#oc aeron

[chiasebus]

The gorls :)

#chia draws #oc aeron #oc hazel #my ocs

[mmothmanners]

My BBEG Aeron (from my homebrew campaign) in his cute little lounge wear. Totally not trying to gaslight, girlboss, and manipulate a PC. He's just a normal guy reading a normal little book.

And definitely not a full lich with a skeletal face under that mirage and charming veneer.

#drow #dungeons and dragons #necromancer #ocs #Aeron #jill art #he's my problematic favourite #out here destroying gods and trying to alter the very fabric of reality

[murmel-malt]

Gael's baby boy

#back from vacation and needed something to get back into drawing so have a doodle of yet another OC #he is my take on Gael Targaryen's son had he lived to grow up (obv raised by his momma!) #my art #oc: aeron waters #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd oc #fyeahhotdocs #fire and blood #house targaryen #gael targaryen

[theold-ultraviolence]

Hiii

I was just wondering how would Aemond and his love react to their kid being hurt and losing their eye potentially. Maybe it’s so so but eventually they say they couldn’t save the eye and so due to infection or whatever they had to remove it.

How would the kids siblings act?

Would Aemond see them come together to protect their sibling and see what he wished his brother and siblings did for him that night he lost his eye.

I imagine he would make sure he wasn’t like Viserys. He would make sure his kid was okay and protected but also justice. There would be justice.

Imagine if it was his daughter 😱 his little princess. His little dragon. It would hurt him so much. Imagine if in her sweet little voice “it’s okay kepa and muna. I can look like kepa now and have my own eye patch. Like the pirates in the stories.”

Or something like that. I can practically hear Aemonds heart break.

I am so so so sorry this is so long. I just thought that your dad Aemond stuff is so Damn good and you would make an awesome fic out of ideas like above. I know they suck and you get much better ideas from people but this just popped in my head. I hope you have a great day. ☀️

OK FIRST OF ALL, sorry it took me so long to get to this, my brain just hasn't been working these days but ahhhhh, second of all, HOW DARE YOU DROP ME ALL THIS ANGST. IT HURTS. BUT IT HURTS SO GOOD. I don't have the brain capacity for a fully fleshed out fic, but I can offer you this humble drabble...CW: angst ahead, but it's brief and followed by a lot of fluff and the injuries aren't explicitly described.

The Sapphire Princess (drabble) • (King!Aemond Targaryen, dad!Aemond)

...For this scenario, I'm imagining Aemond is king, and he has his three children I’ve talked about before, Elaena the eldest, and the twins, Aeron and Vaella. Elaena and Aeron are his protectors while everyone in the kingdom knows that the youngest of the twins, Vaella, is the most attached to her father out of the three children.

Vaella is the sensitive one, the soft child in a household of strong-willed children. The one who's always holding onto Aemond's hand. She's not his protector in the same way that Elaena and Aeron are, it's like Vaella's got his father's heart under her care. Everyone used to say that the prince had a black heart. But not anymore, not the king. His children are to thank for it. Out of his two daughters, while Elaena wears practical clothing, ready for combat, Vaella is known for wearing sapphire blue dresses, the color of her father's prosthetic eye. Because of this, she's known as 'the sapphire princess', and she's very loved by all.

She's the perfect target for those wanting to hurt the King - hit him where it hurts most. A single scratch to her beautiful face, a face that's the mirror image of the Queen, it's enough to ignite King Aemond's fury.

So one night, The Red Keep goes aflame. Princess Vaella is nowhere to be found in the dead of night. You can only hear the thunderous growling of King Aemond, his stomping steps reverberating against the stone floors of the palace as he commands Elaena and Aeron to lead the King's Guard in search of her dearest daughter, just as he rides Vaghar to watch over the Kingdom from above.

The search isn't an arduous one, but it is dooming. It is gut-wrenching; Elaena feels as though his heart has been ripped from her chest when she finds her young sister, wailing in pain all doubled over herself in one of the alleyways of flea bottom. Aeron kneels down, feeling weakened at the sight, feeling his twin's stabbing pain as his own.

Young Vaella Targaryen's left eye has been taken, like her father before her. Elaena takes her sister in arms, just as Aeron takes the lead of the king's guard in order to find the culprit. Seek and destroy is the order.

Elaena feels desperate and weak, but she holds on to her strength as she carries her sister all the way to the Maesters.The Queen weeps and clutches her silk robes at the sound of Vaghar's growls in the sky. From the windows of the palace, one could only see a spear of Dragonfire cutting through the sky like Vaella's own facial wound. The enemies of the king have been destroyed.

Aemond rushes in but paralyzes on the spot. The sight that greets him is taunting and cruel, bringing back flooding memories that are as vicious as the bloodshed outside. "My sweet dove..." he laments as he reaches his queen and children, who form a protective circle around Vaella.

"Father..." she croaks out, barely able to speak with the Maesters working on sewing her scar shut. Where once Princess Vaella used to look like a carbon copy of her mother, now it's as though Aemond is looking at a vivid image of his past self.

Aemond takes her hand, squeezing tightly. "The ones responsible have been annihilated, ñuha jorrāelagon. You don't need to fret. Your family is with you."

"Don't mourn me, kepa." She murmurs, as a single tear escapes her big doe eye, "You were strong enough to endure, and so will I. The bravery in your blood is the same that courses through my own veins. Now my Sapphire nickname is as true as ever."

It doesn't stop Aemond from crying, and grasping onto Vaella's delicate hand as if she'd evaporate in the blink of a weary eye.

"You've got something your father lacked, back then, my darling." Her mother's tone is both comforting and laced with the ferocity that could make anyone believe in miracles. Vaella's mother speaks to her, but also to the younger version of Aemond, the one that wished he'd had someone other than his mother to defend him.

"You have us. We will nurture you back to health. It won't be easy, my dove. But we'll be there."

Elaena and Aeron stand beside their parents, wiping off their tears and replacing the somber look on their faces with hopeful smiles. Vaella couldn't see them sad, she needs her siblings healthy and strong.

The months passed, and the road to recovery was long, with days when the pain is blinding for Vaella, and her cries can be heard all throughout the Red Keep. Days where the King can be seen starring idly at nothing at all as if lost in a sea of memories. There were days when Aeron and Elaena sat on the iron throne, for the King wanted nothing but to spend the day nestled in bed, cuddling his daughter. And days when kepa and muña could be spotted in the gardens, helping their daughter train with the sword so that she'll never again be unarmed and unable to defend herself.

A year later, a portrait of the royal family was commissioned. At the iron throne, sat the king. Flanking his left, stood Elaena and Aeron. The Queen, ever-present to the king's right. And in the front, sat by the king's knee - like a ripple of the King's image - Vaella, The Sapphire Princess. Neither the father nor the daughter wore their respective eye patches, proud to display their shared symbol of resilience.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #dad!aemond #aemond's children #aemond targaryen drabble #aemond targaryen fanfiction #drabbles #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfiction #my writing #ewan mitchell #my oc: vaella targaryen #my oc: elaena targaryen #my oc: aeron targaryen

[loksthegreat]

“In the aftermath of the passing of Queen Elaena IV, a heavy veil of grief fell upon Kingslanding, and thousands of men and women flooded the septs of the city. The coronation of Rhaegar II, seven days after his mothers death, was a overshadowed by the loss of ‘the mother of the realm’, no matter how beloved the young king himself had been as a prince, in these dark hours that saw the realm united in mourning, few believed that any ruler yet to come could live up to the image of the velaryon Queen. Soon questions rose as to how the king thought to go about the conflicts with the north, and it was not until little over two fortnights later, that the kings brother, prince Aeron I, arrived at Winterfell, alone, dressed all in black and only armed with his fathers sword, dark sister, strapped to his side. The prince, who in his youth, had been assumed by all of his Maesters to become an outstanding Maester of his own one day, was only 21 years of age, and ‘the old wolf of winter’, Lord Torrhen Stark, who had lost all of his sons and daughters, safe for Lady Alara and Lady Berena, to the war in the Riverlands, where he had fought and killed the princes father, King Rhaegar I, was said to have come to face him with his favored heavy crossbow drawn and aimed at the princes heart. The conversation of the wolf and the prince, who announced himself the Hand of the King, upon desaddleing his horse, and would be known as ‘Lord Peacemaker’ in the following years, remains unknown, for no maester was present to write it down, but prince Aeron would return to his brothers throne unharmed and with him he brought the loyalty of the north.” - sons and daughters of the crown, by Maester Wyland

#asoiaf oc #hotd #asoiaf #digital art #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf art #fanart #asoiaf fanart #elaena iv targaryen #rest in peace Aeron Targaryen you would have loved cigarettes

[asa-do-your-thing]

The Maiden's Voyage I

Yara Greyjoy x F!OC

18+ Minors DNI WC: 7.7k Warnings: dubious power balances, slight dubcon, lesbian sex, smut, face sitting, cunnilingus, fingering, religion

Meddling in mortal's affairs was never her thing.

