slow patterns on his cock, stroking it softly as you two engaged on this odd talk. 

“Or you might not be”

“Or I might not be”

He watched your eyes intently; purple meeting purple. This man was calculating, and you could see it in his face. 

“That’s the thrill of it, I’d say” 

“You have his face” he murmurs, his thumb moving to touch your lips faintly. 

“So I have been told.”

He agrees with your statement as his hands move to take off the translucent fabric of your dress. You had many men touching you… but never the way that Aemond Targaryen did. His hands felt warm on your skin, and his touch felt right.

Aemond was an experienced man, and you noticed. He doesn't waste time fooling around, as the Madame told you. You were off your clothes in no time, as he had you right in his lap, comfortably. 

“What do you want me to do, my prince?” You ask, softly. 

He seems to think of an answer before saying. “Do your very best. Surprise me, if you can”

His hands slide down to the swell of your hips, firm grip as he watches your face; almost amazed, and by how he pulls your body closer to his chest, he was aroused too. 

Your hands go towards his shoulders, as you use that to hold as you grind against his own cock. The fabric from his open pants tickled your thighs as you straddled his lap, and yet that was the last of your worries. You were so horny, unlike many times, you were dripping wet for this man. 

Lewd moans spilled from your lips, one of your hands moving to cup his face, feeling the heavy breathing that came from his mouth. He was an intense one, his single eye never left your gaze; and you weren’t one to lose a challenge. 

“I think you are a spoiled thing” His tone is breathy, as he squeezes the flesh on your hips to force your cunt to grind against his cock, greedy as a dragon. 

“Been told so” your voice is more agitated, and you lean forward as if to kiss him, just to push your luck, and he moves his head slightly back. You giggle, trying to suppress a moan at his growl. 

“You little...” he says, yet a smirk appears on his lips due to the provocation. 

“Hm?” You ask almost innocently. “Didn’t do anything…”

“Spoiled whore” he says, with his chin and lips moving closer to yours, and you nod. “Proud of that?”

“I don’t hide anything, my prince” 

Aemond’s hands move upwards to your waist, and it takes him no real effort to turn you over on the bed, positioning himself between your legs as your back hits the mattress, gasping in surprise at the sudden movement, as you move some of your hair out of your face.

“I wanted to suck your cock” you say, using your elbows to get some height as he moves his hands to pull down his pants.

“And I want to fuck you” he says as if he was the one in the right, and it was obvious he lived to dominate. 

“And I want to suck your cock” you repeat, stubbornly.

“I am the one paying” he reminds you. Not upset, but more amusedly annoyed at your brattiness. It amused him greatly, to see a thing like you defy him. 

“Yes. And you said for me to surprise you, so I think I get the right to decide”

He has a smirk, yet his eye showed how amazed (and annoyed) he was.

“Brat” he spits the word, as he moves your legs apart further. 

You feel his dick slide against your slit, yet he only does to tease you, and to arouse himself more. You moan, feeling as if you could cum just by him doing that. What was this man doing to you?

“You are unfair” 

“Want to suck my cock? Fine, you’ll suck my fucking cock” He says, taking you by the shoulder, moving you to sit back up, and pushing you over the edge to the bed. “Go on.” He says patronisingly. Manhandling you to every whim he might have. “Fucking slut, come on, suck my cock”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You were all over his dick, sucking every part you can of it. Seeing him over you, his hair loose as he was hard as a rock, and his hand grabbed your silvery hair, taking it into his hand with wonder. He was into it.

Your purple eyes look up to him, your lips around his cock as your obscene sounds delight his arousal. He groans as he pulls your hair, forcing you to take more and more of him.

Your hand caresses his balls softly, as if trying to caress every part of him. He was truly divine, and you knew something; you two were of the very same blood. And Aemond knew that too. Not that it stopped you, truly.

“Enough” He commands, forcing you to be up. You were about to protest, you were barely beginning! “Stop whining, bratty princess” It is now that he pulls you towards his lap, in a hurry that could only be interpreted as desperation and hunger. 

Princess. Coming from a royal’s mouth. Coming from what you think is your own blood. The sound that leaves your mouth isn’t fake, as you used to do when other clients complimented you. That one, and all the rest, was real. Just for him. 

The feeling of his cock entering inside you was truly like no other, you felt just like a court maiden, touched for the very first time, your hands gripping on his shoulders as he grabbed you by your thighs, making you to go down onto his cock, and the feeling of your pussy engulfing him whole, greedily… drove Aemond mad. 

“Fuck” he mutter against your lips, almost groaning. “Fuck, just like... Fuck…” 

As if the smugness from your eyes went away, your big eyes scan his face, as if searching for anything. “Fuck me” 

“I am fucking you” Aemond murmurs, his tone tense. 

“P-Please” You beg, pathetically, needing the feeling of his dick pounding hard and with no mercy against you “Fuck me, please, f-fuck me”

Your plea serves him enough, he leans back on the pillows just a bit, making it easy for you to have a better hold of him, and rest on his chest, as he took your hips and forced you to take his cock, fucking you on it. It drove you mad. 

Your first try to grip his shoulders, as your loud and lewd sounds fill the room, but it seems useless, your hands slipping off his shoulders, as your cunt squeezes his cock. You were desperate, your forehead pressed against his chest as your mouth was open, as if you could not have any control over your body, a little thread of drool coming out of your mouth. 

“Fuck me, please, please”

“Greedy princess, hm?” Aemond sounds smug, as he spanks your ass hard. The slap sound resonates in the room, along with the wet sounds and more sounds of your skin against his. 

“Yes, I am such… a needy girl”

“Always have been” he murmurs, picking up a pace as his hips start to meet your thrusts. You realised then, that it was affecting him as bad as you. Perhaps the pleasure was blinding you, but his tone was tense, his grip stronger and he was more demanding of you. He was solving it; and that only fuelled the fire.

“Yes. Please…” You murmurs, and as bold as you are, you murmur “Uncle, please” 

That sends him over the edge of madness. His pace is relentlessly, and his mouth only lets out groans and guttural sounds, as he insists on pounding hard on you, his hands on your ass as he pulls your hips down, his cock filling you in the most exquisite way, as his balls hit your skin from the force of impact. 

He slaps you when you move your head to see him, eyes full of need and pleasure. He seems to get off on it; and you won’t deny him anything. You know it. And you do love when he takes his frustration out on you, it is even better than the composed version of himself, stoic, cold and uncaring that he presented first. The unhinged version is... So much better.

“You will cum in my cock” He orders you, his low tone is a proof of his desperation about it “You’ll be a good little princess...” He grabs your platinum hair to make your head go up, your face closer to his. “And you’ll cum on my cock.” He says against your lips. 

You kind of don’t care about the ‘rule’ he has, because as soon as you feel the hot breath of his hit your lips, you lean slightly to kiss him, even if the grip on your hair makes it painful. And to your surprise, he doesn’t pull away. 

There is lewdness as his cock opens your cunt, sloppy sounds and moans that spilled from your mouth over and over again. You had to squeeze your eyes shut due to the pleasure, focusing only on the feeling of him.

Your cunt felt on fire, you could only imagine how it felt around him, but you are getting so overwhelmed with pleasure that your right hand grip on his shoulder hard. You take the reins of your pleasure, moving your hips up and down, trying to get every grasp of pleasure. 

The position not only makes you shake with mind blowing pleasure, but also presents all of your tits on Aemond’s face, jumping in front of him as his dick hits the deepest part of you. 

“Fuck, princess” he mutters, another harsh spank on your ass that makes your moan loudly. 

He had the girth that you needed to feel full. He made you feel more than that, you felt alive. Truly alive. The head of his manhood hitting repeatedly all of the right parts, making you moan, his hand gripping on your ass as he also felt the same pleasure.

“I’m going to cum inside you, princess” he says. And that’s all it takes for you to cum on his cock.

You shake as your orgasm hits you, your thighs feel mire forced to be open, and your cunt craves to feel his cum flooding your insides, filling you with his seed. You craved it so bad; it had you moaning more and more.  

Aemond uses your body, still shaking and limper to fuck you, his cock full of your juices as he groans, throwing his head back as he mutters some words in high Valyrian, cumming hard in your welcoming pussy. 

“Iksā sepār hae zirȳla.  Hylagon hae zirȳla.  Aōha kepa se kesā sagon ñuha morghon.  JēDar hen iksā ñuhon” Aemond groans his grip firm as he makes sure not a drop of his cum gets out of your pussy. 

As you catch your breath, you feel a bit limp on Aemond’s chest. He was sweaty, so were you. And you were tired, feeling the bruises of his marks on your delicate skin. You feel his seed coming out of your cunt, and that makes you whimper. 

“You are beautiful” He murmurs, his thumb caressing your lower lip. You take it on your mouth, playfully, sucking it just a bit to tease him. Aemond hums, very pleased. “Just like your father” 

As he extends his arm, he takes the bad of coins, and takes some of them into his hand, showing the gold to you.

“Full of it, just for you.” Prince Aemond murmurs, his hand caressing your lower back. “But you have to be just mine” he warns, possessive just like a man from his position is. 

You sigh, taking one of the coins with your fingers and inspectionating it. A bag full of dragon coins. You could see the face of Jaehaerys I, and turning it around is the profile of a dragon. 

“No men. No flirting. No whoring around” he says, whispering in your ear. “Just mine. Could you do that, princess?”

If you could do that? You don’t mind whoring around, you didn’t hide being hedonistic. Be his? Not hard. But be a princess? Could you do that?

“Of course I will, my prince.” 

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[romerona]

The Swan Princess; Westeros Version.

The Targaryen Princess is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it).

However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, setting the stage for a classic love-hate relationship.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: kids being kids.

The second encounter.

Cregan Stark lingered by the sweets spread, trying his best to fade into the carved wooden panels that lined Dragonstone’s grand banquet hall. The lavish celebration for Prince Aemond’s second name day was in full swing, the chamber brimming with lords and ladies draped in silks and velvets. Overhead, crystal chandeliers cast dancing lights across the polished floors, while the mingling scents of spiced meats, honey cakes, and salt-laced sea air reminded Cregan just how far he was from the North.

He would not have chosen to be here of his own accord—his father, Lord Rickon, had insisted upon it. The North had to show deference to the crown, and so here he was, a wolf trapped among gaudy southern birds. The swirl of vibrant fabrics and the swirl of conversation grated on him, making him feel more foreign with each passing moment.

