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timetravelingpenguin1066 · 1 year

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Bedtimes

Bedtimes could sometimes be havoc

Dad!Aemond x fem!reader

A/N: I wrote this while completely exhausted, but just had to get out one little drabble because I haven't written anything in ages

Bedtimes always seemed to be the most difficult part of your days. Your sweetest daughter, with her pale silver-gold hair never seemed to sit still for more than a few moments.

And bedtimes were not different.

She would always say, “Have to do one more thingy,” right as you were about to tuck her in, before leading you one wild goose chase around her room.

Tonight, however, you were in no mood for this chaos that could only come from her father’s side. She was running around the room as always, playing with her favourite stuffed dragon that her Aunt Heleana had made. She flapped it around the room, making it fly around.

“Please, Lya, please get into bed,” you begged yet again.

“But Dagon want to fly!” she protested, ducking around your arms yet again. “Dagon must have ex-ser-size.”

“Lya, please. I’m sure Dagon must be tired by now. It’s late and past your bedtime.”

“No!”

‘No’ had been among the first words your daughter learnt, much to your chagrin.

Aemond smiled in the doorway. He knew you were tired, and he should be helping, but at the same time, very little pleased him more than watching his daughter play. She was his little one, his sweetest daughter, his darling child. Most often, his little dragon. He loved how she had named her toy dragon, ‘Dagon’ (she hadn’t quite figured her r’s yet).

But he knew he would never here the end of it if he didn’t step in. He stalked quietly into the room, and, as Lya ran past him, he picked her up and put her over his shoulder.

She wriggled and giggled as he carried her to her cot.

“Kepa! Kepa!”

He laid her down gently. “Now, little dragon, I should know how important it is for dragon to have its exercise, but I also know that it is important for them to sleep.”

“But Dagon haven’t done enough today,” she protested again.

Aemond picked up the little toy. One wing was only hanging on by a thread. In only a year or tow, she had managed to break her favourite toy.

“I think Dagon has had enough for today, and he would like to sleep.”

“But he need to fly!”

“He will fly in his dreams, little one.”

“You pwomish?”

“I promise.”

Aemond bent over the cot and kissed her forehead. “Come on now, little dragon. Let’s get you tucked in.”

He bushed a few stray hairs back from her face and set about wrapping the blankets securely around her in the hopes that she wouldn’t get up in the night. Lya was already seeming tired. She stretched and yawned, clutching the little dragon toy.

“Goo-nigh Kepa,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the dragon she had now smooshed against her face. “Goo-nigh Muna.”

“Goodnight, sweetling.”

You kissed her forehead and smiled, watching her fall asleep. You started moving towards your own bedchambers and your warm comfortable bed. You expected Aemond to follow you, but he hadn’t moved.

You turned. Aemond was smiling adoringly down at his daughter.

“Goodnight, byka zaldrīzes.”

He kissed her forehead again and then started making his way to you. He paused at the door, taking in your expression.

“What is it, ñuha jorrāelagon?”

You could still see him with your daughter. For all his ramblings about not wanting to be like his own father, he was certainly lavishing attention on his daughter. And you loved to be able to watch it. Lya was her father’s daughter, of that there was no doubt.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you too, sweetest wife.”

You followed him to bed, and indeed it was warm.

#house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fluff #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #dad aemond #fluff #fluff fluff #fluff fluff fluffl fluff fluff fluff #fluffy fluff fluff fluff

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ofwinterandspring · 2 months

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THE REGENT / THE UNCLE

When Segal Moriel heard of his sister's demise at the hands of Levanmount, he knew he would do anything to protect and avenge the Moriel family name. And he did. He made waste of the Levan royal bloodline and forced its people under Aesian rule. That was ten years ago. Still, the Levan's want their sovereign, but how safe can it be to crown the Heir when he's spent those same ten years fighting insurrections.

charismatic ✘ shrewd ✘ proud ✘ trustful ✘ resentful

THE COUSIN / THE SCIENTIST

Although Rochlin Moriel's father preferred he'd locked himself in his lab than make a mockery of their family name. His father's disdain has not stopped the Heir from granting him all their support. With the looming war and stories of a deadly prophecy soon to unfold, he's ding all he can short of taking the throne, to help the Heir see another day.

loyal ✘ resourceful ✘ diplomatic ✘ persuasive ✘ grounded

THE HEIR'S GUARDIAN

Yardane Zered, better known as Dane, had barely been twenty-seven when he made an oath that if anything should happen to Aerben, his best friend and captain, he would take on the responsibility as legal guardian of Aerben's child. Dane never got to ask why Aerben thought him capable of raising a child. Or why Aerben had chosen to go on a trip that he'd never return from. All Dane knew was that he had a promise to keep and a child to raise and protect.

cynical ✘ stubborn ✘ diligent ✘ wise ✘ gentle

THE ASSASSIN

Santana Dur, a charming and witty barmaid most days. No one would guess that she was the same assassin many believed to be the demon from the woods. And she would have kept her anonymity had she not attempted to rob a curious and heavily disguised Heir out of sheer boredom. So maybe she gains a secret she can leverage at any moment's notice, but what good would it be when the Heir offers her gold and silver in exchange for her services.