Of course, once in a while she took pity on some star-struck lovers or a kind girl cursed with an ugly face, but that had been the furthest she'd ever gone in a long time. Sailing to Westeros from the uncharted west on a rich, gold laden ship?

It seemed ridiculous. It had been half a catastrophe the last time she'd done it, when the so-called 'Aegon the Conqueror' grabbed all Kingdoms with the help of his sister wives. After he'd spurned her, she put a great curse on his seed and watched with glee at how these petty kings and queens tore at eachother's throats.

The salty ocean air delicately tousled her hair as she sailed towards the shores, guided by the gentle breeze. She sank into a soft chaise and nibbled on some grapes. The people of this continent worshiped her under various names - 'The Seven' for the high- and lowborn, 'The Maiden' for those who couldn't fully understand the concept of one god with multiple aspects, and 'The Drowned God' for the Iron Men. For the northerners, she was one of their Old Gods.

A smile played on her lips as she observed a seagull flying over her ship with curiosity. It was amusing how most people struggled to accept a deity that was all-encompassing and omnipresent, choosing to manifest itself as a young woman.

Countless times, her offspring had inquired why she chose to venture into the Mortal realm in a tangible form. They pleaded for her to remain by their divine side. But to their chagrin, she simply stated that she was...bored. Exhausted from the endless cycle of bountiful and barren harvests, weary of reprimanding and rewarding her devout followers, and utterly unamused by the gossip of the haughty elite. She craved a bit of excitement, some exhilarating mischief to spice up her eternal existence.

After all, even a goddess needs a change of pace now and then.

As she sat in her chaise, gazing upon the endless horizon of the dark blue sea, she contemplated her next disguise. The delicate decision of her appearance in the Mortal realm was significant to her, as it would determine her perceived age, beauty, and influence over those she interacted with. To seem vulnerable, naive even, by choosing a youthful form was a tactic that never failed.

A delicate hand ran through her silken tresses as she mulled over the appropriate guise for this journey. A girl barely out of adolescence? Maybe someone with fair skin, slightly freckled, and a cascade of russet hair... or perhaps a dusky maiden with raven locks?

Each had its charm and advantages. Through her divine wisdom, she understood that appearing young would not only deceptively imply innocence but also instigate an unconscious protective instinct in the mortals' hearts, encouraging them to spill their secrets and lower their guards around her.

She knew this from past experiences: the more innocent and unassuming the form, the better to beguile, manipulate and control. The age-old adage 'never judge a book by its cover' seemed to elude these mortals persistently. It brought a wicked grin to her lips; they were such simple creatures.

Her lively eyes twinkled with a glint of devilish mischief as she decided on the form that she'd assume this time. It would be a peculiar mix, something a bit daring; petite in stature yet blessed with a voluptuous figure that could evoke both admiration and envy among mortal women. Alluring curves combined harmoniously with her small frame to concoct an irresistible charm. Her skin would be pale, almost moonlit, speckled with an explosion of tiny freckles, a stark contrast that would make one's heart flutter.

Her hair, the shade of chestnut, would cascade down her back in long, untamed waves evoking the beauty of wild nature itself. It would flow around her like a silken tapestry catching each flicker of sunlight and transforming it into a myriad of dancing glowworms. As for the eyes, they had to be something unusual. Not the typical blues or browns—those were too common amongst mortals. She decided on grey—the color of wisdom mixed with mystery. They would bewitch any onlooker with their hypnotic gaze: warm, yet chilling; inviting, yet daunting—a mirage of conflicting emotions that was as captivating as it was unnerving.

She tilted her head back and laughed; a rich, sultry sound that seemed to blend effortlessly with the rhythmic lullaby of the crashing waves. Her lips, plump and imbued with an intense shade of red, added the final touch to her mortal guise. These lips held power—they could whisper incantations that swayed kings, utter words that could ignite passion in mortal hearts or even unleash a tempestuous fury over the seven kingdoms.

Then came her name - a title to be reckoned with.

She'd been known by countless names in different ages and realms; some revered her while others feared her based on nomenclature alone. For one who held so many identities over time, finding an alias that would blend seamlessly into this land's culture was crucial. She wanted something grandiose yet enigmatic - the last few times she'd been Airis, a lonely sheperdess, Helyssa, a courtesan from Lys and Jorrit, the mighty huntress from beyond the wall. These were all mighty fine names and personas she'd built herself, yet she wanted something a bit more... powerful for this trip.

There'd be a lot more noble Ladies and Lord to seduce and manipulate this time around.

After extensive contemplation, she decided on Mariette—a name as simple as it was elegant. It had a touch of the exotic, with an air of familiarity that would allow her to blend into the society seamlessly. And she would not just be any Mariette; she'd assume the title of a princess. The notion of royalty gave her a sense of unchecked privilege and power that she so craved for in this mortal realm. It was the perfect embodiment of her wicked intentions.

As she studied herself in the reflection of the still sea water, Princess Mariette shivered in delight. The dainty figure stared back with a radiant smile, her grey eyes sparkling with an intense gleam that captivated any observer. Her form, while enchanting, held the promise of intrigue and danger—precisely what she desired.

She pondered over a suitable surname next. 'Stark', 'Targaryen', 'Lannister'—these were names that held weight in Westeros, but their legacy was too strong and could invite unwanted scrutiny. Thus, she needed a last name that was unique yet inconspicuous, something that suggested nobility without being directly linked to any existing lineage.

For hours, she toyed with various names, whispering each one softly to gauge how it sounded alongside 'Mariette.' She finally settled on 'Eldryss'—a name as mysterious as it was regal. It was an old name from an ancient tongue lost to time—a language only known by creatures like her.

And so, Princess Mariette Eldryss was born.

Her journey into this new world promised rich rewards for the subjects that bent to her will, that worshipped her and helped her, and great, unimaginable pain and ruin for those that dared to want to hurt her or to scorn her.

As she came closer to the land, a shiver ran through her and she could feel the sea within her. Grinning wickedly, she willed the wind to pick up and the waves to rumble under her ship - it seemed like her first stop would be the Iron Islands. Oh, how giddy she felt! The sight of panicked fishermen and pirates quickly trying to go back to their ports, She felt two souls leaving some poor wretches and sat back down into her chaise. "What is dead may never die," she mumbled with a grin.

With the growing thrill of anticipation, Princess Mariette Eldryss observed the turmoil her arrival had caused. Men and women like ants, scurrying in every direction, fleeing the tempest she had beckoned. From this distance, she could smell their fear, taste their panic—it was intoxicating.

She let out a soft laugh, her grey eyes dancing with merriment as they chased the scampering boats back to their safe harbours. For those sailors who dared to stay and brave her storm, she offered them an eerie serenity amidst the chaos. At some level, her wicked heart admired their foolish bravery.

In the heart of it all, her ship continued to sail undeterred, cutting through the waves like a mighty sea beast. The sailors on board were used to such conditions during their many adventures across the seas. She'd chosen each of them—a motley crew of trusted pirates and cutthroats—for their loyalty and gutsiness. Each had pledged their life to serve her faithfully, and in exchange, she promised them treasures that would surpass their wildest dreams. Rich dead men, cursed to never enjoy their riches - oh wickedly fun it had been when they started to notice their predicament.

The rugged elegance of Pyke soon loomed in front of them. Its weather-beaten towers and wind-ravaged walls held an austere beauty that only one born of the rocks and water could appreciate. Despite her ethereal origins, Princess Mariette found herself oddly drawn to this harsh landscape.

As they neared the cliffs, she stood tall at the bow of her ship, bracing herself against the salty spray that lashed against her face. Her seaweed braids clung tightly to her head while her simple yet rugged dress danced wildly in the wind—making her appear as a phantom sea goddess emerging from the briny deep.

The first to meet her gaze on the land, to which she'd swam through the mighty storm was an old, grizzled sailor, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. He fell to his knees, whispering prayers of protection to the Drowned God. She glanced at him for a moment before shifting her attention to the group of rugged men who had gathered to watch her arrival.

