#even the chainmail is beautiful

[inthiskingdomwewillendure]

Eowyns armor in 4k

#lotr #eowyn #lotredit #lord of the rings #miranda otto #4k #armor #perioddramaedit #periodcostume #woman in armor #costume design #shame on me i never paid attention to this armor before #i always thought that it was just some stuff she grabbed in haste #but it looks awesome #all the details with the horses #and her sword #don't get me started on her helmet it's exquisite metalwork #even the chainmail is beautiful #the only thing that looks cheap is her cloack but that's okay because she has to sell the part of the low soldier in disguise #rotk #the return of the king

[cowyolks]

I would like to make a request

Knight Soap X Princess Reader. I've been dying for it. The King König is amazing!

AN OATH OF ROSE BRIAR

Pairing: Knight! John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Female!Princess! Reader

Prompt: It was always nightfall when he’d sneak into your chambers, yearning for love that tears apart at the seams. You didn’t know forbidden love could taste so divinely sweet.

Words: 6.8 K

Warnings: Violence, Gore, Graves is a creep, smut, p in v sex, oral sex (receiving), fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, hint of voyeurism.

A/n: don’t come at me for the action scenes, I know they’re bad lmao. Otherwise I’m proud of this, even though it took me years.

“Hold your breathe, My Lady.” A sharp tug pulled against your waist, securing your corset even tighter to your body, almost like a second skin. You’d been exclusively told you had to look perfect this week, as your father, the King, was inviting possible suitors for you.

It left an irony and rotten taste in your mouth.

You’d lifted your arms, feeling the soft and thick fabric of your crimson dress fall over the enlarged swells of your breasts and hips. It was gorgeous, laced and embroidered with golden roses. Gold jewelry proudly sat at the hollow of your throat and smooth skin of your wrists.

The maids had done well making you look the part. It was just a shame all of this was in vain. You’d never love any of your potential suitors, for there was already a man that had thieved your affections and ran with it like a sly fox.

And it just so happened he was someone you could never have. Ah, forbidden love.

A sharp tug on your scalp alerted you of the busy hands weaving your ruby crusted diadem over your temples. They’d spritzed your body in perfume and oils, using berries to bring out the plumpness of your lips. You felt beautiful, but a type of beautiful that would burn if you stood too close.

A knock on your chamber door startled you from your daydream.

“The King has requested your presence at the harbor docks, Princess.” His voice warmed your very soul and burned your beating organ. There was no possible way he didn’t know the true affect of his voice, his body, his affection. It was killing you from the inside out.

He was a spectacle.

In the eyes of the public he was Ser MacTavish, first of his name, and knight of the Royal Guard. To you, under the cloak of darkness and seclusion, you referred to him as John, chanting his name as you panted against his lips. He made you feel good, a rush of freedom and adoration that pooled in your gut like rolling waves.

Your maids stepped away, offering you tight and practiced curtesies as you thanked them with a smile. You shifted closer to the heavy door, one of your ladies in waiting pushing the door open.

You adjusted to the gentle summer sun, squinting in the rays and enjoying the balmy warmth of the air. Breeze blew from the Sea, fluttering your hair laced with pearls and beads.

A shift of metal drew your attention to your knight, someone who swore an oath to your father to protect him. Instead, he settled on protecting you, being your main guard and secretive lover. John stood tall and proud in his chainmail, your house crest displayed across his chest.

He had his helmet off, the piece of armor hanging loosely in the crook of his arm. He had a passive expression on his features, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was dreading this day as much as you.

You would be married off in less than a week, still you couldn’t help but look at him with greedy infatuation. He’d shaved for the occasion, jaw sharp and shining. His rosy lips contrasted the tanned richness of his skin. Even his eyes, the color of the restless sky, shone in sheer strength and power. His high rank was exposed through the gold beads and occasional shells that were braided through his ebony hair. The middle part was much longer than the sides. He always clipped it after a victory, and you’d never known him to have grown it out.

“Good Morn, Princess.” His deep voice twanged with the lit of his accent, making slight goosebumps ripple through your skin.

“How do you do, Ser?” You stepped forward, falling into step beside him as the two of you climbed down the steps to the bay. Gulls called out from above for their partners, stooping downwards to feed their young.

“Been better, I have. The lady I love will soon love another.” He muttered, hands clenching at his side with what you could detect as wretched jealousy. You noted he was just as miserable about your arrangement as you were. At least he still had his oath—nothing would change there. But you, you would bear a blood bond to your potential suitor. To obey him and provide him with heirs.

You felt bile rise up your throat just thinking about it.

“I doubt she will ever love anyone more than you.” You admitted, knowing then by the twinkle in his eyes it satisfied and gutted him at the same time. The scent of saltwater and seaside jasmine flooded your nostrils as John led you to your father, who was patiently awaiting for the approaching ships.

Ships of different houses, all set upon winning your hand. There would be a festival held all week, the kingdom was already decorated in crimson silks and glowing lanterns for the occasion. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t for such horrible terms. With the festivals came the games. It was always fun to see the men compete in such activities despite the reason.

You distinctly remember watching the flex of your knight’s biceps and thighs as he tossed a caber the farthest and had won. Pride surged through your veins that day, and you made sure to reward him in the dim glowing light of your chambers.

Now, your suitors would compete for your hand. While it wasn’t necessarily determined that the winner of said games would earn your hand, it was more so a tool to help decide. The Royal Court and your father would pick the best with the most assets.

The only saving grace of this tournament was the fact that several knights under your Father’s command could compete as well. Not for your hand, but just to show the strength of your kingdom. Your eyes would be on your John, as they always would be.

Your knight stopped in front of your father, bowing his head low with one hand clutching the iron hilt of his impressive sword. You performed your own curtesy, gold jewelry clashing together as you moved.

“Daughter…aren’t you the prettiest gem in the Kingdom.” And isn’t that just what you are? A shiny object meant to barter away.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” You spoke clearly, something you were taught at a young age.

“Come here,” Your father gestured to the docking ships. You stepped forward, just as John stepped backwards, always one to watch your back. You could feel his fiery stare bouncing on the bare skin of your spine. Attempting to hide the rush of blood flowing to your cheeks, your eyes pinpointed the rush of banners heading down the enormous dock.

All your potential suitors came from the East, a district called Kortac. The land was split into three countries, all ruled by different Kings.

First, there was King Kim, dubbed Horangi. Most referred to him as the Tiger King, for his ruthlessness in battle that was reminded of a big cat. You’d met him before, he was respectable and kind despite those rumors, but he certainly wasn’t your John.

Then there was King Philip, while he was definitely pretty, you’d only heard bad about the wealthy King. He was the richest of all, as he had his own battalion deemed his shadows. You met his eyes slowly, almost immediately picking up on the greedy gleam of it. It made you shiver thinking of marrying him.

Lastly, was the most mysterious of the three. You didn’t even know his full name, just that everyone referred to him as König. He covered his face, although it didn’t stop the stares. Anyone would be drawn to a man of his massive structure. You’d never met him, but you’d heard how he fought alongside his soldiers, as if he didn’t give a damn about his Royal status.

Your father held his arms out wide, almost as if he was hugging his whole kingdom. “Welcome! It’s an honor to host your districts in hopes of winning my lovely daughter’s hand. You all must be tired from your journey, my guards will show you to your chambers. Rest up, because tonight will be our first game that the princess has the honor of choosing!”

All eyes settled upon your pampered form, making you shift slightly from all the attention. Subtly your eyes met John’s— what was he the best at? You wracked your mind quickly. He was a simple stable boy once upon a time, someone who loved horses and worked hard for the hope of something better. He was tall and strong, quick and witty. You thought of the callous on his hands, from hours of wielding metal and clutching reins. Yes, you had it.

“I chose jousting.” You exclaimed, not noticing the wicked smirk that wound its way across John’s lips. Cheers and war cries broke out amongst the men and common folk, all of them excited to watch the entertainment.

“Excellent! The games begin tonight before the feast to honor the princess.” Your father informed before clapping once as his guards escorted him to his chambers. John approached you again, bowing politely in show of all the new eyes.

“Back to your chambers, princess?” He asked, eyes flickering every once and a while. He looked stiffer than normal, ever the vigilant force at your side. You could tell he didn’t like all these outsiders, specifically around you.

“No, not yet. I feel like going on a walk through the gardens.” You’d always found solstice around the sweet smelling rows of briar and petal.

Afternoon bled into evening. And with the evening time came the air of excitement. You’d been fiddling with a strand of crimson fabric, the ribbon twisting between your digits absentmindedly.

You tilted your head behind you, wishful stare settling upon your guard, who walked several paces behind. He was dressed in full armor now, the helmet covering the soft flesh of his neck and head. Dark hair still curled out the bottom, whipping around against his tanned neck.

Your eyes flickered around, spotting no one in the private gardens. Still, you cautiously shuffled into the shade and privacy of the marble pavilion, a place where you and your knight’s lips locked and fiery touches met before. John knew to follow you, his form barely making a sound despite the heavy armor.

“Princess?” He uttered, eyes full of what only could be described as pure want and adoration.

You surged forward, lips immediately settling upon his own. A large arm wrapped upon your waist, pulling you off your feet and into his scent and warmth. His bottom lip parted, allowing his tongue to swelteringly lick across your own. You parted for air, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before it broke away.

“Please win tonight.” You begged, knowing that it would mean nothing despite the victory. John had sworn an oath— an oath that sealed his fate. No children, no wife, no lands. He’d have his head on a chopping block if anyone caught him.

“Aye, I’ll do just that, flower.” He swore, smothering eyes falling downwards to your moving hands at his chest. The scarlet ribbon you fiddled with snaked it’s way under armor. You’d tied the knot against the loose end of his tunic, your personal favor. The pads of your fingers brushed his chest, feeling the strong thudding of his heart.

He had your favor, your love, your time all symbolized in that red piece of fabric.

“Go,” you whispered, nodding towards the south, where the growing arena was likely filling up with spectators. He nodded his head once, grasping onto your hand that still stubbornly clung to his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss upon your knuckles.

“Goodbye for now.”

You watched him leave, following the horizon to the stables, where his mare awaited. You’d rushed down to the stands, keeping your head covered and away from prying eyes. After shifting pass several soldiers you collapsed down into the forged steel of your throne, similar to your father’s.

He’d been waiting for you, a disappointing look crossing his features.

“Why were you late?”

“I lost track of time in the gardens. You know how much I love the roses.” You excused, hoping it was enough for your father to put on his act of King and host again. He hummed, before standing. The audience immediately dropped volume upon the gesture of the King.

“Let the games begin!”

Loud uproars broke out though the area, cheers and shouts for their own kings escaping the many districts. You stayed seated, straightening out the sheer fabric of your gown.

A large black Stallion trotted proudly into the area, a knight with gleaming armor the color of obsidian upon the saddle. John’s second in command, Ser Simon. Some called him the Ghost, for his shifty speed and impressive strength in battle. He nodded to your father beyond his visor, shouldering the large lance he held.

His opponent’s horse moved forward as well, a buckskin shire so large you could almost hear it’s thundering steps. Large horse for a large man—König shouldered his lance with precision. You had no doubts he could out muscle Simon, but the Ghost certainly held fast in his speed and intelligence. König’s armor was coppery in color, long since used and well worn in his victories. It was admirable in a queasy kind of way.

A bugle sounded to your left, kick starting the joust with a burst of added cheers.

You watched as Simon’s horse reared excitedly, happy to speed towards the oncoming opponent in long strides. You watched as the Ghost twisted his shield, jamming König’s lance narrowly, avoiding splinters to his chest. You let out a breath as the two made it to the opposite ends unscathed.

The two approached again, this time Ghost was on the offense, shifting his shield before jabbing his lance in the opposite direction that caught König on his arm between the subtle crease of his armor.

Cheers erupted from your own subjects, chanting out the name “Ghost” over and over, with a thumb up, your father declared Ghost the winner.

Next was King Graves and Horangi. A match you were looking forward to as much as watching paintings dry. But alas, you had to look interested for they were your suitors.

Horangi looked on with flashing intelligence, something you admired greatly. If he could think quickly, he’d know that Graves’ left side was always weakly guarded and possibly strike there.

The first bugle sounded, allowing Graves to lead off first with his expensive looking mare. Horangi took off a second later, visor dark and covering the movement of his eyes. The two flew forward, speeding pass with no damage done.

The crowd cheered as Graves boasted from the opposite side, his raised arms making your nose wrinkle in disgust.

The second bugle sounded, this time Horangi was faster, shouldering his shield in determined might. His lance favored and aimed to Graves side, which he narrowly missed after the wealthy king twisted away. The crowd bursted into relieving calls, while the other half sighed in disappointment.

Finally, the last horn blew, and with gaining speed, Horangi aimed to Graves’ unprotected side again, but with a dirty trick, Graves juked his lance to the side, then with a vicious twist brought his shield straight onto the nose of Horangi, essentially flattening him and having the Tiger King fold to the ground with a wounded puff.

It was dirty, but essentially fair. It made unease reside in your gut as your father held up a thumb for King Graves’ victory. Cheers and boos broke out, making you shrink back in your seat with a huff. But then, your eyes caught on the sapphire blues of your knight. He rode on his fiery mare dubbed Themis, tribute to Justice. She was a handsome bay that loved when you gave her sugar cubes in the seclusion of the stables.

John would take on the Ghost. A battle that you knew would be entertaining and competitive, yet harmless. No ill intention would breakout among the knights, that you were sure of.

John rode to his side with a determined exhale, gripping his lance tightly as Themis pawed the dirt in anticipation. The bugle sounded as you shuffled to the edge of your seat, resisting the urge to worriedly bite your lip. He clicked his tongue, urging Themis into a speedy canter as he maneuvered his body in the right position.

Simon, who definitely owned the strength, brought himself tightly together, using his blunt force to push John’s lance away with his shield. The audience sighed in anticipation as the two knights rode to the opposite side unscathed. Under their visors, you could see the hints of amused smiles. At least they were having some competing fun.

The next round started, this time with John taking up a defensive position instead of offensive. Simon aimed his lance at John’s armored chest, anticipating that he’d block with his shield. Themis galloped onwards, huffing steaming smoke like a fiery dragon.