He absently picked at an apple tart, gaze drifting around the hall. Laughter rolled in waves, bright silks shimmered, and voices overlapped like waves against a rocky shore. Then he saw you.

You, just eight summers old, stood on the dance floor, your silver hair braided and held in place by glittering dragon clips. A genial lord—perhaps one of your father’s many courtiers—guided you through a stately dance, each step practised and careful. Your gown of pale red silk, shot through with gold thread, flared as you twirled, catching the light as if it were spun from Dragonfire. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra clapped politely, regal and composed, yet it was you who drew every eye, all luminous joy and childlike grace.

You seemed taller than he recalled—though still slight in that dainty, southern way. Everyone knew that you and your elder sister were the King’s favorites, and your presence commanded a sort of reverence. Lords angled for a moment of your attention, ladies curtsied and cooed with honeyed compliments. It was as though the court revolved around you.

From her seat by the King, Queen Alicent watched you dance and laugh. Her mouth curved in a careful smile, but even at ten, Cregan could sense it was a mask. The queen, he suspected, did not relish sharing Viserys’s affections with the daughters who stole so much of his warmth.

He glowered at the thought, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Honestly, what made you so remarkable? You were willful, well-pampered, prone to speak your mind, and insufferable too, if anyone were to ask him. You weren’t that special. Plenty of other children had those traits, too. And yet—no matter how he tried to turn his attention elsewhere, his gaze kept straying back to you, spinning in the lord’s gentle arms, your soft laughter rising above the music as if it had a life all its own.

Cregan stiffened the moment you approached, his posture snapping to an almost militant straightness as though he were preparing for a lecture rather than a conversation. The mischievous gleam in your lilac eyes immediately set his jaw tight—it was the same infuriating spark that had earned him countless reprimands from his father for failing to act with proper decorum around you. You sank into a delicate curtsy, the motion practised and graceful, yet the teasing quirk of your lips betrayed any semblance of genuine respect.

“Princess,” he greeted you with a curt bow, voice clipped. “What an unexpected honour.”

Your tone dripped with feigned gravity as you replied, “The honour is all mine, my lord. Stumbling upon the northern wolf lurking beside the sweetmeats… One might almost think you’ve been tamed.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed in irritation, a flash of defiance sparking in his grey eyes.

“A wolf doesn’t require taming, Your Highness,” he countered. “I stand exactly where I choose.”

You tilted your head toward the table piled high with sweetmeats and pastries, your voice light with false innocence. “And this is where you choose to linger, Lord Stark? Tell me, do the pastries in Winterfell rival these in quality?”

His retort was clipped. “They’re simpler, yes—but far more to my taste than this… southern absurdity.”

You drew a theatrical gasp, hand pressing over your heart. “How you wound me, my lord. Are you implying that life in the North eclipses all else?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I do not imply. I state fact.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief, your voice carrying an air of mock civility. “Well, I ought not to take this as an offence. After all, it’s remarkable that you manage the common tongue so gracefully, considering your… brutish northern customs. Tell me, Lord Stark, do you and your kin still howl to your old gods beneath trees, hoping for a reply?”

Cregan’s hand tightened around the tart, the edges of the crust crumbling under the force of his grip. His jaw locked, and his stormy gaze fixed on you with a warning glare. “Since we’re trading such pleasant observations, Princess, perhaps we should turn our attention to dragons—or rather, your conspicuous lack of one.”

The teasing light that danced in your lilac eyes extinguished instantly. Your expression sharpened, the flush of indignation colouring your cheeks.

“What did you say?” you demanded, your voice like the edge of a blade.

Cregan didn’t flinch, folding his arms as he leaned slightly forward, his tone steady and deliberate.

“I said,” he repeated, drawing out each word with an almost casual air, “that a Targaryen princess without a dragon… is painfully ordinary.”

Your entire body stiffened at his words, and your hands curled into tight fists at your sides. Your face burned, the flush deepening as you glared up at him with fiery intensity.

“You will take that back,” you hissed, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury.

“I will not,” he replied simply, meeting your gaze without so much as a blink. It was a standoff, the air between you crackling like kindling set alight, neither willing to back down.

Before he could utter another syllable, you thrust both hands against his chest. The force of the shove made him stagger backwards, one heel catching on the table’s wooden frame. In a desperate bid for balance, he reached out, only for his fingers to catch the trailing hem of your fine silk gown.

The sound of ripping fabric tore through the air, followed by a cacophony of disaster as you both tumbled backwards onto the table. The grand centrepiece—a towering, intricately decorated cake—collapsed under your combined weight, sending frosting, crumbs, and sugar flowers flying in every direction.

For a moment, the hall was silent, the music grinding to a halt as every pair of eyes turned toward the spectacle. The only sound was the slow, steady drip of frosting onto the polished floor.

Cregan blinked up at the chaos, realizing he was sprawled awkwardly amid a sea of ruined confections. Beside him, you were similarly dishevelled, your silver hair streaked with frosting, your gown torn and stained with layers of cream and crumbs.

“You… absolute… oaf!” you hissed through clenched teeth, scrambling to sit up, your lilac eyes blazing with fury. With surprising agility, you scrambled onto him, flailing your small fists in a chaotic flurry.

“You shoved me!” Cregan barked, raising his arms to fend off your flurry of tiny fists. Your attempts to pummel him were more chaotic than effective, but you were determined.

“You insulted me!” you countered, your voice sharp with indignation.

“And you called me a brute!” Cregan retorted, his voice rising in frustration as he seized your wrists, halting your frantic blows.

“That’s because you are a brute!” you snapped, wrenching your arms free with a sharp tug. Your small frame trembled with indignation as you raised a tiny fist, ready to land what you clearly thought would be a devastating blow—but before you could make contact, a broad-shouldered knight, Ser Harwin Strong, intervened.

In one swift motion, he scooped you up and hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of grain, preventing any further skirmish while you continued to struggle, your fury undiminished. His expression was caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“Unhand me, Ser Harwin!” you demanded, still reaching out in an attempt to land your blow, your face aflame with indignation. But Ser Harwin only tightened his hold, keeping you securely aloft as your small fists flailed at empty air.

“Cregan.”

He froze the moment that familiar voice reached his ears—low, firm, and unmistakably displeased. Heart thudding, Cregan scrambled upright, hastily brushing crumbs and frosting from his tunic in a futile attempt to salvage some semblance of dignity, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he prepared to face his father, Lord Rickon Stark, whose stern grey eyes were now fixed on his son’s every move.

And then, beyond the circle of onlookers, came the voice of King Viserys. The instant he called your name, your thrashing ceased as if a spell had been broken. One fist remained clenched mid-swing, but the sound of your father’s stern summons froze you in place. You wriggled once more on Ser Harwin Strong’s shoulder before going limp with a huff of frustration, clearly aware that further resistance would only make matters worse.

The great hall seemed to hold its breath as King Viserys stepped forward, his frown deepening at the sight of the battered dessert table and his frosting-smeared daughter. Guards and courtiers parted to let him pass, and in the stillness that followed, every eye was fixed on you and the young Stark lord who stood before you, equally dishevelled.

The King’s gaze swept over the scene: the shattered remnants of the centrepiece cake, frosting streaked across the floor, and two children—one caked in sugar and silk, the other in crumbs and frayed northern dignity—standing stiffly before him. His expression shifted from confusion to thinly veiled disappointment as the whispers around the hall grew.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried the commanding weight of the crown. “What in the Seven Hells is the meaning of this?”

Ser Harwin carefully lowered you to the ground as though handling a volatile brew. You straightened your spine as best you could, brushing futilely at the frosting streaked across your gown. Despite your bedraggled appearance, you jutted your chin up stubbornly, attempting to smudge away stray frosting with all the dignity you could muster—though you succeeded only in spreading more crumbs along your sleeve. You shot a fiery glare at Cregan, who still looked like he wished the floor would swallow him whole.

Lord Rickon Stark chose that moment to step forward, clearing his throat. “Your Grace, my son—”

Viserys raised a hand, silencing him without a word. All eyes were on the King, and he, in turn, focused on the two of you with a mix of bewilderment and annoyance.

“Princess,” he said, meeting your gaze. “You will speak first.”

You gave an indignant huff, shooting another scornful glance at Cregan before reluctantly turning to face your father.

“He insulted me grievously, Father—told me I was ordinary because I do not yet ride a dragon!” Her lilac eyes flashed, and she swiped another glob of cake from her hair with a wrinkled nose. “So I merely defended my honour.”

“Aye, by launching yourself at me,” Cregan muttered, though he tried to appear calm, there was no hiding the stiff set of his shoulders—or a dollop of frosting sliding down his cheek. “And need I remind you, Princess, that you provoked me first by comparing my prayers to… howling at the moon?”

A chorus of hushed snickers rippled around them. Viserys’s brow lifted, and for a brief moment, it seemed he fought off a faint smirk.

“I see,” he said, folding his arms. “So, if I follow correctly, you have reduced a royal banquet to a frosted battlefield… because of a few sharp words?”

At that, you set your jaw stubbornly. “Words are not so harmless, Father. They carry weight, and his were particularly unkind.”

“And what of your words?” Cregan interjected, his chin lifting in quiet defiance. “They were none too gentle either, Your Grace.”

You flicked your gaze back to him, a sharp retort already on your tongue. “Oh, do hush, northern brute. I’d not have wasted my breath if you hadn’t been so—”

“Enough.” Viserys’s voice rang out, firm and commanding, cutting through the rising tension like a blade. The authority in his tone stilled you both, silencing further outbursts.

“You are both of noble blood,” he said, his gaze hard as it swept between the two of you. “This—” he gestured at the ruins of the cake, the scattered fruit, and the stunned courtiers “—is not how nobility ought to conduct itself. Especially not before half the realm’s finest lords and ladies.”

Your cheeks burned hotter than dragonfire, but your pride refused to crumble entirely. “Father, I—”

Viserys’s gaze hardened, silencing your protest before it fully formed. “You will each apologize. Properly.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but his iron stare left no room for negotiation. Your teeth clenched, but with a long-suffering sigh, you turned to Cregan, your lips pressed into a thin line.