Their expressions ranged from suspicious to openly hostile. She took in their hardened faces, their weather-beaten leathers, their grim expressions and she knew—these were men who thrived on power, violence and respect; they wouldn’t easily fall under her enchantment. But she also knew that she had more than enough charm and guile to bend them to her will.

With each step she took down the gangway, there was a hushed silence, broken only by the crashing waves against the rocky shore. When she finally set foot on solid ground, she lifted her chin and swept her gaze over the crowd. "I am Princess Mariette Eldryss from a land far in the west," she declared, her voice ringing out loud and clear over the noise of the storm. "I wish to speak to your Lord."

It was then that the Iron Men parted before her, their steel-faced gazes never leaving her as they revealed not a Lord but a woman of formidable presence. With the same stormy grey eyes that pierced through the torrential rain, Yara Greyjoy approached Mariette. The wind whipped at her sodden coat, revealing a well-worn chest plate and an impressive cutlass hanging loosely at her side.

"When your Lord isn't present, you send his daughter," she retorted dryly, her gaze challenging. "I am Yara Greyjoy... and in my father's stead, I am your audience."

Mariette’s eyes sparkled with intrigue as she studied Yara. This woman was both fierce and intriguing - a rare combination that Mariette knew all too well. Nevertheless, she maintained her stoicism.

"I see," she replied after a tense pause, her voice carrying authority despite the raging storm around them. "Well then, Lady Greyjoy… I come bearing an offer. An offer that I believe would be of interest to your people."

Just then, as if conjured by some unseen hand, another figure emerged from the throng of ironborn. Draped in robes soaked through by sea spray and rain, with a cascade of hair as dark as the turbulent sea around them, stood Aeron Greyjoy.

The Drowned Priest's eyes flickered with latent power as he too approached the Princess. Despite his craggy features, there was an almost youthful intensity in his gaze as he extended a gnarled hand towards Mariette - a silent invitation for her to continue with her proposition. She must've intruiged him somehow.

However, Yara interjected before Mariette could speak. "We need no offers, princess. Your presence on our island is intrusion enough." Yara's words sliced through the rain-soaked air, her defiance echoing out to the volatile sea.

"Perhaps," Mariette responded calmly, her voice steady in the thunderous storm, "But I believe it is an offer you might want to consider before sending me away."

Ignoring Yara's hardened glare, she turned towards the Drowned Priest, extending a slender hand, encrusted with simple iron-engulfed emerald and sapphire rings. "Aeron Greyjoy... I've heard of you. The priest who still listens to the whispers of the drowned god. You are very devout." Her voice echoed mysteriously, barely concealing a hint of invitation.

Aeron's gaze locked onto hers, his sea-green eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. He took her hand in his rough one in a gesture that spoke more of curiosity than acceptance. A sudden wind howled around them as if cheering for this unexpected alliance.

In that moment, Princess Mariette did something unexpected. She closed her eyes and stood stone-still amidst the rage of the storm while holding onto Aeron's hand. Following suit after an initial hesitation, Aeron closed his eyes too.

The crowd watched in utter fascination as their Drowned Priest and this foreign princess stood there, clasped hands raised slightly above their heads as if waiting for a divine sign. The rain poured harder, the waves grew wilder and yet they stood unmoving. And then something remarkable happened.

A vision appeared before Aeron Greyjoy's eyes - he saw the face of his drowned god - and saw the Princess looking back at him, naked, floating underneath the sea, barncles scattered over her pale body. He saw her hair flowing like sea-weed, eyes wide and grey, devoid of life, and a knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. His drowned god had never shown him such a sight before. He saw her gesturing towards him, inviting him into the depths with her, promising treasures untamed and secrets unspoken. A jolt of energy surged through him, causing Aeron's eyes to snap open. He found himself staring into Mariette's grey eyes which mirrored the vision he'd just had. In that moment, he knew that she was not ordinary.

She was of the sea, a creature as unpredictable and wild as the waves themselves.

Faling onto his knees, he hugged Mariette's legs and moved his lips in silent prayer. A rasp of uncertain murmurs rippled through the crowd as the nervously watched their most devout priest seemingly pray to this weird young Princess which had come to them in one of the harshest storms they's ever encountered. Mariette saw that Yara was still uncertain about her, but that was to be expected, for she had little belief in anything except for herself.

Mariette turned her gaze towards Yara and met the untrusting fiery eyes of the Greyjoy woman, her voice cutting sharply through the roaring wind. "It is not your trust that I need, but your acceptance." It was not a plea, but a statement forged with ironclad certainty.

A sudden clap of thunder echoed throughout Iron Island, as if the drowned god himself were responding to Mariette's bold declaration. The crowd gasped in awe, but Mariette remained unaffected. She stood tall, her gaze steady on Yara, awaiting her reaction.

Yara looked at Aeron who had just risen from his prayerful stupor. He gave a single nod, his eyes still filled with the reverent terror of his vision. She understood then what must be done.

"Fine," Yara spat out grudgingly after a moment, "you come with me then." She yanked herself free from her uncle's grip and motioned for Mariette to follow. The crowd parted silently as the two women made their way through it.

As they neared the edge of the island, a monstrous wave crashed against the stony cliff beneath them. The saltwater spray hit everyone with a chilling force and drenched them thoroughly.

Everyone except Mariette.

She stood there amidst the drenched onlookers, untouched by the wrath of the sea. Her simple, rough gown still fluttered in the undying gale and her auburn hair flowed gracefully with the seaweed in it, looking drier than the deserts in Dorne.

The crowd watched in disbelief as Mariette simply turned towards them and smiled mysteriously before following Yara towards Pyke Castle.

The castle itself was a wonder, carved entirely from the great rocks that were native to Iron Islands. Its tall towers stood like ancient sentinels against the backdrop of the storm-tossed sea, and the wind howled mournfully through its narrow corridors and arched windows. With each step, Yara seemed to sink deeper into the dread of what she had agreed to.

Yet, Mariette walked with an air of unshakeable calm, her eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight as they made their way through the labyrinthine passageways. Who would she seduce here? Lord Balon or feisty Yara? Would any of them even come to appreciate what she would give them this night?

They passed through grand halls adorned with tapestries depicting battles long past, where the sound of drunken laughter and fistfights had once echoed. Now, all that was left were the echoes of silence and a lingering sense of foreboding.

Yara, feeling the weight of trepidation loom heavier with each step, suddenly halted near the entrance to a grand hall, its ancient stone walls adorned with faded murals depicting conquests of yore. Turning to Mariette with a look of defiance etched on her features, she declared in a low growl, "This is as far as I take you."

Yara wasted no time and lunged at Mariette with a fierce battle cry. Her movements were precise and swift, honed through years of brutal training under the most ruthless warriors on Iron Island. But Mariette was just as skilled, gracefully evading Yara's attack with fluid movements that seemed to defy gravity. In one fluid motion, she extended her arm and struck Yara with a powerful blow, sending her crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that shook the fortress walls. The crowd gasped in shock, but Mariette remained calm and focused, ready for whatever move her fallen opponent would make next.

She extended her hand towards Yara and offered a smirk as icy as winter winds. "Is this how you greet all your guests?" she taunted sweetly, savoring the stunned silence that her words elicited from the small crowd of warriors and thralls that had gathered to watch them.

Yara's eyes met hers defiantly. Yet, there was no rush to retaliate. No immediate cry for another battle. Instead, Yara pushed herself up from the cold stone floor slowly and stood facing Mariette once more with a small grin. The smirk didn't leave Mariette's face as she waited ever so patiently for Yara's next move.

"So I see that women are trained well in the West," Yara grumbled and patted Mariette on the shoulder. It dawned on her that this wasn't a true attack out of bad will, but rather a test, a test of strength. "Let me introduce you to my father, Lord Balon."

As they walked through the stony corridors of Pyke Castle, Yara's gaze lingered on Mariette. She couldn't deny the woman was an extraordinary creature. Her movements exuded a confident grace that was alluring, her eyes held a calm determination that was intimidating. Her whole demeanor was an enigma that piqued Yara's curiosity and begrudging respect.

The doors to Lord Balon's chambers were held together with rough iron bands, a testament to the harsh reality of life on the Iron Islands. Shielding her eyes against the dim light, Mariette followed Yara into the room. In the flickering torchlight, an old man sat hunched over an ancient map, his gnarled fingers tracing over worn lines and faded colors.

Lord Balon glanced up at their entrance, his sunken eyes reflecting surprise and suspicion as they landed on Mariette. "And what is this?" he demanded gruffly, his voice echoing through the drafty halls of the castle.

"This," Yara began, nodding towards Mariette with a smirk, "is our guest from the West, Father."

