#union grove

[20th-century-railroading]

CNWs Finest

CNW 8607 and 8575 lead a EB Coal load thru Union Grove IL on the Geneva Sub towards Proviso. July 12 1994. Photo by Randy Williams

[hypermanifestosys]

“ IM JUST HERE TO PUSH UR TEMPER !”

haoauaoaiaoiii!!!!!!!!! redoing my intro ,,,,,, thge last one was lowk buns n outdatedb (we change too muchb)

im juice , thge host of thge hypermanifesto collective !!!!! we’re a cp-did system of around 180-190+ alters,,,,, collectively , we use he/ze/they prns plusb some neos

i (the host) use he/zem/glag/bro/shit prns n i also havbe a misspelling typing quirkb (obviously)!!!! im also a beaheur and thge most JOYOUS n WHIMSICAL n ENERGETIC person everb!!!!! im very social , so donbt be afraid to js talk to me (i lovbe making friends!!)

we like phighting , the days union , law of talos / endzone , forsaken , dream game ( or frozen soul idfk) , of montreal , isat , madcom , seildirectory , ihasafacelulz , 8:11 , grocery gang , ocean terror , hjd , ranfren (not the fandom js the comics) , great god grove , limbolane , psychology , recallahollowheart , orison , etc etc etc there’s too many sigh

BEFORE U INTERACT ..

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ we collectively haveb audhd , npd , possible bpd , and DID . if yewb don’t like it or wanna call us fakeb for havingb so many disorders then dni

we block freely , dontb take it into offense

some of us are rude or dry idk it depends ,,,, pls keep it in mind thgat not everybody in our sys likes yewb

some of us have typing quirks and if a translation is necessary please ask for it !!! do *NOT* call us ableist for having typing quirks , yurb js being an asshole if yewb dont ask n immediately assume we’re ableist for a typing quirk

im VERY loud n obnoxious ,,,,, pls lmk when i gottba turn it down !!!

we’re apathetic for thge most part , some of us (including me) are also recovering sadists,,, if yewb wanna vent to us please ask

VERY tone deaf , please emphasize if u want us to stop something

WE DO NOT SUPPORT THE PROBLEMATIC CREATORS BEHIND SOME OF OUR INTERESTS !!!!! we acknowledge what theyve done , and do not support them - separate the art from the artist

we are a MINOR !!!!!!!!!!! DONT BE UNIRONICALLY WEIRD !!!!!!!!!!!

DNI …

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

basic criteria , darkship , shedtwt , under 13 or over 18 , incest , syscourse , extremely sensitive people , NSFW , people who use “narcissistic” as an insult , therians who make therianthropy their whole personality , people who ask me to address drama

WHAT THIS BLOG IS ABOUT

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

we do requests for rentries, art , or emojis!!!! we also shitpost a lotb ,, we’ll accept any specific request as long as there’s details (otherwise we’ll have nothing to go off of yewb know)

we use others art for our graphics anbd may lose credits ,,, pls let us know if thge art is yours!!!

we also rant a bit ,,, sighghhhhh

a couple of fandoms that we will NOT do are : kaiju paradise / transfur content , tcoaal (we’re not comfy w it , sorry) , and nsfw fandoms

pls respect these blacklisted topics otherwise we’ll have to block yewb,,, sorryyyy,,,,

DO NOT ask us about controversies !!! if we wanna addressb it , we’ll do it on ourb own terms ,, asking us for “free Palestine” content is allowedb

-juice ( host )

[xtruss]

Why Robert Oppenheimer's Atomic Bomb Still Haunts Us

— By Richard Rhodes | Published May 15, 2013

Oppenheimer spearheaded the creation of the atom bomb. René Burri/Magnum

Robert Oppenheimer oversaw the design and construction of the first atomic bombs. The American theoretical physicist wasn't the only one involved—more than 130,000 people contributed their skills to the World War II Manhattan Project, from construction workers to explosives experts to Soviet spies—but his name survives uniquely in popular memory as the names of the other participants fade. British philosopher Ray Monk's lengthy new biography of the man is only the most recent of several to appear, and Oppenheimer wins significant assessment in every history of the Manhattan Project, including my own. Why this one man should have come to stand for the whole huge business, then, is the essential question any biographer must answer.

It's not as if the bomb program were bereft of men of distinction. Gen. Leslie Groves built the Pentagon and thousands of other U.S. military installations before leading the entire Manhattan Project to success in record time. Hans Bethe discovered the sequence of thermonuclear reactions that fire the stars. Leo Szilard and Enrico Fermi invented the nuclear reactor. John von Neumann conceived the stored-program digital computer. Edward Teller and Stanislaw Ulam co-invented the hydrogen bomb. Luis Alvarez devised a whole new technology for detonating explosives to make the Fat Man bomb work, and later, with his son, Walter, proved that an Earth-impacting asteroid killed off the dinosaurs. The list goes on. What was so special about Oppenheimer?

He was brilliant, rich, handsome, charismatic. Women adored him. As a young professor at Berkeley and Caltech in the 1930s, he broke the European monopoly on theoretical physics, contributing significantly to making America a physics powerhouse that continues to win a freight of Nobel Prizes. Despite never having directed any organization before, he led the Los Alamos bomb laboratory with such skill that even his worst enemy, Edward Teller, told me once that Oppenheimer was the best lab director he'd ever known. After the war he led the group of scientists who guided American nuclear policy, the General Advisory Committee to the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission (AEC). He finished out his life as director of the prestigious Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, where he welcomed young scientists and scholars into that traditionally aloof club.

August 9, 1945: Nagasaki is hit by an atom bomb. Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum/EPA

Those were exceptional achievements, but they don't by themselves explain his unique place in nuclear history. For that, add in the dark side. His brilliance came with a casual cruelty, born certainly of insecurity, which lashed out with invective against anyone who said anything he considered stupid; even the brilliant Bethe wasn't exempt. His relationships with the significant women in his life were destructive: his first deep love, Jean Tatlock, the daughter of a Berkeley professor, was a suicide; his wife, Kitty, a lifelong alcoholic. His daughter committed suicide; his son continues to live an isolated life.

His Choices or Mistakes, Combined with his Penchant for Humiliating Lesser Men, Eventually Destroyed Him.

Oppenheimer's achievements as a theoretical physicist never reached the level his brilliance seemed to promise; the reason, his student and later Nobel laureate Julian Schwinger judged, was that he "very much insisted on displaying that he was on top of everything"—a polite way of saying Oppenheimer was glib. The physicist Isidor Rabi, a Nobel laureate colleague whom Oppenheimer deeply respected, thought he attributed too much mystery to the workings of nature. Monk notes his curiously uncritical respect for the received wisdom of his field.

Monk's discussion of Oppenheimer's work in physics is one of his book's great contributions to the saga, an area of the man's life that previous biographies have neglected. In the late 1920s Oppenheimer first worked out the physics of what came to be called black holes, those collapsing giant stars that pull even light in behind them as they shrink to solar-system or even planetary size. Some have speculated Oppenheimer might have won a Nobel for that work had he lived to see the first black hole identified in 1971.

Oppenheimer with Albert Einstein, circa the 1940s. Corbis

Oppenheimer's patriotism should have been evident to even the most obtuse government critic. He gave up his beloved physics, after all, not to mention any vestige of personal privacy, to help make his country invulnerable with atomic bombs. Yet he risked his work and reputation by dabbling in left-wing and communist politics before the war and lying to security officers during the war about a solicitation to espionage he received. His choices or mistakes, combined with his penchant for humiliating lesser men, eventually destroyed him.

One of those lesser men, a vicious piece of work named Lewis Strauss, a former shoe salesman turned Wall Street financier and physicist manqué, was the vehicle of Oppenheimer's destruction. When President Eisenhower appointed Strauss to the chairmanship of the AEC in the summer of 1953, Strauss pieced together a case against Oppenheimer. He was still splenetic from an extended Oppenheimer drubbing delivered during a congressional hearing all the way back in 1948, and he believed the physicist was a Soviet spy.

Strauss proceeded to revoke Oppenheimer's security clearance, effectively shutting him out of government. Oppenheimer could have accepted his fate and returned to an academic life filled with honors; he was due to be dropped as an AEC consultant anyway. He chose instead to fight the charges. Strauss found a brutal prosecuting attorney to question the scientist, bugged his communications with his attorney, and stalled giving the attorney the clearances he needed to vet the charges. The transcript of the hearing In the Matter of J. Robert Oppenheimer is one of the great, dark documents of the early atomic age, almost Shakespearean in its craven parade of hostile witnesses through the government star chamber, with the victim himself, catatonic with shame, sunken on a couch incessantly smoking the cigarettes that would kill him with throat cancer at 63 in 1967.

Rabi was one of the few witnesses who stood up for his friend, finally challenging the hearing board in exasperation, "We have an A-bomb and a whole series of it [because of Oppenheimer's work], and what more do you want, mermaids?" What Strauss and others, particularly Edward Teller, wanted was Oppenheimer's head on a platter, and they got it. The public humiliation, which he called "my train wreck," destroyed him. Those who knew him best have told me sadly that he was never the same again.

For Monk as for Rabi, Oppenheimer's central problem was his hollow core, his false sense of self, which Rabi with characteristic wit framed as an inability to decide whether he wanted to be president of the Knights of Columbus or B'nai B'rith. The German Jews who were Oppenheimer's 19th-century forebears had worked hard at assimilation—that is, at denying their religious heritage. Oppenheimer's parents submerged that heritage further in New York's ethical-culture movement that salvaged the humanism of Judaism while scrapping the supernatural overburden. Oppenheimer, actor that he was, could fit himself to almost any role, but turned either abject or imperious when threatened. He was a great lab director at Los Alamos because of his intelligence—"He was much smarter than the rest of us," Bethe told me—because of his broad knowledge and culture; because of his psychological insight into the complicated personalities of the gifted men assembled there to work on the bomb; most of all because he decided to play that role, as a patriotic citizen, and played it superbly.

Monk is a levelheaded and congenial guide to Oppenheimer's life, his biography certainly the best that has yet come along. But he devotes far too many pages to Oppenheimer's Depression-era flirtation with communism, a dead letter long ago and one that speaks more of a rich esthete's awakening to the suffering in the world than to Oppenheimer's political convictions. He doesn't always get the science right. Most of the errors are trivial, but a few are important to the story.

Their Fundamental Objection Was to Giving up Production of Real Weapons so That Teller Could Pursue His Pipe Dream, a Dead-end Hydrogen Bomb Design.

A fundamental reason Oppenheimer opposed a crash program to develop the hydrogen bomb in response to the first Soviet atomic-bomb test in 1949 was the requirement of Edward Teller's "Super" design for large amounts of a rare isotope of hydrogen, tritium. Tritium is bred by irradiating lithium in a nuclear reactor, but the slugs of lithium take up space that would otherwise be devoted to breeding plutonium. To make tritium for a hydrogen bomb that the U.S. did not know how to build would have required sacrificing most of the U.S. production of plutonium for devastating atomic bombs the U.S. did know how to build. To Oppenheimer and the other scientists on the GAC, such an irresponsible substitution as an answer to the Soviet bomb made no strategic sense. It's true that the hydrogen bomb with its potentially unlimited scale of destruction made no military sense to them either—and was morally repugnant to some of them as well. But their fundamental objection, which Monk overlooks, was to giving up production of real weapons so that Teller could pursue his pipe dream, a dead-end hydrogen bomb design that never worked.

Julius Robert Oppenheimer (April 22, 1904 – February 18, 1967)

More egregious is Monk's notion that the Danish physicist Niels Bohr, Oppenheimer's mentor during the war on the international implications of the new technology, pushed for the bomb's use on Japan to make its terror manifest. He did not. He pushed, to the contrary, for the Allies, the Soviet Union included, to discuss the implications of the bomb prior to its use and to devise a framework for controlling it. Bohr foresaw that the bomb would stalemate major war, as it has, but correctly feared that U.S. secrecy about its development would lead to a U.S.-Soviet arms race. He conferred with both Roosevelt and Churchill about presenting the fact of the bomb to the Russians as a common danger to the world, like a new epidemic disease, that needed to be quarantined by common agreement. Churchill vehemently disagreed, and Roosevelt was old and ill. The moment passed. The arms race followed, as Bohr foresaw, and with diminished force, among pariah states like Iran and North Korea, continues to this day.

Monk's Oppenheimer is a less appealing figure than the Oppenheimer of previous biographies, perhaps because, as an Englishman, Monk is less susceptible to Oppenheimer's rhetorical gifts and more candid about calling out his evasions. He pulls together most of what several generations of Oppenheimer scholars have found and offers new revelations as well. Yet there's a faint whiff of condescension in his portrait, and the real Oppenheimer, the man whom so many loved and admired, still somehow escapes him. He misses the deep alignment of Robert Oppenheimer's life with Greek tragedy, the charismatic hubris that was his glory but also the flaw that brought him low. But maybe I'm expecting too much: maybe only a large work of fiction could assemble that critical mass.

[gigijb1969]

2024 SystemsGo Rocket Launch Event Preparations for White Sands Missile Range

The SystemsGo team left Fredericksburg in two shifts, one at 5:30 a.m. and the second at 9:15 a.m. this morning headed to Alamogordo,, New Merxico for lodging for White Sands Missile Range (WSMR) rocket launches. Schools from Union Grove, Alamo Heights and Brazoswood also traveled to Alamogordo today to meet and begin preparations for launches this Saturday The early crew, Rebekah Hyatt, George…

[dionysianivy]

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞

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What is Beltane?

Beltane is a fire festival celebrated on the night of April 30th into May 1st in the Northern Hemisphere, and around October 31st into November 1st in the Southern Hemisphere. It marks the midpoint between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, honoring fertility, passion, and the sacred union between the divine feminine and masculine. Traditionally, it signals the beginning of the light half of the year, a time of growth, abundance, warmth, and blooming life. Beltane celebrates freedom, love, lust, creativity, and the return of life to the natural world, bringing with it new, flourishing beginnings. May 1st is a day of joy and play. After a harsh winter, it becomes a celebration of renewal, of aliveness, and of nature’s wild rebirth.

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The History of Beltane

The name Beltane comes from Old Irish Beltene, meaning "bright fire" or "The fires of Bel". Some people link it to the Celtic god Belenus, a solar and healing deity, while others have drawn comparisons to Baal, a fertility god, though that idea is debated and not widely accepted.

Historically, Beltane was celebrated in Celtic regions, most notably Ireland and Scotland, as a pastoral festival. Bonfires were lit on hilltops, and cattle were driven between two of them to protect them from disease and ensure fertility. People would jump over the flames, not just for luck, but as a way to connect with sacred fire and invoke fertility, health, and courage for the coming summer season.

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Beltane and the Fairy Realm

Beltane is a liminal time, one of the two key points in the year (along with Samhain) when the veil between our world and the Otherworld grows thin. While Samhain leans into the realm of spirits and ancestors, Beltane belongs to the fae.

It is said that on the eve of Beltane, the Fair Folk wander freely, drawn to laughter, music, and offerings left with care. In many old traditions, people avoided disturbing fairy mounds or sacred groves during this time, choosing instead to leave gifts like milk, honey, or sweet bread beneath hawthorn trees. These offerings were meant to honor the fae, invite blessings, and protect against mischief.