unpredictable ✘ secretive ✘ fearless ✘ arrogant ✘ blunt

THE GUARDS / THE TWINS

The inside joke between the Riders is that Aymel and Lyron Dur must have shared a womb and have been lied to by their mothers. Because no matter what, it seems that the two can never be separated from each other for very long. Where they find one, the other is not far behind. Unfortunately, meeting the two can only mean one thing and that's imminent death. As guards to the Heir, they take their job seriously. Now, if anyone cares to even whisper of the things these two get up to at night rest assure that they will cease to exist.

intelligent ✘ daring ✘ flirtatious ✘ mischievous ✘ dramatic personable ✘ reliable ✘ genial ✘ charitable ✘ thorough

THE STORYKEEPER [THE SEER]

No one seems to know much about Zephan Caeth, the bard who loitered Aesian roads and caught the sights of their Heir, earning themselves the official title of Storykeeper of the Lands. All anyone knows is that whenever they play their oud, a truth is unveiled and little can be done to anticipate the lies it will break. They're a menace to all who wish to be ignorant and it's no surprise why the Aesian's are taken to them.

insightful ✘ artistic ✘ guarded ✘ diplomatic ✘ skeptical

THE GUARDIAN OF RILCHANAR

In what seemed to be a matter of seconds, Vyath Lya and their ward were stripped from their title and escorted to the borders of their city with no chance of return. Having pledged an oath should have saved them both. But, their friend refused to be silenced. So they followed their friend into the brume knowing that they would never find their way back. And what did it matter? All Vyath cared about was figuring out how they'd be allowed back in.

strong-willed ✘ loyal ✘ confident ✘ stubborn ✘ rational

MASTER BLACKSMITH OF NERILLIS

As one of the few Master Blacksmiths of Nerillis, Ivar Gailion knew he would never see the world outside the great caves. With responsibilities like keeping the Eternal fires from burning out, an honor bestowed on few, he should have lived his Immortal life passing on his gift to his apprentice. And somehow by doing just that, he finds himself leaving the caves behind, headed on a nameless journey with his closest friends— the ungifted apprentice who came to them several years ago.

compassionate ✘ dependable ✘ patient ✘ hearty ✘ tactful

SON OF RO [ACOLYTE]

Fievel Ro, wasn't in a place to question Ro's plan. If Ro thought that they best served as the Regent's hired protection, than they'd do just that. And, what was there to question when they were paid handsomely for it? Everything they ever wanted was at the tips of their fingers. So why was it that despite Ro's strict orders to stay away from the Heir, they couldn't stay away?

clever ✘ seductive ✘ self-indulgent ✘ reserved ✘ unreliable

#of winter and spring #interactive fiction #owas if #ch: fievel ro #ch: santana dur #ch: aymel dur #ch: lyron dur #ch: vyath lya #ch: ivar gailion #ch: rochlin moriel #ch: yardane zered #ch: segal moriel

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writer-and-artist27 · 2 months

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Tumblr Story: Reformed Bully

Note: For @dollya-robinprotector. Since you’re going through a rough patch, I thought some fluff would work in easing the stress.

Very light FGO/Passing Days-DOL crossover and all. Based heavily off this one ask and this comic that led me to meeting you, Dollya. :) Written as thanks for talking with me and bonding over the FGO gnomes.

Was listening to YOASOBI’s Idol when writing this. And Dr. Stone’s One Small Step.

Now if y’all excuse me, I need to sleep. More hematopathology work tomorrow.

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By the time Vy had noticed the door show up in her room, she wasn’t surprised anymore. It even decided to appear once she had finished packing up the latest batch of magic peanut butter cookies for the Servants, but compared to the previous door, this one had—

“A silver handle…?” Unlike all of Chaldea’s sliding doors and the previous magic entrance that led to another Master’s world, this door looked almost ordinary, its white oak furnishings and matching pale silver doorknob making it look like it came out of a Home Depot. Even when compared to the white walls of her room in Novum Chaldea, the newest entryway looked… mundane. In spite of its faint glowing too.

Vy considered. Glancing down at her bags of cookies, one in particular stood out to Vy’s eye. It was a bit lopsided from including some of the bigger cookies of the batch, not to mention the rather crooked purple ribbon bow, but it was… it was apparently glowing the same faint yellow as the new door.

With one last look at the door, Vy felt herself smile wryly. “I guess… if this is glowing too… might as well try and take a chance as long as I’m not gone for too long, right? Just have to wear the right Mystic Code…”

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“Nngh…”

“…Oh dear,” Vy said for herself when stepping through the magic door. What waited beyond it was a grassy hill, a single tree overlooking what looked like a farm, and a single man lying in the grass, asleep with—with actual tears in his eyes. It wasn’t a stretch to believe he was suffering from a nightmare in spite of the warm atmosphere around him, but add in the light thrashing and the sweat beading his forehead, Vy knew she couldn’t leave him be.

The blond fringe of hair hiding one side of his face away from view was the last nail in the metaphorical coffin. If his hair was ginger-colored instead of blonde, then—

I want to help this person just like I help Robin.