Lord Balon scrutinized Mariette then, his hawk-like eyes piercing through to her very soul before he let out a gruff laugh that echoed eerily around the room. "So," he sneered with contempt dripping from every syllable, "the West does exist and the only thing that proves it oif this girl that looks like she'd been washed up on our shores."

Ignoring Balon's jibe, Mariette took a step forward and curtsied slightly, her voice steady despite the tense silence in the room. "I am not here as a representative of anyone but myself," she declared boldly. "I have heard great tales of your bravery, Lord Greyjoy." Hm, seems like Yara would be the one to warm my bed tonight, she thought to herself while she studied Balon. He didn't have much longer to live, but oh how he mistrusted her, how he felt pain in his lifetime. "I require but a night on Pyke, then I will be gone again and I shall not bother you any more, my Lord."

Yara's eyes nervously flitted between her father and the Princess. Mariette had to refrain from grinning as she felt another surge of respect from the rugged woman - she was impressed that Mariette hadn't told him that she was a Princess, nor boasted with riches. "She fights well," Yara said stoically and looked out of the window, where the storm had calmed slightly, " Uncle Aeron approves of her as well. She worships the drowned God."

Lord Balon narrowed his eyes at his daughter, the skepticism in his gaze growing more profound. "A woman who worships the Drowned God and fights like a true Ironborn?" He chuckled bitterly, "I suppose she walks on water too."

His piercing gaze returned to Mariette, studying her face for any hint of deception. The corners of Mariette's mouth twitched upwards in a daring smile. "I cannot walk on water, Lord Greyjoy, but I have been known to hold my breath for an impressively long time," she quipped, holding his stare.

Balon’s laughter echoed around the room again, harsh and grating. He leaned back in his chair regarding Mariette with a newfound respect. She had weathered his scorn with grace and wit, a feat not many had accomplished in his presence.

Yara watched the exchange warily, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. Her father was unpredictable at best and lethal at worst. His amusement could turn to rage in a heartbeat.

"Very well," Balon finally announced after a moment of contemplation. His voice was still filled with suspicion, but his facial expression had changed slightly. “We’ll keep you for the night...but mind your manners.”

Mariette bowed her head graciously, thanking the Lord for his reluctant hospitality. Her gaze met Yara’s shortly, nodding her head towards her subtly as though acknowledging an unspoken challenge.

As they left Lord Balon's chambers together, Yara put her hand on Mariette's shoulder stopping her. "My father might be old, but he is not naive. Whatever game you play here..."

Mariette batted her eyelashes subtly and put her own hand on Yara's rough one. Oh, little warrior, she thought to herself as she felt Yara taking a quick breath, now I've trapped you. "I do not play games, or at least not yet. That I shall do once I am in King's Landing. And as I've mentioned before... If no harm comes to me on these next few hours until I can leave your Islands again, you will be rewarded richly - the West is a generous place but not a foolish one." With a small smile, she gently lifted Yara's hand off of her shoulders and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Yara stared at Mariette in silence for several moments, the low light from the hallway's torches glinting off her hardened exterior as if it were armor. The intensity in her eyes was broken only by a flutter of intrigue and, quite possibly, excitement that danced in their depths.

"So be it," she finally murmured, her grip on Mariette's hand tightening momentarily before she released it. Yara jerked her head towards the castle's main hall, indicating with silent command that they were to move along. Every step she took echoed with authority and purpose, a manifestation of the rough-and-tumble culture of the Iron Islands.

They walked through long corridors lined with ancient tapestries depicting battles and victories of the Ironborn. The worn stone underfoot felt cold against Mariette's skin, yet strangely comforting. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur and warmth of the West, but there was an undeniable charm in its harsh austerity.

After passing through several stone arches, they arrived at an opulent room draped in furs and adorned with relics from countless raids, a testament to the Greyjoy’s adventurous nature. Yara led Mariette to an enormous wooden table laden with roasted fish and goblets overflowing with ale - a spread worthy of a Greyjoy.

A burly man seated at the far end of the table rose as they approached and clapped Yara on the shoulder amicably. "Uncle Aeron," Yara greeted him with a nod. His deep-set eyes surveyed Mariette with great wonder before he offered a curt nod in return. "Our guest from the West."

Mariette dipped into a small curtsy before lowering herself onto a chair next to Yara.

The room was alive with the hum of conversations, yet when Mariette sat down, it felt as though a thick shroud of silence had been draped over them. The clatter of mugs against the table and the murmur of indistinct words seemed to fade into mere whispers. She noticed numerous curious eyes fixated on her, yet none dared speak to the foreigner among them.

After what felt like an eternity, she picked up a fork and began to daintily pick at the roasted fish before her. It was a humble meal at best but carried the touch of the Ironborn — bold and sincere in its simplicity. As she took a bite, she couldn't help but draw comparisons with the fine wine and gourmet feasts back in her realm, above the mortals. The richness of seafood flavour mingled with a smoky aftertaste — far from what she was used to, but oddly satisfying nonetheless, not that she needed any sustence, she was a godess after all - but it certainly helped her blend in better.

To fill in the looming silence, Mariette sipped from her goblet and looked out of the window. Outside, the storm began to roll in again, thunder echoing ominously against the walls of the castle. She resisted a chuckle at their startled expressions as a particularly loud clap of thunder made goblets rattle and some men jump at their seats. Ah, how fun it was to toy around with the weather, she thought glefully

Aeron shot Mariette a knowing look, an eyebrow slightly raised in question, but said nothing. His niece merely grunted into her cup while most around them muttered about rough weather and bad omens. Gradually though, conversations picked up again, albeit with more caution in their tones, cautiously navigating around superstitions related to storms.

"So, Yara, pray tell, is there a reason why such a fierce woman as yourself is without a husband or wife?", she asked curiosly, pulling some crab meat out of its shell. Willing to exude desire, she smirked as Yara blushed and hid her face in her cup again. Aww, the poor thing's blushing, how un-warriorlike of her, Mariette thought to herself with a grin and caught an eye of a young man, presumably one of the Saltcliffe boys and saw him nervously rearranging something in his pants.

She had forgotten just how potent her moods were on these mortals around her, especially adolescent ones - but tonight her treat was Yara, not some pimply boy.

Yara's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she downed her ale as if it were water. "That's a personal matter," she muttered into her goblet, glancing sideways at Mariette, her eyes momentarily revealing the hint of vulnerability she’d been trying to hide. Yet, there was a spark of curiosity in her gaze, and it was clear that her interest was piqued by the question.

"Personal matter or not," Mariette leaned closer to Yara, her voice barely above a whisper as she let the question hang in the air between them. "I am sure there'd be lots of people wishing for your strong hand."

The room filled with laughter and chatter again, but it was merely a background noise to their intimate conversation. Yara looked at Mariette for what seemed like an eternity before replying, "Perhaps there are, I wouldn't know. I'm not in the mood for marriage."

Mariette's smile widened at Yara's response. She raised her goblet for a toast. "To secrets yet unshared," she said mysteriously, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze, however, was focused on Yara, studying every reaction.

Before Yara could respond, another loud crash of thunder echoed around them. The room dimmed momentarily as if the storm was dictating the mood. Aeron grunted in irritation, his eyes narrowing in suspicion towards Mariette whose smirk only seemed to grow wider.

Yara hesitated for a moment before raising her own goblet in return. "To secrets," she agreed quietly and took another long drink from her cup.

The evening carried on in this manner; Mariette had great fun toying with Pyke's apparent heiress. So when the feast came to a close, she had been anything but surprised when Yara had offered to take her to a chamber for the night.

Yara's fingers brushed against her lightly, a gesture that was at once rough and soft. "This way," the warrior woman said, her voice gruff yet strangely tender. Mariette couldn't help but flash Yara a playful grin as she got up from her seat.

As they navigated through narrow passageways and up winding staircases, Yara remained silent. Her grip tightened around Mariette's hand every time a crack of thunder echoed through the castle walls, each tremor sent a jolt through her stoic facade.

Finally, they arrived at a chamber situated at one of the castle towers. The room was small but comfortable, filled with sturdy wooden furniture and lit by a single burning sconce. A large fur-covered bed sat in the middle, looking incredibly inviting after the evening's events.

"Make yourself comfortable," Yara said gruffly after closing the door behind them, her eyes pointedly avoiding Mariette's gaze. She moved to pour herself a drink from a decanter on a small table by the bed.

"I must say, you Greyjoys know how to entertain," Mariette remarked lightly as she watched Yara take generous swigs from her goblet. She could see the woman's shoulders relax slightly at her statement, perhaps relieved that their 'guest' was not entirely displeased with her stay thus far.