Wearing a crown of bluebells on Beltane Eve is said to help one see the faeries, as bluebells are sacred to them. A ring of blooming bluebells is also believed to be a favorite gathering spot for garden faeries.

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Beltane and the Hawthorn Tree

Few trees are more sacred to Beltane than the hawthorn. Often called the “fairy tree” in Irish and Scottish folklore, it is said to guard the entrances to the Otherworld. Blooming right around May 1st, its soft white-pink blossoms carry the energy of protection, love, and the unseen.

In Celtic tradition, hawthorn trees were deeply respected as portals to the realm of the fae. During Beltane, it was common to tie ribbons or small offerings to the branches while making heartfelt wishes, not demands, but gentle hopes whispered like prayers. Damaging or cutting a hawthorn tree, especially during this sacred time, was believed to bring terrible luck or stir the wrath of the Fair Folk.

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The Sacred Fire

Fire is the central symbol of Beltane. The festival’s original name literally refers to Bel’s fires, honoring the sun and invoking purification and fertility.

Traditionally, two large bonfires were lit at Beltane, and people, along with their animals, would walk, dance, or even leap between them for blessings, healing, and protection. In some regions, ashes from the sacred fire were scattered over fields to encourage fertility. Couples, especially newlyweds, often passed hand-in-hand through the smoke as a symbol of unity and renewal.

The fire wasn’t just a ritual, it was a living spirit. Lighting it the old way, through friction rather than matches or lighters, was seen as a sacred act, calling upon the raw elemental force of nature itself.

Even today, many Beltane celebrations honor this ancient custom through bonfires, candle magic, and fire rituals. You don’t need a blaze on a hilltop, even a single flame, lit with intention, can carry the sacred spark of Beltane into your home and heart. :D

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The Maypole

The maypole is one of the most central symbols of modern Beltane celebrations. Though it has roots in English May Day traditions, it’s been beautifully woven into Beltane for its rich symbolism of life, fertility, and union.

The tall, phallic pole rising from the earth represents the God, masculine energy, vitality, and the spark of creation. The colorful ribbons and flowers spiraling around it, often held by dancers weaving in circles, represent the Goddess, the womb, fertility, and abundant life. Together, they form a sacred spiral: a dance of harmony between the masculine and feminine, of earth and sky, movement and stillness.

As dancers move around the maypole, their steps create a living mandala, a spell in motion, tied with laughter and bright ribbons.

The dance itself is a celebration of harmony between forces, of weaving ourselves back into the rhythm of the land.

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Beltane x Handfasting

Beltane is also a favored time for handfasting, a traditional pagan betrothal or wedding ritual where a couple’s hands are bound together with ribbons, cords, or braided threads to symbolize their union. In ancient times, a handfasting ceremony could last for a year and a day, after which the couple had the choice to stay together or part ways. Today, many modern pagans choose Beltane as a powerful and romantic time to make such commitments, drawn to the fertile energy of the season. Handfastings are often held outdoors, in nature, near fire, under blooming trees, or surrounded by loved ones in sacred space. The vows exchanged during these rituals can be traditional or deeply personal, as the magic of the ceremony lies in the heart connection and the intention to walk beside each other, bound by love and commitment.

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Magic Correspondences

Planets: Venus

Season: Midpoint between spring and summer

Element: Fire

Time of the Day: Noon

Tarot Cards: The Strength, The Lovers, The Sun, Three of Cups

Colors: Green, Red, Pink, Yellow, Purple, White, Sky Blue, All Pastel Colors

Herbs: Mint, Rosemary, Thyme, Ivy, Nettle, Sage, Basil, Juniper, Clover, Mugwort

Fruits: Strawberries, Blueberries, Raspberries, Bananas, Lemon, Cherries

Vegetables: Cucumbers, Carrots, Garlic, Lettuce, New Potatoes

Crystals: Emerald, Bloodstone, Rose Quartz, Carnelian, Red Jasper, Green Aventurine, Moonstone, Fire Agate

Runes: Kenaz, Wunjo, Ingwaz

Trees: Hawthorn, Elder, Willow, Birch

Goddesses: Artemis, Diana, Brigid, Aphrodite, Flora, Gaia, Hera, Astarte, Venus, Juno, Freyja, Epona, Bastet

Gods: Pan, Cernunnos, Belenus, Dionysus, The Green Man, Bacchus, Priapus, Faunus, Eros, Ra

Dragons: Sairys, Fafnir

Flowers: Lilac, Bluebells, Daisy, Lilies, Foxglove, Lily of the Valley, Marigold, Tulips, Violets, Primrose, Peony, Poppy, Honeysuckle

Animals: Frogs, Swans, Cows, Deer, Squirrels, Sheep, Ducks, Cats, Bees, Rabbits, Swallows, Leopards, Lynx, Hares

Magical Powers: Love, Sex, Fertility, Protection, Cleansing, Transformation

Symbols: Maypole, Ribbons, Phallus, Bonfire, Flowers, Faeries, Sex, Floral Crowns, Frogs, Celtic Knots

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Activities to do:

🌸 Make flower-shaped biscuits

🌸 Do candle magick

🌸 Find a local hawthorn tree and make a wish to the faeries

🌸 Wear flowers in your clothes, hair, or as bracelets

🌸 Leave offerings for faeries, as this is the season when they’re most present, you can leave them honey, milk, or biscuits

🌸 Go out for a walk in nature and feel the arrival of summer

🌸 Make a fire in the yard and dance around it (only in safe circumstances, of course); if you don’t have resources, you can light candles in your room (again, be careful)

🌸 Eat anything with oats, as it’s associated with Beltane, such as oatmeal, oatcakes, or other oat-based foods

🌸 Do a tarot or rune reading in the morning of Beltane

🌸 Take care of the trees in your yard or nearby by watering them

🌸 Honor all deities associated with fertility

🌸 Practice faerie magick

🌸 On the morning of Beltane, open your windows or door to warmly welcome the energy of the sabbat.

🌸 Make a Beltane magick jar

🌸 Water your flowers

🌸 Listen to music and dance :D

🌸 Celebrate life, fertility, love, and union

🌸 Take care of your garden, plant seeds, clean dried leaves, and prepare for summer

🌸 Make special Beltane treats

🌸 Casting your circles with oats around this time of year is also a good idea, as oats are a traditional Beltane grain for good luck

🌸 Have a picnic with your loved ones, or organize a gathering with food and grilling

🌸 Honor your ancestors

🌸 Place decorations in your garden

🌸 Plant a tree with any intention you want and take care of it

🌸 Draw runes and specific symbols on paper and burn them

🌸 Do self-love activities

🌸 Practice sex or love magick

🌸 Look for hawthorns in your area and honor them with water and offerings for faeries

🌸 Make a maypole

🌸 Collect flowers

🌸 On the morning of May 1st, wash your face with May Dew or natural spring water

🌸 Connect with the fire element

🌸 Read about the fair folk

🌸 Have a bonfire with your loved ones

🌸 Place ribbons or colored thread in trees with intentions for each, you can use color magick to attract what you need in your life right now (pink for love,

🌸 Meditate

🌸 Make flower crowns and wreaths

🌸 Perform spells for fertility, purification, and love

🌸 As this is a day of love, if you are of an appropriate age, comfortable, being sexually active is part of the celebration

🌸 Buy seeds and plant them in your garden, welcoming the growth of new life

🌸 Create a Beltane altar

🌸 If you don't have a maypole you can dance around your favorite tree <3

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Food and Drinks:

Oats in all forms (oatmeal, oat cookies, oat bread, oatcakes, bannock), strawberries, blueberries, honey, whipped cream with oats, strawberry biscuits, oat and honey bread, blackberry pie, lavender cake, cheese (including Swiss), seasonal potato dishes, fresh fruit salads, tomato and cucumber salads, dairy or plant-based milks, vanilla-flavoured foods, ice cream, grilled food, BBQ, spicy dishes to honor the fire element, May Day wine, white wine, regular wine (with a strawberry placed at the bottom of the glass if you wish), tarts with cheese, mayonnaise.

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[newleasemusic]

Listen To Laura Groves' Full-Length Album, 'Radio Red'

Listen To Laura Groves' Full-Length Album, 'Radio Red'

Much of ‘Radio Red’, the first full length album LAURA GROVES has released under her own name, was written, produced and recorded by Groves in her studio, watched over by two radio transmitting towers. “I became very drawn to them and they became like symbols to me; they were always awake, sending their messages, the red lights always came on at night and watched over whatever was going on in my…

[lunaris1013]

SUNDAY!

SUNDAY!

SUNDAY!

Lean into it!

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: eldest daughter of otto hightower, ser harwin strong is your sworn shield — but what happens when talk of betrothals evokes longstanding sentiments from your protector?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: harwin strong x fem!hightower!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.1K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), canon-typical misogyny, threats of violence, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, religious guilt, forbidden romance / relationship, ungodly levels of pining, a hint of dirty talk, praise kink, hair pulling, size kink / size difference, making out, begging, fingering (fem!rec), excessive use of princess as a title, unprotected p in v sex, missionary position, breeding kink if you squint, soft ending + aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first time writing for harwin so please be gentle 🫶 I tried to give him more of his own personality since we don’t get to see much of it but BOY did I have so much fun writing this !! I hope you all love it too!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞.

Within the blossoming, emerald grove of the Kingswood, the celebratory nature of the encampment seemed alight with glee. Having traveled at the first light of dawn to make it here, your bones still groaned with the breath of slumber.

It was Prince Aegon II’s second name day, the noble caravan buzzing with delight in regards to your pale-headed nephew. Excitement permeated the air, but it was your concern for Alicent that triumphed above all else.

The unorthodox union between your younger sister and King Viserys was something that had torn a rift through your family, sowing seeds of bitter resentment towards your father, Otto Hightower. His continuous grasp at power at the expense of your kin had made you full of a constant anguish.

With little desire to engage with your father on any political matter, you had distanced yourself from the current feast, sitting soundly along the fringes of the forest. A whistling wind blanketed your tepid features, undeniably stuffy within the confines of your olive-hued gown.

A twinge of campfire smoke fell upon the breeze, accompanied by a delectable myriad of foodstuffs — cooked venison, seared elk, a variety of spices. A gurgle lurched within your stomach, the stirring of hunger biting at you.

As your gaze fell upon Alicent, belly swollen with her second child, Aegon squirming within her grasp, you knew that your time was running short. There were whispers, rumors that you were condemned to the life of a spinster if you were to continue to remain unmarried.

The sister of a Queen, of the Queen, a princess — proposals had made their way to Otto Hightower’s desk, scion of the Hand of the King. Advantageous matches were sure to follow, and you grew despondent at the thought of being shackled to some pompous nobleman.

Marrying for love was always something you sought, the desire to have such affections blossom, to be courted — not thrust into something unwanted. Nevertheless, you resigned yourself to such a miserable existence, counting down the days until your father would break the news to you.

“Sullenness does not suit you, Princess.”

The bemused cadence of Harwin Strong shattered your forlorn contemplation, his timbre disarmingly gentle as he stood a few feet away. One palm rests atop the pommel of his shortsword, clad in lighter armor, tabard bearing the sigil of House Strong.

Becoming your sworn shield was a great honor for his House — his father served as Master of Laws for King Viserys, and he was assigned to safeguard the Hand’s eldest daughter. Harwin had proved a spot of light within the dull, cloudy haze of your life, something that you were grateful for.

Only four name-days your senior, Harwin had become something of a friend, if such bonds were even considered appropriate. Nearly a year had passed since this assignment, and you couldn’t have been any more grateful.

Harwin was incredibly resilient, a man of honor and a Knight of the realm with a sensible streak of humor. He also proved to be a talented listener; you were lucky in that regard. It wasn’t often that one could confide in their protection.

He lacked his usual coat of arms, dressed for the tepid weather, broad shoulders concealed with an azure cloak. The Knight’s mane of brunette curls had been pulled into a half-bun, visage shrouded by a rugged beard.

His gaze followed yours, drawn to the woodlands, a sea of trees with pale bark and lush leaves, stricken by the first lick of autumn. Despondency weighed heavy within your shoulders, a position indicative of self-imposed loneliness.

“It does not,” In agreement, you canted your head, squinting at the angle of sunlight that pooled upon your visage. “Do you intend to join the hunt, Ser Harwin?” You inquired, cupping one hand around your brow.

“Aye, Princess. My father requested my presence, I should do well to heed his wishes,” Harwin stepped closer, coming to stand beside you, staring into the forest you seemed so enamored with. “I should not be gone for very long.”

With a lazy shrug of your shoulders, you idly twisted at a stray thread that hung from your sleeve, tresses roused by the passing gale. “The thought of slaying a helpless animal does not exactly fill me with joy,” You sighed. “Ladies are not permitted to join, as it stands.”

Harwin bristled, jaw tensing for a fraction of a second. It was your heart that had beguiled him so, one of tenderness, innocence; a penchant for kindness to all things, even lowly creatures. With your station, you were often bound to duty, to the whims of those greater than yourself.

As your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, you envisioned laying within sun-warmed meadows, cushioned by verdant grass, surrounded by wildflowers. One could smell the petrichor, the thick scent of a waning midsummer.

“It is tradition, Princess — I take no pleasure in claiming a life, I assure you,” Harwin reassured, broad shoulders heaving with a steady exhale. Breakbones; aptly named for a man of his herculean stature. “Do you not wish to join your Father?”

Mere mention of your callous patriarch had set your nerves ablaze with a flurry of anger, brows furrowing together as you shook your head. “I do not,” Mustering up a threadbare smile, your gaze drifted to your stalwart protector. “He has Alicent and his grandchild to keep him company.”

Otto Hightower was a complicated man — calculating, cunning, and enigmatic. Some time ago, your relationship hadn’t been so horribly frayed; now, it seemed lost forever.

The ruthless desire for power he often exuded had never sat well with you, especially as you blossomed into womanhood. His manipulation of Alicent, constant scheming, the cold shroud he wrapped himself in after your mother’s passing.

Harwin was privy to some of the more intimate details between yourself and Otto — it made him fester with some lingering distaste for the elder Hightower. Nevertheless, it was not his place to interfere in such business, but he knew enough.

“You’ve yet to eat,” A chiding lilt permeated his soothing baritone, palm rolling over the pommel, blade snug within its scabbard. “Must I forcibly escort you to the feast?” His question was indiscernible, dancing between humor and stoicism.

“I am not hungry,” Your protest was noticeably weak, betraying your true nature. Harwin’s gaze narrowed as he jerked his head back in the direction of the numerous tables, piled with heapings of foodstuffs. “Must we?”

“I will shield you from your Father if it means you sate your hunger, my Lady.” Humor tugged at his voice as he extended one hand to you, politely helping you from the stone you perched upon. As you stood, he had allowed his touch to linger, longer than propriety permitted.

Something stirred within your heart; calloused, sword-worn palms handled you with a disarming tenderness. For a moment, you nearly envisioned yourself with Harwin, beyond mere bond of a sworn protector and their charge.