With a heave, Simon thrusted the lance inwards just as John brought his shield up a few inches. Then, with a lightening quick speed, he lowered it again, shoving his lance instead into Simon’s side, effectively teetering his balance. The Ghost fell with grace, landing on his feet in a disappointed dull thud. You resisted the urge to cheer too loudly as your John circled, a fist pumped in honorable victory.

Your father held his thumb up to John, likely the only approval he’d ever receive from the King. You only wish he’d approve of you wanting John’s hand. But Princesses weren’t people, they were tools of power. A simple pawn in the decade game of chess.

The tourney was drawing to an end— just John and Graves left in the competition. You’d completely dropped your resolve, chewing upon your lip as King Graves pranced out on his horse again.

There was a dangerous look in his eye, something that made your stomach spin in knots for your John. Regardless, your own knight held a hard and determined scowl, his chest likely breathing in pure desperation for a victory.

The deafening horn blew again, and John took off in a thunderous offense. He looked calm and collected, ever the cool demeanor when it came to a fight. Themis whinnied in disappointment as both lances missed their marks respectfully, making you let out an exhale you didn’t know you were holding.

Time sped up, your own surroundings moving much faster than your panicked thoughts. The next thing you knew, Themis was squealing, rearing up on her hind legs as John scrambled for a tighter hold on her reins. But you knew your John, your sweet, selfless, passionate John— it didn’t surprise you in the slightest that he dismounted in a cloud of dust. He was always selfless like that, disqualifying himself to check upon his panicked mare.

Themis seized her bucking as John cooed at her in reassuring words, a quick pat pressed into her withers.

Then you noticed the searing red of a laceration. The bleeding wound leaked crimson, but it wasn’t the blood that made your nostrils flare in anger. No, it was thin stripe of such a cut. A cut only made by a stealthy swing of a short sword.

The bastard king had cheated.

Roaring applause and boos echoed across the arena. You had to bite your tongue to resist a uproar of your own, so much so that you tasted warm blood upon your tongue.

You met John’s eyes, his filled with so much apologetic sorrow you had to blink to stop your own from watering too much. It wasn’t that you were upset that he lost, more so that it wouldn’t matter regardless. He was sweetness you could never taste, love that would only burn you.

You’d realized this now. Now so more than ever, when the sight of your own summer roses extended in front of your line of sight.

A crown of beauty and fertility. You couldn’t help but focus on the wicked thorns that pierced your temples as King Graves, the victor, declared you the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. It made you sick that he was the most favorable of the Kings. You’d never wanted to run away more, to spend your days on the highland coasts in a homey cottage your knight had built by hand. Saltwater between your toes and John’s body to keep you warm on the stormy days.

Perhaps, now would be the time to throw away your titles and fortune and replace it with freedom, love, and yearning.

The evening blurred into darkness illuminated by glowing starlight. A time you relished and anticipated when your knight would slip into your chambers and kiss away the stress and pain of expectations, orders, and rules.

Now, you wanted nothing more than to be excused from this wretched dinner and to sleep until dawn.

The crown of roses sat uncomfortably upon your head, despite all the compliments you had received from the nobles. You’d see it more fair to chuck the bloody thing in the roaring fires bordering the stony hall. Sorrow crept into your soul when you couldn’t find your knight in the sea of feasting people.

Your own roast chicken and vegetables lay untouched. It was hard to even think of eating when King Phillip sat next to you, boasting and smiling with his too white teeth. You wanted to get sick when his hand subtly touched your lower back.

“Father.” You blurted, drawing attention upon yourself. Graves’ retracted his jeweled hand begrudgingly upon the careful look he received from your king. Visibly you gulped, now having the divided attention of not just your father but the three other Kings as well.

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to return to my chambers if it is quite alright with you.” You asked, nearly squirming at the sharp look he sent you. He didn’t appreciate your resistance to being wed, but you did happen to look a tad lighter than your typical shade. He sighed heavily, but nodded anyways.

“Go get some rest. I’ll have Ser Riley escort you since your own knight is still tending to his mare.” Your heart jumped as your father confirmed where John was. But you knew, in your heart, he wasn’t just taking care of Themis— he was shouldering his defeat badly.

Despite this, you stood, making careful eye contact with Ser Simon. You’d always observed him from afar, growing unnecessarily nervous with the helmeted knight. He was strong and mysterious, not belonging to a house or clan but was simply a nomad that sworn oath. Your John liked him, that was enough for you. After all, He wasn’t so bad when he cracked morbid jokes you likely should never hear as a Princess.

The Ghost held out the crook of his arm, signaling for you to take the cold metal of his armored forearm. You did so quietly, holding the stiffness of your posture until you were through the large doors of the hall.

Simon was always quiet, really only speaking when he needed to. John told you one time, when the two fought under the same battalion that Simon wouldn’t shut up or stop cracking jokes as he dragged a wounded John through the battlefield. Your knight realized then that Simon only spoke to keep him conscious and laughing. Respect and gratitude bloomed in your heart for the Ghost.

“I assume your sickness has left?” The Ghost spoke in his rough voice that reminded you of scratchy bark on Oak trees. Your heart jumped at such an accusing question.

“Pardon?”

“The damn parasite king? Leaching onto our Princess like he’s some Messiah.” He growled.

“Shhh! What if someone hears you speak that way, Ser?” You panicked for his safety, eyes flickering around in a familiar practice of looking for wondering eyes or ears. Simon, didn’t seem bothered, only shrugging in nonchalance.

He steered you down the hall, bicep gently flexing under your palm. It was then when you noticed he took a wrong turn, instead following the lantern light to the stables.

“You turned the wrong hall, my chambers are this way.” You insisted. Simon shook his head, continuing to usher you gently down the cobble path to the growing sound of whickering horses.

“Ser?”

“You speak too much.” Simon imputed, leading you into the old wooden building that housed all the guard’s prized mares and stallions. It was dark inside, the area barely lit with gentle candlelight. Still, you made out the shuffling outline of a familiar body.

John.

It took everything in you not to sprint in his direction. To pull him into an embrace and kiss the worry lines of his face. Instead you stayed planted next to Simon, who gingerly dropped your arm with a knowing look in his eyes. You should have been worried that he knew, but you could care less at the current moment. He was friend, not foe.

“I think I hear the sound of impending doom. I must go before it’s too late.” Simon monotonously quipped in a low voice, tilting his masked face just enough for you to see his wink before he turned on his heel and left you alone.

Your eyes swiveled around, only catching on the taut muscles of John’s back, who didn’t seem to notice you over the sound of Themis’ affectionate whinnies.

You took careful steps forward, not caring that the bottom of your expensive crimson gown was being caked in dust and straw. Instead you couldn’t help but admire your knight. He was shoveling loose hay into Themis’ trough, back muscles rippling in strain. You caught the white material of bandage wrapped tightly and professionally around his horse, obviously the work of his experienced hands.

“John?” You spoke softly, as not to startle his usually alert self. It appeared he only cared about his surroundings when you were his to guard and protect.

Immediately he dropped the pitchfork, the sound muffled by the hay below his feet. Then he turned, so fast that you missed the pure looks of sorrow, surprise and adoration cross his features.

“Princess! I- you shouldn’t be here.”

Your heart strained at the rejection, nevertheless you knew he was frustrated and self loathing. You couldn’t help but approach him, just as he took a leaping bound forward, pushing pass the gate to follow you like a loyal hound.

It was common practice for the two of you to find the dim part of a room. A place where no eyes or ears could possibly look.

Here, his stiffness fled, eyes nearly glowing against the flickering flames.

“I failed you.” His head hung low, knees almost buckling from the sheer disappointment that pushed heavy on his heart. He avoided your approaching form, not taking the time to meet your gaze or see the shaking of your head.

“You could never fail me, John. Not now, nor ever.” Your palm settled upon his stubbled cheek, his body instantly reacting to the touch by pushing further against you.

“But I-”

You cut him off, placing your thumb upon the chapped line of his lip. He’d immediately stopped speaking, his hand going upwards to delicately take a hold of your own. His palm nearly swallowed your entire hand, his calloused fingertips stopping just above your wrists.

“I don’t deserve you, Princess.” He’d absentmindedly brought his thumb across your knuckles, comforting and true that made your body buzz in love and adoration.

You reached upwards, tilting your head just enough to ghost your lips over his own. You’d let him chose if he’d like to take comfort in your warmth. A small grunt of frustration fluttered down his throat, but he took you anyways.

Arm wrapping tightly upon your waist to hold you to his warm body, firm with countless hours of training and bloodshed. His other hand settled upon the back of your neck, fingers sprawling with the purpose to expand you towards his awaiting mouth. A sharp gasp of surprise exited you as he kissed you. It wasn’t his typical sensation of passion and sweetness.

John kissed you hard. His teeth clattering against your own, with his tongue pushing down your throat in a one-sided battle of dominance. He was chasing his frustration through your very body, and you certainly liked it.

“Don’t know what you do to me…” he breathed out as he broke away, only to steer you against the far wooden wall, protecting the back of your head with the back of his hand.

“I think I know.” You quipped back, the heat coiling in your stomach roaring at the sharp look you received.

“Cheeky little thing…” he hissed, one of his hands holding you steady while the other trailed down your collar bone to the top curvature of your breasts. His mouth followed after. Lips pressing searing kisses against your exposed neck, down to the hollow of your throat.

“John.” You sweetly aired, exposing your throat even more to his awaiting mouth.

“I know, flower, I know.” His voice growing even deeper with the lust that coated his tongue like sweet honey. “Turn around.” He muttered, maneuvering your hips so that you could rotate with your back to him.

His fingers quickly found your corset in a familiar action, loosing it enough to help pull down your undergarments. His mouth pressed open kisses down the curve of your spine, making you gasp breathlessly and arch further against him. You felt the hardness of his cock press against your lower back, just as he hissed at the stimulation.

“Fuck…Need to taste ya’.” He growled in a command, typically the only time he did order around his superior. You had no problem following his experienced lead.

You heard the gentle thud of his knees hitting the straw bedding, just as his hand pushed on your hip to pivot to face him. Eyes once the color of the sky now raged like a stormy hurricane, dark and ravenous. It was enough for you to widen your legs more in an invitation.

The tips of his fingers traced the warm skin of your thighs, just as his head disappeared from under the soft silk of your dress. Hot air escaped onto your uncovered heat, making your eyes flutter shut in bliss.

“John,” you whined, oblivious to what he was planning beneath the drape. A growly chuckle sounded, until his lips made direct contact to your throbbing clit, his warm tongue flicking upon the bead in a teasing stroke that had your legs locking as they became pliable at his touch.

“Easy….” His palm made contact with the soft swell of your backside, molding his fingers into the skin that ached and buzzed for just him.

A soft sigh left your lips as he petted you, fingertips touching and caresssing with such accuracy despite the darkness under your dress. You mewled when a thick finger prodded your entrance, sliding nearly effortlessly into your wet heat.

“Fuckin’ hell, Bonnie, always so tight for me.” He growled, voice so heavenly you couldn’t stop your muscles from clenching yearningly against him. You cooed in response as he curled the digit, your own palms finding his shoulders to steady yourself from his burning touch.

“Just for you.” You pleaded, neck pushing back against the wood of the stable wall. Your throat bobbed when his tongue licked a hot stripe, body shuddering in ecstasy. John chuckled at your words, the vibration sending jolts across your core.

“That’s right, Flower. All mine, no sod of a King can have you. Just me, right?” He added another finger, relishing in your loss of control at his confident touch.

“Right, yes.” You gulped, losing yourself embarrassingly quick under his skilled tongue and fingers dipping into you. He picked up speed, noticing the tell tale signs of your body responding to his.

“Oh, John,” you stuttered, eyes fluttering shut as he curled his fingers skillfully, the movement being enough to allow the coil in your abdomen to finally snap.

You gushed around him with a carnal moan, his tongue hurriedly lapping it all up greedily, just as he hummed at the taste. You barely had time to heave out an exhale before his hands found the flesh of your hips, taking hold of you in a lovestruck desire. He placed a sweltering hot kiss upon the inside of your thigh. His massive hands pushed you upwards, allowing himself time to escape from under your crimson gown.

He looked like Eros reincarnated.

Crysaline eyes the color of deep-rooted glaciers bore into your very soul. He had a look to his face, such as a painting crafted of faithful devotion, as if he was staring at something so enchanting everything else dulled in comparison. Your own slick coated his stubble and lips, allowing the light to catch as he licked the nectar off with a satisfied hum.

He squeezed once, twice, upon your hips, signaling that he was to move backwards, his broad shoulders falling backwards upon the straw with a huff. He settled you down upon him, your thighs slotting between his hips as your dress spilled over the both of you.

“Yer’ so beautiful, flower.” He praised, candlelight catching in his blown out pupils. Your heart fluttered at the compliment, as did your weeping entrance.

“Mhm,” You preened, a soft smirk spreading over your lips as you leant to kiss him. With confident fingers, you reached under your dress, making contact with his waistband, sliding the material downwards before reaching his cock. He was scorching at your touch, already throbbing and prepared.

John let out a hiss muffled by your mouth, as your fingertip slid over his tip, smoothing the large bead of pre-cum that had gathered.

A delighted chuckle left your lips as he twitched, you pumped his length slowly, curving your wrist just how he liked it. He pulled away from your kiss with a heave, a growl leaving his throat as he saw the teasing look in your eyes.

“Think you can play with me after all that’s happened today? Watching all those men stare like you’re a piece of meat? You do this after I licked your pretty cunt? No, Bonnie, your going to take my cock like a good obedient princess.”

You didn’t have time to teasingly retaliate, instead you could only gasp as his head slid unforgivably into your heat, a low moan leaving the both of you at the joining. His hands guided your hips, until all of him was sunk around your fluttering walls. He paused, glancing up to see if you were alright.

“I can’t help their stares, I did-” his finger found your lips, pausing your words.

“Don’t speak of them when your full of my cock, eh?”

You couldn’t help but nod, rolling your hips against him in a slow way that mimicked the words “yes I understand. Only you can see me like this.”

“Good.” He aired, his hands once again finding your hips as he roughly guided you against his own bucking hips, starting a fast pace that had your eyes fluttering shut and soft coos leaving your mouth involuntarily.

“That’s it, princess.” He praised, a hand leaving your hip to play with your breasts that threatened to spill out from your undone corset. His palm squeezed the sensitive flesh, sending shockwaves down your skin and goosebumps to rise in ecstasy.