It was why Vy kept the one bag of cookies from Chaldea nestled close to the chest of her Decisive Battle uniform, slowly getting to her knees and reaching out with one gloved hand.

“Sir,” she whispered softly, patting his shoulder as gently as she could. Her ponytail could be pushed over her shoulder later. Right now, someone was suffering, and— “Sir, please wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

“N-Ngh—” The man groaned, nearly slapping her hand if not for Vy moving it out of the way just in time. “Lya—! Lya, I’m s—!”

“Sir,” Vy spoke more firmly, worry leaking into her voice before she realized it as her fingers reached up to pinch at his cheek. Sitting down on her knees, she said, “It’s alright — it’s over. It’s time for you to come back to reality now.”

The blond man got up with a start once her pinching registered, blue eyes wide with shock and tears once his spine made an audible crack from sitting up so abruptly. Vy immediately took her hand back, schooling her panic as best as she could once he looked at her past the haze in his blue eyes. “Lya—!” he blinked. “You’re… you’re not Lya.” His brow furrowed almost immediately, a glare settling in his eyes as he took her in. “Who are you, where did you come from, and when did you get to this farm?”

Typical, Vy thought. Outwardly, she did her best to smile placatingly, shrugging her shoulders. “Good morning to you too, good sir. I’m Vy — consider me a passerby who came through a magic door and saw someone crying in their sleep and therefore couldn’t leave them alone,” she said, pointing at her own eyes past her glasses to gesture to her newly awake companion. The “magic door” part of her statement wasn’t a complete lie, but it was enough to wipe some of the apprehension off of his face. “I’ve had experience with waking up with tears in my eyes, see.”

“…Oh.” And as soon as he said it, the man raised one calloused hand to wipe at his face, the tattooed wristband on his knuckles shining a darker shade of black with the droplets sticking to his skin with the motion. “…Did I look that much like shit?”

“Not as bad as someone who’s had the life literally burned out of them, no.” Vy said immediately, the image of the many victims of Camelot Gawain's Excalibur Galatine coming to the forefront of her mind before she pushed the thought away. That sight was just plain disgusting. “It could’ve been worse.”

Now the man was looking at her with a completely new face. “Burned?”

She smiled and offered the bag of cookies in her arms to him instead. “Yep. I’ve seen worse than someone crying in their sleep, so you have nothing to worry about,” she answered in regards to his unspoken question, shaking her head. “Enough of debating the ‘worse’ in looks. Would you like some cookies? I have a bag right here for you.”

“…Cookies?” The man wasn’t staring daggers at her at least, but he still looked wary. “You made them?”

“With just peanut butter, eggs, and sugar, yes. They’re supposed to be ‘magic.’” Vy felt herself smile a bit wider once she could see the curiosity start to dawn on the man’s face. She offered the bag to him again, lopsided purple ribbon bow and all. “Don’t worry, I didn’t poison them and I taste-tested them beforehand. It just looked like you needed something sweet to work off the nightmare, sir.”

The man glanced at her, then at the bag in her hands, and back at her. “You… You don’t even know me,” he slowly choked out, a large drop of a tear forming in the corner of his visible eye as the blue of his iris widened to reflect her image. “You only just… you only just stumble on me, and you just—”

Vy wasn’t sure whether to smile or just wait. She decided to opt for both while adding in an extra shrug of her shoulders.

“I…” The man choked again, shaking his head while scrubbing at his face with his hand again. The tattoos — he had more on his other hand and even his neck — all of them looking like shackles to match his voice coming out vulnerable and raw-sounding once he said, “I hurt the woman I love. I hurt more than just her. I-I’m still scared I could hurt the family she gave me. So then, why would you—”

“What’s wrong,” Vy said quietly to cut off the self-deprecating rant, “with wanting to help someone, then?”

The man fell silent, the tear in his eye slowly growing big enough to streak his cheek as it then fell to the grass between them.

With a bit of mustered courage — from Mash, from Artoria, from Achilles, from Robin — Vy smiled a bit wider as she reached over with her left hand — glove, lotus-shaped Command Seals and all — to wipe at the man’s exposed cheek. “Hurt is just gonna happen, sir. That’s just how life is,” she said in a softer voice, ignoring the wetness starting to spread out against the fingertips of her glove as she rubbed his cheekbone as gently as she could. As Da Vinci might’ve done in her place, as the Eternal Genius. As Dr. Roman might’ve done in her place, as a medical professional — as a living human from King Solomon’s remains. “And even if I don’t know what happened to hurt you so much, what matters now is how you move forward in the face of all of it. And if you’re waking up like this, crying and worrying about how to treat the person you love even after you hurt her, I’d like to think you’re walking in the right direction.”

The man half-snorted, half-sniffled, but he didn’t slap her hand away. Instead, he weakly leaned into her palm, his other hand coming up to weakly grasp at the bag of cookies sitting between them. “…Huh.” A weak laugh leaves his lips, blue eyes teary still as he closed them for a shaky inhale of breath. “Guess I’m more fucked up than I thought, listening to a stranger and taking fucking peanut butter cookies from them.”