It was abhorrently sinful, you knew this — and yet, you could not help but allow the fantasy to gallop within your mind’s eye, even for a second. Harwin was one of the few constants within your existence, one that did not seek to bring you misery.

Once you stood upright, you nearly tore your hand away as if you’d been kissed by fire. Harwin pretended not to notice your sharp recoil, dark brows furrowing together as he moved to follow at your side, keeping a comfortable distance.

Part of him detested this arrangement for one single-minded reason — he was unable to be with you.

If he were not sworn to your side, perhaps he would be one of the eligible courtiers stacked upon Otto Hightower’s desk. Honor demanded that he keep his head about him, treat you with a stoic amicability, but you made it so difficult.

The more he grew to know you, your heart, the harder it became to execute such restraint, to become an observer to the inevitable match your father would find. Harwin prayed to the merciful Gods that this affection would fade with the passage of time.

So far, he was exceedingly unlucky.

Touched by a forlornly disposition that betrayed your jubilant nature, Harwin loathed seeing you this way, your wings clipped. As you walked beside him toward the nearest table, he could feel the hawkish glower of Otto Hightower from across the way.

Lord Lucan Mullendore had attended the nameday festivities with the intention to propose a marriage pact between his House and yours, and if you were not careful, he would get his wish.

Harwin found the elder Lord to be somewhat reprehensible — withered and dull. He was not a foul man, but what young maiden desired a marriage with someone nearly thrice their age? He could not think of one.

It was the opposite of what you deserved, and he knew that he had no say in the matter. Lowering yourself onto the wooden bench, back turned to your Father, Harwin sat across from you, keeping a vigilant watch of your surroundings.

Retrieving a silver platter, you ensured to heap it full with basted chicken and helpings of fruit, plucking a grape into your mouth. “You needn’t spend all of your time with me, Ser Harwin. Your family is in attendance, too.”

A scoff escaped him, lips flashing with a brief grin as he took a swig of frothy ale. “My brother is as grim as he is odd,” He uttered, shoulders rolling in a brief shrug. “Trust me, I would rather remain by your side. You are cheerful company.”

“You called me sullen some time ago,” Unable to withhold a smile, the remark brought a brief laugh to your lips, and Harwin appeared triumphant. “You’ve changed your mind rather swiftly on the matter.”

Tucking one hand beneath your chin, you seemed far more relaxed than you had when he found you ruminating. “I changed yours.” He countered, earning a laugh from the both of you as you continued to eat.

The gnaw of hunger began to dissipate, warmed beneath the midsummer’s sun. It was not a horribly hot day, temperate enough to allow for some reprieve from the heat. The rich, juniper velvet of your gown did little to ease the weather’s sting, however.

“How fares your father, Ser Harwin? I’ve heard that he has excelled as Master of Laws,” Ser Lyonel was a good man, one that seemed to curry favor amongst the Small Council. “My Father speaks highly of his integrity.”

Harwin chortled, halfway through a hearty helping of chicken, eyes shimmering with amusement. “I did not know your Father spoke highly of anyone at all,” He mused, and decided to correct himself. “My apologies, Princess — that was untoward.”

Dismissive of his jab, you seemed to find some humor in it, a smile tugging at either corner of your mouth. “It is exceedingly rare that he does,” You admitted, twirling your fork betwixt your fingers. “Do not apologize, Ser Harwin.”

With a mere nod, the Knight continued, allowing a bout of silence to linger. Hues of aegean fluttered toward your lips, in the midst of biting into a grape, a droplet of juice tumbling down your chin.

It was wildly crass of him to be watching you this way, in all of your resplendence; besmirching your honor through gaze alone. Harwin was often vexed by your beauty and subdued charm, fixated upon you as you continued to feast, his ogling going blissfully unnoticed.

If it weren’t for the locale, he might’ve permitted himself to admire your features for a moment longer. Prying his eyes away, he cleared his throat, a grunt stirring within his chest.

“What will you do while we hunt?” It was an innocuous question, meant to distract himself from the maelstrom of thoughts that raged within his head. He suspected that you would remain by your sister’s side, if allowed.

From over your shoulder, Harwin’s gaze fell across the misshapen form of Lord Mullendore and the taller shape of Lord Wylde, brows creasing together. Both of them were whispering in your father’s ear, conspiring — it was easy to discern what exactly they spoke about.

“Entertain my nephew, if my sister is agreeable to it,” Handling children amidst this setting was likely grueling, especially if handmaidens weren’t available. “If not that, I would like to walk — I so adore nature, and this is an ample opportunity to be amongst it.”

Between your sweet cadence and the conniving Lords, Harwin’s attention centered itself upon you once more. The irritation, however, was not as easy to conceal as he thought. “I can escort you once the hunt has concluded.” He did not fully enjoy the thought of you alone in a forest.

A polite giggle slipped from your mouth, nose beginning to wrinkle with wry amusement. “I do not need your assistance to pick wildflowers, Ser Harwin.” You mused, gaze picking apart his dour countenance, wondering what had angered him.

Adjusting his position, the wood of the bench groaned beneath his weight. The Knight remained eerily quiet for a few beats, allowing himself a threadbare smile to placate your curiosity. “You do not, but the woods are not safe alone.”

“You look agitated,” The soft hush of your voice had barely registered with Harwin, who had busied himself with picking apart the pair of older men from afar. “Whatever is the matter?” As the inquiry fell from your lips, your head began to crane, chasing after his stare.

The sight of Lord Mullendore and Lord Wylde hovering around your father made your stomach plunge, exhale trembling as you turned back around. Harwin took note of your glaring discontent, seemingly sympathetic of your predicament.

A sigh of dismay tore past your parted lips, and you attempted to focus on cleaning your plate, belly screaming with anxiousness. “I prayed to the Seven that he would let this matter rest for today.” Your utterance seemed wrought with discouragement.

Before he could interject with a kind, comforting word, a guard bearing the Targaryen crest approached your table. “The Lord-Hand requests your presence, Princess.” He huffed, shrinking beneath the pointed stare of Ser Strong.

“Of course, Ser — thank you.” Swallowing the bile that began to stir within your throat, you gathered your skirts, skittering from the bench. Your gaze shifted towards Harwin, silently pleading for him to come with you.

As Breakbones began to rise from his seat, wiping his hands against a dirtied handkerchief, the guard abruptly cleared his throat. “Just the Princess, Ser.” He uttered, somewhat fearful of upsetting the hulking Knight.

“Your Lord-Hand can tell me himself.” Harwin grunted, moving to push past the courier with a brief scowl. Caring little for whatever consequences it wrought, he made sure to escort you the few feet it took to make it to the royal table.

Ensuring that his disdainful visage remained hidden, he straightened up, more concerned for you and how you would fare amongst the vultures. Any intelligent man might’ve not gotten so attached to their charge — Harwin did not always consider himself sharp.

The pace of both yourself and Harwin were intentionally sluggish, crawling at a snail’s pace as the two of you made your way toward the King’s table. He stole a glance at you, and he wished to steal you away at that moment.

“Ser Harwin, you needn’t draw the ire of my father,” Beneath your breath, your utterance felt light, somewhat conspiratorial. “Do not get yourself into trouble on my behalf.”

“Isn’t that what I’m best at, Princess?” Harwin remarked, suppressing the urge to grin, lips quirking into the ghost of a smirk. “You cannot dissuade me now — we are nearly there.” He murmured, shifting to stand a pace behind you, casting you in the shadow of his silhouette.

As you stopped before the sprawling table, adorned in a pale cloth and surrounded by members of the Small Council, your eyes found your Father’s staunch expression. “Father.” You greeted, dipping into a curtsy.

The Hand appeared perplexed by Harwin’s presence, lofting a brow at the unexpected intrusion. “You may leave us, Ser Harwin.” Otto uttered, preferring this conversation occur without the additional ears of your sworn shield.

Harwin’s feet felt like weighty stone, anchored to his place beside you, grip upon his pommel becoming unnaturally snug. He did not like leaving you this way, but it was his own Father’s sharp cough that drew him away.

“As you wish, Lord-Hand.”

As Harwin took his leave, you nearly wanted to crawl away with him, flesh yielding to the hawkish glares of Lord Mullendore and Lord Wylde. Both men were twice your age, Lord Mullendore nearly thrice, making your stomach turn with contempt.

“This is my daughter.” Otto presented you with a wave of his hand, and you forced yourself to look elsewhere — at Alicent. The shrewd gaze of your younger sister seemed to hold a sliver of pity, of understanding.

Lord Wylde surged forth first, taking ahold of your hand as he pressed a kiss upon your knuckles. The gesture might’ve been amiable if it weren’t for the lecherous stare he gave you. “Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord of the Rain House.”

“An honor, my Lord.” Unwilling to forget your manners, you decided to placate your Father with pleasantries, bowing before him. You did not say much else, save for one crucial inquiry. “Will you be joining the King’s Hunt this afternoon?”

From a nearby table, Harwin observed with a thinly-veiled agitation, jaw tense as he attempted to bottle his anguish. It would’ve been questionable to many had he allowed himself to be temperamental regarding your situation.

“Of course. It will be a thrilling hunt, that much is for certain,” Lord Wylde mused, straightening his overcoat with a huff. “May the King’s aim be true — slaying a stag isn’t easy work.”

“I am deeply sorry to hear of your third wife’s passing, Lord Wylde — please accept my condolences. I understand she meant a great deal to you.” Made to be some subtle stab towards the Stormlander, you gained some satisfaction in watching him become rather flustered.

Three wives and twenty-five children — Lord Wylde was full of a darkened lust, one that chafed at you the more you glanced at him. It was pitiful, and you did not make an attempt to speak again, hands briefly fisting themselves into your velveteen skirts.

Lord Mullendore stepped forth into the fray, seizing the opportunity to bow before you, attempting to grab your hand. You nimbly evaded the gesture by sidestepping to make way for a servant, carrying hearty pitchers of Arbor Red.

“Lord Lucan Mullendore — a pleasure, Princess.” Amusingly enough, you would’ve rather taken Lord Mullendore over Lord Wylde. The elder man seemed more akin to a kindly grandsire than true a deviant — but the competition was horrid.

“Likewise, my Lord.” With another courteous curtsy, you felt the penetrating glower of your Father pierce through you, brows furrowed together. It was difficult to discern if he was angry or simply indifferent to all of this frivolity.

“The hunt is soon to begin — we should prepare to caravan with the King,” Otto intercepted, knowing that you had played nice for him — for now. Disdain often shimmered within your eyes whenever you looked at him. Perhaps one day, you would shed your naivety. “Daughter.”

As the men rallied the horses and their tracking hounds, you felt your Father’s hand brush over your shoulder in a brief pat. It was rare, the gesture — and you thought little of it.

Lord Wylde and Lord Mullendore reconvened with their respective houses, mounting up to join the King’s hunting party. A semblance of relief rippled through you, knowing that you’d be free of those men for the foreseeable future.

In the midst of the clamor and excitement, Harwin had found you, saddling his horse, a gelding that was of a black coat, dappled with flecks of gray along his muzzle. He had made himself scarce once the Lords departed.

He loathed the scene of Jasper Wylde’s lips against your flesh — unworthy, uncouth. Harwin envisioned knocking the man’s teeth in, not wanting to imagine what he thought of, being in such close proximity to you. His blood ran hot in the aftermath, and this proved to be a worthy distraction.

“Ser Harwin,” Akin to a bird’s song, your soft cadence derailed his current string of thoughts. He turned, a semblance of relief flooding through him, knowing that you didn’t seem too put-off by your former company. “Must you go?”

If it weren’t for the demand of his Father and the upkeep of appearances, he would’ve gladly stayed by your side, content to stroll with you through the wilderness. “I shall return soon enough, Princess. You’ll have to thank me later — you might not see Lord Wylde again.”

A gasp escaped your parted lips, one of obvious shock. “You wouldn’t dare,” You nearly thought he was serious, the way his gaze had narrowed when the word Wylde left his mouth. Harwin chuckled, a grin spreading across his grizzled features. “You should not jest about such things!”

“A man of his inexperience might tumble from his horse, or trip over the undergrowth,” Continuing to tease with thinly-veiled threats, Harwin had half a mind to act; men stumbled often, all he needed to do was push. “I apologize, Princess.”

As a soft huff rippled through your diaphragm, you couldn’t help but let your amusement show. Harwin was notorious for his strength — indomitable, a fury that put others to shame. You did not want to imagine what it would be like if he chose to act upon such urges.

“If those are my choices, I might be better suited for Lord Mullendore.” Despite the lilt of humor that sank into your words, your tone still carried a sense of despondency, of frustration. A disparaging sigh unfurled from you, then.

Harwin bristled, brows drawing together as he sensed your melancholy. He wished that he could rip it all away if he could. The Knight turned fully to you, visibly empathetic towards your plight. “If I may speak plainly, Princess, neither are deserving of you. You deserve someone better.”

Some strange stirring gripped your heart, a surge of elation that you hadn’t quite experienced before. It made your nerves burn, belly churning with a tumultuous fire. Gooseflesh began to crawl along your spine like creeping ivy.

It was the way he looked at you — protective, reassuring, as if you were the sun itself.

No man had gazed upon you with such fierce intensity, and Harwin exuded overprotection, as if he were a stone wall, made to safeguard you from the outside world. As he spoke of you deserving someone better, your mind had leapt to him — Ser Harwin Strong, your sworn protector.

Inklings of sin blossomed within your heart, knowing how wrong it was of you to want him, to desire his company in a way that transcended dignified honor. A peculiar heat slithered over your body like a tepid haze, threatening to smother you from within.

“You have my gratitude, Ser Harwin. I should hope that such a man exists for me — though I fear if he does, it may be too late,” With a wisp of a smile, you folded your hands together. “I am resigned to this fate — it seems futile to flee.”

Gods, he burned for you — the air within his lungs stung, his body incinerated by a fever beset by you, tender hues drawing themselves toward the ground. Harwin dared not touch you, grip ironclad upon his pommel to keep from cupping your chin.

“It is not yet set in stone, Princess.” Despite his insistence and reassurance, you had started to lose faith in it, but you appreciated his attempts, nonetheless. Silence drifted between you both, your countenance one of a subdued sadness.

As the horns of the hunting party began to split the skies, he sighed, a heavy noise that carried more than just concern. Averting your gaze, you peered toward the royal tent, unable to find your sister amongst the group seeing the men off.

“Do not let me keep you, Ser Harwin. I should hope that the hunt proves fruitful for you and the King.” Stepping aside, you kept a comfortable berth as he walked his horse from the makeshift stables, wishing that you could come with him.

With a kindly smile, Harwin nodded, wondering if there was more he could’ve done to comfort you. “You have my thanks,” His chest heaved with a hearty sigh, brows drawing together. “Once I return, we can take a turn about the Kingswood.”

That seemed to make you happy, the promise of a woodland stroll. With a jubilant nod, you watched as he mounted his horse, giving the steed a swift nudge to its flank. As Harwin joined the hunting party, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him riding alongside Lord Wylde.

At the conclusion of the hunt, the caravan had at-last found their prey — at the expense of the day, however. It had taken them some time to track down their pale stag, a beast of fur as white as winter’s snow that seemed to evade them at every turn. Instead, they settled for a fawn-colored buck.