You picked up speed, now rising inches off the straw covered ground before slamming back down upon his length. He cursed, adam’s apple bobbing as his tip met the start of your womb. A ravishing hunger filled your very souls, only satisfied by your intertwined touch and the sound of squelching skin.

He gripped you harder, his climax drawling to a burning close. You felt the all familiar tightening again, knowing that John would only stop fucking you until you finished around his swollen cock.

“You going to cum for me, princess?” He growled, hand falling under your skirts to draw slow circles upon your puffy clit with his calloused thumb.

“Yes!” His circling thumb pushed you over the edge, along with the deep and ruthless plunges of his cock, your eyes fluttered shut, just as your vision blurred from pure ecstasy. Your knight clenched his teeth, but could hardly contain his whine as he plowed deeply, spilling into you warmly.

Together the two of you heaved, lost in each other and not wanting to break your intertwined hold quite yet. You settled, bringing a palm to John’s sweaty cheek as his eyes fluttered shut.

“I love you.” You whispered, stroking the skin in all the passion you could muster.

“Well…. Isn’t this sweet?” A shadow hissed into the night, startling the two of you as you struggled to get up off of your knight in horrified shock.

Before you could separate your hold, your hair was tugged from behind, forcing you to stand and whimper at the fiery hold. Your knight struggled to stand, hastily making himself decent before scanning for a weapon. Except it was too late.

A dagger pressed coldly to your flaming jugular, halting John in place as he glared holes into your captor. You glanced downward, noticing the hand had familiar jeweled rings upon his digits.

Graves.

Bile threatened to expel as John attempted to step forward, until the dagger drew blood and the sharp sting made a lone tear fall down your cheek.

“Ah, ah. Stay where you are, or I kill the whore.” Graves threatened, holding his ground and forcing John to stay planted where he was.

King Graves tutted, a disappointed clicking noise that traveled from his chest to your back in vibrations.

“I always figured you were a whore, had the looks of one. But with your knight…” he laughed, no humor behind his tone as John switched between glaring and panic between the two of you. “You’ve just handed me another kingdom on a golden platter. Once the King knows of this scandal your knight will be hung, and you will be cast out as a whore, unfit for any royalty. That will leave the Kingdom to me, after I kill your worthless father.” Graves growled, a playful lit to his voice as you silently cried.

“Don’t cry….” Graves cooed heartlessly, pressing himself into you with a dull hunger. Your knight growled, eyes darkening as he could only helplessly watch.

All at once, you felt the shallow cut of the blade as a dull shrunk came from behind you, you leant forward at the lack of pressure, knowing you were no longer held captive as John rushed to your side, examining you for any horrific injuries.

You could only turn and watch as Graves’ body fell to the ground, a shrouded figure holding a knife shadowed the area, another person standing close to him as well. One wore a signature mask pulled up to his lips, the other was flushed a pink color, much like you had been before.

König and Horangi.

They had saved you.

“Go. Before your father sends out hounds looking for you.” Horangi spoke, voice airy as he subtly placed a hand upon König’s waist. Huh. Maybe they wouldn’t be so devastated as to not have your hand in marriage.

Tears welled in your eyes as realization set in. You were really doing this, really running away from all the blasphemy that was royalty. You could be free, could be with your John as you always hoped. It would be hard, but your mind was settled the moment you kissed your knight for the first time.

“Thank you.”

A steel knife sliced its way across stew vegetables. It was amateur chopping at best, but you’ve been practicing for the oncoming winter.

With a hum, you moved to place the potatoes into your pot of boiling cream. The fire burned comfortably in the small cottage made by hand. Stones were masoned expertly to create a fireplace, among with the strong boards of Oak to keep out the salty sprays from the sea.

The door opened with a creak, cold air blowing into the homey space in frozen waves. You suppressed a shiver, but felt warm at the sight of your husband.

He held a stack of firewood in his arms, biceps bulging as he placed the logs down into the crate next to the flames. He shook from the cold, but it seemed he was already warmer as his crystalline eyes locked with yours. It had been two days since he had left for a hunt, the longest you’ve gone without seeing him as of late.

John was growing nervous as the days grew shorter. With the shortening days, came the higher probability of giving birth.

“How are ye’, flower?” Your husband asked eyes falling to your swollen belly with so much love that your face couldn’t help but break out into a smile.

“I say we are better now that you are home.”

John laughed heartily, the sound booming through the whole cottage as he hugged his family close to him.

#cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #call of duty #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john soap MacTavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish

[comfortless]

What dungeoneer!König wants vs what he gets:

SO TRUE. he just wants a pretty lady that can sew and cook, willing to put up with his nonsense without hissing at him at every turn!! knight!gf simply lives to bully him (she gets good sword practice that way) <3

At some point, he does ask her about her strange demeanor: “Why do you pretend?”

It’s said in a hushed whisper while they’re both fitted beneath a thin sheet at some weatherworn inn along their route, cozy and safe as every night since she took to sleeping at his side like a contented little kitten. He can’t help but want to poke at her when she’s so soft and weary (and her sword is on the far side of the room).

Not that he dislikes her with the sharp edges of her armor, the jostling of her chainmail and her expert swordswomanship— he just can not comprehend why a lady as lovely as she is would want to explore dark crypts full of monsters and bully him into dueling with her! She should be in fields of flowers, caressed by the wind, laughing soft into the mouth of her lover while he strips her of her gown…

She’s already toyed with the idea of courting him as a man would, stuffing flowers in the cuff links of his tunic and kneeling before him as if to offer her loyalty, her blade. It’s always when she finds herself keen on the idea of potentially taking him as her own that he finds a way to ruin the moment with blunt words or a too-eager hand.

“What do you mean?” She drags the words, sleep addled and dumbed down by a pint of mead from the tavern below.

“That you’re…” He pauses.

König isn’t stupid, he knows he’s jabbing at the dragon’s mouth, daring it to breathe fire the second he asks his lady knight things like this. She is what she is, and he’s given up on the hope of ever changing whichever tangled bowstring in her mind is making her this way. Though he would prefer her to be like the soft women he’s seen wearing silken bliauts, eyes shimmering as they shyly avert their gazes from him… She is something else entirely and that both fascinated and unnerves him.

“… not fragile,” he finishes, turning on his side to face her properly.

His little knight pinches her brow at that, throws the covering off of them both and rises to her knees to climb over him. She means to be intimidating, surely, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his pants at the sight of her downcast glare and the feel of her fingernails biting into the skin of his bare shoulders, actually thinking that her delicate form is enough to properly keep him pinned.

“I saved your life.” Ever since the gnoll, she’s been using it as leverage, punctuating her words by tracing over the scar with a light stroke of her thumb.

“Ja, but… do you not want to be more…”

“Ladylike?”

If she were, they would already have settled someplace softer; a roof above their heads where he sacrifices every shift of the sun feeding her from his palm and bringing home gifts that make her eyes shimmery and her heart fill to bursting. Every hour of the night squishing her beneath him and bringing her to beautiful ruin.

The concept only further confuses her when König nods his head, a trace of honeysuckle wafting up from his throat where she had pressed them into the collar of his shirt only earlier that day. It eases her, makes her less annoyed when she remembers that this brute is entirely hers, equally devoted even if he is more keen on fucking her in a dress than in the armor she covets.

She tells him a story when she finally retreats to her side of the thin, straw-stuffed mattress. It’s one he’s heard countless times in his own youth, of a knight she seemed to believe a hero. When she finishes, expecting some protest from him about how little girls should have never heard such tales, she’s only met with a silence that further bewilders her.

His stare is less perplexed and more loving, now. So much so, that she isn’t surprised when he pulls her closer with a gentle grasp to her forearm and rests his chin over her shoulder.

“You want to be a little hero then, hm?,” he whispers into her ear, a prideful smirk plastered across his face when he feels her shiver.

“Aren’t I already?” No matter how much cold steel she coats herself in, it could never smother out the gentleness of her laugh, and when she does giggle, he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep the urge to squish her tits and toy with her at bay.

“Knights don’t find themselves in bed with beasts,” he rasps, daring to inch his hand further down to her hip.

“You believe that a lady would be more keen to?”

“A lady would want the beast to fuck her, ja?”

Poor König finds himself entirely blueballed once more when she squirms away from him, shooting a glare as cold as a winter storm in his direction before facing away with the blanket pulled taut over the both of them.

She’s only grateful that he can’t hear the beating of her heart or catch sight of the giddy little smile pulling at her lips. It’s not his stature or his prowess in battle that’s caged him up in her heart, only the way he makes her feel as though she truly is apart of some fairytale.

#dungeoneer!könig #he spends the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling utterly destroyed #is he really this bad with women or is she just shy… #meanwhile she is just ‘a beast..? ((: you don’t say… ((:’ #stealing a glance next time they bathe together nodding her head and taking notes

[themotherofhorses]

foolish men dream foolish lives

summary: it is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another.

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

warnings: explicit language. some small smut. voyeurism. breeding kink. incest between uncle and niece. allusion to pregnancy towards the end. aemond is a possessive little shit that does not mind breaking hearts and ruining lives.

notes: hi my little loves, please enjoy this little drabble i whipped up in like three hours this morning while i continue to work on the third part for my modern!reader series.

masterlist

Foolish men dream foolish lives, his lord father once said.

Looking back, this knight wished he believed it a little bit more.

He was a son of House Bywater, who left his homelands to take his summoning as a new houseguard for the royal family. By the request of the king, the Hand, Ser Otto Hightower, sent a raven to his family with the offer, and in the later summer months, the knight rode through the bronze gates of King’s Landing, excited and proud.

A moon later, the Kingsguards gave him sacred oaths to swear his life on, and then cloaked him in heavy chainmail and wools of blood-red and black. And from that day onward, he stood guard for the royal family, as they broke fast together in the mornings and slept at night and bustled around the Red Keep.

He found he grew favorable towards the Princess Helaena and her sweet children, as well as the Queen Alicent.

But none of them held a candle to the princess of Dragonstone.

He had not expected your arrival nor heard any news of it; instead, it came as a great surprise when he caught a small glimpse of you as you wandered through the castle hallways with your step-grandmother and aunt, dressed in a gown of the prettiest silks.

The People’s Princess, the court singers had named you. The only daughter born to Princess Rhaenyra and her royal consort, Prince Daemon, back on Dragonstone, you had been sent to King’s Landing for a marriage, he had then been told.

Perhaps his heart wept at that, but he could not remember.

You were like no other, bold and bright and beautiful as only one of dragon’s blood could be. Silver hair, and with the softest lilac eyes, you were of pure Valyrian blood, no doubt, highborn and a dragonrider.

He swore his heart and soul and sword to you and only you, though you had not the smallest clue. You were blind to his eyes, to his little gestures, and the protective nature he blanketed over you. Wherever you went, he was sure to follow, ever your shadow.

He loved you, so much so he thought his life unable to carry on if he could not have you.

But what could he do? Would a princess- like you- ever wed a simpleton of a royal houseguard, like him? Would a dragon of Old Valyria lay with a mere river fish of the crownlands?

And he thought himself very careful and secretive, figuring that no one could possibly know his feelings towards the princess. He bit his tongue and kept his gaze lowered to his feet whenever others took up the room she was in, and only worshipped her from afar.

Maybe if he prayed hard enough, to the Seven gods that seated themselves within the heavens, they would pity this poor knight, this white river fish, and bestow to him this princess as his wife.  

He smiled at that.

Yes, that would be wonderful.

And with that, he forgot his father’s words.

He had not meant to come across them.

The day had fallen to the evening, and he was making his way back to his room, tired and sore and hungry. And as he passed by one of the Keep’s little libraries, he overheard a sound. It was high-pitched and breathless, a woman’s moan.

Prince Aegon with one of his whores? He thought, curiously.

It was not his business, he knew, but he could not stop himself. He peered into the room, ever so slightly, mindful of any noise he made. And with what he saw, his heart broke.

His dear princess, the love of his miserable life, riding the second son of King Viserys II and Queen Alicent, the Prince Aemond One Eye. You bounced on his cock, fast and hard, resembling more a wonton and unashamed whore of the Street of Silk rather than the princess he knew and loved and desired.

Your pretty gown- his favorite of yours- crumpled around your waist, and both your ample breasts were yanked out from inside your bodice, with Aemond palming at them.

“How does it feel, my love? My darling girl, my sweet bride,” he heard Aemond ask, while sliding down a hand to rest on your hipbone. “Does it feel good? Tell me, how do I make you feel?”

You moaned, tossing your head back as your hips rocked, in some desperate attempt to match his thrusts. Your eyes fluttered close, and one of your hands flew to your breast, covering Aemond’s, whimpering a bit as he tweaked your nipple. “Oh! Oh, so good,” you mumbled, pretty face scrunching up in pleasure.

The knight could see the countless bruises and love bites scattered along your neck and breasts, and could not ignore the way your lips were pink and swollen.

“You’re so good for me, my love,” Aemond purred, “-so tight and perfect. Fucking made for my cock.”

The princeling was without his usual eyepatch, and the knight saw the blue sapphire he wore beneath in his empty eye socket. He had not believed it at first, waving it off as the lowborn’s stupid gossip. “My pretty bride, my beautiful wife. All mine,” and he flattened a hand against your shoulder blade, bending you down, so your face fell over his.

“Tell me that you want my seed, niece,” the prince hissed, through low grunts and moans, “beg me, wife. Beg me, and by tomorrow, our son will be in your belly.”  

“Aemond…!” you gasped out, fingers combing through his damp hair as you tugged his face and lips up to yours. “Please, uncle…! I want it- I need it! Oh, don’t make me beg, please, just give it to me,” you cried, pressing your forehead against his, your hips slamming against his own as you quickened your riding, feeling your cunt tightening around his cock.

“I promise…I promise to be a good wife! The best wife! A good mother…to our kids! Please, please!”

The knight could not watch any longer, almost in tears. He had not known that your uncle, Prince Aemond One Eye, was your intended betrothed. His beating heart felt pierced and frayed within his chest, and he wondered if his soul just died, along with every little hope and dream of a future by your side, as your husband and protector and father to your children.

He turned and resumed his way back to his room, trying to ignore the fading echoes of your ongoing little moans and whimpers, for the sake of what was left of his own dignity and sanity.

The next morning, after the royal family broke fast, Prince Aemond Targaryen pulled him aside.