“I’m not a stranger when I previously said my name, sir, not to mention I offered the cookies in the first place,” Vy said plainly, but she still smiled at him. It was the least she could do. “And really — we’re all struggling in life. Might as well start somewhere. So.” She pushed the cookies into his shaking palm, forcing as much cheer into her voice as possible. “My name is Vy. What is yours, sir?”

The smile he gives her in that moment makes her think, Robin, again. Even with the ear piercings and the tattoos, his face looks bright for the first time ever in the sunlight peeking past the tree hanging over them and the farm sitting far away. “…Whitney. It’s… it’s Whitney.”

“Well then!” Vy hummed, making sure to pat his wet cheek a few more times for good measure before lowering her left hand to take his in a squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you, Whitney! Hurt and all! I have some time on my hands being a passerby, so why don’t we chat for a bit? Hopefully get the tears out of you too!”

Because when barely anyone outside of Mash and the Servants — Robin especially — reached out when she woke up crying, the least Vy could do was make sure no one else could have a repeat experience.

#mastersona vy #whitney the bully #gift things #writing #unedited #fate grand order #degrees of lewdity fanfic #no 18+ stuff here #just fluff #and comfort #long post #text post #from one artist to another #dol homestead au

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emilykaldwen · 2 months

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WIP Tag Game

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote. Tag as many people as you feel like to share their WIP's.

@spoolofblack was sweet enough to tag me in this! This is from Chapter 16 of Maiden, which is the hunt!

So have a Larys and Abby talk!

no pressure tags: @acrossthesestars, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @stannisfactions, @theladyelizabeth, @mihrsuri, @flowerandblood, @humanpurposes, @corporalicent, @mimikoflamemaker, @sapphire-writes, @kingsmakers, @lya-dustin, @queen--kenobi

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came buy with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in the soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt besides.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh. “Has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep, purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #oc: abrogail strong #Larys creeping in the shadows man IDK what to tell you #He likes to go unnoticed #The conversation is obviously a fair bit longer than this #and I'm still not sure how I feel about the whole convo #but holla

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butterflyintochains · 6 months

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Their Dynasty Complete

Daenerys POV

She's finally here, after nine long and difficult months, she's finally arrived. After five years of being told she'd never bear a living child of her own making, she's had six. The birthing room is quiet, the maids have left the Empress alone with her newest princess. Jon is filing the birth with the council, and the others are no doubt gathered in the nursery waiting to be allowed to see her. The door opens again, Dany looks up from her baby girl's silver eyes, seeing her husband entering. ''My love, come, let me kiss you.'' Jon smirks, and comes to sit beside her legs, he gently leans over to kiss her, eleven years and the buzz never goes away. ''How do you feel, darling?''

Daenerys smiles, tired but so blissfully happy. ''Tired, sore. But, I'll be fine, I've done this six times now.''

Jon laughs, gently stroking his newest daughter's fuzzy brown hair, finally a Stark princess. ''She's beautiful, isn't she? Our Lyanna.'' Daenerys hums, and nods. ''Well, we've not failed yet, have we?'' Jon kisses her forehead. ''No, no we haven't.''

A knock comes at the door, the couple share a look, Jon says. ''Come in.'' In comes their other five children. Rhaegar, eleven years old, looking more like his kepa every day. His twin, Alysanne, growing quickly into a true Valyrian princess. Aemon is eight, and should probably be at his studies - not that it matters right now. Six year old Rhaella is holding her eldest brother's hand, her silver hair in a braid down her shoulder. Two year old Benjen is on his eldest sister's hip, playing with a toy wolf. ''We wanted to see her, muna.'' Alysanne says. Daenerys nods, and motions them all over. ''This, our loves, is your sister... Princess Lyanna Targaryen.''

Rhaella gushes. ''She has our eyes, like me, Rhaegar, and kepa.'' Rhaegar nods. ''And mine, kepa, and Aemon's hair too, Ella.'' Jon beams at his children. ''She's a child of the North.'' Alysanne extracts an egg from a bag on her shoulder. This one being white and blue. ''This is for Lya, muna, can i put it in her cradle?'' Daenerys nods, her eldest girl is proving to be quite the princess. ''Of course.'' Jon asks his eldest daughter. ''How is Daeraxes doing?''

Alysanne says. ''She's doing great, still nesting.'' Rhaegar laughs, completing his twin's sentence. ''And Eddarion won't leave her side, we've not flown in weeks.'' Aemon looks cocky, Rhaella giggles, seeming proud of being the only ones able to fly right now. ''Sounds horrible, Alys.'' Aemon jokes. Alysanne rolls her eyes at her younger brother. ''Not helping.'' Benjen curls up beside his mother and new baby sister, and says. ''I miss you, muna.'' Daenerys wraps an arm around her baby boy, and assures him. ''I miss you too, Ben, I'll be back in the family in a few days, so will Lya.'' Benjen nods.

Daenerys and Jon share a look, the look they've shared for twelve years. Here they are, their dynasty complete at last.

AN: first story on my blog, hope you all like it!