Much of your late afternoon was spent alongside your sister and nephew, a welcome respite from the peacocking lords you’d met earlier in the day. It simultaneously kept you from the ire of your father, even moreso.

The woodland promenade that Harwin had offered was no longer a viable option. Upon their return, a bleeding sun painted the horizon in rays of a vibrant orange with twilight encroaching, signaling an end to the festivities.

Returning to King’s Landing alongside your father had proven a strenuous task, with much of your carriage ride spent in a heated spat in regards to being wed. In the end, you resigned yourself to embittered silence.

“You must perform your duty to our House, as your sister has. I will expect your answer in a sennight — should you refuse, the choice will be made for you.”

Otto’s words continued to worm their way into your mind, with a scathing cadence and scornful glare that had made you feel so incredibly small. You should’ve been thankful, with the option of Lord Wylde or Lord Mullendore available to you.

Instead, you were left anguished and bitter by the end of the evening, storming to your chambers without so much as a single utterance. Harwin had been with his Father — he hadn’t seen you since the hunt’s conclusion, save for a brief smile in-passing.

As dusk blanketed the skies above King’s Landing, the glow of the heavens concealed beneath wisps of veiled cloud, you stood beside your window, curtains drawn apart. Anger rippled through you in hot waves, as if you’d been kissed by the fire of some inexhaustible wrath.

Harwin dutifully returned to his station, posted in the corridor that stretched toward the chambers of other nobles, including some of the Small Council. Tucked within the chainmail beneath his breastplate, a clutch of wildflowers resided there, ones he’d picked for you.

Oftentimes, you would greet him each morning and bid him farewell with the approach of dusk, but not this time. It was unusual for him not to see you, and concern began to blister through him. He wondered if it had anything to do with the predicament from earlier in the day.

It would’ve been inappropriate for him to intrude upon your business, but the longer he waited within the eerie silence of the corridor, the more his heart began to lurch. Braziers flickered throughout ornate hallways, dancing shadows falling across his armored frame.

The Knight nearly leaped when the door had opened, accompanied by an unsightly groan that reverberated throughout the corridor. There you stood, fresh-faced and clad in a nightgown of a rich, violet velvet. Your eyes swam with crimson, as if you’d spent ample time sobbing.

Harwin steeled himself, grizzled jaw beginning to tighten at the sight of you, the very picture of such breathtaking beauty. He was reduced to boyish nerves in your presence. His grip upon the pommel of his shortsword became snug, leather grinding against the hilt.

“Princess,” He greeted, baritone smooth and disarmingly gentle, tone betraying his intimidating appearance. “Is something the matter?” From a mere glimpse, Harwin could detect that you were distraught, dismay scrawled into your features.

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, like some weight that prevented you from speaking. Tears began to glitter within your gaze, disdainful and forlorn as you shook your head.

“Nothing is the matter, Ser Harwin. I only wished to bid you goodnight before retiring.” With a trembling exhale, you swiftly rid yourself of the tears that lingered upon the fringes of your eyes. As you attempted to compose yourself, Harwin remained unconvinced.

“You’re a rather poor liar, my Lady.” Harwin rumbled, brows furrowing together as you let out a mirthless laugh. His thick mane of curls tumbled toward his shoulders, unbound from the bun he’d had it in earlier that afternoon, armor glinting through the brazier’s haze.

“I do not wish to spill my woes onto you,” Admittedly, you wanted to forget about it all for the time being, if you could. “Though I do wish for company, at the very least.” It was an invitation you posed, for Harwin to speak with you in the sanctity of your chambers.

A sliver of him felt it wrong, untoward to join you in your quarters, even if it was merely conversation. He knew what burned within his heart, what arduous flame had seared his bones. His sentiments for you were overwhelmingly powerful, like a maelstrom coming to swallow him whole.

It was the hour of the bat, well into the night; stealing a glance, he found his surroundings to be devoid of any onlookers.

“As you wish, Princess.” Maintaining a courtly demeanor, you stepped aside, allowing him to cross the threshold into your chambers. It all felt so vastly daunting, his feelings suffocating him the closer he was to you, the proximity growing slim.

Harwin had been inside numerous times before, but never to this degree, harboring such a strong adoration for you. The Knight appeared somewhat rigid, gaze trailing after you as you moved to sit atop a velvet-laden settee.

“I have one week to deliver my choice of husband to my Father,” Speaking plainly, your sudden confession seemed to ensnare his attention, and yet he masked his anger well. “Lord Wylde or Lord Mullendore — at least he offered me a choice instead of stripping it from me.”

The thought of you wed to some lecherous slime or a boring elder made Harwin’s blood boil for reasons both wretched and divine. Jealousy gnawed at him with such ugliness, and yet he wondered if this was for the best — not having you.

It would cause a scandal, if he were to act upon his feelings — a besmirch upon your honor. That was something that Harwin couldn’t bear, as you had been defiled enough already, being offered to two men completely unworthy of you.

Gritting his teeth together, he bit his tongue, electing to merely move the conversation along. “I apologize, Princess — you have my sympathies.” It was all he could muster without becoming unhinged, or worse, letting his confession spill from his lips.

It was uncharacteristic of Harwin to be so aloof, standing with such rigidity before your door, hand clenched at his side. A wave of discontent gripped you then, as if something was amiss.

Harwin’s cadence held an unexpected bite, as if each syllable was uttered through gritted teeth. His countenance bristled with a thinly-veiled frustration, as if he did very little to mask his true demeanor. A steady exhale escaped him as he attempted to stave his fury away.

“You seem angry,” A part of you assumed that it was merely concern, born from that of a stalwart Knight; the other sliver detected disdain from that of a trusted friend. “This is the hand that I was dealt — I suppose my only choice is to bend to it.”

Knowing that even you could see through his threadbare facade, Harwin’s head hung, thick curls framing his visage. He didn’t want you to pry or ask questions, but he wasn’t exactly making this easy on himself whatsoever.

As you spoke of simply bending to the whims of your father, the Knight nearly protested, but instead, he remained trapped within a reluctant silence. Harwin grappled with his feelings for you, wrestling with them in all his ferocity, wishing to bury them as deep as he could.

It simply wasn’t possible.

In a valiant attempt to change the subject, he reached into his tabard, removing the now-disheveled bouquet of wildflowers he had smuggled away for you. “I wanted to ensure that you still obtained a fragment of nature from the day.”

Presenting you with a handful of vibrant blossoms, your heart violently lurched at the kind gesture. If it weren’t for his station, you would’ve nearly considered it an action taken in courtship — and then, your gaze flickered to his.

Smoldering, intimate, wanting; something lingered there, a tension that had grown into a flickering fire, soon to rage. Harwin gazed at you as if you had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens, and then you came to the sudden realization.

It was an anger born of jealousy.

As your fingers closed around the stems, you were barely able to express your gratitude, involuntarily stepping closer to him of your own accord. The Knight’s breath hitched, praying to whatever Gods that would listen for you to move away.

“Ser Harwin …” With his name rolling from your tongue with such reverence, such exhilaration, Harwin felt his barrier begin to crumble away. Doe-eyed hues shifted to hold his gaze, one that made your belly swirl with a tide of molten heat.

“I do not want you to marry some old Lord,” A husky rasp clung to his tone, as if he said it through sealed lips. Once the confession floated into the slim space between you, he knew that he had reached the point of no return. “The thought alone fills me with such immeasurable fury.”

Breakbones spoke through him, the avatar of his wrath, his ire, his strength — he imagined knocking in Lord Wylde’s teeth numerous times throughout the afternoon. Yet, he clung to honor, even still.

Bewilderment consumed you, accompanied with that of yearning, a want so brazenly powerful that it threatened to swallow you whole. All bonds of propriety were on the precipice of destruction, and yet you openly entertained it with a subdued enthusiasm.

You wanted Harwin Strong.

Desire seemed so unorthodox, a sin that tarnished anyone who dared seek it for themselves, and yet, it was not only desire you sought. His heart was the greatest thing of all, and you realized that you wanted him in all ways — love, above all.

Silence festered between you, and Harwin immediately realized the gravity of his words, the grave error he’d made. His eyes fluttered shut, accompanied by a heavy sigh. “Forgive me, Princess — I should return to my post.”

Before he could flee from his place, he felt your hand seize his forearm, as if quietly demanding that he stay. “What do you mean?” The heaviness of your inquiry could not be mistaken — you wished to know the true meaning of his words, why it filled him with such contempt.

Slightly pained, Harwin feared making his sentiments known, afraid to startle you or worse, turn you away from him. “It is untoward for me to discuss these things with you, my Lady. I should not have spoken of it.” He murmured, but his answer proved to be unsatisfactory.

“What if I told you that I did not want to marry some old Lord either, and that …” A brief pause; gooseflesh flourished along your spine. “That I wanted you?” As the breathy confession slipped from your mouth, Harwin felt the ground beneath him shift.

“Princess …” He began, knowing that all of this seemed completely wrong. If anyone were to know of this, he would be put to the executioner’s block, and you would be disavowed from your House. “I wouldn’t dare besmirch your honor, that I promise.” Harwin murmured.

“I wish for transparency — I wish to know how you truly feel, damn honor. I beg of you, Ser Harwin.” Gods, the temptation — Harwin could no longer resist, his resilience thin in the wake of your words, turning him to nothing more than ash. As you inched closer, the distance between bodies became dangerously slim.

Steeling himself, Harwin felt what resolve he had disappear entirely, nonexistent as he peered down at you, doe-eyed and wanting. The Knight tentatively reached to cup your cheek, brows furrowing together as he spoke with such conviction.

“What I truly feel is not enough,” He murmured, thumb gently tracing circles near your jaw. “I’ve burned for you, wanted you — everything you are captivates me, Princess. Were I not sworn to you, I would’ve asked for your hand.” Harwin uttered, able to hear the hitch in your breath.

Keening into his embrace, your delicate fingers folded over his armored wrist, drawing him closer, closer still until your lips met his own. The kiss was a tentative one, more exploratory in-nature given your own inexperience.

Harwin dared not coerce you into anything, allowing you to withdraw whenever you pleased. The sweetness of your mouth was something he’d unknowingly craved, heat simmering beneath his flesh as he fought against baser instincts. He would not lose himself — not with you.

“I would ask for your hand, even still.” He uttered, watching in silent rapture as you moved to press against him, bosom brushing against his chest. If it weren’t for the layers of armor, he might’ve been driven to the brink of madness.

“I am yours,” You were toying with fire, letting such a declaration out into the open, but you were entirely genuine. “You’ve no idea how much you mean to me, how long I’ve toiled in fantasy, imagining what this might be like, to belong to you.”

Through a tensed jaw, he wanted nothing more than to kiss you again until your lips were swollen, but he ensured restraint, allowing himself to drape an arm around your hips. The leather of his gauntlet gently caressed into your waist, sweeping over the thin fabric of your shift.

At last, you permitted yourself to touch him, palms tentatively coming to perch atop his chest, fingertips tracing idle circles into his tabard. Harwin inhaled your scent, freshened and crisp like that of jasmine and honey, a sweetness that he had grown accustomed to.

The Knight planted a kiss against your crown, cupping your cheek as he sought your gaze. “You are safe with me, I promise you that. Do not feel as if we must act on our desires.” He assured, though your longing stare said otherwise.

“Have you laid with someone before?” The innocuous tone of your question came across as naive, but you knew enough of what went into consummation. You still retained your maidenhead, willing to relinquish it to Harwin, if he chose.

Harwin did not want to lie to you, though the inquiry itself had surprised him. “I have,” Hoping that it wouldn’t ruin things, you seemed perplexed, features warming from embarrassment. “It is not as daunting as it seems.”

Without hesitation, you replied, “I want to try — with you,” As you spoke, his countenance appeared more bewildered and concerned than anything else. He did not want you to feel obligated; your virtue was in his hands, and it was something precious to him. “Is that alright?”

“Princess,” For a moment, you feared you’d offended him, his tone seemingly one of uncertainty. “Are you certain?” For his own sake, he desired your consent thrice over, if necessary. Harwin did not want to seem like some lecher.

A pang of anxiousness settled into your stomach, evoking butterflies from within as you nodded. It was intimidating, the idea of the act itself — yet, you knew that he would take care of you. “More certain than I’ve ever been before.” With a hushed whisper, you gazed at him, stars in your eyes.

Despite your piety, Harwin found himself crumbling in the wake of your stare, as if he’d been scorched by the heat of a thousand suns. His lips parted briefly, gingerly caressing your cheek before he bent to kiss you, ensuring that he was gentle with you.

Mouths tangled in a tender dance, your sheepishness bleeding through, an initial hesitation blossoming into enthusiasm. He cradled you as if you were forged of precious jewels, armored physique pressed snug to yours.

Finding your purchase against his chest, your digits lightly curled into his tabard, stomach churning with a volatile heat. Harwin’s palm idly caressed circles against the small of your back, sending shockwaves throughout your spine. He was endlessly warm, lips coming to claim yours with a disarming gentleness.

The hearth provided a soothing ambiance, crackling in the background, accompanied by the hum of dusk. Moonlight poured in through your scaling window, curtains drawn to reveal pooling silver, gathering across your chamber floor.

As Harwin withdrew, he allowed himself to abandon his guilt, even if it continued to gnaw away at him. “Should you wish to stop, merely tell me.” He murmured, watching as your head bobbed in agreement. Your hands fluttered to his gauntlets, preparing to assist in their removal.

Leather buckles and fastened straps proved to be something of an obstacle as you went about removing it all with his assistance. Slipping his tabard off, you happened to let your gaze linger, flustered when he’d caught you ogling him.

“You are wonderfully handsome, Ser Harwin,” The sweetness of your cadence was unmatched, earning you a genuine smile as the Knight chuckled. “What is it?”

“We do not need to use formalities here — no more ‘Ser’,” It dissolved a bit of your nervousness, tendrils of anxiousness unfurling from your frame. Lifting his breastplate off, he placed the growing pile of armor atop a spacious table. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes upon, as is your heart.”

The warm husk of his voice made you shiver with delight, feeling his calloused palm slip beneath your jaw once more, splayed aside your throat. Harwin kissed you with a fervent passion this time, still clad in his chainmail as he let his arms cage you in against him.

A breathy exhale tore past your lips, blinded by the heated kiss, allowing your entanglement to grow in intensity. Clamoring hands found his broad shoulders, able to feel the muscle that rest beneath, nearly rocking up upon your toes to reach him.

It was then that he picked you up, your dress proving to be more of a hindrance than he thought possible. Nevertheless, he used one arm to support you, the other pressed into the small of your back as he traversed your chambers, making for your bed.

The structure itself was grandeur, four columns of rich mahogany, draped in tapestries of gossamer and thick, verdant velvet. Harwin stopped at the mattress’s edge, your back kissing the sheet-clad feathers as he let you stand.

Mouths continued to dance, deepening your entanglement, heat festering like a sweltering wave between bodies. With haste, your palms had relocated from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, fingers threading within the curls there.

His stature engulfed you — large, imposing, and endlessly warm. Harwin’s presence blanketed you, able to feel the sharp cracks of desire as they wafted from him. Calloused hands kneaded into your curves, molding themselves to your form.