“It seems,” you began, each word forced through your stubborn pride, “I owe you an apology.” Your gaze flicked to your father, then back to the northern boy. “By the King’s command, of course.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened as he met your glare. He gave a shallow bow, his voice measured and formal.

“And I apologize for my words, Princess. However,” he added, unable to stop himself, “they were not spoken without reason.”

Your eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed as though you might lunge at him again. But instead, you stood straighter, fixing him with a withering look. The silence stretched between you, heavy and sharp, until your father cleared his throat pointedly.

Both of you turned away at last, but the exchange between your gazes spoke louder than any words: I despise you.

And his? The feeling is mutual.

Helloooo, I hope you all enjoyed this one mess lol. But Oh, do I love making this. Also, thank you so much for the support, the likes, comments and reblogs, you all really make me have so much motivation.

<3 Thank you so muchhhh.

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[andromedas-wrath]

Hi! I saw your post and what you do/don't write and was wondering if you could write anything regarding male hotd characters x Tulley/Riverlands reader? Preferably Tully, they're my favourite house. I don't mind gen neutral but I am fem, either way is okay :)

Hi!! This is my first request (which I’m so happy about, so thank you!! I hope you enjoy! (Edit- yall this took me 3 hours omg.)

family, duty, honor- J. Velaryon

Word count- 2759 words

Summary: Jacaerys travels the river-lands, reaching Riverrun to get House Tully to declare for the blacks. They seem unwilling- until Lord Tully strikes a deal.

WARNINGS: slightly uncanon events, arranged marriage, 18+, speaking of war+violence, medieval customs, romance, p in v, vulgar language, unprotected, but lovey dovey!

Jacaerys and his men had taken most of the Riverlands for the blacks- securing what seemed to be almost a victory- by blocking out the greens from the majority of the wetlands- it gave them a large upper hand in what battles were going to be.

They took refuge inside the castle of Riverrun, where the Tully’s resided. The large dining hall held many of his men. He stood before the men of house Tully, lord Grover, Oscar, and Kermit Tully all sat in their seats, advisors beside them.

Lord Grover sat on his throne, head propped against his fist, as he spoke, “What brings you to Riverrun, boy?”

Jacaerys remained diplomatic and cool, as he stood straight and replied

“My lord, I come on behalf of my mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen. If you vouch for her claim to the throne, you will earn protection, and be heavily rewarded.”

Whispers spread throughout the court, servants stopping to listen as Jacaerys never slightly turned his gaze from the lords.

Lord Tully licked his lips softly, sitting up straight on his throne.

“You mean to persuade my house, for gold dragons, for protection from whom?”, lord Tully hardened his gaze.

“With your support, my lord, you will have the protection of the men of the north, my men. Alongside that, my mother would gift your people a dragon.”

Lord Tully laughed, leaning back into his seat, a leg thrown over his relaxed one. “Hah! You mean to give me a hatchling, like you did to Lady Arryn?”

Jace’s gaze hardened, yet he remained calm. “No hatching my lord, Vermithor, a fine and aged dragon.”

The lord scoffed, “You dare try throwing a dragon- with no rider into this. You dare embarrass my house- with greybeards and unwanted dragons?”

Jacaerys smiled, slightly angered by the man’s insolence, before replying, “For now he lacks a rider yes, but I assure you, once we find a rider worthy of him, he will be a ruthless one- one who can fight for our claim.”

Lord Tully slammed his cane onto the ground, his grandsons watching him as he leaned onto it, meeting Jacaerys eyes with a dark scowl. “House Tully, will not have such idiocy thrown in our quarters.”

Jace’s jaw tensed, breathing out as he met the lord's eyes. “I mean no harm- lord Tully, I am willing to strike a deal to have your house’s power and land, to fight against the greens.”

Lord Tully’s advisor whispered into his ear, as his face somewhat brightened, as he leaned into his chair, a delighted look on his face, as he spoke, “Prince Jacaerys, it’s come to my attention that you are not betrothed.”

Jace’s gaze hardened, somewhat from surprise and oddity of the question. “I am not.”

Lord Tully turned to his grandson, Oscar. “Go fetch your sister, lad.”

Oscar looked between him and the prince, sensing a rise of tension, as he scurried off, footsteps heard against the cobblestone floors. Jace cocked his head, questioning.

“And just what do you mean- by asking me of my marital status?”

Before lord Tully could answer, Oscar walked back in, a girl trailing behind him, as the court went quiet. She was clad in her house colors, a dark navy dress, her hair done intricately into braids. She curtsied before her brothers, moving beside her grandsire as she sat in her throne next to him, as Jacaerys and her met eyes.

He took in almost every detail he could, her soft features, the way she held herself- it made him swallow hard, before he turned his gaze back to her grandfather.

Lord Tully smiled, a hand motioning to her. “This, is my granddaughter, Y/n. My third-in-line heir of House Tully. She sits here today, a maiden, unbetrothed.”

Jace’s gaze turned from confused, to almost knowing, as he looked between the lords. He held his tongue, as he kept a careful expression.

Lord Tully smiled, “We will take on your- proposition, your gold dragons, grey beards, dragon- if, you take my granddaughter's hand.”

The hall erupted into gasps- whispers- all sorts of muffled noises, as he saw her eyes widen, her gaze falling to her lap. His heart beat in his chest, as shock struck him. He spoke diplomatically, yet fueled with emotion. “Is this some type of joke, Tully? You think that marriage is what it takes- for our support? You mean to throw your granddaughter at me and expect me to agree?”

Lord tullys expression changed, his smile dropping, as his voice dripped venom. “Then Riverrun will have to turn green.”

Jacaerys' face paled as Lord Tully made his threat. His heart began to beat faster and a cold feeling crept through his veins. He didn't want to make more enemies, and the idea of House Tully siding with the Greens was terrifying. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the girl's face was expressionless, but her eyes gleamed with something he couldn't quite place. He looked back to the lord, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Lord Tully sat up, “So now my prince, I must request- take my granddaughter's hand- or leave.”

Jacaerys' mind was a storm of thoughts, his heart and mind battling each other. He couldn't take his eyes off her, his emotions in turmoil. They needed the Tully’s, for they could not win this war without their support. He hesitated, his breath hitching for a moment, before he replied

"I'll take her hand."

Her and her brother’s eyes met, as her mouth gaped slightly open, gasps and whispers spreading through the castle, before lord Tully let out an amused laugh, standing on his cane, pulling her into a side hug. “What a glorious day for Tully history!”

The room erupted into cheers, as Jacaerys gaze locked onto her form, as she squeezed out of her grandfather's grasp, running up the stairs and away from the attention. Jace felt his body move after her, as he followed her down the torch-lit halls.

He found her, standing as she looked out the window, watching the rain. He approached her side, as she turned to meet his gaze. He finally managed to break the silence.

“I wanted to speak to you.”

She nodded softly, turning back to the window. “I assume, this isn’t of your heart’s desire.”

He looked out the window, thinking of how to reply. “It’s- not what I imagined when I thought of taking Riverrun,” he paused “It’s unexpected, is all.” He met her gaze once again, as her face was lit by the torches.

Her gaze hardened slightly. “I never expected, to be auctioned off as such. I, am a lady, I have always been told “Family, duty, honor”, for it is what drives house Tully, my prince.”, she met his gaze, turning to him. “If that means that- I must marry you, then I grant myself to you.”

He met her gaze, taking her hand, his larger hand holding her hand to his lips, as he placed a whisper of a kiss over her knuckles. “If it helps, I never imagined this either.”, he fiddled with her hand. “But I am not against having your hand, my lady.”

Her face slightly softened, a soft flush covering the tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. “I never imagined you to be such a gentleman.”

He slightly grinned, cocking an eyebrow, as he spoke lowly, “Do I seem so cocky, my lady? How you ail me.”, he teased.

She smiled, and he swore his heart increased double, if not triple. He took in her soft expression, and for a moment, he didn’t feel so guilty about being okay with having her all to himself. She caught his gaze, as they both were lost to eachothers intense analysis.

He felt a wave of confidence, as tucked her stray hairs away from her face, whispering, “I never knew tullys for their beauty, until you, my lady.”

She shivered beneath him, her eyes fluttering, as she whispered. “I wish you to call me by my name, as I should call you yours.”

His breath caught, as he softly smiled. “Y/n. A pretty name, fit enough for your beauty.”, he rested his hand on her face.

She met his eyes, as a soft recognition of want- desire was felt between them. He slowly moved towards her, limits of inches between them, as they could almost hear eachothers hearts beneath their own touch.

She moved her own hands to his face, pushing soft curls away from his face, as she whispered, “Is it wrong for me, to desire your lips upon mine?”

He froze for a second, looking between her eyes, taking a shaky breath as he took her all in. He finally spoke,

“No.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “It’s not wrong, for I long for you too.”

She met his gaze with a small smile. “Then, if I’ve heard right, Velaryon men are men of action.”

His gaze darkened, as he closed the further distance, pulling her close to him, as he leaned down, whispering to her lips, “You’ve heard correctly my lady, for we also have little patience.”

He pressed his lips into her plush ones, as he felt a spark between them, as if all breath was lost to her. He placed a hand behind her head, not prince-like of him no, but all he felt was a pure, pure desire for her, and he didn’t care who they were. She whimpered into him, as a hand grasped his cloak, pulling him impossibly closer.

He felt as if he was swimming in the depths of a dream, her noise urging him further, as his hands explored her soft body, clutching her dress in his hands, finding anything to pull her closer.

She pulled away for air, gasping as she met his eyes, her once bright eyes, darkened with desire. She spook, breathless.

“My room- a stride away.”, she whispered out.

His gaze darkened, his heart beating in his throat. Images of them- in her room flashed through his mind, as he nodded, speaking lowly.

“Lead me, pretty one.”

As she closed the door to her quarters, he was on her in a second, pinning her against the large wooden doors as their lips met in a heated dance. He tangled his fingers in her hair, as he angled her neck open, for his mouth to mark her. She whimpered as he sucked, leaving marks all over. He groaned out, moaning against her.

“You’re mine for the taking.”

She pulled his head away slightly, panting as she whimpered out, “the bed, please Jacaerys.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, as he carried her to her large canopy bed, laying her down on the soft covers, climbing above her and pinning her down, holding her close, as his eyes studied her.