#jonerys #jonerys babies #targlings

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thesunwillshineonusagain757 · 6 months

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🍔

OMG THIS ONE. I had another ask that I’m still think about but this one I don’t really need to think much cause I know exactly what’s happening so enjoy, Rhaegar and Lyanna going to a Five Guys.

They were moving in together, or better Rhaegar was moving into Lyanna’s flat after 5 months of dating, mainly because his rent lease was up and to be honest he had regretted living with Jon Connignton for more than 3 months;

So they had just brought his things to her apartment when Lyanna asked him if he wanted to go to a Five Guys around the corner ;

Initially Rhaegar was kind of weirded out by the notion of five guys he was about to tell Lyanna he still wanted to keep their relationship exclusive when she explained it was burger joint;

Pass the initial shock of thinking he was heading to an orgy, they when on their way to the Five Guys;

First thing was Rhaegar didn’t understand the difference between Bruges and sandwiches and to be honest neither did Lya they seemed to be the same thing one only had more filling than the other;

Lyanna order a bacon cheeseburger, bacon milkshake and an extra topic on her burger of grilled mushrooms and Rhaegar went for a a veggie sandwich and water ( yes he questioned Lya’s sanity );

But she also asked for fries more specifically Cajun style fries, safe to say that was the best thing Rhaegar ever ate;

And he has to remark the portion of fries was literally bigger than his head it was brown bag the could cover his head;

They wanted a bit then their order came around they found a table and sat and then was when Lyanna questioned Rhaegar sanity;

Because the dude sat down took out of his coats pocket a silver knife and fork and ate the entire burger with fork and knife;

It was weird as fuck and everyone stared at him, but after a while Lyanna thought “ he has a family history of crazy at lest his crazy ain’t killing no body” then moved on to her food;

#i mean the guy was raised as a prince so he is occasionally doing strange shit like this #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #ship ask game #asoiaf #lyanna stark #house stark #rhaelya #house of the dragon #house targaryen #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna x rhaegar #prince rhaegar #rhaegar x lyanna #au #rhaelya ship meme

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thelustybraavosimaid · 2 years

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He was used to the cold, but not like this.

It felt different from before, but also the same: biting down to the quick of his bones like he plunged head-first into an icy lake, but there was something else, like the bottom of the pool led somewhere else, pulling him closer and closer...

He couldn't resist the draw of heavy sleep anymore. The last thing he could remember before closing his eyes was his Daenerys, his sweet wife, screaming for him to stay with her, trying to assure him that he'd be fine. Then another pair of hands were on his face, but he couldn't remember much after that.

The cold was rattling, and he gave one last shiver.

Jon's legs felt sluggish, short, and he realised that he was running. The halls did not look familiar and looking out, he was sure it was nearly the hour of the bat, but that only spurred him to run faster, but his legs led him to collide into a body, of limbs much taller than his own. He fell down with an oof and rubbed at his face before he looked up...into dark eyes belonging to a kindly face.

"Aemon?" The silver-haired man blinked. The moon was in his hair, and so were the stars, and his silken hair greedily drank their light. He looked, in every way, of what a king should look like, and Jon could only stare. "What are you doing out here?"

Melted iron, Jon thought. His voice is like melted iron, but melodical. He hadn't had much time to register the different name.

"Hey." The man crouched down, smoothing Jon's dark hair back, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. The other curled under his chin so Jon could stare at him directly. There he spotted the crown on his head, a simple band encrusted with rubies. He is a king... "Did you have a bad dream?"

"I...I..." Something is wrong, Jon thought in a panic. He tried to speak in the way as befit the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the King in the North, but his mouth felt like he swallowed a mound of sand, dry and ungainly. This isn't me. This is a voice of a child. "I...swear, I..." he croaked out, with a clumsy tongue.

"By the gods, boy, you are cold. Why are you so cold? Come here." He unclasped the brooches on his shoulders and pinned his cloak around Jon's body, wrapping him tightly before drawing him into his arms. Jon began to squirm and protest...before the warmth of the cloak and the man's body eased his own, and his nerves. He relaxed in the strength of his arms.

The man's gait was as smooth as his voice, and soon they were in a great room, dragon and wolf banners heavy on the wall. A woman was drinking from a goblet, her legs crossed as she sat at the edge of the large bed, silken material of her gown slipping to reveal a pale leg.

Her wavy dark hair obscured her face, until she looked over. Grey eyes. Jon thought in wonder. Grey eyes, like mine. Then Jon realised that he had seen this woman before, often enough in his dreams. Those eyes haunted him well enough. He just hadn't expected her to...well, look so much like Arya.

He lowered his eyes for a moment. It made him sad to think of Arya.

"Look at who I found, Lya," the man murmured, the words rumbling in Jon's ear as he was pressed against his chest. "A certain little Aemon who decided it would be fun to wander this late at night without guards."

"Aemon?" The woman even sounded like Arya, with that familiar husky, defiant tilt he had grown to adore. "What's the matter, did you not like my story?"

"Story? By the Seven, Lyanna, you can't keep telling him stories about the white walkers. It gave him nightmares!"