"Indeed?" Yara replied, raising an eyebrow at Mariette as she turned to face her fully. "And here I thought you were rather... bored earlier."

Mariette let out a soft chuckle before letting herself fall lasciviously onto the bed, her breasts straining against the dull fabric of the dress. "Oh no, I've been quite entertained," she purred.

"I see," Yara said, her voice unsteady but maintaining an air of nonchalance. She took another gulp from her goblet and then poured herself a second serving. "Well, then," she continued, "I suppose I can rest easier knowing our guests are happy."

"You are such a considerate hostess," Mariette responded in a teasing tone as she kicked off her boots and stretched out on the bed. It was clear to Yara that the strange Princess was indeed at ease in the Ironborn's quarters. Her eyes were closed, a slight smile lingering on her lips while she fiddled with the hem of her dress, pulling it up slightly.

The sight made Yara's heart speed up as if she'd been running up the steep stairs again. She took one last gulp of her drink to steady her nerves before setting down her empty goblet. Then, slowly, she approached the bed, her eyes never leaving Mariette.

"Don't go thinking you've seen all we have to offer just yet," Yara said, sounding more confident than she felt. The room filled with tension; it buzzed like the impending storm outside.

"Oh?" Mariette sat up slowly, letting her dress fall back down over her knees. Her gaze never left Yara's determined face. "And what else does House Greyjoy have to offer me?"

Yara simply smirked in response and walked over to her and roughly pushed her dress up, blushing as she felt the lack of smallclothes on the Princess' soft skin, before gently letting her hand wander up to Mariette's hot and moist core.

With a deep breath, Yara sank to her knees between Mariette's thighs and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her arousal. Her fingers traced the delicate lines of the Princess's pussy, parting her folds ever so slightly.

For a moment, she just admired the dark curls of hair that surrounded Mariette's sweet spot and the way her cunny glistened in the dim light of the chambers. She leaned in closer, pressing a tender kiss against her soft skin before teasingly licking her out from bottom to top and back again. Her hands slowly began to explore the rest of Mariette's body—the soft curves of her hips, ass cheeks and thighs that quivered beneath her touch.

Mariette groaned loudly at the sensation and spread her legs wider, giving Yara better access. Women always tended to do these things better, yet she was still surprised at Yara's eagerness to please, seeing as she was still full dressed between her thighs. Yara's tongue darted out to lap at her nectar again while a finger rested gently against her puckered asshole, sending waves of pleasure coursing through Mariette's veins. She felt herself getting wetter by the second underneath Yara's hungry attention. Her hips bucked up off the mattress unintentionally as she tried to get closer to that eager tongue.

The sound of heavy breathing filled the air as Yara continued to worship Mariette's body, eliciting sweet moans from the Godess-in-diguise.

In the dim light of the chamber, Yara's fingers danced over Mariette's body like shadows, tracing along every line and curve with a tenderness that only fueled her fire. She let out a low growl as she felt the Princess' hips buck against her touch, giving the Princess everything she could. Her tongue teased and toyed with Mariette's pearl, flicking it swiftly before plunging deep inside her warmth, tasting the nectar that flowed from her. The goddess moaned loudly, undulating her hips in time with Yara's movements, her fingers threading through the warrior woman's hair in ecstasy. It had been a long time since she's last felt this way - this raw hunger mixed with tenderness.

As Yara worked her magic on her clit with one hand, she expertle undressed herself, tossing her leather garb recklessly onto the floor. Mariette smiled as she panted lightly; Yara was indeed a rugged beauty underneath everything. She'd positioned herself between Mariette's legs again and resumed lapping at her folds, relishing in the salty-sweet taste that filled her mouth.

Mariette gasped as Yara pulled back slightly and came up, swiftly pulling Mariette's dress over her shoulders and giving her a rough kiss. Just as soon as she'd registered the warrior's tongue in her mouth, she'd already introduced her fingers into her mouth, grinning wickedly. "Show me how good you can suck, princess... Make them wet so I can fuck you senseless...," she muttered against her ear, sending shivers up Mariette's spine.

To that, Mariette could only open her mouth and blush up at Yara, who trembled as she watched her perfect mouth wrap itself around her rough fingers, her tongue gently coating them with saliva.

Yara grinned to herself as she licked along the seam of her pussy once more, pushing two fingers inside of her. Despite being able to take any man or woman as she pleased, Yara Greyjoy had never found someone whom she could bring so much pleasure - or someone who could entice such pleasure in such a short time. As Mariette thrust her hips forward in response to the intrusion, Yara took this as a sign to add another finger, stretching her wider than she'd ever been before.

The goddess cried out into the dimly lit room, grinding herself against Yara's hand as she set an unforgiving pace, filling the room with lewd slapping sounds as Mariette arched her back, grabbed at the furs and felt her body tensing up for release.

Yara bent her head down to continue worshipping Mariette's sex, taking the goddess deep into her mouth as her fingers thrust in and out, feeling Mariette's walls clamp down on them. She loved the way she tasted, so sweet and salty on her tongue, mixed with the tang of desire and need. Moans filled the air as Yara sucked on her clit, earning a sharp gasp from Mariette. Her tongue flicked over it rapidly, driving her wild with pleasure. She could feel Mariette's thighs shaking as she held onto her head for dear life.

As the goddess approached her release, Yara pulled back just enough to watch as her eyes rolled back into her head and her body tensed up, ready to cum any moment now. Smiling gently at her visitor, she set her lips onto Mariette's swollen bud a last time and groaned when she felt the Princess coming onto her hand. The taste was heavenly as she swallowed every drop greedily while also stroking Mariette's inner walls with her fingers, milking every last drop of pleasure from them.

This woman knew how to make love, Maritte thought with a contented sigh and gently pulled her up. "You did well, my Lady," she whispered seductively in Yara's ear, "now it is my turn to make you fell good."

Mariette pulled Yara onto her face and smiled gently as she heard her moaning as she felt the warm, wet lips envelop her sex. Her hips pressed down instinctively, seeking more contact as she felt Mariette's tongue dart out to taste her. She held on to the bed's headboard as the princess began to lap at her feminine essence, causing her to gasp and moan out loud. The sensation was overwhelmingly pleasurable and intense; it sent waves of ecstasy coursing through her body that left her trembling with anticipation.

She wasn't a godess for nothing, the least she could do was reward Yara's eagerness in her own, special way. She made sure that the woman came at least five times, before guiding her shivering form back down and holding her gently in her arms, calming her spasming muscles with sweet, gentle touches. "You did so well, I'm so proud of you...," she whispered and saw Yara blushing deeply. Gently taking off one of her rings - just a symbolic thing, nothing of great value, at least not to her - she placed it in Yara's sticky hand. "It's a specialty from... the West. Your pleasure will always feel heightened when wearing it during sex."

Yara looked down at the ring, her eyes wide with surprise. It was a beautiful piece, a band of what appeared to be finely wrought silver, set with an opal that seemed to change color in the dim light of the room. She slid it onto her finger and felt an immediate warmth spread up her arm, settling in her chest like a glowing ember.

"Thank you," she murmured, tracing the band with her fingers as she watched Mariette recline back on the bed with a satisfied smile.

The goddess's gaze was gentle but intense as she looked over Yara's form, still flushed from their earlier activities. Running a hand along the length of Yara's arm, she gently guided the woman's head onto her shoulder, pulling her close.

"I think we've had enough excitement for one day," Mariette whispered into Yara's hair. "Get some rest."

As if responding to Mariette's command, an unanticipated drowsiness washed over Yara, pulling at her eyelids and making them heavy. She nodded against Mariette's shoulder and surrendered herself to sleep.

Once certain that Yara was deeply under the spell of slumber, Mariette stretched languidly on the bed before sliding away from Yara without disturbing her sleep. She stood and surveyed their clothes strewn across the room, each garment a testament of their passionate tryst.

Gently running a hand over Yara's forehead smoothing away any lingering furrows, Mariette murmured a blessing. A soft glow hovered over Yara, casting a gentle aura that would guard her sleep and dreams. The goddess dipped her head, pressing a gentle kiss onto Yara's forehead, leaving behind a faint trace of her divine essence.

She then moved towards the far end of the room, where their discarded clothes lay in disordered piles. Mariette paused, her fingers hovering over the fabric. An idea sparked in her mind, a way to ensure Yara's safety during her dangerous sea voyages. She gathered up the garments and waved her hand over them. Intricate symbols started glowing on each piece of clothing, magical inscriptions to protect the wearer from harsh sea winds and damaging waves.