“Gods- I have never seen such a sight as you.”

She sat up, holding his face, speaking softly, “Remove my dress.”

He felt a jolt of heat and desire run through him at her request and didn’t need to be told twice. He helped her sit up, his hands going to the laces that held her dress on her body. Slowly and gently, he untied the laces, revealing more and more of her skin to him. He took his time, his eyes roaming over the newly exposed flesh, his fingers brushing against her skin in the process. Her dress fell off the bed, as she laid amongst the sheets, her nude body shown to him.

He shuddered out a groan, as he simply stared. He was new to all of this- contrary to many thoughts of him. He was a soldier, a dragon rider, yes- but he was not familiar with a gift from Aphrodite- such as her. The mere sight of her sent blood straight to his hardening cock.

He quickly removed his garments, as he climbed on top of her, caging her, his muscular body holding her carefully, as he pressed a scorching kiss to her lips, his hands wandering over her body.

His touch was nervous- gentle, but filled with the need to memorize your curves, everything.

She spoke up, differed from her soft moans, “Gods- I need you Jacaerys- I can’t take this.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words. The urgency in her voice, the need and the desire in her eyes - it was almost too much for him to bear. His own lust and need for her were almost overwhelming, and he knew he couldn’t keep her waiting any longer.

“I’m here.”

He reached a nervous hand down to her heat, watching her reaction, as she swiped a digit through her wetness, as she whimpered. He groaned alongside her, teasing her by accident, before she grasped his hand, and lead a finger into her softly. He groaned, feeling how she took him in, held him so close. He slowly moved his finger, thriving off her noises, as he slowly humped her leg. He huskily spoke, groaning.

“Gods- you hug me so good- can’t imagine how it will really feel.”

She moaned from his talk, shivering. She uttered out a response. “If you keep speaking like that- I won’t be able to keep you away for much longer-“

His cock jumped, as he groaned. From that, he stopped his movements, turning her head towards him. “Do you want me, pretty thing? Want to feel me?”

She moaned in response, meeting his eyes with frequent nodding, and pleading. “Gods yes- just take me now-“

And with that, he pulled his hand away, earning a whimper from which he smiled, he pushed her legs apart, settling between her. He noticed her nervous expression, as he kissed her lips slowly and softly, pulling away to meet her eyes. “Do you want this?”, he spoke softly

She nodded softly, biting her lip. “Im a maiden, Jacaerys.”

He smiled softly, holding her hand. “I’ve never done this either- I want to learn with you.”

She nodded, as he looked down, positioning himself, as he slowly inched in, groaning as she took him in. They both moaned together, trembling.

“Gods you’re- amazing. Never thought it would be this good.”

she whimpered, holding his hand tight. He noticed her tense, as he stopped, meeting her eyes, “are you alright? I can stop-“

“No- no please don’t-“, she uttered out. “You feel- you’re huge, Jacaerys.”

He shuddered, moaning from her praise, as he started to move. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last long-“

They moaned in unison as his movements progressed in speed and depth, his hands trembling as he held her hips, slapping noises echoing across her chambers.

He met her eyes- and that’s where he almost came down. She looked angelic, her eyes stuck on him, her face twisted in pleasure, as her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs pinned behind his back. He pressed his lips to hers in an instant, quickening his pace. She moaned into him, speaking, whilst meeting his eyes.

“Feels so good- gods- I’ll give you an heir, anything you want-!”

And that's where he felt like he almost died. Giving her an heir- fueled him faster, making him groan, his hips snapping into hers as he sucked hard on her neck, popping off as he whispered.

“Fuck- I’ll give you as many as you want- gonna make sure it sticks-“

Their moans pitched higher, as he started to whimper, his head falling into her chest. “I can’t last much longer- you’re too tight-“

“Come down with me- please-“

His movements turned sloppy, as he quickly pressed his lips to hers, his hips stilling, as they moaned into each other's mouths, his seed filling her.

He pulled away, kissing her cheeks, as he pulled out slowly, both groaning from the loss of contact, as he slumped beside her, pulling her into his chest.

She rested her head on his chest, looking into his eyes, with a breathless smile, which he met with a bashful smile.

She smiled, fluttering her eyes shut, speaking, “Quite improper for a prince, bedding his wife before they are married.”, she teased.

He flushed softly, pulling her closer. “You’re saying you didn’t like it?”She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“I’ve never felt more loved, Jacaerys.”, she met his eyes.

They both melted into each other, naked bodies embraced under the might of the gods, old and new.

Houses intertwined for family, duty, honor, and more importantly, love.

[chanafehs]

isabela's veilguard outfit is literally insane like a bikini that's it??? what world are we living in that her design from da2, a game that came out 12 years ago, is somehow less racist and misogynistic than her 2024 design??????

Am I surprised by this design choice? No. Am I disappointed? Absolutely.

If I’m not mistaken, Isabela is the first woman of color we have as a companion - specifically the first Black woman as a companion - and she is arguably the most sexualized character within the entire series. Like even going back and playing da2 it feels like everyone makes a comment about her sex life or literally slut shames her (Aveline and Anders I’m looking right at you) - even one of the voice actors called her a whore on Twitter. They don’t even seem committed to having her be Black either instead just racially ambiguous which sucks.

(I want to make it clear I am speaking as a non Black person but if any Black Dragon Age fans would like to add their own thoughts to this post please do so!)

I really want to know the thought process the devs had about this design behind the scenes because throughout all the jokes about bikini armor and making the armor “practical”, we still got this?? How????

The only argument I can see taken place in defense of this is having some kind of under water themed mission (in her concept art for dav she’s underwater with some of our companions) but if that were the case: why is she wearing gold armor. It makes no sense. She would sink right to the bottom and don’t give me some excuse about using magic. Also, you don’t need a bikini to swim underwater.

I’m upset also because the creators keep trying to say that games can’t exist without some politics and having more options to be inclusive to marginalized identities is paramount (these are both good things) but they consistently fall short when it comes to Orientalism, Racism, and Anti-Blackness. It only sends the message that these games are geared for white audiences, not us. It’s 2024 how have we not retired the bellydancer adjacent armors.

[rooksspite]

The Invitation

Lucanis Dellamorte x f! De Riva! Rook

this is my first time actually posting something i’ve written for dragon age! i’ve loved the series for so long and decided to finally bite the bullet.

I wanted to write about Lucanis’ reaction to that crow armour you can get from the lords of fortune. let’s pretend that there aren’t other npc crows that wear it.

“C’mon! It’s blue, has feathers, and some flowy stuff. Doesn’t that check all the boxes for what you crows wear?”

Rook turns her head to look up at Taash with an unconvinced look, “we also prefer to have our vital organs covered Taash. You’re sure there isn’t a missing shirt?” she asks, turning back to the merchant of the Hall of Valour, who only raised his hands and shrugged.

“It’s rumoured to have been worn by a pretty well known crow before making its way into my collection.”

“Right.” Rook replies, unconvinced

“Perhaps the crow was so good at their job they felt they didn’t need to cover up. Isn’t a big part of the crow uniform making statement against enemies?” Neve pipes up, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Rook narrows her eyes at the woman before turning back to the armour before her. Neve wasn’t wrong about crow fashion, and the quality was really nice but it was just so… exposing.

“if I showed up in Treviso in this Viago would burst into laughter and then kick me out… again.” Rook mumbles.

Taash groans in impatience, they’d been standing here for the better part of twenty minutes as Rook looked at the merchant’s stuff, “come on Rook, we have a ring to fight in! just get it! Show off some skin for once.”

Rook blushes at that, everything she wore usually covered her up. Even her casual clothes she wore back at the lighthouse was the most she’s ever shown.

“Why don’t you try it on and see how it fairs in the ring? I’m sure Isabela would be more than happy to introduce you in your new outfit.” Neve offers

Room sighs, she didn’t know why but ever since she talked to Neve about her very limited knowledge on beauty and fashion and Neve and Taash have both been very insistent on her trying out new styles.

“Fine… We have plenty of gold anyways.”

She doesn’t notice the victorious smirks Neve and Taash share over her head.

———

“Lucanis.”

“Davrin.”

Silence rings through the library of the lighthouse as the two men greet each other. Both pretending to look at the various titles in the spines of books. Lucanis swirls the coffee in his cup and clears his throat before taking a sip.

Davin finally speaks, “So… You and Rook hey?”

Lucanis pulls his gaze away from the bookshelf, turning to Davrin with a raised eyebrow, “we have been over this no?”

Davrin shrugs leaning against another bookshelf, “just double checking, leave it up to both crows of the group to end up in a nest together.”

Lucanis chuckles, “we have not ‘nested’”

There’s a pause before Davrin continues, “You two haven’t really gone out alone have you? Outside of our work against the gods i mean.”

Lucanis blinks at the question and pauses to think, “well uh… no not really.”

“Why not?”

Lucanis sighs, it had been weeks since their near kiss before he cowered away, and while they continued to show clear attraction on both sides, it’s not as if there was an official label on their… relationship. Would it be too much to spend time alone? With no goal in mind?

“it’s complicated” He finally says stiffly.

Davrin chuckles, “I can see that,”

The familiar whoosh of the eluvian from below can be heard, “perfect timing,” Davrin hums.

The doors to the eluvian room creak open and the murmur of chatter can be heard as the three make their way up the stairs.

Neve surfaces first and a sly smile crosses her face when she makes eye contact with lucanis.

Well that can’t be good, he thinks to himself as he takes a sip of his coffee,

“Welcome back,” Davrin greets, “How was the ring?”

Neve shrugs, “Isabela’s out another 60 gold. We would’ve been back sooner if someone didn’t take their time shopping.”

Rook’s laughter can be heard as she climbs the staircase, “I didn’t take that long neve.” she says as she reaches the top of the staircase.

Lucanis chokes on his coffee.

“Sooo what do we think?” Taash says as they walk up behind Room. A large grin on their face. They put their hands on Rook’s shoulders and spin her around like a doll, ignoring her sounds of protest.

Davrin throws an amused look back at Lucanis, “What do we think Lucanis?” he turns his gaze back and crosses his arms, “I think you’re missing a shirt Rook.”

“According to the merchant I’m not.” Rook says with a sheepish chuckle. Suppressing the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

“Thing fits like a glove though, she fought in the arena with this armour on and left perfectly fine.” Neve says, nudging Rook with her elbow.