Lips parted, a shaky sigh tumbling from your mouth as you attempted to regain even a shred of your composure. Harwin pressed a kiss to your jaw, still hovering around you, a salacious inquiry dancing upon the tip of his tongue.

“Have you touched yourself before, Princess?” His husky, coarse lull made your belly surge with butterflies, thighs absentmindedly shifting together. A coil of tension slowly began to form within you, pulled taut with a deep-seated repression.

Embarrassed, you gave a shrug of your shoulders, smitten beneath his incendiary gaze. “Somewhat,” You always thought it to be sinful, as if the eyes of the Seven were boring down upon you. “Gods, you must think me to be some prude.”

With a gentle shake of his head, Harwin cupped your chin, thumb stroking along your jaw. “I do not,” He replied, reassuring as ever as he pressed a kiss against your brow. “May I remove this?” He questioned, giving your gown a gentle tug.

A brief hitch inhabited your throat, lips parting enough to make way for a subtle gasp. Instead of answering verbally, you nodded, hands untangling themselves from his nape. Sluggishly, you turned around, facing the bed as his deft, calloused digits found the numerous laces along your spine.

Unraveling you from such tight fabric, a brief exhale tore past your lips, gown beginning to loosen. The velvet-and-silk sagged upon your form, leaving you in naught but a simple shift, tantalizingly transparent. Stepping from your nightgown, you shivered as Harwin’s palm graced your hip.

Slowly, he planted a kiss atop your shoulder, the scratch of his beard a most pleasant sensation. A charged silence loomed between you both, the only ambience that of the smoldering hearth, a wisp of wind passing by your window.

Each breath he took seemed taut with heaviness, an exhilaration that you shared in. Showering your flesh in kisses, he continued along the hollow between throat and shoulder, fingers flexing against the ties of your silken shift.

“Harwin,” A tremulous exhale slipped past your lips, reveling in the feeling of his mouth peppering against you. His other arm slipped around you, his large palm coming to cup one of your breasts, kneading into the soft, pliant mount. “Gods.” You gasped.

It was a sound that he had dreamt of for so long — your voice, charmed and wanton beneath his kiss, within his grasp. Harwin felt you lean against his sturdy musculature, even if the chainmail happened to chafe against your back. As his name fell from your tongue, he was beguiled.

Desiring to see him fully, you sluggishly turned within his embrace, digits toying with the remnants of his armor. Wordlessly, your hands drifted to the remaining straps and buckles, wishing to peel it from him, see him completely.

As his chainmail loosened, vambraces and leather tunic following suit, he deposited all somewhere by the wayside.

Bare above his waist, you marveled at the sight of him — taut muscle, as thick as tree trunks, chest covered in a light layer of brunette hair. His flesh was sunkissed, a scar or two embedded into his skin.

Bluish hues bored into you, gentle yet instilled with the flame of ardor, large hands moving to smooth over your hips. Silent, he bent to kiss you, able to hear the brief tremble of your exhale, your hands clamoring to grasp at his biceps, muscle firm beneath your palms.

Flesh to flesh, heart to heart, you felt the stirring of something wicked between your legs, arousal beginning to coalesce as his kisses deepened. Mouths clamored for one another, each kiss charged with a longing, nearly stealing every wisp of air from your lungs.

Harwin’s throat reverberated with a low growl, beard scratching against your silken flesh with every fervent clash of lips. One hand dared to explore, caressing over your hip and derrière, until he gathered the hem of your shift within his fist.

An excitable shiver slithered over your spine, able to feel the slight draft dance across your thighs, fabric being eased up; further, and further still. It was then that you felt his hand beneath the silk, traveling further until he found the warmth lingering between your legs.

Nails dug crescents into his thick biceps, a stutter forming as you parted, foreheads still flush together, hot sighs passing through. Harwin’s calloused digits sluggishly glided over your slick petals, searching for any signs of discomfort that might’ve appeared.

“H—Harwin …” A stifled whimper tore past your mouth, now parted completely as you pressed yourself against him. Perched atop the mattress’s edge, it allowed him to stand between, spreading your legs apart with his physique.

“Hm,” He rumbled, pressing kisses along the side of your face, over the curve of your jaw. “Is that pleasurable, Princess?” Gods, his voice — it was deliciously husky, his timbre akin to the gentle shaking of thunder before an encroaching tempest.

His usage of your title made your stomach contort, that coil of heat now pulled as tight as a bowstring. With a soft moan, your hips lurched forward, seeking the friction of his practiced digits. With a twinge of vigor, he began to let his fingers stroke along your cunt.

“Yes — Gods, yes,” A wanton sigh fluttered into the air, a breathy incantation that filled your mind with some lovestruck haze. “Do not stop.” His lips continued to press a trail of kisses along your throat and what flesh of your collar was exposed.

Reverence seeped into each ministration, each touch echoing with devotion. Harwin’s gaze glittered with a thinly-veiled adoration, covetousness stirring within his heart. As his fingers found a rather pleasing rhythm, he shuddered at the sound of your numerous moans.

With gentle coaxing, you clamored for his mouth once more, lips melding together in a furious passion. Moans escaped you, dancing between heated kisses and wanton sighs, your countenance contorting into an expression of bliss.

Hips surged forward with incessant want, rocking into his hand to gain any scrap of friction. He provided it to you freely, his willingness to please a trait that you were wholly unaccustomed to. His name emerged as an affectionate sigh from your mouth.

“I wish — I wish to touch you,” The hushed cadence of your plea had made Harwin shudder, bones screaming for you in every way imaginable. He had little desire to seek his own pleasure in this matter, preferring his concentration to rest on you. “Please, Harwin.”

Lips ghosted above one another, connecting once more in a fusion of heat, a passion so blistering that it consumed him just as it did you. Harwin grunted into your mouth, clashing again and again, your mouth parting to make way for a thinly-veiled moan.

A sliver of hesitance passed through him, teeth briefly grazing your lower lip, the gesture sudden enough to make you whine. His kiss had evoked such yearning from within, sentiments long suppressed in the wake of your faith, freed from the shackles of sin.

Thick digits continued to warm you, prodding against your entrance as he introduced his thumb, allowing it to circle the pearl of your cunt. A sharp moan ripped through your throat, visage displaying complete and utter bliss as a shockwave of pleasure stabbed at your nethers.

Harwin’s husked voice echoed your name, hot breath fanning beside your ear as he kissed the flesh beneath it. “Where do you need me, Princess?” He murmured, low and lascivious, cadence alone enough to make your thighs shift together to alleviate some tension.

“There,” Accompanied by another flick of his thumb over your pearl, your head jostled in a hasty nod, teeth briefly sinking into your bottom lip. “Gods, Harwin, please!” Desperate pleas escaped into the tenuous heat between you, foreheads nestled together as he toyed with your clit.

The sound of his name upon your tongue was a maddening noise, each syllable drawn-out with ardor. Harwin felt his cock throb incessantly within his trousers, straining with desperation against the leather, begging to be inside of you.

As your countenance unfurled with a carnal delight, he nearly thought of tasting you — throwing himself onto his knees and pleasuring you upon his tongue. As much as he craved it, he did not want to overwhelm you with it all this evening, intending to propose a future opportunity.

A grunt stirred from his chest, noses grazing over one another, kisses of heat peppering flesh as he held you flush against him. Lips clawed for one another, an entanglement charged with a vein of desperation. Hands clasped against his nape, silken fingers carding through thick curls.

It was then that his digits gingerly prodded against your entrance, feeling your breath halt, hips stuttering in surprise. Through a prurient gaze, enraptured, Harwin carefully surveyed your visage for any inkling of discomfort, pressing a kiss against your jaw.

“Ha—Harwin.” With a startled croak, a churning of anxiety swarmed your belly, and yet he soothed you, mouth smoothing over your temples. Wordlessly, he did not continue further until you did, rutting your hips against his hand as if to cement your answer.

“I have you, Princess.” Through a tender baritone, you allowed yourself to relax, trusting in his proficiency. At a snail’s pace, two digits sank forward, invading your cunt with a disarming gentleness, allowing you to grow accustomed to the foreign sensation.

Gripping him with an ironclad hold, you gasped, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his neck, teeth piercing your bottom lip. It was unusual, but certainly not unwelcome — instead, he began a rather lackadaisical rhythm, accompanied by the roll of his thumb over your pearl.

If it weren’t for his arm keeping you aloft, you might’ve collapsed beneath his touch, melting away into wisps of ash. Each sigh was rapturous, wanton moans inhabiting the space between bodies, a feverish warmth crawling over your spine.

This all felt like some distant dream, a mere fantasy that had dug its talons into his mind, now made into blissful reality; he could scarcely believe it. Harwin did not want to forget this moment, lamenting over your flesh, silk and satin beneath his calloused palms.

Halcyon hues surveyed your countenance, enthralled by the delight that had washed over your features, contorted into an expression of ecstasy. Arousal gnawed at his bones, visceral and raw as he urged his digits into your cunt, easing them backward in rhythmic strokes.

His name spilled from your lips with such glee, doing little to veil your pleasure, wanting to sob from it all. You had not yet experienced a release in all of its blistering ferocity, somewhat unfamiliar with your own body; Harwin desired to study it as he would a map, committing all of you to memory.

Mouths seamlessly mold together, as if intended to fit, destined; his frame serves as a warm pillar, as if shielding you from the rest of the world, his alone. Each kiss is instilled with a fierce vigor, a brand scorched upon your swollen lips, and yet, you starve even still.

Through tortuous strokes of his fingers, heat unfurls from within your belly, a sudden and volatile thing, enough for you to nearly pierce his lip with your teeth. Harwin huffs; a low, triumphant sound, tinged with a silent elation as he brings about your undoing, thumb circling your pearl.

A shudder passes through you, tangling like ivy as it creeps up your spine before bliss pools forth, a slick nectar coalescing between your legs. Stifled moans are consumed by his mouth, kisses crawling to lingering bouts of passion, careworn palm soothingly tracing over your thigh.

Again, his name flutters from your maw, an enchanting sound that bewitches Harwin like that of a siren’s lull, coaxing him into deep waters. For you, he would’ve drowned a thousand times over — filled his lungs with saltwater to merely glimpse upon your visage.

Clawing for him as if you were being torn asunder, your muscles twitch and spasm in the aftermath, ecstasy oozing from every pore. Shallow breaths burn with wanton desire, hoarse yet exhilarated, gazes interlocking as he inspects you carefully.

“Are you well?” Innocuous, Harwin finds the sheen of perspiration that clings to your flesh to be tantalizing, irises akin to that of a doe’s. Warm and composing yourself, limbs begin to fall slack, head bobbing in a sluggish nod.

“I am,” Your answer is marked by a girlish giddiness, basking within a blissful afterglow as you trace your fingertips across his rugged jaw. The Knight smiles; summertime awakens within your bones, and you feel his grin as you would a kiss. “I am perfectly happy.”

Breakbones, they whisper; and yet, your beloved shield is as gentle as the first breath of spring, as tender as a consoling hand. An ebullient giggle tumbles from your lips, as if incredulity is beginning to truly sink in — Harwin cradles your heart within his palm.

It is the first inkling of joy you’ve felt in some time, misery’s dour haze beginning to dissipate, pierced by this spear of ardor that he wields so passionately. Mouths gingerly press against one another, feeling a low rumble stir within his diaphragm, a noise of elation.

“I’ve dreamt of this, against my better judgment,” Harwin’s softened baritone ushers against your lips in a warm wisp, beard causing ripe friction against satiny flesh. “My heart calls your name.”

A dazzling awe paints your features, blossoming with a girlish glee as you continue to brush your fingertips over his visage, dipping toward his throat. Dying embers blanket Harwin in their resplendence, his breath catching within his throat as your digits card through his curls.

“Where is your judgment presently, Harwin?” The inquiry is genuine, steeped in a dreamlike lament as you cradle his visage within one palm. It is a hunger revealing itself within you, one you thought incapable of feeling; you wonder if he feels it too, in all of its rawness.

Regret does not tarry within his heart as it should’ve — instead, he feels joy, bones resolute with protectiveness, the desire to tether himself to your ribs. “That I belong to you, Princess,” No other would dare tempt his heart in the way that you had. “I would refuse to know another.”

Your throat, thick with a swell of vivification, words melting upon your tongue; you feel the very same. “As I am yours.” It is a hushed sigh, pluming over his shoulder as you plant a kiss over corded muscle.

Burly arms cage you against his chest, the plane of a warm musculature that blankets you with a sense of comfort, gently depositing you onto your mattress fully. Reluctant to slip from his hold, you do not expect to abandon it for long.

With your weight redistributed atop cushions of sheet-swathed feathers and silken duvets, your fingers thread through the laces that hold your shift together. Harwin stands with bated breath, gaze incendiary as his silhouette swallows you whole, eyes ardently drinking you in.

In hasty tugs of his digits, the Knight unburdens himself of his tassets, freeing himself from the tedious confines of armor. He prefers it, but not now, not while you lay atop emerald satin, bare flesh akin to a diamond amongst the rubble.

Sheepishness becomes you, feathering over your features as you shyly sink into the pillows, gaze roving over Harwin as he continues to disrobe. To your carnal delight, his body is the very same, muscle upon muscle, sunkissed and labored, effortlessly handsome.

Stepping forth, the Knight joins you within your bed, an act that, if unraveled, would cost him his head — he cares very little for it. Even when stripped from his garb, he is impressively statuesque, dwarfing you in stature as he makes residence between your legs, the strain slight.

His cock intimidates you instantaneously, a tide of anxiety surging within your belly as it strains against your thigh. Swallowing fear, palms grace taut forearms, dancing upward until you trace his biceps, searching his gaze for any inkling of uncertainty; and there is none, save for devotion.

Careworn fingers languidly drag over your leg, from the crook of your knee to your thigh, thumb rubbing circles against your flesh. It is soothing, intended to alleviate the constant ache of nerves that bloom within your stomach, but it does little to ease your racing thoughts.

“I wouldn’t dare hurt you,” Lips seal themselves to your temples, an oath whispered from the Knight’s own mouth, warm breath billowing over your countenance. Leather and steel cling to him, an amalgamation of scents that burn themselves into your senses. “I promise.”

Pain is to be expected from salacious acts, you know this; and yet it doesn’t sting any less. His indomitable physique settles betwixt your thighs, keeping you spread apart without an ounce of force, knees brushing across his hips.

Embers quiet, glow dimming throughout your chambers, guided only by moonlight which pools through drawn curtains. Holding himself aloft, his hands root themselves by either side of your head, shoulders furled with a tension that screams for some sliver of relief.

Harwin’s head descends, mouth planting several kisses along your throat, gliding over satiny flesh beneath, as saccharine as a honeyed stout. He is deliberate, passion oozing forth as he attempts to quell the nervousness that still dances within your eyes, kneading into your haunch.

“I trust you, Harwin,” Words flutter forth with such tenderness, a solemn vow from you, knowing that he would not impose upon your comfort. A low hum emerges, body rumbling beneath your palms as you hold him close, moaning as he kisses the pulse point of your jaw. “Completely.”