Smiling to herself at her creation, she folded it neatly and placed it on a chair next to their bed. She glanced at Yara’s sleeping form once more before bracing herself for teleportation.

Whispering an incantation under her breath, Mariette's body began to dissolve into particles of light that swirled together in a mesmerizing dance before vanishing into thin air. The room was left in serene silence except for Yara's steady breathing and the faint rustle of sheets against skin.

In an instant, Mariette found herself back on the deck of her ship, giggling with glee at the pleasure that still coursed though her skin, along with the ice-cold wind that whipped around her naked skin.

She delighted in the contrast of sensations: the remnants of Yara’s touch still warm and electrifying against her skin and the air biting with an icy freshness that nipped at her flesh. Moving away from the shelter of the captain's quarters, she allowed herself to be fully kissed by the wind. Every gust was a lover's caress, sending shivers of exhilaration down her spine.

In its own way, the sea was just as passionate a lover as Yara, wild and unpredictable. Mariette looked out into the endless expanse of undulating waves stretching out before her, glimmering in the pale moonlight. The sight took her breath away. It reminded her why she had chosen to make this vast realm her domain.

As she stood there, bare under the moon's gaze, a moment of silence passed over the ship. Even the usually boisterous crew seemed to sense their goddess's reverie and held their breaths. The only sound was the lapping of waves against the ship and the distant call of a lonely sea bird.

Then, something caught Mariette's eye - a flash of movement in the distance. Squinting her eyes against the intense night's darkness, she discerned a familiar figure perched on a rocky outcrop: Aeron, watching her faithfully.

A smile painted itself onto her lips like an artist's careful brushstroke. Lifting one hand to her lips, she pressed a kiss onto it before throwing it out towards him. Whether he saw it or not mattered little; he would feel it—her essence carried on wind and wave.

The ship sailed on through the night, guided by the gentle caresses of the wind and the moon's guiding light. Mariette stayed on deck, pacing back and forth across the wooden planks with restless energy. She felt strangely invigorated by Aeron's silent vigilance, knowing that he watched her every move.

With a flick of her wrist, she whipped up the winds once more, letting them play with her hair and cool her skin as she let herself fall onto a chaise lounge on deck. She had removed the seaweed from her hair and sighed contentedly as she watched the stars twinkle above.

It was moments like these that she cherished - being in control of nature's elements, feeling one with them. It reminded her why she chose to traverse Planetos again with mortals; it was fun.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the salty sea air and allowing herself to fully relax in this moment of tranquility. But even here, on her own ship surrounded by ghostly followers, Mariette couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness creep up on her. Despite all that she possessed, all that she could do, there was still an emptiness inside of her that nothing could fill, not even her countless children.

Aeron's presence had reminded her of this void. As much as he worshipped her and devoted himself to serving her will, he would never truly understand what it meant to be a goddess. He would never know what it was like to be truly powerful and immortal. Feeling a pang of guilt for these selfish thoughts, Mariette opened her eyes once more and sat up on the chaise. She gazed out at the vastness before her: endless sea meeting endless sky. How small she felt in comparison to this grandeur.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge that even a goddess could feel lost and alone. But then she straightened her shoulders and let the thunderstorm disppear from Pyke and let it follow her. The next few days would be fun, she thought and smiled to herself. Tywin Lannister had seen her often in his dreams and she'd let herself appear in his fantasies when he was not focused on his work - it would be hilarious to see his face when he recognized her for the first time.

#asas fics #yara greyjoy #asha greyjoy #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #asha greyjoy x oc #yara greyjoy x oc #asoiaf #asoiaf smut #groyjoy #house greyjoy #lesbian smut #wlw smut #balon greyjoy #aeron greyjoy

[proffbon]

Seducing your local broody green-eyed (half-)elf 101

#if you thought I'd stop making comparisons to dragon age you were dead wrong bucko #baldurs gate 3 #shadowheart #bg3 tav #proffbon oc lilac #shadowheart x tav #tav x shadowheart #shadowtav #dragon age #dragon age 2 #fenris #hawke #male hawke #proffbon oc aeron hawke #fenhawke

[aeipathism]

making a little pastel necromancer for my durge was an excellent decision. i love this little guy. karlach carries around dead bodies because he has stupid wizard noodle arms.

#bg3 #how am i supposed to do my job when there’s a little guy living in my brain #oc ; aeron

[zwy01]

Noble OCs - Volo

More OCs from one of my four original noble clans, the Volo! They are the Clan of the Healers and their current Clan Leader is Zephyrus Volo, whose heir is his daughter Azurine Volo. Their clan’s soul weapon is crystal ball Octavio.

For complete info please check out the link below:

(Just a quick note, everyone is a noble here. There are no hybrids. In my headcanons “pureblood” and “non-pureblood” are just terms that nobles use with each other to broadly describe how affiliated someone is with their own clan. And I say “broadly” because there is much more to it and I think it deserves a post of its own. For now “pureblood” can be seen as a “strong enough and qualified to inherit the clan’s soul weapon and become Clan Leader” and “non-pureblood” as “an ordinary clan member” kind of thing. And being either has little to do with lineage and more of just the individual itself. Again, definitely posting more on that in the future)

Straight to the characters.

Hyacinthus Volo: Non-pureblood. Father/soul fragment donor of Ludis Mergas, husband/lover/friend (?) of Valentina Mergas. Alive in the present day, belongs to the Previous Lord’s generation.

Hyacinthus used to work under Zephyrus’ predecessor, the previous Volo Clan Leader, as one of the many Volo antidote researchers. He got kicked out eventually because he kept messing things up. He did things like throwing out his colleagues’ work-in-progress vials and potions because he thought they were trash, forgetting to do his part thus causing a failed experiment and indirectly forcing everyone back to square one, accidentally knocking over precious ingredients, setting the old records on fire… etc. Hyacinthus got a job as a scribe instead because that was the only thing they could count on him for. Despite his occasional sloppiness and forgetfulness, his fellow researchers couldn’t bring themselves to be annoyed with him for too long because he is a cheerful and amiable man. Outside of work, he is a great friend. His presence alone is enough to lighten gloomy moods and his friends sometimes compare him to a clear blue sky on a beautiful sunny day. Hyacinthus is neither extrovert nor introvert, instead something in between. He doesn’t need to socialize on a regular basis, but he never declines invitations. He’s “that” person nobles with little to no friends would always invite to their parties and events because they can count on him to show up. As a result, Hyacinthus is always busy. Want a hiking buddy? Will be there for ya. Don’t have a dancing partner? Sure can rearrange my plans. Just want someone to vent to? Will give plenty of hugs too. For this reason, Hyacinthus has a powerful network of friends who are more than willing to help him because the effort is mutual. Mostly weirdo friends because he’s one of the only people who would accept them for who they are, but normal friends too. He gets mountains of gifts piled at his doorstep and they still keep coming in. Hyacinthus is humble and tells his friends that they don’t need to give him anything, but they insist on showing their appreciation for him.

Hyacinthus’ hobby is button making. Buttons for clothes, buttons for toys, buttons for collection… just lots of buttons. He carves them from coconut shells, fruit pits, wood, and other common materials. He makes a button whenever there is a special occasion to keep for himself or to give away as a gift. Hyacinthus makes one for his son Ludis’ birthday every year and Ludis has a treasure box full of them. Each one of them has a unique design, and Hyacinthus continues this tradition for his grandchildren.

No one really knows what his exact relationship with Valentina is. They seem to be more than friends but there is no solid answer. Valentina doesn’t answer when questioned and Hyacinthus just says “guess”. Well, that’s going to remain a mystery for now. Hyacinthus misses Valentina very much since the day she entered eternal sleep with the Previous Lord. He too makes a button for her every year on the day they said their final goodbyes to each other, which is the day she died.

Ludis gets the blueish tint in his grey hair from Hyacinthus.

Rurik Volo: Pureblood. Uncle of Zephyrus Volo, father of Malati Volo. Alive in the present day, belongs to Gejutel’s generation.