“Mierda, you fought in that?” Lucanis finally chokes out. Barely recovering from the initial shock of seeing the woman he was already extremely attracted to wearing… That.

“Like a badass.” Taash confirms, smirking at the sight of Lucanis’ face, “well Neve you had to show me that… thing right?”

Neve nods, the mischievous smile never leaving her face, “right of course. would you like to come with Davrin? For the thing?”

The elf smiles knowingly, “I’d love to.”

the three waste no time in leaving the library of the lighthouse, the door swinging shut behind them.

Rook chuckles nervously under Lucanis’ stare, rocking back and forth on her feet.

“It’s a bit much right? The merchant said a renowned crow once wore this armour but I think he just lost the shirt.”

Lucanis rakes his eyes up and down her body. Trying desperately not to focus on her chest.

But how could he when she was wearing a variety of necklaces that led his eyes even further down? For once he could see almost the entirety of the tattoo she had on her chest, who put that there? Who had the pleasure of seeing the full expanse of her soft skin before he could-

“Lucanis?”

Lucanis jumps as his train of thought is broken, he clears his throat as he tightens his grip on his coffee cup, “you look…”

“VERY NICE ROOK.”

There’s a pause as Spite’s voice rings through the library. Lucanis suddenly wishes that the device spinning above their heads would malfunction and he would be torn up by the fade.

Rook, in all her kindness laughs, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, “thank you Spite but I was asking Lucanis.”

Her eyes meet his again and he swallows. There’s a pause before he takes a deep breath, calming the shock in his mind.

“I think…” he started slowly, stalking his way up to Rook, “you look beautiful, though I would advise against leaving some of the most important parts of you… vulnerable.”

Rook doesn’t know if the dip in his voice is intentional but it makes her shiver nonetheless. Her eyes trained on the free hand that comes up to feel the plumage on her shoulders.

“T-that’s what I told Taash,”, she says with an awkward chuckle. Suddenly feeling very warm.

Rook breaks her gaze away from his hand and nearly gasps when she meets Lucanis’ eyes. Dark and intense, with a heat in them that was starting to become familiar to her.

Flustered, Rook breaks eye contact. laughing awkwardly as one of her hands comes up to fiddle with the chains in her neck. Lucanis tries to not make his stare so obvious.

“I-I should change, no need to be in armour here right?” Rook steps away awkwardly, not waiting for an answer. Nearly tripping as she quickly ascends the stairs towards her room.

It’s only when Lucanis hears the creak of a door opening and closing does he slouch and inhale shakily, his hand reaching towards a bookshelf to steady himself, “mierda.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

In today's age of magic, shapeshifting has never been easier or more frequent. Have you started to notice your partner has some strange quirks? Does your husband, wife, spouse or significant other demonstrate some odd behaviours that you've only started to take real notice of after significant time together? Accidentally getting into a relationship with a nonhuman is more common than you might think. Here's a handy guide on some entities your partner might be, in case you feel you need to approach that topic.

1 - Fae Fae are a very diverse race, ranging wildly in appearance and power, and disguising themselves as humans is an everyday occurrence. You most likely grew up on stories about not giving your name to strangers, in case they are Fae - unknowingly marrying a Fae is shockingly common, the Bureau of Nonhuman Entities (BoNE) estimates that anywhere between 0.5 to 2% of human marriages actually include one or more Fae in disguise. Here are the signs your partner may be Fae.

A 'green thumb', very knowledgeable about highly local plants and fungi

Strong aptitude for poetry and instruments, a very beautiful singing voice. They highly enjoy writing songs for you, composing poems about you, and singing together.

Enjoys singing you to sleep.

Wild animals are completely unafraid of them, and often approach both of you

Loves gold jewellery, but abjectly refuses to wear anything silver.

Sees suspiciously well in the dark

Cannot get drunk - Fae are often immune to human poisons

Acquaintances of yours describe your partner as 'ethereal', 'enchanting', or 'hypnotising'. You may hear comments that your partner seems out of your league.

They place a very heavy emphasis on manners and politeness, and can quickly grow upset when social rules are not followed.

When frustrated, they use swear words you've never heard before

Fae are frequently attracted to neurodivergent humans. If you're neurodivergent the likelihood is even higher.

2 - Deity Again, more common than you might think. Deities both minor and major often find themselves attracted to humans, and stories of these romances are baked into our histories. Your spouse may be the God of anything from a very specific kind of flower, to a certain weather pattern, to (rarely) something very big like knowledge or the ocean itself. They're harder to spot than Fae, often indistinguishable from a normal human thanks to their many years observing people.

The biggest clue is that they don't notice pain, and never seem to get hurt. They'll have invulnerability or high resistance to things such as burning, freezing, drowning, cutting, and blunt force trauma. They might not notice they've put their hand on a hot burner, for example.

Speaks in strangely archaic language, often misunderstanding modern trends and linguistics. Oddly knowledgeable around ancient subjects.

They may randomly smell like blood and/or smoke. This is often a sign they've just received an offering, and the intensity of the smell is stronger with more powerful deities.

They can immediately tell when someone is lying, usually without giving a cause for the knowledge.

The two of you share pet names of a celestial nature, such as "star", "nova", "sun", "moon", "comet".

When upset, they have a highly commanding voice that can shake glass or cause bizarre events to happen (ie; mist indoors, words on a page scrambling, lights changing colour).

Heightened interest in the topic of immortality - particularly your views on it. Frequently asking you 'how you would feel' if you would live forever.

3 - Dragon A very rare (but not impossible) phenomena, most people have no idea that dragons are intelligent and emotionally complex beings that can very convincingly disguise themselves. Living in caves isn't for everyone and loneliness is not just a human feeling.

Very wealthy, but with no clear sign of where the wealth originates from. They may say their money comes from a 'long-term investment'.

Highly passionate lover. Deeply devoted and affectionate, sometimes to the point of it being inappropriate in public. Enjoys big displays of affection and physical intimacy. May need to be told to slow down.

Abandonment issues. This often stems from the highly violent childhood many dragons experience, and the frequent loss of loved ones to dragonslayers. They might be reluctant to be separated too long.

Has a particular item they enjoy hoarding. This could be clothes, trinkets, plushies, shoes, anything at all. You may find that they're very easygoing about you touching their collection, maybe they even actively make you part of the hoard. They may dress you in collected clothes, sort their collected plushies around your bed, or ask you to wear jewellery they've found. But they'll become extremely agitated and aggressive if anyone other than you tries to interact with 'their things'.

Prone to anger, quick-tempered.

Frequently concerned about your health, seems to perceive you as delicate and easily injured.

Please remember that if your partner IS nonhuman, they almost certainly didn't intentionally lie. Human relationships will seem very fast to other entities. Many transform into humans for a fun year out, find themselves head over heels in love, and then can't figure out the right time to tell their human lover the truth. Try not to hold it against them, everyone has their quirks!

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard Deluxe edition (DA:TV artbook bonus stuff). [source, via]

"The deluxe edition features: - An elegant foil-stamped slipcase and cover - Gilded pages - A ribbon book marker - Two lithographic art prints housed in a sleek portfolio" [source]

It looks like the two lithographic prints are this mural (which is from the 2020 TGA teaser iirc) and this art of Solas with a wolf by Matt Rhodes (which is from the Gamescom 2020 video iirc). The packaging's color theme-ing is black and gold, reminding of this version (that pic is from 2021) of the game's branding/color theme-ing, and also of course bringing to mind the Golden/Black City. the Golden/Black City was featured on the vinyl cover arts.

The knife here on this cover looks like the 'blue lyrium' [?] dagger, but also simultaneously not like it.

This artbook cover one is more gnarled in appearance and the 'ring' of the handle isn't complete (the way the 'broken' handle could almost be an Evanuris headpiece-shape... if it was a bit more symmetrical, it would look like Elgar'nan's headpiece).

It has extra spiky bits protruding off it too and it looks like something is growing on it. Maybe this is what happens if/when the blue [lyrium?] dagger becomes red (Blighted)? because this gnarled kinda vibe reminds me a bit of Meredith's sword Certainty in DA2, and of that body horror way in which red lyrium growth looks on people. It also reminds me of the tendrils of Blight corruption on walls and the ground and stuff in DA:TV screenshots, and the gnarled red lyrium darkspawn we've seen (look at this darkspawn's back for example).

Or maybe there's simply more than one dagger? There's two rising Evil Gods.

in the background of that image is the now-familiar geometric patterning with the concentric rings around the outside that tend to represent the Veil, and also the multiple almooost-overlapping circles/spheres inside that is suggestive of an eclipse* (something which we can see in the DA:TV screenshot with the dragon, which keeps coming up, which speaks to a lot of the pertinent imagery/symbolism e.g. Elgar'nan overthrowing his father the Sun and darkening the sky, and something which to me makes sense in a Witcher-style Conjunction of the Spheres kinda vibe, multiple realms colliding, like, if you tear down the Veil, you're bringing two 'bodies' or realms together to 'overlap' once again - the Fade and the waking world). [*in the 'eclipse' link there it's just searching the word on my blog btw, since I've banged on and on about that lots before and I don't wanna repeat myself loads in this post hhh]. the placement of the dagger over that design and what it represents makes sense; as we saw in the gameplay reveal video, the dagger was part of Solas' ritual to tear down the Veil/move the Evanuris prison.

On this cover, we can see two eyeballs in two of the corners (the eyes remind me of the Inquisition hairy eyeball, the eye motifs cropping up around Lucanis, Pride, and the Fade peacock feather/eye motif [image from this post]). in the other two corners is a sword that reminds again of Certainty. Meredith brandishing the sword is part of this DA:TV mural in the bottom left, underneath Ghil. surely not a coincidence. :D maybe a Certainty-like sword is the final corrupted form of the dagger, or one of them? in TN, the red lyrium idol changed shape enough that a ritual-blade sprang from its base.

the background of this middle cover also contains triangles, reminding of ancient elven artifacts and ancient elven magic-tech (like with Bellara, the Veil Jumpers etc) and the recurring triangle symbols in DA art around Fade/Veil/magic-y stuff (example from the Tevinter Nights map below).