There was a smirk twisted on his lips when he said, “My many thanks to you, my good knight, for keeping guard as my princess and I made our first child last night. When he is born, I shall ask for you to become his sworn protector, along with the rest of my children.”  

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond drabble #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd drabbles #vic writes 🧸

[kiatheinsomniac]

Hello, it's me again 💀

Can I have something NSFW with Thranduil x Human!Reader + “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”?

Thank you!

notes: fucking Thranduil in his BOTFA armour? Hell yeah

pairing: Thranduil x Reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: nsfw, quickie, vaginal fingering, against-the-wall sex, oral (male receiving)

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

Does it make you nervous when I stare?

Each time you took your sights from the townsfolk, you would find bright blue eyes on you and it was nerve-wracking to say the least. They were the eyes of the Elvenking who had emerged from his woodland realm with his army to reclaim some jewels, so Bard had told you. You thought of his cause as ridiculous but he would also aid Lake Town in claiming their rightful share of the mountain’s wealth that Smaug had stolen from Bard’s ancestor - such wealth would be essential for the town’s people to rebuild their lives after the terror of dragonfire and the losses that it ensued. 

You found yourself unable to hold his gaze for even a second, face flushing at being stared at by someone as powerful as he was beautiful. You would trip over your words in a flustered state for a few moments before regaining your composure and telling yourself that you would not look upon the Elvenking again. You were wrong each time, of course, and continued to find his eyes on you as you instructed the townsfolk in simple defences from each of four diagonals. 

Bard had requested that you teach some of the people how to fight in order to try and better prepare them for the war that could not be avoided. Your late father had been a mercenary, teaching you how to use a longsword and a bow – you made your money off selling the pelts of animals that you hunted. Hunts, as of late, had rarely been without the occasional orc scout and so your swordsmanship skills had become more refined in recent months. 

When you were permitted a break, you spent it in the armoury, looking for some decent armour. You refused to stay in Dale and hide with the elderly, children and other women. You knew that, in your place, some young boy who was yet to be considered a man would have to fight and the fishermen of Lake Town lacked in number when it came to people with your fighting skills. You were far from being like the warriors of old legends but you could defend yourself and you would not see a defenceless boy be made to take your place. 

You browsed around what remained in the armoury, all of the protective gear old, most in poor condition, and all of it designed for men which would do very poorly to fit you. You had to settle for some chainmail, good against sword-slashes but not heavy weapons and a helmet that must have been made for a young man for it to fit you as it did. 

You set the helmet down on a dusty table as you pulled out a chair, not bothered by the cobwebs after all you had been through in the last few days. You rested your head in your hands and let out a long sigh, thinking about what lay ahead. You ran a hand through your hair, pushing back the strands that had escaped your braid and now fell about your face, looking up to where one of the two armoury doors stood open, finding a tall silhouette blocking a lot of the light. 

You froze at seeing those strikingly blue eyes again. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him and you rose to your feet, back straightened and head lowered in respect of his status.

“King Thranduil,” You began, “is there anything I can assist you with?” 

“Only in satisfying me.” Your eyes widened and a blush flooded to your cheeks as your head snapped up to meet his eyes. You most certainly wouldn’t be opposed but this was very sudden and you were sure there were elven women who were far more beautiful than you within his realm. Was he merely so impatient in his lust that he had decided to take his pick from the mortal women while camping in the ruins of Dale? The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk at your reaction, “My curiosity, that is.” Your body seemed to relax. 

“What is it that you wish to know?” You willed the blush to drain from your cheeks but his look of amusement at seeing so clearly where your mind had gone assured that the blush remained in place. 

“I would like to know where a young mortal woman learned how to fight. I understand that women, children and the elderly are not expected to fight in war so why is it that you wield a sword better than most of the men around you?” So that is why he had been staring: he considered you an outlier to his understanding of how the mortal world worked in war. 

“My father was a mercenary. I suppose having only one daughter made him protective of me and so he taught me the basics of swordsmanship, knowing he would not always be around to defend me. I make my living off selling pelts and meat from bigger game but orcs have increased in number in these lands as of late so I suppose it’s given me the opportunity to refine my fighting skills.” You explained simply his eyes raked over your body, making you pull at your fingers nervously, some of the joints cracking. Was he so set on casting such subtle innuendos?

“And I would be right to assume that you intend to fight too?” Oh, He had been taking in the chainmail that you wore. Of course. His eyes flickered between your eyes and hands as you fumbled for an answer at realising your thinking had been wrong. 

“I do. In my place, they would select a boy who has seen far too few winters. I won’t see a child take my place merely because I am a woman.” He took a step forwards and you took a step back unconsciously, eyes darting to meet his and finding yourself unable to hold his intense gaze. 

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” His voice seemed to come out even richer with the question, like a purr and you swallowed hard, pulling at your fingers even harder. 

“I…” Well, lying would be fruitless, you reasoned, “You have a certain… superiority about you. It’s quite intimidating, in all honesty.” You stole a quick glance to his face, finding him looking very smug. 

“Is that the only reason?” You let the silence hang in the air for a moment. 

“And, frankly, because you are very beautiful.” You regretted the words the moment they left your mouth. 

“‘Beautiful’?” He highlighted and you couldn’t stop yourself from fumbling over your next words. 

“Beautiful. Yes. I think that ‘beautiful’ has a… delicate elegance that I think ‘handsome’ does not quite possess. That’s not to say that I see you as delicate, far from it. It’s much more swan-like in appearance and mannerism, I suppose and… I’m going to stop talking now. I should stop.” Your cheeks were alight with a blush and you turned around to distract yourself by tucking the dusty chair back under the table. There was a low laugh from Thranduil behind you and you scrunched your eyes shut, scolding yourself for being so flustered by him. 

“Then perhaps I should confide that I find you beautiful also.” Your eyes instantly snapped open and you looked over your shoulder to try and decipher whether or not he was teasing you. “Though, not like a swan, I must admit. You are much more… serpentine in your movements.” He was making similar comparisons to try and make you feel better, how sweet. Your breath caught in your throat when, as you slowly turned back to face him, his fingers came beneath your chin, tilting your head up and assuring that it was very difficult for you to escape his intense stare, “Are you certain that there are no elves in your ancestry?” A part of you was both stung and flattered by the question: he was no doubt complimenting your beauty in asking such a thing, though it was also rather reflective of the arrogance of elves that you had heard rumours of. 

“As far as I am aware, no, though I cannot trace it back very far.” Too many words, too many details. Again. You could have kicked yourself for your awkwardness. However, it only seemed to amuse him, seeing how you couldn’t quite stand still, the blush stamped upon your face. 

“It’s quite endearing.” You hummed in confusion, a request for him to elaborate, “How easily flustered you are.” Your lips parted a little in shock at his bluntness and you tried to look away, only to have his fingers grip your chin more firmly, a silent order to meet those sparkling eyes of his. His head turned back to the doors for a moment. “Are they expecting you back shortly?” 

“N-not for a little while yet.” You stammered, wondering where he was going with this line of questioning. 

“Perhaps we could pass the time together?” His voice quietened, leaning in to whisper in your ear: “I did not miss how you reacted to the thought of satisfying me.” His nose brushed against your hair, inhaling the scent of you, “We could satisfy each other.” You swallowed hard, almost finding it hard to believe that the Elvenking of all people wanted to sleep with you. You nodded your head minutely before you remembered how to use your voice. 

“Yes…” Your voice was barely a whisper. He tilted his head to the side, drawing back a little to give you a look that told you to speak up. “Yes, please.” Your words were louder this time. His hand came up to cup your face and his lips pressed to yours. You almost felt embarrassed for the hummed moan that you let out at the first contact – it had been a while since you had been touched at all and it made your legs feel weak. 

Your hands came up to cup either side of his jaw, fingers just slightly dipping into his hair and wishing that you had the courage to tug on it but it seemed so important to his appearance and you worried that he would take offence if you tried. His other hand curled around your hip, pushing you backwards until your lower back hit the table. 

Your breathing had grown much quicker by the time he was reaching under your thighs to hoist you onto the table, pulling you to the edge and pushing your legs apart to stand between them. His tongue licked into your mouth and your hands fell from his face to his chest, fingertips curling around the neckline of his armour, needing something to ground yourself with amongst his dizzying kisses. When his lips landed on your jaw, you let your head fall back, biting your kiss-swollen lips to stifle moans when his lips found a particularly soft spot on your neck and sucked down on the supple skin. His hands landed on your waist, a series of clinking sounds filling the air as they ran across the curves of your body under the chainmail. 

“Get this off.” His voice was quiet and yet no less commanding and you reached down to pull it over your head while he unstrapped the weapons at his waist, setting them down in a pile on the table alongside your borrowed armour. His eyes roved over the rest of the room for a moment before landing on a more secluded corner behind a rack that had once been full of spears and you gasped when you were suddenly in his arms again, the sound being swallowed up by yet another kiss while you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your back met the wall and he carefully set you on your feet, feeling his hands tugging at the ties of your trousers. You reached into the fabric of his robes to do the same, dipping your hand into the strained clothing to stroke his hardened cock and he let out a low groan against your ear as his hands pushed your trousers down your thighs. 

You almost lost your balance in your hurry to toe off your boots, Thranduil steadying you with his arms on either side of your body and an amused smile upon his lips. You were more careful with stepping out of the lower half of your clothing and you gasped when his fingers dipped into your wet slit. 

“So wet already?” He hummed, lips against your neck. 

“I’m certain that with a lifespan like yours, I wouldn’t be the first to tell you how much of a brilliant kisser you are.” There was a low laugh against the skin of your neck, the vibrations almost tickling you and all the air rushed from your lungs when he slowly dipped two fingers into your cunt. 

“Perhaps you also would not be the first to compliment my other skills.” You could only whimper in reply as his fingers curled up to stroke against your more sensitive spot, dragging against it each time he withdrew his fingers and pushed them back into your waiting heat. Deeming you wet enough to take him, he wiped his fingers clean of your wetness on your inner thigh and picked you up once more, trapping you between the wall and his body. You longed to see what he looked like beneath the clothes and armour and could only hope that you would one day have another opportunity to do so. 

His cock pressed against your entrance as he slowly breached your walls, making you stretch to accommodate him. You buried your face in his neck to muffle a whine, beginning to feel just how long it had been for you since your series of flings with the blacksmith’s second son. 

“Am I hurting you?” His voice was tender against your ear and you shook your head. 

“It’s just been a while, please don’t stop. Please.” The light begging seemed to have a strong effect on him as he was quickly giving you shallow thrusts, allowing you time to adjust before fully sheathing himself in you. The size of him made you feel utterly full and your arms wrapped around his neck as he bounced you up and down on his cock. His lips crashed onto yours when the volume of your moans began to slip out of your control, swallowing your sounds of pleasure. By the time he broke the kiss, you were panting for breath. 

“Touch yourself.” His words came out rushed and you unclasped your fingers from the robes at the back of his neck to reach down with one hand and rub against your clit, spreading your fingers apart and then dipping down further to feel either side of his cock as it entered and left you. He groaned at the light feel of your fingers which then retreated to do as he had asked of you. The added pleasure only pushed you to the verge of orgasm even faster, wet walls tightening around him and feeling your legs tremble, held up by his strong hands. 

You did not realise that you had tangled your fingers tightly into his hair until he let out a moan and his hips faltered against your before he upped his ante. You crashed your lips against his in a messy kiss in an attempt to muffle your moans as you could only pray that no one would hear the obscene noises of your slick cunt taking him in so greedily, nor the sounds of your skin meeting with the way your clothes had been half-discarded. 

He caged you against the wall even firmer and feeling his body pressed so tightly to yours, paired with how his lips met your neck once more, sent you tumbling over the edge into your orgasm. Your hand tugged on his hair and you buried your face in his shoulder as your body convulsed, feeling him continue to fuck you through your orgasm until it grew uncomfortably intense. 

“Down… put me… down…” You managed to gasp out and he let out a long groan that almost ended in a whine. He did not disobey your wishes, however, and slipped out from you, settling you to your feet and you did not hesitate to fall to your knees. Your hand reached up to stroke his cock, slick with your wetness, before taking him in your mouth as far as you could manage, swallowing around him and pressing against the underside of his cock with your tongue, hollowing your cheeks once you began bobbing your head. 

His breath came out in a shuddered sigh as he wrapped your braid around his hand, tugging on it and lightly thrusting his hips against your face. You could feel him throb in your mouth and at the first taste of his seed, you took all of him down your throat as he finished, revelling in the quiet noises that he made as he did. His forearm rested against the wall above your head, towering over you as he panted for breath while you swallowed all that he had to give. You removed him from your mouth, giving one last teasing lick to the tip of his cock before falling to the side a little, your legs beside you instead of under you. 

You closed your eyes contently as he pushed some hair back from your face and then stood upright to fix up his clothes. 

“They will be expecting you back soon.” He spoke and you hummed, nodding your head before leaning it back against the wall.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath.” You mumbled, cracking an eyes open to see Thranduil bending down to turn your trousers the right way for you and set your boots neatly beside one another. He dipped down even lower to bring his fingers under your chin, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips. 

“I hope this will not be the last time we cross paths, fair little mortal.” With that said, he went over to collect his weapons, reattaching the belts and he left the armoury as he had entered: a perfectly put-together epitome of elegance. Your eyes widened for a moment as it dawned on you that you had just fucked a King and would need to recover quickly to avoid suspicion when you returned to your task.

🏷️@edensrose

#thranduil oropherion #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil smut #thranduil x reader smut #elvenking #Kia’s 1k requests event

[astralnymphh]

born of flora and fauna 𓇢𓆸 | ellie williams | series guide⛧

𓇢𓆸𓍢ִ໋- knight!ellie x princess!reader AU guide ⛧ (teaser II.)

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

𓍢ִ໋-;this is purely a guide to my upcoming series, detailed with important places and their names, descriptions and reference photos. i'll also include short excerpts of ellie's backstory in this fic plus the readers. vol 0./the prologue is making quick progress so i wanna get y'all excited as long as it doesn't flop (ALSO I FIGURED OUT GRADIENT TEXT FINALLY!! kinda.. im too lazy to fix anything) cw: literally only one mention of mature themes. nothing crazy. the actual series on the other hand.. will be SMUTful

𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; castle maelony

𓍢ִ໋-; mount of the regal family, bejeweled in a facade that masks a strident haunting no king would wish to dig up from the catacombs lining the roots of this limestone beast. 𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; istenad

𓍢ִ໋-; core of the meadowland, visible from far mountain boundaries of all directions. adorned with dreamy spires and coliseums, to markets and common houses, every mother and their kin covet this kingdom. 𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; dunwich

𓍢ִ໋-; ellie, a knight bound in hide and chainmail, derived and nurtured in the prairie village of dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time flows.

𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; glade 'ionspire'

𓍢ִ໋-; a front line of trees encircling this unmapped forest, conceals a beautiful loch only few souls venture to. it happens that a determined princess can be caught galivanting about with a weapon, playing her dreamt up persona of a maiden warrior she only dawns in private. 𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; clementine cottage

𓍢ִ໋-; no home is without its glamour of hearth. a picturesque getaway straying from the bustling streets of instenad tempts such who fiend for freedom. nights under the brilliant spangled sky in this cottage have been ones of love, tangled in bed, vowing to your beloved in a hysteria of lust.

(and there she is!! im really excited to get this fully fledged out its gonna be a JUICY series promise even for being centered in medieval times it is quite deviously lustful !!!)

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #knight!ellie #knight!ellie x princess!reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x fem!reader #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie smut #tlou ellie #⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆upcoming #𓇢𓆸𓍢ִ໋-

[chorus-the-mutate]

Casca has never had a bad set of armor. All of her golden age armors slay, all of her flashback armors slay. She pulls off her disguise to infiltrate Doldrey (in the movies), her green and brown Elfhelm armor and her 2016 anime eclipse armor (I've seen that screenshot and her armor design is the best thing about it). Even her design as Elaine automatically becomes better the moment you put chainmail on her. We should appreciate how well Miura designed Casca's armors more often since they're all beautiful without sacrificing practicality.

#casca #casca's outfits #berserk #also we need to give Casca more armor #I just hope the new studio artists in charge of the manga design Casca's future armors as well as Miura did #and don't make sexy armor for Casca because she's already beautiful in all of her normal armors already #honestly armor as is is inherently sexy and one day I'm gonna make a post on that #ash speaks

[booasaur]

In the scene where Aaliyah introduces Cruz to her mother, did anyone notice how she seemed nervous? She starts fidgeting with her engagement ring. Wish we got to see a little more of the beautiful henna on her hands. She doesn't seem to have a close relationship with anyone in her family, everything is cold and formal.

Ohhh, that's true! It's quite visible:

Kind of sucks that her mom was so rude then, given how nervous Aaliyah was.

I did notice Aaliyah doing that in another little scene where you could see the nerves working on her:

As for the henna, there was this look later:

It did make me wonder if Arab bridal henna isn't as involved as desi? Ours is like if you were wearing an elbow-length chainmail glove. :P

You know, I wish it had been a bit more apparent later on, during the kiss:

You do see this much here, but like... okay, the show doesn't ignore Aaliyah's background, certainly, but we see so much of her through a certain lens, in a bikini on the beach, clubbing, drinking, upscale NYC stores, it'd have been nice to see the juxtaposition of something nice from her culture with this particular side of her.

In fact, my friend wondered, when she was still watching the start, if the show would be brave enough to show something gay while they were doing hijab, and you know, I'd have loved to see even just a simple kiss. I know the optics would be a bit eyebrow-raising, especially for the reach a show like this gets (compared to, for example, The Bold Type), but stilllll.

#replies #femslash related stuff #Anonymous #sent on 20230905 #5 #special ops lioness #special ops: lioness #special ops lioness 1x08 #aaliyah x cruz

[morgueofstories]

Me and my friends on Discord were talking about manhunt!dream and c!dream and we then started talking about the two getting married and we even picked out some designs for their wedding dresses (yes, they both would wear dresses because why not?)

They got married to fuck up the legal system so badly that neither of them can get arrested

c!Dream:

Pretty, elegant, simple, and modest; highlighting his beauty and making him look like a forest nymph

Also hides the scars and words carved into his body well enough because he still isn't ready to wear anything else that showcases too much skin

Manhunt!Dream:

It was either this or manhunt!dream would have shown up to his own wedding in a more revealing version of his own manhunt outfit or a wedding dress made entirely out of mesh fabric

Also yes the dress would be made out of actual chainmail and iron because you never know if you have to fight someone at your own wedding

Philza is the officiant who is crying/laughing throughout the whole thing, Techno walks Dream down the aisle and gives a best-man speech which is essentially the clone fucking meme (he cries halfway through because he's impressed manhunt!dream was willing to tie the knot with c!dream), Punz is the Man of Honor, Tommy tried to crash the wedding by objecting and was chased out by Punz and Techno

Also everyone but Puffy is wearing dresses or something similar to a dress, Puffy wore a suit and she lost the sleeves during the bachelorette party

#dreblr #c!dream #manhunt!dream #is that even a tag?

[discountalien-pancake]

I was looking through the promo posters last night and zooming in real close, you can see that the attention to detail in these costumes is fucking impeccable.

Goldwork embroidery on top of the backside of a gold brocade. Do you have any idea how annoying the back of a brocade is? Bane of my fucking existence every time I have to work with it. And they are embroidering and beading onto that nonsense. And then they stitched on genuine pearls just to be extra.

Kemen’s tunic cuff is sewn on by hand with the most even stitching and then decorated with gold rivets. Not beads. Rivets. His undertunic is a silk charmeuse with a tiny whipped hem, again stitched by hand.

Bronwyn’s cloak is real suede! Her dress is linen in the most beautiful, rich indigo blue.

Earien’s orange gown is a fucking silk jacquard. Galadriel has padding underneath her chainmail, and even though this is the only shot we may ever be able to see it, it’s not just A Random Shirt. You can see that it is fitted and has a slit in the cuff, and that it is a thicker material.

Look at the pommel of the Numenorean standard-issue sword! Look at the detail on it! They didn’t have to carve a pattern into the mane. There is never a close enough shot in the show for you to see that detailing. But even with the stylization, it is a functional, practical sword hilt. Halbrand’s bracer is real leather and his red gambeson, identical to the blue Sea Guard gambesons, is piped in leather at the sleeve hem. The linen is even hand-quilted.

#i know some of yall are sick of me going on about this #but this is my hill and im gonna die on it #trop #costuming #lotr

[bloodynereid]

Paws of Darkness

pairings: jordan li x marie moreau, sam riordan x emma meyer, cate dunlap x andre anderson

tw: mentions of spells, swearing, drug use, kissing, some violence against animals (sort of - this one is kind of blurry)

description: the group of friends were on their way to a halloween party when they get side-tracked by a rather furry problem.

a/n: part 2 of my halloween double feature! this sort of doesn't make sense in some parts lol cause i whipped this one up pretty quickly with little to no plan so apologies. hope you enjoy and lmk ur thoughts <3

Wind thrashed against the supe-proof windows as Marie put the finishing touches on her costume. A vampire. It was all a bit on the nose for her taste but that didn’t really repel her from the idea. She never did get to celebrate Halloween during her stay at Red River and her family had always gone all out, so it was a nice way to connect with a powers-free childhood.

The warm smell of pumpkin spice and chocolate permeated Cate’s dorm as she straddled Andre and gave him a soft peck before swiftly jumping up and applying the last bit of her costume, the lipstick.

“Oh come on, don’t be a tease.”

“Hmm well stop distracting me then.” Cate taunted as she flicked her hair back and stepped back from the mirror to inspect her costume. The bright orange tracksuit contrasted with the red of the fake blood. 

“So… what do you think?” Cate asked as she spun around in a circle to show Andre her costume. Andre sat up and pretended to inspect her form in a serious fashion but she wasn’t fooled, he was definitely trying too hard to contain that smile.

“You look fucking incredible. Now we both look as fucking hot as always.”

“Mostly because of my work obviously.” Andre threw his head back and laughed before he adjusted the straps of his black wings tinged with gold. He had decided to go as a fallen angel and had even agreed to let Cate paint parts of his body gold. Somehow he was able to pull it off.

Emma was currently walking through the aisles of the nearest Spirit Halloween trying to find Sam a last minute costume. Ever since the whole Woods scandal, stuff had started to get back to normal. So since Sam hadn’t celebrated Halloween ever since he was a really little kid, Emma was determined to make it his best Halloween yet.

“Okay, how about this one?” Sam asked as he picked up a Ghostface costume. “Then we can kind of go in a couple’s costume.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t I think of that? Yes, absolutely. Come on, we’re going to be late for the party.”

Sam only laughed as the couple started to spring through the array of Halloween costumes and decorations. Emma was decked out in her costume already, one of her absolute favorite characters from Scream - Tatum Riley, who she always thought died wayyyy too early. 

Jordan kept checking their phone as he hugged the cold armor closer to their body and felt the urge to cringe at the chainmail hanging around his face. Going as a knight was a much better idea in theory than in practice, but at least they looked hot as fuck.

Finally he heard footsteps coming closer to the meeting point that the group had decided on. After everything they all sort of trauma bonded and now it was as if they were stuck for life. Twisting around with a loud metallic tinkling Jordan’s mouth dropped as Marie appeared, looking as sinful as hell itself but also as beautiful as one of heaven’s angels.

“Hi love, you look fucking incredible.” Jordan said as he kissed Marie gently, feeling a slight bite at their lower lips from Marie’s fangs.

“Oh god stop it with the PDA.” The couple jumped apart as Emma appeared with Sam, at least who they thought was Sam, in tow.

“Hey guys.” Sam’s voice echoed through the Ghostface mask, solving that mystery.

“Why do you both look so fucking hot? This is unfair.” Emma said with a sarcastic huff making a laugh come out of Jordan before they spotted Cate and Andre walking up to them.

“Fucking hell, Andre. You actually clean up well.” Jordan said with a teasing lilt making the entire group burst out laughing.

“Oh fuck you.” Andre said with a smile on his face before he playfully punched Jordan through on the cracks in the armor.

“Ok so what are the plans for tonight?” Marie ventured out as the chaos started to ebb down.

“No idea, thought we should get high and fuck around until we find a party.” Andre answered in his usual laid back tone.

“Sounds good to me.” Emma said with a shrug and the rest of the group muttered noises of assent as Andre pulled out a little bag of one of his many substances he kept around him.

“Molly?”

“Yes please.” Jordan said as they shifted and grabbed the bag, dipping her fingers in and maintaining eye contact with Marie as they licked the molly off of their fingers. “Remember when we first did this?”

“Oh I remember.” Marie said in a gradious tone as she winked in Jordan’s direction before stealing the bag from her fingers.

Only after the bag was passed around and the molly was starting to kick in did the group venture out from their little meeting place. Sam had his arm thrown around Emma’s shoulders, a motion that the rest of the couples mirrored - snuggling into their person’s warmth since it was a particularly cold night.

All of a sudden a loud yowl was heard from one of the school’s buildings and a ball of fur sailed past Jordan’s face making them let out an uncharacteristic squeal as the thing fell onto the soft grass with a thud.

“Oh shit.”

“Is it dead?”

“Shut up Andre.” Muttered the group in synch as Marie crouched down next to the little animal, careful not to get her costume wet from that afternoon’s rain.

“Oh my God, he’s still alive!” Marie exclaimed as she picked up the all-black furry thing and cradled it in her arms.

“Woah, that thing could have rabies. Shouldn’t you be more careful?” Emma exclaimed as the group all craned their heads to look at the little animal.

“No, Emma. He has a collar look! Uh his name is… Salem.”

“Aww hi little Salem.” Jordan said in a much higher tone of voice as they lifted a hand to gently stroke the cat’s fur. The action caused the cat’s eyes to flutter open only for another yowl to come out of his throat when he realized he was in a stranger’s arms. Jumping off, the black cat fled into the dark night leaving the group confused.

“Huh, I guess the cat was okay then.”

Except the cat wasn’t actually okay. He had unfortunately been turned into this damn thing because one of his friends (ex-friend) now dared him to do it. For whatever reason he was still stuck in this damn furry little body. That was when the cat stopped short. He hadn’t realized who those people were until that moment. They were the supes who exposed The Woods. Holy shit, he realized that he might have just inadvertently given up the only way he could be rescued.

In his hurry the cat hadn’t realized a large car was coming right down the street the second he started trotting back over it. With a harsh bang and a flash of pain in his rib cage, the cat tried to let out a scream as he sailed a few yards… only to land right in front of Jordan Li again.

The cat felt himself fade once again. Now he only had 5 lives now… his “friends” had taken away the first two and now by being stupid he had just lost the other two. Being a cat was hard, okay?

The second time that the same black cat landed in front of them Jordan stood quiet, not a single peep was heard of them. Instead her jaw was dropped and they were in so much shock that Marie had to shake her multiple times to get them out of it.

“Jordan! Jordan! Jordan!” Marie’s voice got louder and louder until Jordan blinked up at her in recognition before returning their gaze back to the cat.

“Uh, is that the same cat?” Cate asked as she waved her gloved hands in the direction of Salem, who started stretching and turned almost too human eyes to stare at the group. The cat meowed at Cate and almost seemed to shake his head.

“Okay everyone saw that right? I’m not that high am I?” Emma said with a slightly panicked tone that was very much emanating throughout the whole group.

“The cat fucking nodded!” Jordan exclaimed, the cat then let out a very human huff and lifted a paw almost like he was saying ‘duh’.

“Fuck we are in a supe school aren’t we?” Marie reasoned as she tilted her head down at the cat. 

“God you’re right, you, my love, are a wonder.” Jordan said as they started attacking Marie’s face with a bunch of kisses as she tried to swat her off.

“Oh my God stop, you’re high.” Marie said as she laughed.

“Ok while those two continue doing that, what exactly do you want us to do with you?” Sam asked as he crouched down closer to the cat, only for the cat to almost try and smile at him. It was sort of creepy actually.

Ok so maybe the cat hadn’t exactly thought this out that far, but to be fair he had just died like 4 times. In an attempt to shrug, the cat fell forward and smacked its snout onto the cold grass, making him sneeze.

“Awww.” A blissed out Cate muttered as she knelt down and stroked the cat’s head, only for him to start purring. However the sound stopped the same moment that a bunch of loud male voices started to echo around the corner. They were screaming a name loudly and drunkenly as obnoxious laughs left their mouths.