"Don't be stupid, Rhaegar," Lyanna rose from the bed, unwrapping Jon and taking him into her arms. "Old Nan used to tell me those stories all the time. It's nearly a Stark tradition now, and he is as much a wolf as a dragon," she chuckled. "Besides, I had to tell him something. A certain charming man with a silver harp wasn't there to sing to him tonight."

"Don't be unfair to me, love," he sighed. "I am king now. I must speak to the lords of the land. I'll sing to him tomorrow, I promise."

After dealing with the hard beds of the Wall for so long, this is surely a luxury, Jon thought as they crept in the great bed. Tiredness danced in waves upon his muscles, warmth seeping in and loosening his fear as he lay snuggled in between the two people he had always longed to know.

#jon snow #asoiaf #fanfiction #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaelya

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daisywords · 3 months

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finally getting to introduce Nasir properly. felt compelled to draw him properly since I never have so here's a quick one

Sweeping aside a gauzy curtain, a young man emerged from the doorway at the far end of the room, sun pouring in behind him. He strode toward them lazily.

He commanded himself with a great deal of assurance, tunic casually open to reveal a large ruby hanging at his chest, chin-length silver hair loose and playing at his chiseled jaw.

Lya inclined her head with measured politeness, and he gave a cavalier bow in return. “Holiness,” he said, with no emotion, and kissed her hand mechanically.

“Highness,” she said, matching his distant tone.

The lordly figure straightened and set his gaze upon Trip. And Trip felt that gaze from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

“And you must be the new fellow. Nesotor’s champion, and all that.”

Trip nodded, accepting his handshake.

“Call me Nasir.”

Trip swallowed. So this was Queen Talinor’s heir. His second time meeting a prince; at least this one didn’t come with a dog to attack him.

“What’s your name?” prompted the prince. Trip forced his voice back into functioning order. “Trip,” he said.

“I’m honored to meet you, Trip,” said Nasir, and finally released his hand. (Did handshakes normally last that long?)

#my writing #my art #second chance wip #bringing out Trip's best prey animal stare to date #this feels like particularly rough drafting but whatever #he's here #putting this under a cut bc I don't know why #don't perceive me #his arms look weird but whatever you get the idea

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blue-rose-of-wolves · 2 years

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@thelastdragonsnet @fuckyeahrhaegarandlyanna

@rhaegarxlyanna @rhaegardaily @rhaegxr @lyannatheshewolf @lyannastarkweek-blog @lina1745-blog @anotherlyannastark @awinterrose @ironunderneathbeauty-blog @thelyannastark @hiddenstarkofwinterfell-blog @stark-lyanna-blog @lycnnc-blog @winterfellrose @lyanna-starks @ladylystark-blog @blue-rose-of-winterfell-blog @lyanna-arya-sansa-stark-blog @lyan-na-stark @love-dragoneyes @forcesmuggler @irisewithsunyourisewiththemoon @joneryskingdom @valyrianpoem @valyabrethil @hiddenstag-blog @wonderwomanquinn @housestarksisters-blog @housestark @alyrys @steel-winter-rose @lyannadaily @lyannastarkweek-blog @lyannas-loves @houseofjaqen @houseofstark @forcesmuggler @irisewithsunyourisewiththemoon @joneryskingdom @lyannadaily @lyannas-loves @lyannastark @houseofjaqen @houseofstark @northremebers-blog @asoiaffanart-blog @asoiafwomensource @sansastark-queen-in-the-north @1nsaankahanhai-bkr @aryastarksource @aryastarktheshewolf @aryastarkdaily @saltywinteradult

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jackoshadows · 1 year

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Here goes a theory I stumbled upon and couldnt believe existed: so aparently George has said in some interview somewhere that "the magic side of asoiaf is the least important and what matters is the real relations between the people of the story" and.... this led to the person concluding that all magic people/people who perform any supernatural power will come to die until the end of the books and that will mean peace will finally reign in westeros. Also, the person considered the way Jon would stay alive despite having some magic of rhollor in himself.

Im still trying to process this theory. Thoughts?

George has said in some interview somewhere that "the magic side of asoiaf is the least important and what matters is the real relations between the people of the story"

Really? I have never come across fantasy writer George RR Martin saying that the magic is the least important part of his story. Can someone send me this interview.

I have read this one though:

And it is important that the individual books refer to the civil wars, but the series title reminds us constantly that the real issue lies in the North beyond the Wall. Stannis becomes one of the few characters fully to understand that, which is why in spite of everything he is a righteous man, and not just a version of Henry VII, Tiberius or Louis XI.

And this one:

Tommy’s me … but no more than all the others. Robb is me in “Song for Lya,” as Dirk is me in Dying of the Light … though Arkin Ruark and Jaan Antony in that one are both me as well. Abner Marsh is me, as his proud sidewheeler Fevre Dream is the excursion boat to Far Rockaway, only the passengers drink blood instead of Kool-Aid. Sandy Blair is J-school me, Peter Norten is chess club me, Kenny Dorchester is me trying to lose weight. Holt in “The Stone City,” he’s the kid lying in the grass, staring up at distant stars. Trager is me on a dark night of the soul, bleeding poison from three wounds named Josie, Laurel, Rita. Jon Snow has me in him, and Sam Tarly. The women too, Lyanna and Shaara, and the girls, Arya and Adara … Daenerys Stormborn, searching for that house with the red door. And Tyrion Lannister? Oh, yes. The Imp is me in spades, the horny little bastard.”