Rurik was supposed the be the next Volo Clan Leader after his predecessor and mother as her then-only child, but he detested the traditional Volo self-poisoning antidote-researching training regimen so much that his mother had no choice but to have another child because clearly he was not the one. The training regimen is absolutely mandatory and has been the tradition since the Volo Clan came into existence, and rejecting it means forfeiting your right to succeed the clan as the heir. So be it. The position of Clan Leader eventually went to Rurik’s younger sister, who is the mother of Zephyrus. Rurik didn’t want to work alongside ordinary clan members as a researcher either, and in the end his mother couldn’t find a job for him within the clan and he became unemployed. During his youth, Rurik couch surfed a lot and his friends all thought he got disowned or something, but he actually left home on his own accord because he was too ashamed to face his mother and family for failing to fulfill his destiny. He just couldn’t do it. The pain and self-harm is too much for him. He can’t even comprehend how his mother and all of the previous Clan Leaders were able to put themselves through such torture. Rurik’s little sister seems to be willing to do it, and while he is proud of her determination, he also feels sorry for her because he is the reason why she was born. As his replacement, because he chose to escape from his duty. She wouldn’t have needed to do this to herself if he had more courage. For this reason, Rurik can’t seem to look at her in the eye either. He ends up avoiding his mother, sister, and clan members, and became a basement dweller who rotated between the homes of his friends. Fortunately, as an extrovert, he had many friends and they were happy to host their troubled buddy. Rurik eventually finds his passion in music composition. He settles down in a place of his own, far away from the Volo’s main residence because he still can’t bring himself to face his family. In the present day, Rurik writes music for Lukedonia. His work all sound sad, for some reason. Stunning and graceful, but sprinkled with melancholy.

Rurik is a decent fighter and has an extensive knowledge of buff and debuff spells. Despite leaving home at a young age, he worked very hard and secretly taught himself how to use magic as a Volo because he didn’t want to ask anyone for help as he was too embarrassed to do so. He doesn’t even know how impressive this is and continues to think of himself as a loser.

At some point, Rurik had his daughter Malati with an unnamed noble, presumably one of his friends who hosted him during his couch surfing days.

Aeron Volo: Non-pureblood. Alive in the present day, belongs to Raskreia’s generation. No one really likes Aeron. He’s full of negativity and brings that unpleasantness with him wherever he goes. His shortcomings are always the fault of others, and his life is miserable because the world is against him. Aeron has a normal family and his parents did everything they could for him, but he turned out like this anyway. Aeron ends up offending almost everyone around him and he has no friends. He never fulfills the promises he makes, he invalidates people’s achievements, and even goes as far as to say that his Clan Leader Zephyrus’ daughter and heir Azurine doesn’t deserve to become the next Volo Clan Leader just because she “ingests poison” and “makes cuts on her arms”. Anyone can do that. This would enrage his fellow clan members and if Aeron is lucky, he gets an intense scolding. If he is unlucky, he gets a violent beating. Only after they dare him take the poison Azurine takes on a regular basis does he learn that she is doing something incredibly selfless for the greater good of all nobles. Aeron almost dies, and drops to the floor screaming and writhing in pain until they give him the antidote. You thought that was bad enough? That’s not even a third of Azurine’s daily dose. And the antidote to this poison only exists because she put herself through this pain in order to analyze what it does to the body to come up with countermeasures. Aeron finally realizes how much of a fool he was. He’s still unpleasant at times, but he has been humbled and no longer speaks like that about people, especially his future Clan Leader. Aeron’s issues aren’t completely gone yet, but at least he doesn’t invalidate people’s achievements anymore. He even starts to develop a sense of admiration for Azurine. Eventually, with hard work, Aeron discovers that he has some talent for debuff spells. Turns out his nastiness was rooted in his insecurities all along, and hey, he’s not completely useless either.

Aeron is currently training to become a knight, and hopes to become strong so he can serve his future Clan Leader, the Lord, and Lukedonia well.

Esther Volo: Non-pureblood. Entered eternal sleep, belonged to Lagus’ generation. Esther was an eccentric woman. She had a conspicuous sharp-pitched giggle and an unusual obsession with scissors and cutting things up. Her clothes, the curtains, the books on the shelves, the flowers on the hillside… even herself. More like she found pleasure in ruining things and then returning them to their original state like nothing had ever happened. This just felt so romantic to Esther and she never had any other hobby. She cooed and baby talked to things as she cut them up. The vibrations that traveled from the scissors blades to her hands with each and every snip excited her more than anything else. The more the material resisted, the more ecstatic she became. Eventually Esther moved onto cutting off pieces of her own face, fingers, and even legs. Slicing her own cheeks off was just as fun as feeling her femur split into two. Her delicate, soft fingers were nice as additional decorations to the flowers in her vase. Gives it an extra pop of color. And that’s what being a Volo meant to her. She’d just use healing spells on herself. Rinse and repeat. With inanimate objects, she used basic restoration spells. The nobles were aware of Esther’s obsession and most stayed away from her, as they were scared and suspected that she would cut them up too. Those were just assumptions, of course, because Esther never messed with other people or their belongings. She only experimented on her own possessions and body. Reassuring to hear, but doesn’t make it any less creepy.

If Esther considered someone as her friend, she would invite them to her home and show them her massive scissors collection hanging on the wall, arranged by size from small to big. Those who didn’t run away became her best friends.

Esther wore poofy floor-length dresses throughout her lifetime and hid all sorts of scissors under layers of lace. Sometimes the nobles could hear the scissors clack against one another as she walked. She eventually entered eternal sleep because she had already cut up everything she could find in the world and had nothing exciting to look forward to anymore.

Malati Volo: Pureblood. Daughter of Rurik Volo, and cousin of Zephyrus Volo. Alive in the present day, belongs to the Previous Lord’s generation.

Malati is confident and imaginative. As a child, she always went around asking “why?” to every question she could think of. The adults thought she was just another curious child, but in no time it became apparent that she was dead serious about it. Malati didn’t want to live at home with her less-than-confident father Rurik who somehow always avoided her questions, and sometime during her teenage years, she moved to Titus Paradiso’s library tower Minerva and has lived there ever since. Malati misses her father, but knows better than to hold back her true potential to keep him company… plus, he seems more interested in his music anyway. He wouldn’t miss her, it’s okay. Or so she thought, because she was a bit saddened when he didn’t really have a reaction when she announced that she was going to move out. Well, she’s better off chasing her dreams than staying at home with such a mood killer. In a way, Professor Titus felt more like a father figure to Malati, as he would always be brimming with enthusiasm whenever the two of them talked about newest discoveries. Titus and Malati have a close relationship, and when the former’s twins Anabella and Anastasia are born sometime in the future, Malati becomes family to them. The twins call her “Auntie”.

Malati’s current goal is to figure out exactly how two soul fragments merge together to create a new soul, which is the nobles’ way of having children. The old records don’t offer any clear explanation either. The nobles only know that it happens, not how. The mechanism behind it remains a mystery to this day. Malati wants to get her hands on a physical soul fragment so she can dissect it or something, if that is even possible at all. Maybe she’ll eventually discover a way for nobles to have children through soul fragments without having their lifespans reduced so parents can spend more time with their children. Perhaps it is ambitious, but Malati is hopeful.

Eventually, Malati and her father Rurik reconcile with each other and it is revealed that the latter chose not to respond to his daughter’s questions because she was a brilliant child, and he was afraid that he would drag her down because he didn’t have the confidence to match her excellence. Rurik thought that Malati would be disappointed in him like the rest of his family since he was the failed heir. The two of them talk out their misunderstandings and share a tearful moment. Rurik asks Malati if she wants to move back home, which would become an offer she rejects gently because Minerva is her home now. Understandable for both father and daughter, so they exchange letters to keep in touch. Rurik sends Malati his newest sheet music, and she shares with him her research progress on various topics. While they don’t completely understand what each other is talking about, their exchanges are filled with affection.

Malati is currently working to find an antidote to reverse lifespan loss for nobles who had children.

Malati’s partner is a Paradiso scholar.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for future posts!

#noblesse #manhwa #myart #original character #oc #hyacinthus volo #rurik volo #aeron volo #esther volo #malati volo

[dreamerwithapen1]

For The Realm + Season 2

Battle is all that Aeron Targaryen has ever known. His entire life has been devoted to the defense and protection of his family and his kingdom, and he expects that he will one day die for it as well. He just never imagined that that day might come so soon- and that it would be his own family that he’d be fighting. But he will not falter. He will cut through them as he had with everyone else that had ever stood against him, and he will not stop until his kingdom is safe and under control of its rightful ruler once more- no matter the cost.

Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. Her brother would tell her otherwise, but Aelora Targaryen knew it in her bones to be true. The dragon’s blood set them apart and raised them up. They were made to conquer and to rule, and she will let no one take that away from them, least of all Alicent Hightower and her family. With the support that she and Aeron have slowly accumulated over the years, she will march against the usurper and strip him of all that he holds dear until all that remains are his ash and bones.