The cover on the right has more geometric patterns, circles, rings etc. (all these patterns remind of the art in the vinyl booklet btw). and, in the center, the eye again. 👁️

[novaursa]

Heyyyy me again! Mybe some cute father reader! And mom whoever you want!

Fires of Rook's Rest

- Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest you return to Dragonstone; to your family.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is brother-husband to Rhaenyra and is bonded with Silverwing.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

The wind howls in your ears as you guide Silverwing through the thick clouds, the salty sting of the sea below mingling with the smoke that still clings to you. Your muscles ache with the strain of battle, and the burns and cuts that mar your body pulse with each movement, though you have grown accustomed to the pain. It is the price of victory, however fleeting. Behind you, the flames of Rook’s Rest still burn in your mind’s eye, the screams of men and the clash of steel echoing like ghosts as you think of your half-brother, Aegon, brought low by your hand. Aemond was there too, his one good eye burning with rage as you narrowly escaped his wrath. 

But now, Dragonstone looms ahead, a shadowed fortress nestled in the mist of the sea. It is home. A haven amidst the storm of war. The sight of it stirs something deep within you, though your body threatens to give way under the weight of exhaustion. You press on, guiding Silverwing with a firm hand as you descend toward the familiar cliffs, where the black stone walls rise like jagged teeth from the earth.

As you near the landing courtyard, you see movement below. Waiting. A small cluster of figures, their bright hair glinting like pale fire in the twilight. The children. Your children. Your heart clenches, a wave of warmth overtaking the cold, hollow feeling that has filled you since the battle. 

Baelon is the first you notice, standing tall despite his young age, his serious face a reflection of your own as he watches you approach. Beside him, Aenys fidgets, eyes wide and filled with awe as always, eager to see Silverwing up close. And there, clutching the hem of her nursemaid’s skirts, is Visenya, her silver-gold curls tumbling down her back. She is the smallest, yet her presence is as fierce as any dragon.

And then, there is her.

Rhaenyra. Your sister. Your wife. She stands apart from the children, her gown billowing in the wind as the light of the setting sun catches the red of your house's colors. Her eyes are fixed on you, sharp and searching, though her lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile—one reserved only for you.

Silverwing lands with a thud, shaking the stones beneath you, and you slide from her back, your legs barely steady beneath you as you land. The pain in your side flares, but you push it away. There is no room for weakness here. Not in front of them. You straighten, your eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s as she steps forward, her face a mask of composure though you see the worry in her eyes.

“You’ve returned,” she says softly, her voice low and intimate, meant only for you.

“Aye,” you rasp, your throat dry from the heat of battle, “though not unscathed.”

Her eyes flicker over the burns that mar your arm, the blood that stains your tunic where Aemond’s sword nearly found its mark. For a moment, you see the flicker of fear in her, but it is quickly replaced with something harder. She is a Targaryen, as are you. This is the cost of the crown you both seek to protect.

Before you can speak again, Baelon rushes forward, his youthful vigor uncontained as he reaches for you, his arms wrapping around your waist despite your wounds. “Father,” he breathes, his voice tight with the worry he tries to hide. “You won, didn’t you?”

You smile down at him, resting a hand on his silver hair. “We won a battle, yes, but the war is not done.” Your voice is firm, though you soften it for him. Baelon is old enough to understand, but still, you wish to shield him from the harsher truths of war.

Aenys, ever curious, steps forward, eyes wide as he peers up at you. “Did Silverwing burn them all, father? Did you see Uncle Aegon fall?” There is excitement in his tone, the thrill of the tales he has been told of dragons and war, but you see Rhaenyra’s sharp gaze land on him, warning him silently.

You crouch down, grimacing as pain shoots through your side, but you manage a weary smile. “Silverwing fought fiercely, and yes, your uncle Aegon was brought down. But war is not a story, Aenys. There is little glory in the bloodshed.”

Visenya, shy and quiet, takes a hesitant step forward, her wide violet eyes fixed on you. She says nothing, but you see the concern in her expression, the way she looks at the burns on your hands. She is only five, yet already wise enough to sense the weight of what you carry.

You reach out to her, and she steps into your arms, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of your tunic. “I’m here,” you murmur to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, her curls soft against your lips. “I’ll always come back.”

Rhaenyra moves forward then, her hand resting on your arm as she looks between you and the children. “Let’s us go inside,” she says softly, but her voice leaves no room for argument. “You need rest. The children have been waiting long enough.”

You nod, allowing her to lead you toward the doors of the keep, your steps heavy but your heart lighter for their presence. As you pass through the archway, you glance down at your children, each of them a reminder of what you fight for. 

For them. For her.

And as long as you have them, you will endure.

[unironicallytes]

✨📜 A Mostly Very Specific Elder Scrolls OC Ask Game 📜✨

I wanted to talk about my TES OCs, so I threw together an Ask Game - anyone can use it, so play to your heart's content if you feel inclined! Remember to indicate if you have multiple OCs that can be asked about. I hope you have fun with it!

What era(s) is your OC from?

What is your OC’s birthsign? Does it affect the way they live their life?

What is your OC’s race and cultural heritage? Are they multiracial?

How old is your OC? Is their age typical for their race, or are they an outlier?

What is your OC's first language? Do they know any others?

Does your OC have any formal education? Via what organization, if so?

What province does your OC currently live in?

Does your OC tend to live on the road, or do they tend to settle in one place?

What is your OC’s current primary living space? Ex: a house, a mansion, an alley, a dormitory, campsites, etc.

How does your OC decorate their primary living space?

What does your OC's daily/nightly schedule look like? Do they have any routines?

Which different provinces has your OC visited? If they haven't visited any others, do they have a particular place they'd like to go?

Can your OC ride a mount? If so, what do they ride?

At what age did your OC leave their hometown and why? Or have they never left?

Has your OC ever been to the sea? Is it mundane or remarkable to them?

Can your OC swim? Do they like or dislike it?

Does your OC have a living family? What is/was their relationship like?

Does your OC have a companion, romantic or otherwise? How did they meet?

How easily does your OC make friends?

How does your OC earn money? How much does money affect their life?

What skill lines does your OC primarily excel at? Which ones are they weak in?

Is your OC passionate about an area of study? What got them into the topic?

What are your OC's opinions on vampires and werewolves? Do they belong to one of those groups? If so, what is their opinion on vampire/werewolf clans?

What moral boundaries does your OC have? Have they ever crossed them? What happened?

What are your OC’s religious beliefs? How strong is their faith?

How does the game’s main plot affect your OC’s life? (ex: Skyrim = civil war and dragons; Oblivion = Oblivion crisis; etc.)?

Your OC runs into some bandits on the road. Does your OC comply with their demands, fight them off, flee the area, or etc.?

Somewhere in a town your OC has frequented, another character mentions their name in conversation. What reactions do others have to your OC’s reputation? Does your OC even have a reputation, or do they fly under the radar?

Your OC sits down at a tavern. What food/drink are they ordering?

While walking through town, your OC is approached by a beggar asking for some gold. How does your OC respond?

Your OC is packing for a day-long trip on the road. What is in their travel bag?

A guard has confronted your OC, suspecting that they've broken the law in some way. What offense is your OC most likely to be accused of? Did they actually do it?

Your OC has just woken up from a horrible nightmare. What was it about?

Your OC feels that they are about to die. What are their last words, and to whom do they speak them to?

After miraculously surviving a near-death experience, your OC regains consciousness. What are the first words out of their mouth, and to whom do they speak them to?

[dragqueenstarscream]

drag queen's monsterformers au masterpost

this post is gonna be a comprehensive list of all of the characters, settings, and ideas i have for my monsterformers au because it's been on my mind for about a month now. if i come up with any more major ideas, i'll rb this post and tack it on, but for now, this is the general gist of things.

something to note is that while this is primarily inspired by tfp, it's not a perfect one to one retelling. there will be major changes such as different backstories, my own personal ships, the ending, and characters from other continuities. just something to keep in mind.

setting

since this is a fantasy au, this will be set in a sort of faerûn/dnd style world, with any major locations (ie washington dc, russia, greece, or anywhere else that pops up in the show) to be rewritten to reflect the setting. as such, jasper, nevada is now a village on the edge of a broad kingdom, hidden within an arid mountain range. it's still called jasper, though, because come on. that already sounds like a fantasy name.

the characters

obviously, since this is a monster au, all of the robots are now mythical creatures. despite how wildly different they are from each other, they all share the same level of sapience, so characters like phoenix!ratchet and firbolg!bulkhead, despite one looking more animal and one looking more human, are mentally at the same level of sapience. the other major difference is that, rather than disguise themselves as vehicles, they hide as regular humans. where the voices of primus autobots) and the talons of unicron (decepticons) differ is that the voices typically disguise themselves as working class people to blend in better and learn more about how their new home works, while talons typically take on more upper class appearances (royalty, military authority, businessmen, aristocrats) in order to effectively infiltrate and influence this new world.

the voices of primus

optimus prime - a gargantuan firedrake (a dragon without the wings) and the last of the primes, ones who have spoken with primus himself. despite his massive size and strength, he's one of the most gentle of all monsters. like all dragons and their relatives, he has a tendency to hoard; his den is full of magical artifacts and ancient books he's unearthed or bartered for over centuries. as a human, he takes the form of an old librarian, both because he was an archivist back home, and because he enjoys the unrestricted access to as much information about humans as he can get his hands on.

ratchet - a cranky old phoenix whose feathers have gone mostly white with age and stress from war. he's the oldest of the voices by far, and is a couple hundred years away from his next rebirth. he may not be the largest monster, but those wings pack a punch, and he's not afraid to use his talons and beak on the battlefield. despite all of this, deep down, he has a gentleness to him, especially with the children and optimus. as a human, he's a doctor, because with how often the children get in trouble, he needs that extra knowledge on human anatomy.

bumblebee - a strong willed pegasus who enjoys spending time with humans the most out of all the voices. incredibly fast on land and on the wing, he loves to push himself to constantly get stronger for his team. he's also the monster most humans gravitate towards because winged horses are more approachable and familiar than, say, manticores or gryphons. he can't speak due to a nasty curse placed on him by megatron, so he whinnies and nickers like a regular horse. thankfully, the other voices understand him after knowing him for this long. as a human, he's a hired farmhand who puts his strength and speed to good use. he often helps out on raf's family farm and is able to keep a close eye on him this way. he communicates via sign language or writing in this form.