And this one:

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to middle Earth.

#asks #GRRM

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mimimarilynart · 7 years

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Day 20 - 1C late eycte Milex for @sorethpid <33

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volfoss · 3 years

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Cecilia 🤍

literally have only @hitmanboyfriend to blame for this solely because he made too good of an oc for me to not insert my lil oc in there

Full Name: Cecilia Daria Marino

Nickname: Goes by Celia to most anyone

Pronunciation: Cheh-chee-lya Dare-ia Ma-ree-no

Name Meaning:

First: Patron saint of music and musicians

Middle: Possessing goodness

Last: Of the sea

Age: 32 (as of 2001)

Date of Birth: October 30th, 1969

Place of Birth: Brescia, Italy

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/they

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Species: Human

Height: 5’4” (163 cm)

Face: picrew link

Eyes: Dark amber that looks pretty much black

Hair: Cecilia’s hair is naturally dark brown, but she keeps up with dyeing it a dark blue. It’s naturally wavy, and she doesn’t bother straightening it as she keeps it in either a low or high ponytail and never lets it down.

Makeup: For most of the time that they’re at church, they don’t really wear much makeup, other than a bit of mascara and blush, but when they’re anywhere else, they’ll wear a lot of makeup. The normal makeup look is a bright blue lipstick paired with nude eyeshadow with a bit of eyeliner, as they like to have a bright look to pair with their outfits.

Scars: A couple along their upper arms from getting into a fight when they were younger and a pretty long one running across their back from an accident

Tattoos: None

Piercings: Used to have a lip ring but doesn’t really wear it out a ton, other than on dates or special occasions.

Casual attire: Cecilia, outside of the church, normally wears a white pleated miniskirt that goes to about mid thigh paired with a black lacy sheer corset that zips up in the front with a somewhat oversized black blazer over top. As for shoes, she wears knee high black leather boots with a 2 inch heel.

Formal attire: Cecilia wears a black long sleeved silk dress with a mesh back, a plunging v-neck neckline and a leg slit that goes up to to her mid thigh and shows off her fishnet stockings perfectly. As for shoes, she wears black pumps with a dainty ankle strap and a 3 inch chunky heel.

Sleepwear: She wears a floor length dark blue nightgown that’s silky and has lace covering the chest and a bit of her torso, as well as a high leg slit on one side.

Swimwear: She wears an underwire style swim top thats black and white paired with a high waisted matching pair of bottoms. If she’s just going to the beach to not swim, she’ll pair it with a thin jacket to keep a bit warmer.

Accessories: They wear earrings occasionally but normally just small silver hoops, they’re not too big on jewelry. However, they are big on wearing a lot of lace, and most of their outfits have lingerie included in some way.

Personality: Cecilia is so very flirty and so affectionate and will flirt with anyone (especially towards a certain priest) just for fun, although she’s normally pretty drawn to people that are potentially a bit dangerous. She’s not the best at realizing said person or situation might be dangerous as she just kind of goes with whatever makes sense in her head in terms of who she’s interested in. Cecilia is very romantic in the way that she does not hesitate to ask someone on a date if they show a sign of interest in her. She’s very much a risktaker and makes decisions a bit too quickly in terms of making a good decision and will just follow her heart a lot of the time.

Cecilia is very ambitious and determined with pretty much everything in life, and puts a lot of passion into anything she’s into. She’s very extroverted and charismatic and tends to talk to people a lot, along with having pretty good manners. She’s fairly observant for the most part, due to her work, but has little lapses of attentiveness due to some certain man. She also is pretty good at seeing both sides of an argument which playing the devil’s advocate role can be useful for work. Tying into that, she’s a little bit rebellious in terms of following certain laws. Cecilia is very optimistic, maybe even a bit too much so. She’s over dramatic and just a little bit manipulative, but more in a fun way rather than making people do weird shit. They lie, more so for fun than anything else, but they do also have some trust issues. Cecelia is pretty forgetful so has a lot of notes around her home, although she keeps her home really clean outside of that.

Likes: Collecting seashells, going rollerblading or ice skating, a nice glass of cannonau di sardegna on occasion, going to the beach/lakes on trips (visited Lake Iseo a lot as a kid), singing (was part of their church’s choir as a kid/teen before they went to college), plays the violin occasionally, knitting, eating w people she loves (including making food for them), spending time w family, card games, uccelli scappati, gardening, rainy days (esp at the beach), summer and spring, people with long hair, time inside and cuddled under blankets

Dislikes: Too manicured of gardens, messy spaces, sailing, being on the floor (whether sitting or laying), winter, tattoos, patterned socks (prefers fishnets or stockings), getting her furniture messy, fireworks, arriving to things early, when nights get dark too early, the thought of getting married, baths, soap operas, crocheting, salads, tea

Phobias: Ants, sudden loud noises, marriage

Habits: She tends to fidget with her buttons whenever she wears a button up shirt, and normally will button or unbutton the top button or two if she’s deep in thought. Cecilia also tends to hum a lot especially if she’s focusing on something (like cooking).