Having relinquished his title as heir of Winterfell and married into the volatile Targaryen family, Edric Stark finds himself thrust into a war that he fears will tear the realm apart. On the orders of Queen Rhaenyra, he, along with the young Prince Jacaerys, travel to the North in the hopes of gaining the support of Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell- and Edric's younger brother. Though their parting many years ago was tense and full of anger, Edric is willing to do whatever it takes to mend their relationship, for he knows that with the North standing behind them, no one could stand against them.

While content in her new life with Daemon and their daughter, Vesta, on Dragonstone, Edith Hightower can't deny the part of her that she left in King's Landing with her daughter, Eda- a feeling that only gets stronger as the war continues to grow more brutal and bloody. But despite her conflicted emotions, she doesn't let it stop her from calling on old oaths and blood ties in order to further strengthen Rhaenyra's claim on the throne. And she can only pray that the choices she has made don't bring about horrific consequences for the daughter that she left behind.

Forever Tag: @darknightfrombeyond @arrthurpendragon @foxesandmagic @bravelittleflower @darkwolf76 @stareyedplanet @thophil2941btw

For The Realm Tag: @misskatiewrites @acegirlsjustwannahavefun @theskyisbrighthere @stargaryenx @roguephoenix1

#ocappreciation #fyeahhotdocs #fic: for the realm #ch: aeron targaryen #ch: aelora targaryen #ch: edric stark #ch: edith hightower #hotd oc #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon oc #house of the dragon fanfic #oc x oc #daemon targaryen x oc

[victors-grave]

A royal slumber party between the leading royals of the Hio, Sernada and Hesing kingdoms.

#echoverse #echoverse wip #victors echoverse #original character #oc #art #sci fi oc #sci fi #victor's echoverse #slumber party #thaniea hio #valarin sernada #aeron hesing #princess oc #prince oc #royal oc #artists community #artists of tumblr #royal

[chiasebus]

Oc-tober Day 5: Relationships - Aeron & Hazel, they’re girlfriends your honor

#chia draws #oc tober #bweirdoctober #oc aeron #oc hazel #oc-tober

[mmothmanners]

Sometimes you have to do a fun minimatic featuring your DND campaign's BBEG.

#dungeons and dragons #lich #animatic #ocs #Aeron #I have grown to love his nastiness #and can't wait for my players to slap his ass into the next millenia #Beyond the Veil

[murmel-malt]

Aeron getting knighted post-War for the Stepstones

#my art #oc: aeron waters #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon oc #hotd oc #fyeahhotdocs #fire and blood #f&b #did i go overboard with the langward sigil a little bit? maybe

[theold-ultraviolence]

Hi hope ur doing well

I am in love with ur dad aemond posts and also loveeee the kids but wish there was more about thow they are with their mother. Like I get both the girls are daddy's girls, but like how are they with the reader?

You are SO right and I know that mostly the posts with the kids revolve around Aemond. I've been thinking about this all morning and gosh, it was hard to write these!! I feel like it's easier to imagine what Aemond would be like as a dad because we know the character, so I really had to put myself in the mother's place and think of the children. So here goes! x

Elaena

While the earliest memories of most royal children will be of handmaids tending to them, doing the feeding, cleaning and dressing, Elaena only remembers her mother.

You never passed those tasks off to another, you did it all yourself because you'd be dammed before letting someone else's hands touch your beloved children. Each of your children are precious, not to be handled by anyone but yourself or your husband. You never knew you could feel so fiercely protective over someone else, not even Aemond. The moment Elaena was placed in your arms after she was born, you understood the ease with which Aemond ordered Vaghar to obliterate those who wronged him.

Elaena also remembers feeling awed by her mother's elegance in contrast to her father's deathliness. She longed to embody both traits as she grew older. Be strong and fierce, but also elegant. A dangerous type of beauty.

She also marvels at how her muña always seems so poised and collected when standing by her kepa during family affairs. Looking all regal and stoic by his side. But within the comfort of their apartments, she becomes the softest, most loving woman. After a lengthy, boring affair, Elaena longs to return home to get under the covers with her muña and cuddle against her soft robes that smell like home.

As a kid, she delighted in playing dress-up with her mother; asking her to braid and curl her hair just like hers, to wear little samples of her perfumes, and to borrow her jewelry.

When she grows, many pieces of your collection of jewelry are passed down to her, and Elaena asks for duplicates to be made of your dresses, to fit her.

You're also the voice of reason when, as she grows, she starts butting heads with Aemond for wanting to seek out her independence. It is yours, whose advice she seeks first, before Aemond. And also you're the one who Elaena goes to vent out her feelings, ever since she was a little kid.

And she's not interested in being betrothed at all, but when someone from the court does strike her, and she's suddenly lost as to how to feel, in comes muña to detangle Elaena's complicated feelings.

Aeron

Aeron, like his father before him, is wholly devoted to his mother.

I think this is mainly because one of his first memories is of Aemond protecting you, and also being extremely caring and loving when on the outside, his father always seemed stoic and cold to everyone else.

That image stuck with him, so in his eyes, his mother is like an angel. And it must be true because every time he's hurt, it's the hold of his mother's arms that can comfort him.

He's also very fond of the fact that her mother has never shied away from playing with him; running around and dirtying her dresses in mud if the game called for it. Which makes his mom just so freaking amazing in his eyes.

Aeron often feels like he's been born into the highest expectations, being Aemond's son. It's something that worries him constantly, he fears he may never be as great as his father. His mother is the one to reassure him, to ease his heart telling him that he has all the support that he needs in order to grow into the fine dragon rider and swordsman that he wishes to be.

You tell him that Aemond really only had the support of his mother, so he's the luckiest boy in all of the Seven Kingdoms because he was blessed with a mother and father that love him with all their hearts and will guide, teach and accompany him through everything he has to go through in order to thrive. As long as they live, he will never be alone.

The first time that Aeron is brought down to the training grounds with Aemond, muña is there, standing by for support, and enveloping him in a big hug after each session.

It's his mother who encourages his pleasure in reading, and who makes suggestions on what to read next depending on the works he enjoys best.

After long days of rigorous training with his father, he longs for nothing more than to sit down calmly and talk with his mother over a nice cup of tea.

Vaella

Vaella is the one to resemble her mother the most, physically and otherwise. She's constantly told this by Aemond, but her being the most insecure of the bunch, doesn't see it.

So often Vaella will find herself gazing at her mother, trying to find all of the similarities between them. The more traits in common she finds, the more her confidence grows.

Because in her eyes, her mother is the most beautiful, strong woman in the realm, so she finds it endlessly honoring but also precious that they share blood.

She prides herself in knowing that her calm demeanor and creativity come from her.

Her passions for drawing and writing poetry are taught by her, and Vaella loves it when her mother is constantly teaching her ways in which she can perfect her craft.

Her compositions in her drawings and paintings, and her knack to build prose, rhyme, and narrative, are all from her muña.

Vaella feels things very deeply, so she often finds it hard to express her feelings or put a name to the complex mesh of things that she feels. While Aemond listens to her and comforts her, there are just some times when he doesn't grasp what Vaella means to its deeper extent. Her mother always does, without fail. Aemond's solutions to problems are always straight-to-the-point and simple, but that just ends up leaving Vaella more perplexed.

But you? you help Vaella consider every outcome, try to untangle every layer of whatever it is that worries her, and help her see things from multiple perspectives to come to a conclusion.

Aemond also tries to push her beyond her comfort zone for her own good, but you're always there to soothe her when trying new experiences becomes too daunting and overwhelming for her.

She's also the one who, as a baby/toddler, cried the most.

Aemond will always be there to wipe away her tears and offer to murder whoever (and whatever) caused her pain.

But to Vaella, there's something about her mother's warmth when she's crying, that she cannot find elsewhere, not even with Aemond.

And also, I think she's such a daddy's girl greatly due to being the one, out of the siblings, to really watch you and Aemond when you're together. She's very impressed and touched by the depth of your love and devotion for him, and wishes that when the time comes for her, and she's betrothed, she'll find someone to love as much as you love Aemond. You look at Aemond as if he's the light of your life, so it's natural that Vaella sees her dad in the same light.

She's happy knowing that she was born out of love and that your marriage wasn't a mere arrangement between houses.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #dad!aemond #mom!reader #reader insert #fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen headcanons #headcanons #my writing #my oc: elaena targaryen #my oc: aeron targaryen #my oc: vaella targaryen #aemond's children #hotd #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell

[rhysnolastname]

1, 2, & 3 - @panicsimss @panicv0mit

4 - @artofzofia

#oc: rhys #fiera lavellan #aeron lavellan #pinning these 🫵