Afforded an honor that few possessed, he took your words to heart, cherishing them with such sacredness, lips stilling along your cheek. Foreheads ghosted against the other, tepid sighs inhabiting the thin space between bodies, soul bared to soul; your fingertips traced his jaw.

Adjusting his body against yours, limbs tangled and muscles taut with excitement. A gasp ripped through your diaphragm, his cock gingerly pressing flush to slick petals, teeth daring to pierce the inside of your cheek.

Eyes seek another, his own pupils eclipsed by desire, a loyalty shown through lips. He envelopes you entirely, so large, so perfect; you tremble beneath him, an involuntary tick marked by your own mounting arousal.

Wordlessly, your Knight begins to shift, ensuring that you are equally as comfortable, length incessantly nudging against your nethers, eliciting a wanton whine from your mouth. Hearts beat in-tandem, a furious pace that looses a grunt from him, gazing down upon you.

“Gently then, Princess.” Harwin rumbles, his own restraint rather threadbare, but he maintains propriety for your sake, intending to take your maidenhead with gentleness. He does just that, hips sluggishly urging forward, cock beginning to sheathe inside of you, inch by inch.

Gooseflesh ices your spine, coupled with a feverish heat that turns your bones to ash, nails digging crescents into his biceps. The stretch is bewildering, and you wonder how this all intends to fit, and yet it does.

Flickers of pain furrow over brow, visage contorting with intermingled bliss and discomfort.

Hips still, allowing you ample time to acclimate yourself to him, and yet you seem eager to continue, back arching into his embrace. His name unfurls from your tongue, a kiss of warmth murmured against his countenance as he caresses along your thigh.

His concern for you is thinly-veiled, worn upon his features through a creased brow, and yet you coax him to continue. “Do not stop, Harwin.” Breathy pleas tumble from your parted lips and he is lost, succumbing to a shred of baser instincts, continuing to urge forward once more.

A choked whimper erupts from your throat, clinging to him as if you were swept away in some tidal surge, visage pressed near his shoulder. A low, thunderous grunt shakes his frame, reveling in the sensation of your cunt tightening around him, taking him so very well.

As your maidenhead breaks upon his cock, he is exceedingly tender, handling you with such fidelity, ensuring that he does not cause you agony. Bliss blossoms over your countenance, flesh screaming with an arduous heat, belly nothing more than molten liquid.

Ceaseless, Harwin heeds your command, cock continuing to sink into you, a blade within its scabbard, sheathing himself until there is nowhere left for him to go. A delighted moan plumes from your mouth, babbling his praises, hitching one leg around his hips.

Furthering the friction, this newfound angle evokes a yearning from him, cock twitching within you. With a brief huff, Harwin knows he treads on unsteady ground, wanting to move with such force, yet he continues to walk the line of restraint.

“Gods, look at you,” Harwin’s voice clouds your mind, like warm tendrils entangling themselves into every thought. The rougher cadence of his tone sends shockwaves through your belly, heat pooling between your thighs. “You are doing well, Princess.”

Such heady praise looses a moan from your lips, bristling with warmth beneath his incendiary words, a fire igniting within you. A shiver courses through your spine, a tremor that snakes over your body, prompting you to clutch him closer.

Bodies urge against one another, friction a delicious feeling, one that yielded to the fervor of the moment. The pebbled peaks of your breasts brush over his muscled chest, hand tangled at his nape, the other digging into his shoulder as his thrusts begin to truly take shape.

Maintaining this element of gallantry, he is gentle still, actions that of lovemaking over entertaining any rougher pursuits. Pleasure unfurls from within you, consuming every fiber of your being, simmering within your blood.

Mouths clamor for one another, lips colliding in a fervent kiss, passion unbridled as he rolls his hips forward, creating a steady rhythm that does not seek to overwhelm you. Harwin savors every shred of heat, every whimper and moan that besmirches your lips, each look of ardor.

Love is unmistakable, the sentiment as crystalline as a midsummer’s sky, hanging heavy within your doe-like stare, hearts grasping; intertwined.

Each thrust is born of urgency as you begin to feel yourself stretched further, his cock gently burying itself into the warmth of your cunt. His muscle becomes your anchor, a hardened plane to sink your fingers into, hold vicelike.

Whimpers emerge, choked from your throat as tongues and teeth dance, cock gently battering away at your nethers, belly pulled taut like a bowstring. Perspiration glitters upon his brow, even if this exertion is fleeting, nonexistent for him.

“Harwin,” Laced with the rasp of desire, his name falls ardently from your lips, body succumbing to ecstasy, arched against him. “Pl—Please, do not stop!” It is nothing more than a mewl, wantonly echoing within his ear as his ministrations become a touch invigorated.

Surrounded by him on all sides, all-encapsulating, your legs begin to squeeze and tighten around his hips, rough hand kneading into your thigh. He fists at the sheets beside your crown, held aloft by an arm furled with rippling muscle.

Beneath you, the bedframe groaned in protest, ancient wood becoming malleable, rattled by the weight of joined bodies. Harwin’s rumbling grunts resonated beside your ear, groans akin to the deep lull of thunder, beard ghosting across silken flesh as you clung to him.

Arousal mounted within him like an encroaching tide, preparing to shatter upon the rock, cock throbbing within you. Ripples of bliss flooded your insides in a rabid heat, the tip of his length kissing your womb, frame shuddering within your grasp.

Pearlescent teeth scraped over the flesh beneath your ear, hot huffs of wanton breaths pluming over your features, prompting you to crane forward. Flush, flesh upon flesh, your body took him well, intended for another, nails crawling past his shoulder.

Even still, his pace did not waver, melding into something vigorous, maintaining every shred of adoration he had for you, poured into each thrust. Friction continued to smolder, a fire growing to immeasurable heights, causing you to let out a strangled moan.

He met every brush of your hips with a bruising thrust, urging forward, allowing you to feel it all, everything; Harwin’s mouth fell into the hollow between throat and collar, kisses warped with lascivious intent. “My Lady.” A low, baritone purr lavished your skin.

With restraint dissolving to naught but ash, the Knight grunted once more, hips rolling forward as he sought to spill his seed, weight bearing down upon you. Greedily, you welcomed it with unrestrained need, encouraging him with babbled pleas of desire.

Harwin’s fantasy had floated through then and there, envisioning his seed taking root within you, giving you every ounce of him. Perhaps then, you would be wed, hands bound, hearts rooted together like ancient trees within a forest.

“Stay,” A whimper tore past your throat, beseeching him to remain sheathed within you, and that was enough for Harwin Strong to crumble. Caging him in against you with vicelike legs, the Knight’s groan sent shivers through you. “Gods, Harwin.”

Gazes interlocked fleetingly, and he succumbed to you, cock battering away within your cunt a moment longer, spilling himself within you. With a spasmodic shudder, his hips urged forward with a sense of finality, warm spent painted your insides, evoking a soft gasp from your lips.

A stickiness clung to your nethers, a foreign sensation that had made you flush, a peculiar heat permeating your features. Harwin’s chest reverberated with a soft huff, stilling within you as he soothingly stroked your thigh.

Muscles burned with the sting of exertion, ragged breathing climbing down from such a pinnacle, heartbeat beginning to steady. A gentle hush filled your chambers, limbs intertwined, his weight no longer blanketing you as it had before.

The pad of his thumb traced your temples, where disheveled tresses kissed warm flesh, caressing over your cheekbone. He dipped forward, planting a disarmingly tender kiss to your mouth, beard prickling your lips as your palm kneaded into his shoulder.

It was then that he pulled himself from you, calmly retreating from your bed to clamor about your chambers, retrieving a cloth from your vanity. Dying embers painted him in such beauty, appearing as some mesomorphic god, tousled curls framing his handsome visage.

Adjusting yourself, you knew that he could not stay — not in the way you wanted him to. Despite this ungodly hour, prying eyes would be waiting in the shadows, knowing that the Knight could not leave your chambers unguarded until dawn.

Returning to you, Harwin did not hesitate to draw you close, desiring to hold you, even if it would not be for very long. “You are so beautiful,” He murmured, brows knitting together as he regarded you with such amity, caressing along your ribcage. “I wish that I could stay.”

“I understand,” A singular digit danced across his collar, neatly smoothing toward his chest. “I … I hope that this is not the end for us, Harwin.” Worry festered within your belly, a growing ache that he would let things die hereafter.

A glint of amusement settled within halcyon hues, his large hand cupping your chin, cradling your countenance within a calloused palm. “Did you think I would act on such desires if I only wanted one night with you, Princess?” His thumb traced your lower lip.

No longer did you feel shackled to sin, but you knew what path you now tread would be fraught with danger, a slope of secrecy. “I do not want you to be my secret,” If it were of your own choosing, you would’ve chosen Harwin. “I want you here, always.” Careening into his embrace, you planted a kiss to his thumb.

Harwin found your sentiment to be heartwarming, and he knew your intentions were entirely pious. As much as he desired to be with you freely, he had already trudged upon innumerable boundaries, propriety withered away to nothing.

“I will never be very far,” Solemn, the Knight nearly shivered as silken digits encircled his wrist, gliding along his forearm. Bodies became flush, distance dissolved, allowing a saccharine heat to blossom forth. “I meant what I said — I belong to you.” For an eternity, if that was what you wanted.

“My heart is yours.” It always would be — from this day, until your last day. “Stay a moment longer.” Through a whispered plea, you beseeched Harwin to linger beside you, desiring his warmth, his heart. With a kiss, you felt him smile against your mouth, drawing you to his chest as he reclined into your pillows.

“As you wish, Princess.”

[seoulmatez]

The Grove of Epiphany is a beautiful place. Though shrouded in darkness, you've always been able to rely on the stars. They have always been more than enough for you.

You don't mind the people, either — especially one of the seven sages.

"Hey, Anaxa!" you call from the table you've set up. Despite his clear annoyance at your use of his unpreferred and shortened name, he turns to face you. With your deck of cards in hand, you ask, "Care for a reading?"

He eyes you and your card curiously but comes closer to continue your conversation. "I'll never understand why you turned to those cards. You had plenty of potential to make a fine scholar."

You shrug, shuffling your deck. It's not that academia became boring or undesirable, it simply no longer felt like the path you were meant to traverse. You smile at him. "The cards called for me and I followed. So... a reading — how about it?"

"You know I put no stock in fortunes or prophecies." In a direct contradiction to what his words imply, he takes a seat across from you, folding his arms over his chest.

"All the more reason to." Given he hasn't outright denied you, you continue your routine "Practice for me and you won't lose sleep over my meaningless fortunes."

You take his lack of argument as compliance, closing your eyes to block out other stimuli. "Tell us of Anaxa's future." One by one, your hand hovers over three cards that you pull from your spread to arrange in a smaller one of their own. You carefully flip each of them over to reveal their message.

"The Fool, the Lovers, and the Hanged Man — that last one is reversed."

His eye scans over the cards before he looks up to meet your gaze. "And what do you suppose these mean for my future?"

You grin — even interest in the name of debunking is still interest. "Well, the Fool in the upright position suggests new beginnings. Perhaps you'll be going down a new path soon. The Lovers point to union, partnership, and passion — love seems to be on the horizon for you. And the reversed Hanged Man... that one indicates sacrifice. You may feel it necessary in the future."

"How incredibly vague." His gaze bores into you but you don't find it intimidating. "Do your customers really find satisfaction in these readings of yours?"

"Every time," you assure him. "Though, if you're interested, I'd be more than happy to go more into depth for you."

"That won't be necessary." His response is disappointing. He may not be curious about the details but you certainly are. Though, his next words surprise you. "We'll find out soon enough if your fortunes hold any truth."

And with that, he leaves.

[somepsychopomp]

A Fair Contest

So a little bit ago I drafted an idea for an AU where, instead of the golden apple saying 'to the fairest' it says 'to the most amorous king'

And instead of the ladies fighting over the apple, it's Zeus & Poseidon. In order to determine who exactly is the superior lover (and king + who gets bragging rights), the two brothers select one (un)fortunate mortal that both of them shall take to bed...

and the judge they select for their little contest is none other than Odysseus.

(Takes place pre-Trojan War. In fact there's basically no Trojan War to begin with. Also Odysseus is betrothed but not yet married to Penelope)

Consider this chapter 1 of this fic. I really hope I can finish it because I stayed up to almost 4 am writing this, which is amazing because I've been dealing with a major cold and writers block for a while now

Word Count: approx. 4400

There's no smut yet but I do confess to giving Ody a bubble butt. Also in a world where Ruthlessness never happened/is yet to happen... Poseidon has a thing for strong thighs & is absolutely smitten with Odysseus

Also in my head, I'm imagining Neal's character designs but I think I've kept it vague enough for now that you can imagine whatever designs you like

+++

The wedding had been a most splendid sight, with revelry among both men and gods. The small mortal king, Peleus, was of course honored to host such a wide variety of the gods and have them witness his union with the divine Thetis. Zeus gave the couple his own blessing and permitted Dionysus to pour out his strongest wine for the occasion. 

Well into the night, the attendees danced to a tireless band and feasted upon the finest foods available. Gods mingled with mortals, some sneaking off with a young maiden or cupbearer for some more illicit fun. 

All was going well until the first beam of daylight shone upon a pedestal that no guest noticed before, where a golden apple awaited. 

Curious onlookers clustered around it, wondering where it could have come from. The mortals believed the apple to be made of real gold, thinking it was a lavish wedding gift. The gods were equally mystified, knowing that something so perfect and beautiful could only be given by one of their own. Hera pursed her lips at the sight of it. 

The king of the gods made his way to the center of the crowd, the other guests parting for him with their eyes averted in deference. He regarded the apple with mild curiosity, having a treasury greater than all of Greece’s wealth upon Olympus. A ribbon was tied neatly to the apple’s stem with a message embroidered upon it. 

“To the most amorous king.”

Zeus chuckled at the oddity of this little present and moved to take the apple. 

Only for another hand to grab it at the very same moment. 

The two gods stared at each other. 

“What do you think you’re doing, dear brother?” Zeus asked, the smile falling from his face. 

Poseidon rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Taking my prize.”

“You?” Zeus said, his voice dripping with outrage, “You dare defy your king like this?”

Poseidon’s voice turned sharp and cold. “I am lord of the seas! The gift doesn’t say ‘to the king of the skies’, now does it? No, you read it yourself.”

The mortal guests, including King Peleus, began to make their quick exit from the venue. Some of the lesser gods were also making their sneaky escape, fearing the worst was about to come. 

Hera approached her husband and wrapped her arms around his own, “Darling, it’s just an apple. If you want one, I’ve got a whole orchard full.”

It was true that Gaea, the very earth itself, gave Hera a grove of enchanted apple trees as her wedding gift. The trees were immune to all illnesses and sprouted fruit of pure gold all year round. In all likelihood, this very apple was stolen from the Queen’s orchard.

The god-king’s most favorite child appeared at his other side in an attempt to soothe his growing rage, “Father, listen to Queen Hera. This is a trick meant to sew discord, nothing more.”

Zeus ignored his daughter Athena as if she weren’t there. 

“Let it go, my love.” Hera said, “After all, why have one apple when you could have hundreds?”