The cat felt something akin to complete and utter terror seize his body. It seemed like an someone’s fight or flight response was much more amplified as an animal because the instant those voices got closer the black cat bolted the hell out of there. 

Only to run up a tree… which caused the entire group of very loopy supes to stand there in confusion as they watched the black cat circle deftly through the branches.

Once the cat felt like he was safe enough cocooned by the branches was when the very much human, or well supe side of him realized he was in a tree. High up. In a tree. For someone with a really bad fear of heights this was very bad.

The group of supes stood at the foot of the tree utterly confounded about how the hell they were going to get the supe/cat out of the tree. Maybe they should call the fire department. However, they didn’t have to stand there long because after a few seconds the cat sort of went berserk and suddenly there was another loud thump and the cat lay twitching on the cold grass… again.

Four lives left now, how bad can you be at being a cat to go through lives that quickly? The cat let out a very human groan this time, making not only itself jump but also the onlookers. Everyone had a puzzled look on their face.

“So uh Salem? May I call you Salem?” Marie asked, trying to be as polite as possible as the cat shook itself off and looked up to stare at her before nodding. 

“Do you have any idea how this happened to you?” With that the cat nodded one final time before trotting forward, not even looking back to see if the supes were following him or not. The little group looked rather strange following a cat around as they weaved through hallways and dorm rooms until they finally reached an odd looking door.

“Since when has this been here?” Sam asked as he traced the sigils embedded on the random supply closet door.

“I’ve literally never been down here.” Cate said before a strange huff was heard as the cat started scraping at the door, Marie nodded and grabbed the handle and pushed it open only to be assaulted by the strong smell of cinnamon.

“Whoa where the fuck are we?” The cat meowed in response before he pranced over to one of the shelves and started to pull at one of the books, this time it was Emma who grabbed the heavy book and let it thud against the dusty wooden table. The cat got on its hind paws and started to try and flick through the pages.

‘This better fucking work’ was all that the cat was thinking. The book belonged to the very friend who had turned him into this ball of fur using his annoyingly specific animal transformation power. The book was actually a journal, where he knew that his friend kept detailed instructions on how to turn back - without the help of his powers.

When the cat finally stopped flipping the pages and meowed triumphantly, the group all peered over the page. Only to find a weird little Latin incantation and list of a few ingredients: cinnamon, ram’s milk and honey. All which were in containers along the shelves.

Emma and Marie got right to work as Cate scooped the cat up in her arms and settled into one of the dusty arm chairs. This whole situation was getting weirder by the second. By the time the mixture was ready the cat had started to doze off in Cate’s arms as Jordan and Andre discussed random assignments they had due soon. However the strong smell of the liquid got the cat to raise its sleepy head and quickly started licking up the mixture.

The incantation was really all for show, Henry liked to think he was some kind of fancy sorcerer when this was like basic chemistry to get his powers to reverse - each animal had a different recipe corresponding to them.

The cat started to feel more human by the time that the mixture was finished being lapped up and it only took a few moments to take effect before a black haired guy stood up from his place on the floor - covered head to toe in flowing black robes.

“So… thanks I guess.” He uttered when he realized that everyone in the room was looking at him with wide eyes.

“Wait so this was all real?”

“I’m afraid so. I am Salem by the way - my parents are hippies so I got a weird name.” Salem said with an awkward chuckle.

“Huh.” Jordan uttered as they threw an arm around Marie’s shoulder and looked at the teenager.

“So how did this all happen?”

“My friend’s are fucking assholes.” Salem said as he swept a hand through his hair, God he had missed being human. The group nodded before they bid him a few awkward goodbyes.

“Weirdest fucking night.” Andre uttered as the group started to file out of the door. It was only Cate that looked back into the strange little room - only to find it completely empty. There were no books and the smell of cinnamon had completely disappeared. All that was left was a paw print in the middle of the dust.

#gen v #limoreau #limoreau fanfic #jordan li #marie moreau #sam riordan #emma meyer #cate dunlap #andre anderson #cate dunlap fanfic #gen v fanfic #gen v fanfics #halloween #sam x emma #andre x cate #maria's random stuff

[thebroccolination]

ELYAN!!!

I NEED ELYAN FIC RECS.

I NEED THEM LIKE I NEED LIFE.

I just watched "A Herald of the New Age" for the first time and my god????????? This moment between Elyan and the Shrine Boy was hands-down the sweetest I've seen in the entire series.

THAT IS THE BEST KNIGHT. THAT ONE.

After Elyan disturbs the shrine in the forest by drinking from the well because Gwaine drank all his water (I already shipped the hell out of it before this and now I ship it even harder), this ghost boy shows up before him twice and terrifies him.

And yet???

His first impulse is to hug and protect this child.

I made the most wounded animal noise when he did this??? Like, especially in an episode where he's punched unconscious by Gwaine and then Percival, Elyan's gentle and protective nature is so, so beautiful. He immediately offers to help the child, too, and I don't think the insinuation is that the child was using magic to influence him. I think it was just Elyan's empathy.

Man, what a great episode.

To recap, I watched season 1 of Merlin as it was airing, lost all interest when season 2 began, then just exclusively read fic from then on until my friend was like, "PLEASE WATCH THE OTHER SEASONS WITH ME," and I said, "Yeah, okay," so we've been gradually doing that for the past two years.

Therefore, I only knew Elyan through fic until now and, like??? I knew plenty about Gwaine and Percival and Leon and Lancelot from the fic I read (canon and AUs alike). But I only remember Elyan being mentioned in fic occasionally? And it was either just in passing or as The Older Brother of Gwen. At the time, I always figured, "Well, maybe it's because Elyan didn't get a whole lot to do in the show." And, sure, he doesn't seem to have as much screentime as Gwaine or Leon so far (I haven't seen S5 yet), but this whole episode was about Elyan! And we find out so much about who he is!

I've now seen more of Elyan's personality than I have of Sir Ripped His Chainmail Sleeves Off, and I've seen lots more of Percival in fic. Even when Elyan's possessed in this episode, we find out plenty about him through the other characters reacting to it. The general consensus is, "Whoa, Elyan went after Arthur?" even though his sister was just banished and a few characters think that would be enough to turn his loyalties (I still can't believe the writers expect me to believe that nonsense was consistent for Arthur's character like the writing in BBC's Merlin was very weird sometimes).

This one episode has made Elyan my favorite knight.

HOW IS THERE NOT MORE FIC ABOUT ELYAN.

OR AT LEAST BIGGER ROLES FOR HIM IN ENSEMBLE FICS?

On the bright side, I just went looking for Elyan/Gwaine fic and there was literally one posted two days ago set after this episode and I'm going to read it ASAP and then scour the rest of the tag for more. \:D/

Like, man, I've never written Merlin fic before despite the hours of my life devoted to reading Merthur fic but I think I have to write some Elyan/Gwaine when my friend and I finish watching the series. :')

(If anyone with Elyan fic recs of any kind reads this please please please feed me.)

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #sir elyan #bbc elyan

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 13 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] Part Thirteen [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You try to distract yourself by fussing with your hat, angling it so it best blocks the morning sun from your eyes. It’s too easy to resituate though and so your gaze is drawn back down the jousting lane where Dale waits at one end for his first jousting round of the tournament.

Already the archery competition had been held, in which Dale had competed last in deference to his recovering injuries. He claimed to be more than sufficiently healed from his wrestling with the boar and the doctor took full credit for this recovery. In the end, he’d placed in the top third of the competition and seemed pleased with that, archery never having been even former Dale’s particular passion or strong suit. 

The martial tournament had three competitions: archery, jousting, and melee. Everyone competed in archery, which determined the tournament match-ups for jousting. The top four competitors in the jousting rounds then also fought with melee weapons in a champion tournament—although there were certain exceptions within jousting that could result in mounted swordplay, something you knew happened but had never understood what actually called for it. Heavy armor was worn for the jousting and then chainmail for the melee. Though no one is supposed to be aiming to kill, injuries are not uncommon. Despite protests to the contrary, plenty of knights bring grudges from outside the competition into it. 

For the first round, every knight jousts against two different opponents, resulting in the elimination of anyone who was fully unseated or too injured to compete. People could also simply choose to no longer compete, but that came with a fee and a significant blow to one’s pride. Then a bracket is drawn up based upon how well each did as well as random lots drawn for those judged to be of equal skill. While no special consideration is given to Dale any further with regards to his injury, he has still ended up being one of the last few to tilt.

At first you had been grateful for the reprieve, but you find it's only given your nerves more time to grow sharper. You’ve never enjoyed jousting, never having been able to watch any of your family members or friends do it and barely able to tolerate watching strangers either. And now, with Dale’s condition, there is a whole range of new factors and considerations and chances for things to go wrong.

Not that he seems nervous, you think a bit impetuously. Dale is already mounted on his horse, a sturdy and beautiful black gelding. If the rumors about animals sensing demon possession are true, they evidently don’t apply to horses as Blacklock appears completely at ease with having a demon on his back. Right after Dale puts on his helm, a trumpet blast signals for the combatants to get into position for the first pass.

Dale’s horse walks over where he needs to go with barely any signal on Dale’s part, clearly used to this activity. Dale lowers his lance into position across his horse’s withers, the blunted tip seeming to sharpen the longer you contemplate it. With his helm on, you can’t read his face, but he seems confident enough in the high tilting saddle with the long lance in his hand. Has he done this before? You rather thought demons were particularly feral with their fighting and had little need for weapons, but who knows how many times he’s been on the Surface. You hope he has experience of his own, or at least can rely on Dale’s.

All you can do is watch as the flag lowers and they charge at one another. It happens both slowly and too fast as they brace and clash together. No one ends up on the ground and nothing breaks, but it's still clear that Dale’s opponent, Knight Catherine of Alry—recognizable to you only because her lands border your family’s—is the superior jouster. Dale hadn’t risen in time to strike well and had been knocked firmly back in his saddle hard enough you doubt its padding helped much. Her follow through was far more clean and confident than his own.

The next pass resulted in her lance breaking off and while Dale had improved his timing, his lance did not break. As such, it’s no surprise that she is awarded to win. Despite the loss, you feel only relief—no one has been injured, no particular mistakes were made, no demonic signs were obvious, and no unusual strength was notable.

You nearly jump out of your seat when a loud ‘harumph’ interrupts your thoughts. You turn to see one of Dale’s uncles—Wellington, who’d been on the hunt—frowning at the field. “Boy’s out of practice after all that time abroad,” he grumbles to Breighton on his other side. “After how he performed on the hunt, I was expecting more.”

While a small part of you wants to speak on Dale’s behalf, mostly this comment makes you want to breathe out in relief that no one suspects anything. Breighton rolls her eyes at her brother, “He did fine—didn’t even get unhorsed. You’re simply still sore over your loss to Alry in that race last year.”

Wellington scowls and Grandfather laughs, clapping his son on the shoulder from his spot in the row behind you. “That so?”

You take the opportunity to surreptitiously check how Grandfather seems to be reacting. He’s rather good at keeping up his usual attitude in public, but he’d been tense in the lead up to this part of the tournament. You hope he hadn’t noticed you’d been the same. He seems to have lost some of that tension, although not all of it. He catches your eye and you resist the urge to duck down and away—trying to think of how you would act if nothing was out of the ordinary. You smile politely, returning his look, before gazing back over to Wellington as he says, “That has nothing to do with this tournament nor Dale’s showing in it. He clearly kept up with his woodscraft and hunting, but obviously his jousting was neglected. That is all I was trying to say.”

Breighton continues to needle her brother, with Grandfather assisting, about whatever race he participated in against Alry while you finally feel that your stomach has settled enough to have something to eat. You help yourself to the platter the family has continually replenished, noting since Grandmother is the grand judge, Grandfather’s tastes are more obviously represented. As such, there’s more dark meat and generally a plainer array of offerings. You don’t mind the change, preferring such simpler fare when your stomach is still rather stirred up from stress. 

Desiring something warm, you help yourself to the stew. Blowing on it lightly, you take a sip. Blinking in surprise, you notice that, unlike how you expected it to be, it is rather heavily seasoned. Primarily with rosemary and thyme you identify after another sip, the dish having been so heavily seasoned you needed extra time to identify the herbs.

In fact, your next mouthful causes you to cough a bit at the overpowering taste. Once you’re able to have a drink to help your throat and are reaching for a piece of bread to help with the strong flavor, you realize Grandfather’s eyes are on you. Abruptly, you recall rumors about both of those herbs supposedly helping to purify those tainted by demonic energies. 

Resisting the urge to look to see if he actually is looking at you, you make the decision to finish off your bowl at least, no matter how heavily seasoned. You don’t want him to turn his suspicions to Dale himself, but you want to do your part in discouraging him from this line of thinking entirely. Also, there have definitely been meals since Dale’s incident that involved those herbs, so he’s obviously only trying very basic testing methods at this point, which makes you feel better.

You’d taken advantage of both Dale’s absence and Steward Bilmont’s knowledge of what had happened, to spend some time in Dale’s study and peruse some of his more illicit books on demonology with mild confidence of privacy. Most of them were too dense and theoretical for you to get much from, but yesterday night you found that Steward Bilmont had slipped one volume in particular into your rooms regarding possession and influence, including signs and symptoms. 

You believe Dale had gone to great trouble to bring these tomes in, given Northridge’s heavy regulation of such materials, and hope Grandfather is having trouble getting his hands on similar books. You also hope that you’re not misplacing your faith in what Steward Bilmont reported regarding Breighton’s disbelief and how he believed Dale innocent of any such studies and therefore would not be searching his study. That did bring up the idea of him searching your chambers, which seems far too overt for him to attempt at this moment. Nevertheless you resolve to read quickly, taking shorthand notes only, and getting the volume back to Dale’s study as soon as possible.

It had a whole section on herbs and plants—identifying which were actually potentially useful in detecting demonic influences and which were mere myth. Most, you are grateful to remember, are not useful generally, let alone in their raw state. However, you didn’t have a lot of time to study that section yet and you make a note to do so once you retire for the evening, before Grandfather stumbles upon something that does more than result in overly seasoned soup.

You finish the stew slowly, with more bread than usual, but no other signs of discomfort as Dale’s next round comes up. This one goes far more favorably for him, even if primarily due to his opponent’s poor horsemanship rather than his own skill. At least no one can claim favoritism on behalf of the judges even if Grandmother is heading the panel—a pair of strong opera glasses to combat her usual sight challenges. Both of Dale’s matches have had obvious winners to be ruled in favor of and all other grandchild—two of his cousins competing as well—matches have been judged similarly. 