bulkhead - a massive firbolg with a heart of gold. giantfolk have an undeserved reputation for being stupid, but bulkhead is wise beyond his years; he just prefers to use his size and strength when fighting. talk to him long enough, though, and you'll see centuries of wisdom and experience shining in those big blue eyes. one of his favorite things is to use his might to protect and impress miko, whom he sees almost like a daughter. as a human, he's a construction worker, which allows him to do what he does best; build things and break things.

arcee - a sharpshooting manticore who takes no nonsense from anyone. manticores can fire venomous barbs from their tails, and arcee is especially gifted in this department, hitting her targets with alarming accuracy. that, combined with her wings, makes her a nightmare in battle. she may seem as prickly as a thornbush, but in reality, she cares deeply for everyone around her; she just has a hard time showing it without applying a liberal dose of snark. as a human, she works as a bartender at a pub, which is how she met jack. she initially viewed him as a troublemaker, but now is more of a mentor and has taken him under her wing. literally.

smokescreen - a proud and noble gryphon who's determined to prove himself. gryphons often come off as haughty, and smokescreen may appear to fit that bill, but in reality, he's just eager to make his idol proud. he... doesn't quite get that humans are, for the most part, afraid of monsters. why should they be afraid of him? he doesn't wanna hurt them! but he's getting the hang of it. as a human, he's an adventurer who longs to see more of the world he's found himself in.

wheeljack - a wisecracking wyvern and a menace to anyone who crosses his path. he may be smaller than other dragons, but he more than makes up for it with his speed, agility, toxic gas breath, and his ingenuity with crafting weapons. his hoard mainly comprises of weapons and supplies to make them. his favorite thing in the world (besides bulkhead) is anything that goes boom. as a human, he's a bit of a mad scientist, living on his own so he can perform his experiments in relative peace.

cliffjumper - a goofy minotaur who's able to bullshit his way out of any situation. unusually chatty for a minotaur, he loves to crack jokes and tease his fellow teammates. some find it annoying, but others, like arcee, find it endearing. behind the goofiness, cliffjumper is a calculating warrior able to make quick decisions on the fly - though that boldness often gets him into trouble. as a human, he's a farmhand like bumblebee and often works alongside him with more labor intensive jobs.

the talons of unicron

megatron - a dracolich whose lust for power has driven him down a terrible path. once a proud gladiator, centuries of practicing dark magic have corrupted his body past the point of no return, and his mind is following suit. he was mated to optimus back home, but that was a lifetime ago, and all megatron feels towards him now is loathing mixed with twisted desire, a sick mockery of love. as a human, he poses as lord of fortress nemesis whenever interacting with other human nobles. oddly, though, no one can ever find this mysterious fortress, as if its location is always changing...

starscream - a cunning harpy who's always trying to stay one step ahead of megatron. haughty and full of himself, starscream loves to flaunt his accomplishments and terrorize the sky in the heat of battle. deep down, though, he's trying to relive his glory days as lord of the skies from back home. he joined the talons to try and regain some of his old power, but after being megatron's whipping boy for so long, he's grown jaded and is now searching for a way out - even if it involves defecting to the voices. as a human, he's a commander, though he won't disclose his military achievements to other humans...

soundwave - a masked naga with a frighteningly accurate memory and a will to use it. silent as snow and with scales as dark as the night sky, soundwave has eyes all over fortress nemesis; nothing escapes his surveillance. strangely, whenever he talks, he parrots what others say in a perfect mimicry of their voice. he's also never taken his mask off; it's believed that only megatron has ever seen his true face and heard his real voice. even as a human, people don't really know what he is. most assume he's an assassin of some sort. he also keeps his falcon laserbeak as his familiar, making sure his control extends as far as she can fly.

shockwave - the battle damaged tiefling with a mile long sadism streak. calculating and cold, despite his infernal abilities, shockwave is a true terror strong enough to send shivers down the spines of even the strongest warriors. he may be blind in one eye, but the glare in his remaining eye can send even other talons running. not only is he physically imposing, he's also highly intelligent, using a combination of magic and science to create new warriors to fight for the talons. as a human, he's a businessman, using his know how to gather the supplies he needs for his experiments.

breakdown - the vampire bruiser who leaves no mercy. contrary to the usual slender, aristocratic vampires, breakdown is nothing short of a brute, using his raw strength and terrifying visage to strike fear into the hearts of his opponents. he drains the blood of those he kills in battle, which is how he got so strong to begin with. the only one who's truly well and safe from his wrath is a certain werewolf. as a human, he serves as a bodyguard for said certain someone.

knock out - the self obsessed werewolf who's unafraid to play dirty. despite being a fierce, savage predator, knock out prefers to spend his time at fortress nemesis, dissecting anyone megatron puts on his table. he also tends to be quite the hypocrite; he'll gladly tear someone apart in battle or on the operating table, but will then whine and complain that his fur is filthy. he'll snap his teeth at anyone who touches him, but then turn around and beg breakdown to rub his belly. as a human, he's a wealthy aristocrat who proudly indulges in human luxuries and flaunts his image; he's very "look, don't touch."

skyquake and dreadwing - twin gargoyles whose only loyalty is to each other. they joined the talons to ensure each other's safety, and with their combined physical strength, they quickly rose through the ranks and became formidable warriors. skyquake isn't able to use magic like most monsters, and thus, doesn't have a human form. as such, dreadwing uses his magic to protect his twin in battle, though it wears him down significantly. as a human, he's a mighty warrior with the battle scars to prove his worth.

this is about as far as i've come with character designs, though there's definitely gonna be more to come, as i have ideas for characters from other continuities, like tfa and g1. i'm pretty excited to start writing fics for this au and just play around and have fun!

[catyo90]

Veil guard Romance Head-Cannon Scenario: Ballroom

(Really missed the idea of a Ball room quest from DAI. So I thought what if I made up some for ya'll.)

Taash - They wear a more formal arrangement of fabric with multiple medals and jewels with a long blue cape to accent the body and arms. At first they are really uncomfortable, the idea of lavish food and drinks and having to be polite isn't really what the Qun or Lords of Fortune teach but they do love the jewels and gold around everyone saying how everyone in the room, be it friend or enemy, they are like dragons. They will fight tooth and nail to be at the top and smote away their competition. The stares from many women and men who find them attractive causes a smirk every time knowing full well what they are thinking. Rook being there helps, they are comfortable around them no matter what and loves it when Rook winks at them. The idea of dancing with Rook makes Taash blush a tad everytime the thought comes to mind.

Harding- She wears a similar garb to what the inquisition wore in orlais but with small stitching of her own and her hair down. Having worked with the Inquisition she isn't unaware of the game needed to be played since Leliana showed her the ins and outs of everything to look for. She stays near the balconies to keep an eye out from above, a birds eye view so to speak. She loves seeing Rook coming to her and sneaking kisses around the corner knowing all too well they both want to return to the lighthouse for private time. Dancing is a bit embarrassing for her seeing as the last few times she danced it was difficult to move along but Rook let's her lead but everytime Rook can they dip her, causing them to smile as the sounds of music echo on.

Bellara - She wears a combo of elven robes and her clans as well with her hair done into two smalle buns with her signature triangle accessories. She is super excited about meeting such well known scholars and researchers. Always answering and asking questions about human customs and their love of cheese which she seems to find everywhere she went. She loves the idea of dancing with Rook, so much so she will pull them onto the dancefloor and dances in her clans way. Both a delight and welcoming from all who witness the dance. Afterwards she is out of breath having enjoyed herself too much. After the dance she thanks Rook for bringing her to experience something new.

Emmerich - He wears a long green robe with bone like trims and small silver details of the human anatomy with a flower in his pocket. Having been self taught in manners and learned to honor all people politely he finds himself quite comfortable in the noble halls, basically follows the manners maketh men like style. He stays close to the center of the room drinking fine tea brought to him by Manfred who he has in special noble robes. Everyone is delighted by Manfred and his excitement. Rook is the one to ask Emerich to a dance, at first he's not confident enough, he wonders if the others around will judge for the age difference or even the idea of a necromancer finding any companionship, he finds Rook taking his hand and whispering sweet encouragement to him helps as the gentle tones of the songs block out the whispers of those around them.

Davrin- Wears a more formal Grey Warden armor with feathers along his arms and shoulders with Assan having a matching cloak around his neck.

Being a Grey Warden and an Elf having not really been influenced by the idea of elegant dancing or as Neve would tell him playing "The Game." He does love the rich food and drinks and bringing Assan he tends to stay outside keeping an eye out on any Venetori agents while Assan tries his hardest to be polite but finding it difficult to not chase the bejeweled outfits and shiny baubles that nobles wear. Seeing Rook though does ease the time spent as he will ask Rook to save a dance for him, warning that he can't help but stare at the way they are dressed.

Lucanis - The robes he wears are a dark black and purple trim with hidden pockets for his daggers, along his shoulders are crow feathers with a long cloak and hood with a lighter sash around his waist. He is quite at home here but he sticks close to the shadows and watches every step and gesture like his life depended on it. Having been imprisoned for a year though he is a tad rusty at the small talk and rather keeps to himself on the lush couch drinking coffee all the while trying to keep spite in check who keeps smelling the secrets of every nobles desire. All the dark secrets to spite as clear as water making him laugh inside. It is lucanis that asks Rook for a dance after the mission smiling all the while as spite shows off his wings to accent the dance entirely evening gently lifting them into the air away from prying eyes.

Neve - She wears a teal dress, not too long or short but enough to show off her legs, he hair is down with a small serpent hairpin and a custom prosthetic for dancing. She is very used to this sort of atmosphere having worked with Dorian and the magistrate undercover. She loves the chase of clues and the idea of hidden secrets in the halls and in the words of servants. While she does know how to dance, after losing her leg she became a bit more restrictive in the art but with Rook that fear goes away, the reassurance of love and comfort from Rook reminds her that she doesn't have to be the detective of the streets and instead be a courted lady of the evening.

[call-sign-shark]

Summary: Somewhere in Westeros, an unnamed Maester warns youngsters about the danger of love by telling the old legend of the Feral Lovers — a cautionary tale for hearts that burn too fiercely.

Words: 1.5k

TW: !MDNI! Please read the Masterlist's warning! They are twisted and mutually abusive. Blabla I don't condone nor excuse Amos' revenge or Hev's violence but they are dark coded so, what did you expect?