Zeus gave her a sharp look, his golden eyes burning with a harsh, radiant glow. The queen of the gods was so taken aback that she shrunk away under the weight of his glare. Zeus said, “I am the god of judgement! No matter how trivial of a token it is, I will not let my brother take what does not rightfully belong to him!” 

Poseidon threw his head back and laughed, not one to be daunted, “Oh, is that so? And how will you prove that it doesn’t belong to me, hm?”

He tossed the golden apple into the air, catching it in his other hand. Zeus bared his teeth and snatched Poseidon’s wrist, unwilling to let elder brother even hold the thing. 

It was now apparent to all the remaining gods what this was really about. 

Neither king would secede when their pride and egos were in jeopardy. For either of them, letting the other take the apple now, after they’ve already started bickering, would mean admitting they were the more feeble lord, a less competent lover. And such a slight against their reputations would never stand. 

“Ahem,” a voice said. 

A lovely woman with flawless bare skin for all the world to admire, a translucent shawl draped around her arms and roses in her pale tresses, stepped forward. 

Zeus barely spared her a glance. “What is it, Aphrodite?”

She smiled, though not without a hint of mischief in her eyes, “I think I have the solution to this little conflict of ours, one that will minimize any substantial damage to our family… or the known world.”

Zeus inclined his head in interest. Poseidon gave the goddess his ear, as well. Zeus let go of his brother and the sea god set the apple down. 

Athena bit her lower lip, knowing that Aphrodite’s schemes were almost never more than just that: schemes. Games to amuse herself with. She had something else in mind. 

Aphrodite snapped her fingers. A large, circular mirror gilded in silver and gold appeared in the air behind her. The surface rippled the same way a pond did when met with rainfall. 

A beautiful young maiden with a long braid of black hair tended to her garden. The image rippled and was replaced with what was clearly a princess being dressed for the day by her servants. Again, the image shifted and showed a handsome young man in a short chiton as he shepherded his flock of sheep. 

Aphrodite said, “Now, I’m sure you two could spend eternity bickering back and forth, boasting of your skills and past conquests, but as the goddess of love myself… why not have more of a practical examination?”

The two brothers exchanged a look, coming to the same conclusion. 

“You want us to share a lover?” Poseidon asked. 

Zeus added, “And have them decide?”

Aphrodite winked and gave them a cheerful smile. “Well, what do you say? There’s no shortage of pretty boys or girls across the land. Come, take your pick!”

Zeus stroked his beard, a few sparks crackling across his fingertips. Poseidon crossed his arms in contemplation. 

“Father, Uncle!” Athena said, trying to catch their attention, “This is madness, can you not see?”

But neither god answered her. Athena was in disbelief. 

All this over a golden apple that neither needed or really wanted. This was all about their reputations as accomplished lovers, which they shouldn’t even have considering they were both married men. 

And Aphrodite, it was clear she was only doing this to make a story out of it, the way she and her son Eros loved to couple mortals together, only to break them apart. No doubt some terrible fate will befall the chosen victim, no matter who they named the superior lover.��

In Athena’s mind, she could only imagine the loser of this game casting some bitter curse upon the poor mortal as revenge. But that was the fun of it for some gods, to see the doomed fate of some poor soul after getting mixed up with the divine. 

Behind Zeus’ back, Hera threw her hands into the air before storming off, summoning her chariot pulled by winged horses to return her to Olympus. 

Athena threw a disappointed look at Aphrodite before leaving as well, deciding to go where her counsel would be appreciated. 

+++

By mid-morning, Odysseus’ back and brow were already covered in sweat as he endeavored to finish the roof over his wedding bed before an unfortunate rain could sully his hard work below. 

The house he was raised in was perfectly fine, but with all the servants and guards on top of his family, it was not the largest of castles. It was also an old thing in constant need of repairs. Odysseus always envisioned a proper palace atop Ithaca’s mountains, one where his own family could grow large and have plenty of space to themselves. 

So, before the eve of his wedding, he endeavored to complete the house of his dreams for his new wife to enjoy. He started with their olive tree, a living symbol of his devotion to his betrothed. Odysseus labored day and night to carve part of it into one of the four posts for his wedding bed, taking extreme caution to not cut away so much that the tree would die. 

The largest bough of the olive tree would overlook one of their windows, with a perfect view of the vast ocean beyond it. Odysseus already carved the other three bed posts and constructed the frame, but there was always more work to do. As the common larborers constructed the foundation and walls for the other rooms in the palace, Odysseus went to work constructing the roof for his bedroom. 

With a sizable living tree in such close proximity to his quarters, he trusted no one but himself to complete the project without damaging it. 

Taking up hammer and nails, hauling wood and stone, and fitting everything into place almost entirely on his own was unusual for a king. Odysseus knew this, but the labor brought him joy like no other. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, imagining opening the door for the very first time as a married man. He would carry Penelope to their wedding bed, built entirely by his hand, and spend the rest of his life with her. 

Focus, he told himself. 

For now, Penelope still dwelled in her natal homeland of Sparta. As soon as her new home was completed, she would set sail for Ithaca.  

Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow as the sun beat its rays upon his back. Maybe it was foolish to fear the coming rainfall, but he could see the grayish clouds on the horizon.

By midday, he was hopeful he could have the roof finished by nightfall. As Odysseus dropped from one of the wooden rafters into his nearly-complete bedroom, his tunic must have caught on a nail or perhaps a large splinter. He heard the sharp tearing of fabric and grumbled at the gash across his front. One of the room’s alcoves had some of his clothes, since he didn’t have time yet to build the chests or wardrobe. 

Thinking better of a tunic, Odysseus merely replaced it with a rectangular length of cloth fastened at the waist. It was something his mother wove, a lovely shade of blue to match the sea, embroidered with red and white thread. 

From somewhere nearby, he heard the familiar clicking of an owl’s beak coming to greet him. He smiled and turned around, draping his tunic over his arm as his mentor approached him in the form of a brown and white speckled owl. She sank her talons into his arm and flapped her wings as if in outrage. 

He let her perch on the alcove’s lip as he fasted a leather pauldron to his left shoulder. She hopped back on and Odysseus could feel her talons clench and unclench even through the tough leather. 

“What troubles you, Athena?” Odysseus asked. 

He set out through the bedroom’s heavy oak doors, finding himself in a long hallway that was finished, but not yet furnished or cleaned. 

She spoke into his mind, Sometimes, I wish I could belong to any other family but my own. 

Odysseus chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear.”

While he loved his parents and sister dearly, he knew that Athena often butted heads with her siblings and uncle. 

Odysseus counted the windows that still needed shutters and curtains, along with the patches in the roof that had yet to be filled in. Farther along, the great hall where they would entertain guests was still only a skeleton. Only half of the supporting beams and columns were installed and the whole place reeked of sweating men. 

Athena paid the laborers no mind as the citizens of Ithaca bowed for their king as he walked by. 

You know I’m not one for gossip, but I fear something terrible is about to strike the land. 

“Is that so?” Odysseus asked, his smile dropping. 

Yes, a terrible tragedy yet to come in the form of my Uncle Poseidon and my father. 

A servant approached Odysseus with a serving platter. He took a cup of water and drank deeply, and snatched a small bowl of olives before going on his way. 

“They’re angry with us?” Odysseus asked, fearing what this might mean for his people.

No, Athena said, accepting an olive and biting into the tender flesh with her sharp beak, Not quite, but their egos are yet again showing themselves. If you find unusual weather patterns in the next few days, pay them no mind. 

“Ah, I see.”

In truth, he didn’t understand Athena at all. But she seemed in the mood to vent about her personal feelings and seeing as she didn’t do so often, Odysseus was careful to listen. 

Athena clacked her beak in irritation. Odysseus bit into his own olive as he felt a sharp nibble on his ear before she started combing through his damp hair. She must’ve found something in his hair, a bit of dust or a wood chip, because he could feel her tugging at him. 

How goes construction on the new palace?

“Every day, I can see the way it’s growing.”

Odysseus passed by a group of men sitting in a loose circle, taking swigs from a water skin as they fanned themselves. One caught sight of Odysseus and they all scrambled to their feet. 

Odysseus held out a hand to put them at ease, “Catch your breath if you must. A tired man is more prone to making mistakes, and I will not have any in my new house.”

The men all sighed in relief and went back to their break, waving goodbye as he continued onward. Athena cooed to show her approval in his decision. He thought her mood was improving, but not a moment later, she said, I just can’t believe them sometimes. 

“Oh?”

Odysseus thought Athena said her piece already. She clicked his beak right in his ear. 

You would think that the god of law and order would have some sense in his head. But no! Apparently my mother Metis still possesses it. If only Father would listen to her, if not me.

Odysseus said nothing, having never heard Athena speak like this before, especially about her father. He thought it best to remain silent; perhaps Athena could complain about Zeus without punishment, but he knew far better. 

Athena clicked her beak with a different sense of urgency and Odysseus gave her another olive. She held it in one foot while balancing on the other, dropping the pit when she was finished devouring the flesh. 

“You seem awfully worked up,” Odysseus said, “Anything I can do to lift your burdens?”

Athena shook her head. No, I’m afraid this is something that no one man can solve, as frustrating as it might sound. 

He crossed the central courtyard and approached the war room, one of the few nearly-complete parts of the palace, where his chief architects and advisors were waiting to update him on their progress. 

Though Odysseus was primarily trained in the art of war, he was also well-versed in song and poetry, history, oratory, and arithmetic, all courtesy of Athena. He wasn’t an expert in architecture yet, but he had his own hand in designing the layout of the palace. 

“Good day, my friends.” Odysseus said, parting the curtains that served as a makeshift door until the palace was fitted with proper ones. 

One of his elder advisors squinted at Athena upon his shoulder. “My liege?”

Before they could go over any potential issues in the construction or their budgetary concerns, Odysseus wandered over to the window and let Athena take off. She disappeared through the trees, though he knew he’d see her again soon.

+++

Despite the fact the sun was about to set and the two godly kings had been bickering all day long, Aphrodite hadn’t lost her patience yet. In fact, she was even reveling in her task at hand. 

They moved their business to her abode on Olympus, where her many mirrors were put to good use. Zeus and Poseidon scoured the lands for a suitable judge to measure their sexual prowess, each of them interested in different aspects of what made up a potential lover. 

Zeus was pleased with just about any pretty face that breathed, but Poseidon was a bit pickier with appearances. He didn’t want his maidens or young men to be too skinny, and he seemed to have a preference for those with strong legs. Aphrodite could certainly work within those bounds. 

At the same time, Poseidon was more open to sharing a lover with some previous sexual experience, thinking it’d make the whole process easier. Zeus wrinkled his nose at the idea and insisted he wanted someone “new”, not wanting to muck about after some vastly lesser mortal man had his way with their chosen judge. 

Aphrodite agreed that was a good point, so instead of letting the two kings squabble, she put her talents as a matchmaker to good use. After a brief consultation, she put together a list of minimum requirements that satisfied both gods. 

One, their shared lover had to be attractive, preferably with appealing legs. 

Two, they had to be virginal. 

Three, they all agreed that the mortal should come from high standards, so some form of royalty. They could be a princess or a prince, or even someone lesser than that, but anyone of a noble bloodline would be preferable to a random maiden. Of course, both kings had their fair share of peasant-girl chasing, but for such an important competition, Aphrodite understood their concerns well. 

And lastly, the judge should be someone intelligent. Someone who wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of their assigned task and would be able to use not just their body, but logic to determine the true and indisputable winner. 

No doubt each god had their plans to bribe the judge, but who wouldn’t?

If it was Aphrodite competing for the apple, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a few tricks of her own. An idiot might be easy to bribe, but that also meant they’d be easy for the competition to bribe as well. To each of the male gods, an intelligent lover would certainly be able to recognize a superior bribe.

“Sadly, your stipulations exclude Helen of Sparta,” Aphrodite said, waving away the image of Helen in her largest mirror, “She’s had children by now, though she’s still quite lovely.”

Poseidon made a noncommittal sound, as if he might reconsider, but Zeus urged Aphrodite to move onto the next candidate with a flick of his wrist. The two of them sat before her best mirror, looking almost comical in her rose-colored, dove-ingrained armchairs. 

They went through a few more potential candidates, including Penelope of Sparta and Ctimene of Ithaca. Neither god was very impressed by her choices, but just as Aphrodite was about to move onto the next candidate, Poseidon held out a hand. 

“Wait a moment,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Who is that in the back?”

“Oh?” Aphrodite asked. She returned to the image of Ctimene. She was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, her veil fluttering in her wake as her handmaidens walked with her. They seemed to be exiting some great ruin, but on closer inspection, the gods could see men at work. They were building a great palace, it seemed. 

Well, great by the standards of mortals. 

Behind Ctimene, a bare-chested young man held out a hand and seemed to be directing a group of others. Aphrodite’s mirror rippled and showed them the young man in greater detail, leaving young Ctimene out entirely. 

“Oh,” Zeus said. 

Aphrodite concealed her eager smile, more thrilled than ever at this sudden twist. She examined the young man’s features, including the sharp angles of his nose, his dense locks of dark brown hair, and his high cheekbones. He bore a striking resemblance to Ctimene. As the goddess of love, there were a few other details Aphrodite could parse out just by looking at him, but she would conceal her thoughts for now. 

She said, “Why, that would be none other than King Odysseus of Ithaca!” 

Though the young ruler was about the same height as his sister, he was no slight-of-frame weakling. His broad shoulders complimented his strong chest and arms, certainly the build of a warrior. His stomach was a flat plain and below his garments, well muscled thighs teased them almost playfully. 

A pale scar ran along the inside of one of his thighs, but it only added to his character. Though Poseidon maintained his interest, Zeus scoffed. 

“King, you say?” Zeus nudged his brother, “You know what that means.”

Poseidon was still appraising Odysseus’ thighs, “Plenty of whores in and out of his bed?”

“Actually!” Aphrodite said, clapping her hands, “You’ll be beyond pleased to know that young Odysseus here… is virginal.”

Now that had both gods’ attention. The King of the Gods seemed incredulous.

“How old is he?” Zeus asked. 

“Twenty years, my dearest king.”

“And he’s still a virgin?” Poseidon asked, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. “Why? Is he stupid?”

Aphrodite giggled behind her hand, “He’s determined to save himself for marriage, like a maiden! But it can’t be helped. I do believe he’s Athena’s pupil, after all. And I’m sure she holds him to what she perceives as a high standard.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, “Whatever the case may be, he’s remained celibate thus far. Perfectly ripe and ready to be plucked, if you would.”

The gods of the sea and sky shared a look. 

Zeus said, “Show us more.”

Aphrodite was more than happy to do exactly that. She waved her hand and the stationary image of Odysseus began to move. There was no sound to accompany the vision, but all three of them remained silent as they watched Odysseus work. 

He carried multiple rucksacks full of supplies up the spiral staircases of his house while other laborers stopped to eat their dinner. He seemed more than intent to get somewhere, not stopping until he came across a large bedroom with the roof still letting in sunlight in a few patches. Interestingly, while the bed was large and well made, it lacked a mattress or rug thrown over the rungs. Perhaps that would come later. 

Odysseus hopped out the window, seemingly ignorant to the fact there was a steep drop right below him, as he grabbed hold of a tree bough and climbed into the roof. It looked like he was intent on using every last bit of sunlight to his advantage as he finished laying out the clay shingles. 