The other judges are another of Dale’s uncles and a neighboring Lady. None of the heckling you’ve occasionally heard has started, although perhaps it's simply not late enough in the day for people to be drunk enough to do so. After each bout, they declared a winner after debating and considering each competitor's technique, horsemanship, skill, and strength. Grandfather and Wellington discuss each match on their own, likely mirroring the conversation being had on the other side of the field. Breighton chimes in as she pleases, though you are able to piece together she’s no interest in the lance and is instead holding out for the melee later on, or perhaps even with plans to join the fencing duels tomorrow.

There’s a pause while the tournament brackets are finalized, the remaining spots assigned, and the stew is thankfully taken away—you have no desire to eat anything with thyme in it for a week at least. Grandfather seems to have gotten caught up in the tournament atmosphere and has lost all tension—or perhaps that’s just the wine he’s been drinking. 

Dale ends up one of the first rounds after the break and he wins the first two tilts easily. It's only the third, which hits at an interesting angle, that is at all ambiguous. You keep getting caught between relief as he continues to perform similarly to the others—humanely—while also nervous that he might be more likely to slip as he gets tired, though it's hard to tell how he’s holding up from the stands. When he’s not actively tilting, he’s out of sight with the other competitors and their squires—you hope he won’t slip out there either. Some part of you feels as if letting your guard down will cause something to go wrong and resists the urge to relax.

Dale’s next bout takes time to come about and you distract yourself from the tournament by talking with some of Dale’s cousins on your other side, who joined late having slept in—and who also luckily have no problem carrying the conversation with minimal input on your side.

This time, the first pass goes to his opponent when his shield splits neatly in two. Wellington scoffs, “He should have replaced his shield after his last round, Jellsum got lucky going after that hit from Voothkain.”

“I agree,” Grandfather says, echoing your thoughts, “however, there are still two more tilts. Dale can recover.”

Sure enough, Dale manages to nearly knock the knight from Jellsum off their horse next round and in their attempt to stay seated, they steer their horse into the barrier between lanes—practically guaranteeing their loss by the judges. 

This time between matches you try to pay more attention to the others participating, the competition will be fiercer as only skilled opponents remain. Could one of them be strong or skilled enough to make Dale forget himself? Or perhaps it's the less skilled ones, getting by on the luck of their opponent’s horse getting frightened who might throw Dale off.

Either way, by the time Dale next tilts, the last one of the day and the round that determines who fights in the champions melee instead of the all around, you’re strung tight with tension once more. Seeing who he’ll be competing against does nothing to quell that feeling. The knight from Eastmount had made a few waves as the first person to unseat their opponent, particularly given his less than burly build. However, both Grandfather and Wellington had remarked that he’d done well in other tournaments recently and so weren’t terribly surprised. He’d shattered a lance nearly every tilt in this tournament and is one of the favorites to make it to the final four.

Dale lines up for his tilt, fresh lance in hand. You catch a glimpse of Eastmount’s face before he pulls his helm on, he certainly looks confident. Soon enough they charge down the lane at each other, lances lowered. Both connect with shields and break, cracking about a third off in length each, showing a similar amount of strength and precision from their wielders. 

When they both retreat to their sides, you think you see Eastmount turn to say something to Dale, but it's impossible to say what. Dale is hard to read with his helm on, but his horse is a little clearer, prancing more than usual to offload some tension in his rider as he retrieved a new lance. Something about his demeanor seems more serious, more focused. Eastmount seems cocky still, adjusting his bejeweled gauntlets that glint in the sunlight, ostentatious enough for competition that one of Dale’s cousins remarks on them too.

The trumpet blast and thunderous sound of hooves brings your focus sharply back to the jousting lanes. They hurtle at each other with even more momentum, or so it seems to you, than before. Both their lances shattered in an explosion of wooden splinters. You blink at the sight, and upon remembering the tale of the man felled by one such splinter in his eye, immediately check Dale for signs of distress. To your relief, he seems to have no trouble guiding his horse, though he’s shaking out his hand from the impact.

For some reason that strikes you as odd. Perhaps Dale has gotten particularly good at playing his role, but you’re really not sure he would have thought to do such a thing. That means either it was a normal amount of pressure and he was simply surprised at what could affect humans or… Or that something else is going on here, that the impact was precisely as devastating as it seemed and even Dale, with whatever accordances he had still felt it significantly enough for him to, without thinking, flew his hand.

Still, it's not unheard for both lances to break with particularly strong opponents and they acquire their replacements, lining up for another tilt. This second tilt has the same prickling tension concentrates once more and you find yourself holding your breath as they meet and both lances shatter once more, drawing murmurs and raising your hackles.

Technically, despite the three passes already completed, the tilts have Dale and his opponent at a tie. As such, Grandmother orders a delay in the round while a new set of lances is procured and thoroughly inspected.

The other knight takes off his helm and motions for his squire. He’s a moderately built man with a large mustache that you think must get uncomfortable in the helm. He looks angrier than you expect, not frustrated or bewildered, but furious and, more importantly, trying to hide it. He keeps glaring impatiently at the squire dashing to him or Dale, as if he thinks what’s going on is their fault. He doesn’t look to the judge or to the man who made the lances—currently being questioned by the judge. He’s not checking any of his equipment, just—his squire finally joins him and he dismounts.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Dale’s done the same, but you keep your focus on the opposing knight. His horse is blocking him from view by your side of the arena, but there are dozens of highly polished and decorative shields all around the stands. You find the right one and watch as he seems to berate the squire, gesturing first at Dale and then brandishing his removed gauntlet in the man’s face. 

The squire appears to be protesting, likely trying to explain whatever standstill these two are at isn’t his fault. But why would it be? How could it be? The furious knight jabs a finger at his horse, thrusts his gauntlets and shield into the squire's hands before stalking away. Tents fill the field near the jousting arena, one for each competitor to wait in, and he leaves likely to return to his own. 

Instead of following the knight, you keep watch on the squire, noticing the way he runs his hands over the equipment in his hands, appearing to possibly be check the back of his shield, before running fingers over the saddle and possibly even the saddle blanket underneath? He only does so for a few seconds before he freezes, barking an order to stablehand. To your surprise, he gives the man who comes over the shield and gloves, not he reins for the horse and together the two hurry out of the arena.

Only a few seconds after watching them leave did you realize what else struck you as odd—the stablehand had been dressed as one, but did not look like one. He’s too clean and too pale. They are obviously up to something nefarious—some form of cheating that evidently was not working as expected, hence Eastmount’s anger.

Tuning back into the chatter around you, the twin shattered lances two rounds in a row is causing some talk to fly, but not much. From what you hear, no one in your immediate surroundings thinks anything in particular is happening, merely commenting on the amount of strength the two men must have. Impressive given neither are particularly large or muscular. 

Of course, while Dale is managing his strength better, you know why he might have more strength than he appears to have. But it’s not as though this man likely also has the same condition. But perhaps, given his fixation on his tools at hand, Eastmount is using something to that effect. If he gets careless with such a thing, if either he pushes so hard Dale missteps or enough to reveal what he’s doing and Grandmother judges they must start testing the competitors…

You stand before you even realize you’ve made the decision to, making an excuse to Dale’s family around you about needing  a private moment. Once back on the ground, instead of heading towards the outhouses, you picture the series of tents in your mind and try to deduce where Dale will be waiting to be called back. You aren’t sure if your information will would be at all helpful—he probably already knows what’s happening and who knows if he’ll believe you—but you can’t in good conscience continue to watch this without warning him.

You spot his squire and walk determinedly in that direction to relay what you know.

[Part Fourteen]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #story part #nothing's wrong with dale #terato #exophilia #osha compliant #male monster #monster bf #arranged marriage #slow burn #latter dale #migraine times have delayed this part but they could not stop it #idk where this week went #just frantic catching up on work and life and writing #the jousting rules presented herein are not accurate and jsut a mish-mash of rules i found and rearranged as i wnted to #this isn't our world anyways #no regret #will be going to a ren faire tomorrow to see some irl jousting which will hopefully motivate me to write the next part #should b fun regardless ;) #hope you like this part!

[sapphire-writes]

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!OC

previous chapter ~ next chapter

Read more on AO3

fic summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.

chapter summary: Elyse flees to Oldtown. Lovers are reunited.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ mentions of death, light smut, language

Ch. 18: Reunion

Elyse’s thighs ached from the journey; Her mouth was dry, fingers cracking from holding the leather reigns of her horse.

“A little longer, my lady!”

Her companion Gareth had said that ages ago before her head became too heavy for her neck to hold upright. Before the beautiful blue river appeared.

The Honeywine. 

They had been following it for ages. It was surely endless. Churning and rippling as though filled with thousands of sapphires catching the light. Elyse had never seen Oldtown, she did not know what to expect. The Reach was foreign ground. 

Highgarden. Her sister. All in the past now. Oldtown was her future. Daeron.

Aemond. 

Elyse opened her eyes, lifting her head from its rest against her horse’s mane. She had to make it. She needed to make it to him. 

The journey feels endless, even when Elyse falls from her horse, her body slamming against the cool earth. She digs her hands into the soft green grass. 

“My lady!” her companion calls, rushing to her aid. 

Get up, Elyse says to herself. You cannot give up now. Not now. 

The trampling of hooves can be heard when her companion reaches her. Only a moment of the roaring sounds of hooves, dust flying around them obscuring their vision. The yelling of soldiers, the neighing of horses. 

Elyse coughs through the dust, shielding her face with her arms. 

“Stop!” a voice calls, and the soldiers move, clearing a path.

Someone dismounts their horse, the sound of rattling chainmail echoing in Elyse’s ears. Gareth is trembling beside her, hands held above his head. Elyse lifts her head, looking up at the men surrounding them, noticing the emblem of a three-headed dragon on their flags. The green flags.

A boy with silver hair pushed forward, clad in armor. His eyes were violet, warm like Helaena’s. His nose was that of Alicent’s and his chin bore an awful resemblance to that of Aegon. A familiar face, Elyse had not seen in many moons.

Elyse rises from the ground on shaky legs. Gareth pulls at her skirts, begging her to remain kneeling in fear of what the soldiers want.

“Daeron,” she said, collapsing into his arms.

“Maester!” Daeron called, scooping Elyse up into his arms, “my brother’s wife, she requires assistance!”

Daeron looked down at Elyse, holding her tightly.

“Where is Aemond?” Elyse murmurs. 

“He shall be here soon, sweet sister,” Daeron promised.

Elyse slept for a long time. The journey, the tragedy of Highgarden was all too much. When she wakes, the sun is warming her face. 

Daeron is there when she wakes, seated at the foot of her bed. He holds water out to her. 

“Drink, sister,” he encourages, and she takes the glass.

Elyse greedily gulps down the liquid.

“I feel I play the part of the fool,” she says once her thirst is quenched, “it is as though I have been asleep a long time.”

Daeron chuckles.

“Not many fools threaten handmaids,” Daeron comments.

“How did you know about that?” Elyse questions.

“Lord Maceon sent word from Highgarden,” he tells her, “soon after your departure.”

“Is he terribly angry with Floris?”

“I do not believe so,” Daeron assures her, “I do not think he blamed her.”

“She helped me,” Elyse admits, “but it was my doing. I wanted to leave.”

“Of course you did,” Daeron says, patting her leg, “Aemond was furious.”

A shiver rolls through Elyse. 

“Where is he?” she asks once more.

“He shall be here soon, I sent a raven as soon as we found you,” Daeron tells her, “he nearly destroyed half the realm.”

“What has happened?” Elyse asked, “I know nothing of the war-”

“It is hardly a war anymore,” Daeron assures, “the North is being pushed back, the Riverlands destroyed…” Daeron pauses, “Rhaenyra is dead.”

His lip quivers when he says it. Elyse wonders what it must feel like to lose a sister. It is something she has wondered about before, something that has plagued her darkest nightmares. She hopes the Stranger is merciful and does not let her experience that pain for many years.

“Daeron…” Elyse begins, almost at a loss for words.

She takes his hand in hers. Daeron smiles tightly, lavender eyes watery. 

“It is my understanding the Jacearys intend to flee to Winterfell, along with Prince Lucerys,” Daeron continues, “Rhaena remains in the Vale, while Baela resides on Driftmark.”

“What shall become of them?” Elyse wonders aloud.

“Aegon needs to make peace,” Daeron concludes, “Hold a council of some kind. Bring peace to the realm.”

“That is wise,” Elyse says nodding, “surely your mother shall advise such peace.”

Daeron nods, though his gaze looks through Elyse. Though he has grown, he still looks so young. So young to see so much death, and violence. 

“Surely,” Daeron says, sniffling.

Elyse takes his hands in hers, holding them tightly. As they sit, the room begins to tremble, the jug of water shaking so violently on the side table, Elyse is sure it shall smash onto the floor. The very foundations of Oldtown seem to be shivering, as though it is a giant waking from a long sleep. 

Until the call of dragonsong is heard. 

Barely a song, a roar. A growl so ferocious it can only belong to a queen of dragons.

Vhagar’s call sends every hair on Elyse’s body standing at attention.

Daeron looks toward the ceiling and Elyse does the same.

“Let me call for some maids,” he begins, “to help you dress-”

But Elyse is already up, clad only in a silk nightgown, her feet bare. She doesn’t even know where she is going as she opens the door, running down the corridors. Just out, just toward the sun, just toward him.

She finds the outside rather quickly, the castle is not as large as Highgarden, not the Red Keep. Elyse sees Vhagar in the distance, forced to land a terribly far distance from the castle. Elyse growls in frustration. The distance between her and Aemond is still too far. She continues, feet freezing, teeth chattering, running through the grass. 

She doesn’t make it all the way to Vhagar before she spots him. Tears welled in her eyes because it's him, it’s him. 

Silver-haired, dressed in his riding leathers, eyepatch forgotten. His sapphire is on full display, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“Aemond,” she breathed. 

The prince stood watching her, eye wide before closing the distance between them and embracing her. 

“Oh my darling,” he murmured, face pressed into her hair, “oh my sweet girl.”

Elyse wrapped her arms tightly around him, tears soaking the fabric of his shirt. 

“I thought I would never see you again.” 