Lucilla Targaryen belongs to @mischievouslittlecreature. The Rose of Highgarden and the Wolf belong to @justrainandcoffee.

Next Part

"Gather close, young lords and ladies, and you shall listen well, for I will tell a tale of dizzying love, but not the kind sung by minstrels in courtly halls! "

The old Maester croaked, his rasping voice echoing through the castle's walls as he closed the heavy wooden door of the room to keep the cold of the corridors from entering. Then, he sat on a chair in the middle of a tiny crowd of baby-faced nobilities. The way dancing candlelights hit his face when he lowered his head to look at his audience made his wrinkles strike out— he looked as old as the parchment he spent days with. All around him, young lords and ladies, ranging from 10 to 15 years of age, were gathered, waiting impatiently for one of his many stories.

"Are you going to tell the tale of The Rose of Highgarden and the Wolf?! This is my favorite one, it's so romantic." A little lady with blonde hair and amber eyes said, beaming.

"I've heard it countless times. Can we talk about Princess Lucilla and Thomaryon Targaryen? The good ending always makes my heart melt. Lucilla was such a strong woman, I hope I could be like her and partake in ruling!" Another one exclaimed, holding a book about politics pressed on her chest.

"Not today, children! Today is not the day for those heartwarming tales but rather something I want you to keep in mind in the future now that some of you will soon know the joy of marriage. The story I'm about to tell is not a love story wrapped in silk and crowned in gold. No, this is love in its most primal form. This is love sharp as a dagger, love that scars and flays. And no tale speaks more of the danger of love than of Queen Heavenerys Targaryen and Amos Bolton."

The Maester moistened his chapped lips, his old grey eyes flickering over the young faces in front of him. All eager and wary, hanging to his words. "As many tragedies, it all began with a wedding."

"She was a Targaryen princess, young and bright as dawn's first light, with her white hair as pure as freshly fallen snow and her eyes burning with an ice-scorching fire. Heavenerys was a delicate jewel, even though the fire of dragons obviously burnt in her veins." He recounted with a soft expression on his face before his traits turned colder.

"And he was Amos Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort — a cruel man carved in blood and shadow, feared across the North and beyond. " The master smirked at the audience's reaction, shivering at the sole mention of the name. It has been more than a century, and yet Amos' greatness and savagery still haunted the North. Some families still used him as a boogeyman — don't stay outside too late or Amos Bolton will come back and feed you to his hounds. "She was seventeen, warm as the blazing sun of the South and untouched by the horrors of the world. He was thirty, a cold man who had bathed in them. A man who had inflected them. Amos was a terrific mix of danger and irresistible charm."

The Maester then narrated how the Lord had always refused to be involved in marriage, rather seeking the extension of his power and influence in order to raise his family to the top of the food chain. Legacy and love were supposed to rest on Orion's shoulders and the rest of the family's members. However, when he was offered the future Queen's hand, he accepted for purely selfish motivation.

"And yet, when he laid his ink-black eyes upon her for the very first time, something inside him twisted into madness. Something he had never felt nor expected to feel one day: Love."

" It was Instant, cataclysmic, brutal. Blissful love washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him shaken to the core. He didn't fall in love like most men who love their wives. No, he loved her much more intensely. So intensely, that it could be described as obsession and hunger — A hunger that no feast could ever sate."

"I say 'love' because there was no truer word for it. Feral, perhaps, but love nonetheless." The Maester's sentence lingered in the air when he caught his breath, as though the intensity of what Lord Bolton had was tremendously taxing to talk about.

"She tamed him like no one had ever dared, bending the monstrous Lord to her will. And while Amos was a monster, the beast softened around her. You might not believe me considering how scarce it is for a Bolton to have a heart, but he truly worshipped her, to the point of devoting all his affection and life to his Queen. But as many Bolton, that darker side of him tainted his genuine affection and chained her. Keeping her caged in his possessive grasp. He was always nearby, looming. His hand on the small of her back, guiding her movements. Surprisingly, Heavenerys didn't really fight it and allowed this controlling aspect of him. Though it stirred some fights, she didn't mind most of the time as long as she could be with him."

"My grandmother said they could not be apart!" A teen lady exclaimed with a little smirk, nudging her best friend, "Never had Dreadfort's halls been so filled with giggles and moans."

"You're impossible." Her friend replied, trying to suppress her laugh at the lascivious comment.

"It's true! He would chase her through the castle, playing cat and mouse, until he'd catch her, then throw her onto his shoulders and bring her back to the bedroom while she laughed herself to tears."

"They could not be parted, indeed." The Maester acknowledged, but his firm tone put a stop to the lewd whispers, "But it went far beyond the affairs of the bedroom. When he rode to war, she followed. When he bled, she was the one who stitched him back together. When he fell to darkness, she plunged in after him and when the world tore them apart, they clawed their way back to each other. But mark my words: love, when turned into obsession and addiction, is cruel."

The air in the room shifted as the Maester's voice lowered, hushed like a whisper, as though he was terrified the lovers might hear him from beyond the grave.

"Amos, jealous and afraid of losing her, unfortunately, caught his beloved little dragon sharing a kiss with her cousin Aerthurys, her childhood lover. In a moment of pure madness, the Dread lord sought to break her, rendered mad with sorrow and betrayal."

"They fought. A terrible, so terrible fight. One said that their screams were so loud that even the dogs outside stopped barking, terrified. Then, for the very first and last time, Amos took what he wanted with force for the sole purpose of showing her whom she belonged to, not minding her cries and pleas. He was blinded with rage. And even though regret clawed at him afterward, it was too late. His and his men's touch had left scars. "

All smirks and flushed cheeks had vanished. The only thing that remained was eyes gawking in both sadness and horror.

"But she didn't cower in reply. No, my young ones, Heavenerys Targaryen would have never retreated into tears no matter the suffering she had been through. He had maimed her heart, so she decided to maim his in return."

"The Queen knew that what her husband loved the most after her was control and power so she stripped him of them. She turned to punishment in the dark of their bedroom, vengeance disguised as pleasure. She wounded him in ways that only she could. And just like that, pain, pleasure, vengeance, love and devotion all blurred together."

A pause. A sigh. The Maester glanced at the crackling fire that burnt low in the hearth, his mind resting briefly after struggling to find elegant words to mention the depravity of the Lovers.

"Why didn't she leave if he had hurt her?" A young boy asked with a quivering voice.

"Because their relationship was mostlyloving despite that awful slip. They lived for each other, hopelessly in love. And if Amos was sick in the head, Heavenerys was too, she just hid it better, and thrived in this unhealthy bond."

"So, because they couldn't do it themselves, it was the world that rip them apart."

"Aerthurys came back from war ten years later, thinking himself a savior. He took her from Amos after bloodbath, declaring her freed from the monster who had ensnared her. And to keep her safe, he married the beauty himself and offered her tenderness. He offered her a love that did not bruise nor burn."

With a tilt of the head, the Maester's gaze slowly surveyed his listeners. The two giggling ladies were now silent, clutching at each other with tears-filled eyes.

"But tell me, my sweet children, do you think Heavenerys was truly saved? That she might finally find peace?"

No one spoke. Only the wind outside howled in reply, as though the Lost Queen screamed at such question.

The old man let out a humorless chuckle, dry and full of dread.

"Alas, what is peace to a woman who had blossomed in chaos? Heavenerys withered without Amos, even showered with kindness and care. Despite having affection for Aerthurys, her heart turned into a hollow thing, untouched by his gentleness. She ate little, spoke less, and her burning eyes turned empty like a starless sky. No matter how gently Aerthurys touched her, she did not feel anything. No matter how lovingly he spoke her name, she did not answer. Heavenerys was already lost to another."

The silence that suddenly hovered above the room sent shivers down his aching spine. Far too caught in his tale, the Maesther didn't notice that the fire that kept them warm had died in the hearth long ago.

"And so, one night she was gone. No guards saw her, no horses were taken, only her mighty dragon Kairaxès wasn't there anymore. Soon after, Amos Bolton was never to be seen again."

He leaned in a bit, his fingers steepled.

"Did they find each other?" The same boy wondered, nervously chewing on the side of his thumb.

"The question is not if they did, but rather what happened after."

The youngest among them trembled in fear, staring at the old man as if he were speaking of grim ghosts rather than lovers.

"Some say their bodies were found in the snow, locked in an embrace with their flesh long frozen but bodies still entwined. Others claim they vanished beyond the Wall, into the lands where the dead walk. But there are whispers, children, whispers from the North's darkest tales..."

The skeleton-like branches of a gigantic oak tree outside scratched at the window, making all of them jump in fear except for the Maester.

"Their love —" He spat the word like a curse, " was so deep, so sick, that even the Stranger couldn't defeat them. If you listen to those tales whispered in dark taverns, you'd learn that the cold had transformed them. Not into mindless wraiths though but something else. It is said that Beyond the Wall, two figures still walk hand in hand, their eyes burning like frozen embers, a gigantic dragon looming in the shadows behind them."

He exhaled through his nose loudly before shaking his head in disbelief.

"But you might believe what you want. Perhaps they perished, the echo of their tragic tale still buried in the howling winds of the most frozen winters. Or perhaps, their ghosts still roam far away in the North, enamored even in death."

When the Maester clapped his hands to signal the end of the tale, someone let out a little squeal.

"But let this be a warning to you all. Love is often depicted as a gentle thing, and it can be. Yes, it can be warm, it can give life. But love... Love is not weak. In fact, love is the very thing that can consume, burn and destroy. Even the mightiest can be brought to their knees by it. And even the cruelest can be undone. It's one true power, sharper than any sword and greater than any crown. So beware the hearts that burn too fiercely and recklessly, for they always meet the tragic fate of Amos Bolton and Heavenerys Targaryen, the Feral Lovers of Westeros."

With that, the Maester rose from his chair. The room was still bathed in a religious silence but somewhere outside, the wind howled one last time and a dragon-shaped black cloud flew above the castle.

The GoT Team: @darklydeliciousdesires @justrainandcoffee @peakyswritings @cillmequick @evita-shelby @lunarubra @shelbydelrey

Some Aleksander fans who might be interested in this AU: @elizabethblood9 @lightinbug