The sweat across his body glistened like stardust as the sky above him glowed with the most beautiful shades of red and gold. He put his strong body to use by covering the few bare patches of his rooftop, stopping only to retrieve a shallow clay bowl from his pack, filling it with oil and floating a wick on top before igniting his lamp to give him a bit more light. 

Zeus snapped his fingers. In an instant, Hermes was fluttering at his side. 

“Yes, Father?”

Without taking his eyes off of Odysseus, Zeus said, “Contact Helios. Tell him to wait a while longer before dusk arrives.”

Hermes spared Odysseus a brief glance before nodding and flying off. Though the mortal didn’t seem to notice, the sun did indeed stop setting. 

Odysseus set down his hammer to dab his sweat-soaked face with a rag. He was tiring now, but intent on finishing his job if the determined look in his eyes was any indication. 

Poseidon held up one hand and curled a finger toward himself. 

The hammer that Odysseus just set down began sliding toward the edge of the roof. 

“Brother…” Zeus warned. 

Poseidon said, “Trust me.”

Odysseus snatched the hammer before it could fall, but found himself quite close to the edge now. 

Poseidon cupped his hands around his mouth and blew softly. A wind coming off Ithaca’s coast kicked up, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. As Odysseus stood with his hammer, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled his hair and clothing. 

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, instantly recognizing the game Poseidon was playing. She added her own flare as well, using just the slightest twirl of her finger to undo the belt holding young Odysseus’ garments in place. 

The poor young king seemed baffled by his sudden misfortune, moving swiftly to capture his garment before the wind could steal it away. Aphrodite froze the image without being told to do so, but she was quite proud of her timing. 

Odysseus stood in all his mortal splendor, revealing his tan skin scarred by past adventures. He was healthy, with the body of an athlete and his arm outstretched to better display the toned muscles under his skin.  

“What a surprise!” Aphrodite said with mirth, tracing her finger along the surface of the mirror, “Look at his little dimples!” 

Indeed, a twin set of dimples rested over his lower back, no longer concealed by his clothing. But that was not all. Some men were cursed to be rather flat in their rear, leaving them looking awkward or incomplete at times, but Aphrodite was equally pleased that Odysseus had something worth looking at below his dimples. In addition to the well-defined muscles in his shoulders and back, he sported the most grabbable bottom. 

If Odysseus was not doomed to be the plaything between kings, Aphrodite might have been tempted to take him for herself. 

She held out her hands as if Odysseus was nothing more than an exotic animal on display. Poseidon was leaning forward in his chair, his head tilted with interest. Zeus, too, seemed sold at last. His golden eyes sparkled more brightly than usual as he traced over the little king’s backside. He ran his tongue over his teeth. 

Aphrodite smiled, “So, my dears… what do you say? Is Odysseus of Ithaca to be your judge?”

...

Read an excerpt of Chapter 2 here!

[thisbelongsto-nohbodys]

(During a trip to the Demon Realm, Sasha and Hunter stumble into a cursed forest where they run into a group of reanimated skeletons with swords)

Sasha: (fighting off a skeleton with her swords) Hey, don't get me wrong - I'm having a great time right now - but what's the deal with these skeletons?

Hunter: (fighting off a skeleton with his staff) What do you mean?

Sasha: What exactly is holding them together?

Hunter: Uhh... their bones, I guess?

Sasha: That makes no sense! Bones are held together with ligaments and tendons. But all I see are bones.

Hunter: I guess I don't understand what you're asking.

Sasha: (disarms one skeleton, grabs it by the arm, and shows it to Hunter) Okay, look; this is the radius, this is the ulna, this is the humerus. Now, if I take my sword and cut this skeleton's arm between its humerus and radius like so... (cuts the arm in half) ... what am I actually cutting?

Skeleton: Okay, first of all; rude. Second; if you're that curious, we were reanimated by a cursed witch and we're held together by a magic field. He gave us pamphlets saying that we're now contractually obligated to guard this cursed forest.

Sasha: (crosses her arms) And you read this pamphlet with no eyes?

Skeleton: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You just blew my mind. (GASP!) I DON'T HAVE A MIND!

The two manage to convince the skeletons to unionize against the witch who raised them. He didn’t go quietly and the skeletons started a new village in the woods, tending to a new Palistrom grove

[smileposting]

can you please tell us more about thespius and click clack’s weird little officecore baby. i’m obsessed with him

of course! feel free to enjoy this more finalized version of his design while you read some Assorted Fun Facts about him/related HCs of mine under the cut:

i think i do want to go with him being a he/him butch in the end. sometimes lesbians is just a guy.

works outside the grove as an adult, although he does make sure to visit often. although he's known in hobbyhoo as the most chipper square to ever square (affectionate), by his workplace's standards he's a little freaklet. this is due to A.) his sheer Enthusiasm for an extremely unremarkable office job, B.) the fact that native grovedwellers already have a bit of a Reputation in the outside world as strange and otherworldly, and C.) the fact that he Cannot understand why other people would find his background remarkable in any way.

i don't know what his name is, but i do know it's vaguely derived from the like 4-5 different first names he was given when he was born. i've been using "carter" as a placeholder thanks to @echobsilly, but i do also like "guy" just for how straight to the point it is.

since (getting into hc territory Again here) being a flesh-and-blood human means he can't spend all his time on thespius and click clack's side of reality lest he experience some funky side effects, the people of hobbyhoo had just as much of a hand in his upbringing as his birth parents did. children are Not a very common sight in hobbyhoo, but it Is a lot more relaxed about both non-monogamous relationships and family structures outside of the nuclear model, so most children born there tend to be raised communally.

thespius and click clack spent the first few years of his life a lot Smaller than they normally are, at least whenever he was with them. it was a Much bigger adjustment for click clack than it was for thespius, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to avoid squishing their sweet spawnling like a bug.

when he was real little, he was a painfully shy kid who spent most of his time either figuratively or literally clinging to whoever was watching him at the time. he started coming out of his shell more in his teenage years, around the same time he became more acquainted with the sunrise strip - yknow, beyond it just being a place where click clack's followers live.

speaking of thespius and click clack, i say they're kinda baffled by him, but the more i think about it the more i realize it's a Little more nuanced on both of their ends:

he actually has a lot in common with click clack in terms of skills (don't forget that click clack is also thespius' bookkeeper + head of clicky tower) but when it first became clear that working At clicky tower was not enough to sate his clerical ambitions and that what he Really had his eye on was The Very Area Click Clack Used To Work In Before Arriving To The Grove, Well. they ended up butting heads quite a bit. for context i hc that said area is Also where rick brick works before the events of GGG, so that's a bit of extra salt in the wound. anyways carter thought that click clack just didn't want him to leave the grove, but what click clack was Actually afraid of is that, given carter's jack mcbrayer-esque whimsy, the corporate world They are familiar with would chew him up and spit him out with zero remorse. they don't want that happening to anybody, of course, but Especially not their own kid.

but alas, click clack is merely the editor of this story - not the writer. and sometimes editing looks like educating your child about labor rights/unions before letting him take the reins, even if it means he fucks up the first couple of times.

thespius, meanwhile, has always been a little more optimistic about carter's ability to bounce back + likes that it was apparent that he took a Little more after clicky even back when he was small ("how boring would it be if he was just like me?") BUT one thing he does worry about is his ability to truly relate to carter - he loves his kid obviously and always does his best to make him feel at home, but the reality is they are just on different wavelengths, and thespius Hates the idea that he might be making carter feel more alone because of it. kid's talking about white collar crime to him like that one nisipisa tiktok and thespius is like doing whatever his equivalent of googling shit on your phone during a conversation so you can give the other person a response that isn't "Yeagh" is.

was i inspired by mr milchick from severance when playing around with his design more . It's Possible.

[obsidian-pages777]

Pick a card: Your family's & your view of your future spouse [Fae Realm]

Top Left[Pile 1], Top Right[Pile 2], Bottom Left[Pile 3], Bottom Right[Pile 4].

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Reading 1: The Enchanted Forest Your perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Lovers, The Empress, The Six of Wands Interpretation: Your future spouse is someone who embodies deep and genuine love (The Lovers). This card suggests a soulmate connection, implying that your relationship will be harmonious and balanced. The Empress indicates that your spouse will have a nurturing and caring nature, possibly possessing a strong connection to nature or creativity. They may also have a very attractive physical appearance and a warm, welcoming personality. The Six of Wands reveals that they will be successful and confident, admired by others for their achievements. Your union will be celebrated, bringing both of you a sense of pride and joy.

Your Family's perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Star, The Lovers, The Hanged Man

Pros:

The Star: Your family sees your future spouse as a beacon of hope and inspiration. They believe this person will bring a sense of renewal and positivity into your life, filling it with optimism and bright prospects.

The Lovers: This card signifies deep, genuine love and harmony. Your family sees a strong, soul-level connection between you two, indicating their approval and belief in a harmonious and loving relationship.

Cons:

The Hanged Man: Your family may also perceive your future spouse as someone who has an unconventional perspective or approach to life. This could cause some concern about whether their unique outlook will mesh well with familial traditions and expectations.

================================================================================================

Reading 2: The Whispering Winds Your perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Fool, The Queen of Cups, The Ten of Pentacles

Interpretation: Your future spouse will bring a sense of adventure and spontaneity into your life (The Fool). They might have a free-spirited and optimistic outlook, encouraging you to take leaps of faith and embrace new beginnings. The Queen of Cups suggests they will be deeply empathetic and emotionally intelligent, capable of understanding and supporting you on an emotional level. The Ten of Pentacles points to a future of stability and abundance. Together, you will build a prosperous and harmonious life, filled with family, comfort, and shared traditions.

Your Family's perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Empress, The Tower, The Page of Cups

Pros:

The Empress: Your family sees your future spouse as nurturing, loving, and capable of creating a warm and abundant home environment. They appreciate this person’s ability to foster growth and support within the family unit.

The Page of Cups: They also see your future spouse as someone who is creative, gentle, and emotionally expressive. This card suggests a refreshing and youthful energy that your family finds endearing.

Cons:

The Tower: There is a fear of sudden changes or disruptions. Your family may worry that your future spouse's arrival could bring unforeseen challenges or shake up the family dynamic in unexpected ways.

================================================================================================

Reading 3: The Moonlit Grove Your perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Star, The King of Pentacles, The Two of Cups

Interpretation: The Star signifies that your future spouse will bring hope and inspiration into your life. They might have a healing presence, helping you to see the beauty and potential in the world around you. The King of Pentacles indicates that they will be reliable, practical, and financially secure. They might have a strong work ethic and a successful career, providing stability and security. The Two of Cups highlights a deep and romantic connection between the two of you, suggesting a partnership based on mutual respect, love, and understanding.

Your Family's perspective:

Cards Drawn: The High Priestess, The Devil, The Knight of Pentacles

Pros:

The High Priestess: Your family views your future spouse as intuitive, wise, and possessing a deep understanding of the world. They appreciate their depth and the sense of mystery and insight they bring.

The Knight of Pentacles: They see this person as hardworking, reliable, and committed. Your family values their dedication and practical approach to building a stable and secure future.

Cons:

The Devil: There is a concern about potential obsessive tendencies or unhealthy attachments. Your family may worry about whether your future spouse might have controlling or possessive traits that could be problematic.

================================================================================================

Reading 4: The Twilight Glade Your perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Magician, The High Priestess, The Four of Wands

Interpretation: Your future spouse is someone with a dynamic and charismatic personality (The Magician). They have the ability to manifest their desires and bring about positive change. The High Priestess suggests they will possess a deep intuition and spiritual awareness, possibly having a mysterious or enigmatic quality about them. The Four of Wands indicates that your relationship will be filled with joy and celebration. Together, you will create a harmonious and happy home, where both of you feel a strong sense of belonging and contentment.

Your Family's Perspective:

Cards Drawn: The Sun, The Moon, The Ten of Cups

Pros:

The Sun: Your family perceives your future spouse as a source of joy, vitality, and positivity. They believe this person will bring a great deal of happiness and warmth into your life.

The Ten of Cups: They see your future spouse as someone who can contribute to a fulfilling and harmonious family life. This card represents emotional contentment and a strong sense of community and family bonding.

Cons:

The Moon: There are concerns about possible hidden aspects or uncertainties. Your family might feel that there are aspects of your future spouse’s character or past that are not entirely clear, leading to some unease or mistrust.

================================================================================================

TUNE IN FOR MORE!

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[eintausendschoen]

They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-sith for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

[professional-crybb]

The Dread Wolf & his bride || Janais Lavellan & Solas

I've been having a lot of thoughts about what Solas and Lavellan's life looks like in the Fade after Veilguard, especially the domestic parts of it. here are a couple of my headcanons / vignettes / personal Solavellan lore, re: life in the Fade, mostly from my bsky:

Dalish braids

braids hold a cultural significance to the Dalish, symbolizing both the past, present, and future of the elven people as well as the interconnectedness of all things, from the Fade to the material world. Janais has always worn her hair braided, but after she losing her arm, she had to completely relearn how to braid it one-handed as she chooses not to use a prosthetic most of the time. it takes a great deal of time and practice to relearn the skill, but after losing her entire clan, the act of braiding became a sort of ritual for her, allowing her to reconnect with her clan and her heritage.

after Janais joins Solas in the Fade, one morning he wakes to find her awake with her back to him. she is braiding her hair. he watches her intently, silently mesmerized as she weaves her long hair into two long braids, one-handed. there is a pang of guilt within him knowing he is the reason she lost her arm in the first place, but also pride in her resilience. from then on, he often helps her braid her hair—not because she isn't capable of doing it herself, but as an intimate expression of his love for her. he teaches her intricate styles from ancient Arlathan—even some he used to wear! some resemble the traditional Dalish styles her mother taught her, but many are new to her.

bonding ceremony

on the day of their bonding ceremony, Solas braids her hair into a traditional Elvhen style. it takes quite a while to do, and they are both quiet the whole time, meditating on their lives leading up to this moment, their loved ones who are no longer with them, and the future ahead which neither of them ever expected to have.

they take their vows in a simple self-uniting ceremony in a shaded grove in a lush pocket the Fade. spirits of love, hope, compassion, curiosity, and wisdom are all drawn to bear witness to their union, many leaving flowers at their feet.

they have matching rings, both intricately carved with a braided pattern representing their union and marigolds for remembrance of lost loved ones. the rings are also inlaid with a beautiful opal for forgiveness. Janais' ring is made of veil quartz (I imagine it resembles jade) and Solas' is bone, carved from his wolf's jaw pendant.

home for spirits

I am still undecided on whether they will eventually have children in my canon, but the one thing I do know is that Solas and Janais' home in the Fade is a refuge for spirits. they are caregivers to wisps, the "rarer, gentler" spirits, newly born spirits.

they welcome them into their home, care for them, and help them grow into their purpose by playing with spirits of curiosity, reading to spirits of learning… spirits of love following everywhere they go. there is a proliferation of newly born spirits of love, compassion, and hope that form around them, a reflection of their loving partnership.

[1264doghouse]

Tut Taylor, Union Grove 1965