Elyse clings to him as he ushers her back to the castle, into her room, and in front of the fire, wrapping her in furs as her lips have begun to turn blue. The furs are short-lived as she begins to kiss him. There are other ways to warm up. 

There’s no time, as they shed the clothes that separate them fully. Never has Elyse felt more desperate, more greedy as she tears through the fabric of his shirt, sending buttons scattering to different corners of the room.

His mouth is hot and eager against her skin, followed by his hands leaving trails of fire all over her bare skin. Her shift is torn and the edge of the bed bends her legs at the knee, Aemond tumbling on top of her. 

A peel of laughter escapes her, swallowed by Aemond’s mouth. His lips form a smile against her as he holds her close, kissing her, hands squeezing so hard they’re bound to leave bruises. Elyse cannot find a thought in her head that cares. 

Bruise me, she thinks, leave reminders of your touch again and again and again. Never leave me again. 

Tears stream freely down her cheeks, especially when she feels his cock split her in two, finally fully connecting them. She’s crying and laughing all at once, with soft moans of pleasure interrupting the joyous noises as Aemond thrusts deep inside of her. 

He is here. He is alive. 

Another laugh, another rake of her nails down his back.

Aemond is alive. 

Her fingers stroke his face, down the sharp angles of his jaw, the ridges of his scar and he lifts her thigh to allow deeper access. 

“Never leave me again,” Elyse begs, her voice having an edge of hysteria in it.

“I shan’t,” Aemond promises, “they shall have to kill me first.”

Elyse is alone when she wakes and her body cannot shake the memory of being captured. Her heart speeds up, her stomach lurching as though she may be sick. She leaps from bed, pressing a hand over her chest, trying to remind herself where she is.

I am in Oldtown, she says to herself, breathing deeply. I am in Oldtown with Aemond and we are alright. 

The chambers are quiet, aside from the sounds outside. Elsye dons a dressing robe, making her way outside, and down the stairs.

People are bustling, there is commotion everywhere. She spots Daeron’s silver head. 

“Daeron!” she calls, rushing toward him.

He smiles brightly at her, clasping her arm. 

“We are going home, back to King’s Landing,” he begins, “Aegon has declared the war is over.”

NOTE: I've been neglecting my first baby! Hope this reunion makes up for it ily all!

ASOFAF taglist: @minttea07@tssf-imagines, @queenofshinigamis, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @hangmanscoming, @watercolorskyy, @btsarmy2014

#aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond x original character #aemond x original female character #aemond x elyse #aemond one eye #oc: elyse baratheon #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond

[initforthecache]

Official Link Character Design Ranking

This is official, do not debate me /j

I'm sorry, but this is the worst. He's beautiful. Stunning, even. But the tops of the boot? the red belt? What is going on

Bro. I know you're from the 90s. What is going on with your tights/underwear? That tunic looks flimsy af what is it going to be protecting you from?

I can't quite place it. But I know he's too top heavy. There's too much going on on top. Cool colors though.

Its the hair and the length of the torso/tunic. Otherwise, lookin great buddy.

Never been a fan of his littol shoes. also what is that v-neck. Otherwise, the design slaps. come on look at those eyebrows

i LOVE the retro. The stripe is a bit too big tho and the boots are too small. The big ears are fantastic ofc

THE HAIIIIRR THE HAIR THE HAIR THE HAIR

beautiful. transcendent. green baggy pants? friend shaped? but your hair looks like a mop dude. fix that. Maybe grow it out

You wanna know why Botw Link's design is so good? Because he's not top heavy. Link looks better when there is more going on below the shoulders. Not having a cap helps with that.

He suffers from a similar whatarethosetights problem like OoT Link but otherwise, fantastic. Big belt? Brown sleeves? ties in the front? Big nose? Beautiful.

He's like TP Link but better (design wise) Pants, chainmail, arm guards, if only his hair didn't look so stupid in game.

I feel like this is the close as we are going to get to the return of brown sleeved Link in the modern era of Zelda. The dark sleeves? The emphasis on the belt? Also the cape. the cape rocks.

The platinum blonde hair. The scarf. The gold highlights? HE IS NOT ALLOWED. HOW IS HE ALLOWED TO BE SO HOT?? (The only reason he's not on the top of the list is that the design is a little top heavy.)

ALBW Link but better. I have this little man sitting on my bookshelf and it makes me so happy every time I look at him. The boots are perfect. Hair color is *mwuah*beautiful. Congruent and fantastic design.

LORD AND HEAVENLY FATHER. THIS IS IT, LINK CHARACTER DESIGN PEAKED HERE. It's simple, colors are distributed evenly, the hair color works, his nose is goofy, his eyebrows are big, he's everything Link should be.

Thank you if you made it through this list lmao

#the legend of zelda #link breath of the wild #link between worlds #link to the past #loz link

[andiwriteordie]

👑⚔️

:)

okay, so explanation for everyone else LOL: nic's prompt is for me to write something based on their post found here, and then, they went an expanded on this idea by talking about mike and will slow dancing after a ball will had to attend to find potential suitors... so here ya go, nic. a little biscuit for you!

—

dancing is a dangerous game 

Mike doesn’t get paid enough for this.

That’s a joke… mostly. But also, it’s really not.

The job itself is fine. Sure, Mike is a little bit warm underneath his chainmail and armor, and this stupid blue cloak that he only has to wear for special ceremonies and events that he’s forced to attends is actually really fucking annoying. Seriously, it’s been over three years since he was first knighted, and sometimes, Mike still feels like a bumbling little kid when he wears this thing—like he’s going to end up tripping over the cloak or accidentally tearing it or slicing through it with his sword.

(It’s happened before. Will still won’t let him live it down.)

Anyways, the job is fine tonight. It’s nothing that Mike isn’t used to, and unlike some of the knights Mike knows, he actually enjoys his job. It’s the honor of a lifetime to be a knight and to serve and protect his kingdom, but more importantly, it’s an honor to be able to protest his best friend.

Somehow, despite the fact that he’s just Mike—some gangly, stupid kid from a family who can barely be considered nobility—he gets the opportunity to protect the prince. It’s actually quite insane when Mike stops to think about it, and even more insane to him is the fact that “Prince William” is really just… Will, Mike’s best friend.

Yes, the two of them have been best friends for over fifteen years now. No, Mike is still not used to the fact that he gets to be best friends with Will.

It’s not even just because Will’s the prince. Mike stopped caring about that a long time ago. No, it’s the fact that Will is Will, and he’s the kindest, most thoughtful, gentlest, and most caring person Mike knows.

And… well… 

Mike is in love with him.

And that, of course, is exactly why Mike has absolutely loathed tonight—the way he always loathes all these stupid royal balls and parties that Will has to attend. Will hates them more than Mike does, and rightfully so, but God, Mike hates nights like these.

And he hates this ball especially.

Because tonight isn’t just an ordinary ball. Tonight is the first of many balls aimed at finding Will a suitor. He’s nearly twenty-one years old now, so his parents (namely his asshole father) have decided that it’s time for Will to get married and potentially get shipped off to go rule some foreign country with a stupid princess.

…

Look, the idea of Will marrying some stupid and bubbly and all too cheerful princess makes Mike want to go outside and destroy a few training dummies. And the sight of Will dancing with beautiful woman after beautiful woman and Will gently kissing their hands and smiling his warm and gentle smile at them? Yeah, that makes Mike want to commit many, many crimes, even though he’s sworn an oath of fealty to Will’s stupid dad and even though he could be executed for breaking said oath.

(It’d be worth it, right?

… 

Not right, unfortunately.)

It’s fine though. Mike is going to have to get used to this, because Will… Will’s a prince. He may be the second born prince, but he’s still a prince. He still has royal duties, and though Mike may have stupid dreams of always getting to be by Will’s side, that simply might not be the case. If Will leaves their home, Mike might not be able to follow him. And furthermore, though Mike might be the most important person in Will’s life right now… he won’t be that forever.

Someday, Will is going to marry a beautiful woman, and he’s going to have children with her. They’ll start a family, the way Will is expected to, and eventually, Mike will do the same with some beautiful woman his parents find for him too. Whatever sort of life Mike imagines every time he finds himself disappearing into his own daydreams is simply that. 

A dream.

It’s never going to happen, so Mike might as well get used to it now.

The party seems to go on for forever, but finally, it begins to slow down. People trickle out of the ballroom, including Will’s parents. After that, everyone seems to take the hint that the ball is over, and Mike breathes a sigh of relief, looking around the room and trying to find Will.

“Hi.” 

“Shit,” Mike swears, turning around and meeting his best friend’s eyes. Will smirks at him, and Mike narrows his eyes. “You scared me.”

“Should I be concerned that it was that easy to sneak up on you?” Will asks dryly. “What happens if we’re out and someone tries to attack me?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It’s happened before,” he reminds, his own voice just as dry, “and we’re both still alive. Barely… but we’re still alive.”

Will chuckles, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, and Mike feels his heart rate pick up. “Walk with me back to my room?” Will asks, his voice soft.

“Of course.” Mike nods, and his best friend smiles again, walking towards the exit. Together, the two of them make their way through the long corridors of the palace. Servants that they pass by bow or curtsy at Will, and like always, he just offers them a warm smile and a little “hello” in return,

It’s one of the things Mike most loves about Will—how he has a way of seeing people, even if they’re far below his status. Will… doesn’t see any of that stupid hierarchical bullshit like his dad does. No, he’s always taken after his mom in that regard, and it’s why he’s so well-loved by the people of their kingdom.

Finally, the two of them make it back to Will’s chambers, and he opens the door, exhaling as soon as both of them are safely inside. “Have I mentioned how much I hate parties?” Will groans.

Mike chuckles, turning to look at his best friend. “Only about a few thousand times,” he says dryly. “But you’re welcome to say it as many times as you’d like since you have to deal with them so often.”

“They’re just so pointless,” Will gripes, an (admittedly adorable) pout on his face. “I mean… I guess they’re not technically pointless, but they feel pointless. And my feet hurt by the end of them. And my cheeks hurt by the end of them. And they’re not fun, because none of these people actually care about me, but if I’m not on my best behavior, then my dad will…”

His voice trails off, and Mike grits his teeth, fighting the urge to reach for his fucking sword. Even just the slightest mention of Will’s father and his treatment of Will is enough to really make Mike consider regicide. It’s… something he and Lucas have discussed before. Not that anyone needs to know that.

“Your dad will act like the royal asshole he is,” Mike finishes. 

“Mike.” Will gives him a look, and Mike rolls his eyes.

“Hey, that was nice for me,” he reminds, holding up his hands defensively. “I could say much worse things about your father.”

“And you could end up on the gallows for doing that,” Will points out, but there’s a smile on his face. “I can only do so much to protect you, you know.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “I know, I know,” he reassures. “I’m not stupid enough to say anything around him or anyone we don’t trust. But have I mentioned how much I hate him?”

“Only about a few thousand times,” Will deadpans, an echo of Mike’s own words. “You know how I feel about him too, but… he’s still my dad. And more importantly, he’s the king, so… I have to be on my best behavior at all these stupid balls. Who knows. Maybe I met my future wife tonight.”

A bitter smile forms on Will’s face, right as an uncomfortable lump forms in the back of Mike’s throat. “Maybe,” Mike manages to say. “And… how do you feel about that?”

Will scoffs. “I hate it,” he sighs. “I can’t tell anyone that though… no except for you and maybe Jonathan. But he’s got it so much worse than I do, so I feel bad complaining to him, but it’s just like… like…”

An exasperated little huff escapes Will’s lips, and he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with any of those women,” he admits, his voice soft. “I mean… there… there’s only one person I could spend the rest of my life with and actually see myself being happy with.”

The lump in the back of Mike’s throat grows, as does the jealous monster lurking and living inside his chest. Will has never told him this before, which… which is fine. Will is allowed to have his secrets. But surely, he would’ve told Mike if he was secretly seeing someone, wouldn’t he? And when would he have run off to see some women? He and Mike are almost always around each other.

“You… you can’t be with her?” Mike asks softly. “Would… your dad not approve?”

Will’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “Mike,” he says, his voice sad and quiet. There’s a curious look on his voice, and as Mike raises a brow, Will huffs out a little laugh. “No, he wouldn’t approve, so… I’d never be able to be with him.”

…

Oh.

All at once, Mike feels his face grow warm, and he stares at Will, trying to read his best friend’s expression. “Oh,” Mike says dumbly. “You… um… oh, okay. That’s… that’s cool. I mean, it’s not; it’s not cool, because of your dad… But… but you being in love with… this man… that’s okay. And I’m okay with that.”

The question, Who is he?, hangs in the air between them, but Mike doesn’t dare ask it. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

Will raises a brow. There’s a smile tugging at his lips, and he takes a step towards Mike, so the two of them are barely a foot away from each other now. “Mike,” Will says, still just as soft, “would you care to dance with me?”

Mike’s breath catches. He hesitantly meets Will’s eyes, and Will just stares back at him, smiling that warm and familiar and oh so Will smile that he always does. There’s something a bit teasing but also fond in Will’s eyes, and… 

And suddenly, it clicks.

Oh.

“You… you mean,” Mike stammers, his face getting warmer. “Wait, are you…. talking about…”

Will laughs again, a fond look in his eyes. “Yes,” he says, his voice a bit teasing. “And I mean... my dad told me I should dance with all my potential suitors tonight, so… if you’d like to… I saved the last dance for you.”

For a moment, Mike just stares at his best friend’s outstretched hand, trying to process exactly what is happening. 

Will… is in love with him.

Will is in love with him.

Holy shit.

Mike’s head still feels like it’s spinning, but hesitantly, he takes Will’s hand and allows his best friend to pull him close. “I should let you know I’m really bad at dancing,” Mike jokes, his voice impossibly quiet. 

Another warm smile forms on Will’s face, and he gently squeezes Mike’s hand, before resting his other hand on the small of Mike’s back. “That’s okay,” Will reassures, soft and gentle. “I… I can lead. Just trust me.”

“Always,” Mike whispers back, and Will just smiles.

And so, with no music and with not a single person watching the two of them, Mike and Will dance and dance and dance around the bedroom, never once taking their eyes off each other.

The rest of the world disappears until it’s just the two of them.

And though he has no idea what will become of the two of him, Mike doesn't care. Right now, all he can do is fall deeper and deeper into love with his best friend.

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #andi writes not dies