Backstory: Cecilia is the oldest of 6 siblings (including her) and her parents had her when they were pretty young, so the rest of her siblings are varying in age range compared to her. She wasn’t super close to them though as she just didn't really see the value in being close with her family growing up. When she moved to Milan for university to get a law degree, although with being at university, she didn’t have as much time to really devote to going to church as she wanted. Being away from her family made her really realize just how much she did actually appreciate them so it made her repair relationships and try to stay much more in contact. She worked in Milan for a little bit and moved to Naples due to a job offer that was better than where she was currently working.

Family: Cecilia’s parents care about her a lot, although they don’t get to see her a lot due to the distance that they live (about a 7 hr drive). They’re pretty close and call on the phone often, and she normally will drive up to visit them monthly. As for her 5 sisters, the two oldest (30 and 27 respectfully) live elsewhere, so normally if they meet up, it’s a whole family ordeal. The three youngest (19, 14, and 4) are adopted and still live at home. She’s close with all of them and pretty much keeps them updated on anything going on in her life. The sister she’s closest to is probably her sister who is just a couple years younger than her, since they got along as kids somewhat well.

Relationship status: Its complicated as hell but involves a slutty little priest

Pet(s): Has a few pet goldfish because they’re relatively low maintenance and she likes watching them swim when she’s working or knitting.

Occupation: Lawyer

Languages: Italian and English

#cecilia tag #also sowwy for the backstory/family being v lazy i needed to drop her before i slept but ill eventually go back and elaborate a lil #shes deranged i love her SO uch #much to think about

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theprincesslibrary · 3 years

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#26: Quid pro quo

She had a plan. A good plan, flawed of course, but a good plan nonetheless. She would march into the Azure dragon’s lair, offer him a deal he could not refuse, and spend the rest of her days in relative peace. She would not be burned alive, nor have her body desecrated postmortem. It was a good plan, albeit a bit of a crazy one.

She had carefully designed said plan for months, spent countless hours with her nose buried deep in obscure literature, practically harassed the head of the royal guard into telling her every tiny detail of his encounter with the sand dragons - the man used to boast about his tale of glory, now he couldn’t bear to utter the word dragon - but for all her effort she still wasn’t ready for the Azure dragon himself. There were a few key elements about the beast which were not accounted for in those dusty grimoires: for one, he was a man rather than a scaled monster; and two… he was incredibly handsome. He had ordered her to sit opposite him, and she had since spent a stupid amount of time staring at his face, which wasn’t all that smart considering her current predicaments. Yet, one could hardly blame her; she had been expecting a blue lizard - a giant lizard, with wings, and teeth, and claws - and she was now sitting in front of the most gorgeous man she had ever met. Nothing during her months of research had prepared her for the day's events, and she was a bit lost and quite unsure of how to proceed.

*****

When she had walked past the entrance on the north side of the snowy mountain, she had expected a cave or an abandoned mine; a place dark and humid, where the air would be stale, almost putrid. There would be spiderwebs on the walls and maybe a few rotting corpses lying in the shadows of a dusty corner. The place would be grim, quiet - save for the few drip drops of a leaking roof - and extremely scary. But the halls she was wandering in looked nothing like old collapsing tunnels. There were sculpted columns where she expected old support beams, and vast rooms with smooth walls instead of rough rock and loose stone. It looked more like an underground palace than it did the belly of a mountain, and she couldn’t help but be a little bit in awe of the craftsmanship required to achieve such a feat. Her father’s castle could never compare to the dragon’s lair, nothing could.

As she made her way from room to room, she found no pile of gold or shiny jewels, not that she hoped to find any, she had specifically chosen the Azure dragon for its peculiar taste in treasure. She had however expected a few rotten corpses, maybe some dead knights, or discarded armors, but again she was pleasantly surprised: not a dead body in sight. Just books, shelves after shelves for as far as the eye could see. They occupied every surface of the place: wooden tables covered in parchments, rare volumes piled up on the floor. Some piles were so high, she had to crane her neck up to see the top and almost lost her balance more times than she’d admit to. Some books were torn or half-eaten by mice, soot-stained or with missing their spines, others were brand new and carefully ordered by author and date. And everywhere the dry scent of paper mixed with the faintest bit of charcoal, a good indication that she was in the right place. Which might sound confusing to some: what kind of princess would willingly seek out a dragon? But she was desperate, and desperate times called from desperate measures. Crazy measures, some might even say.

Now that she was deep into the beast’s lair, she was faced with two issues. One, for all her planning, she hadn’t come up with a solution to prevent the dragon from killing her without hearing her plea. She had a proposition for the creature, one that required some explaining, and she could hardly do so once reduced to a fuming pile of ashes. She had thought she’d come up with something eventually, but as her twenty-first birthday grew closer things accelerated, and now she was here, with no idea how to speak with such a being. Maybe she should send words in advance? Did Dragons get mail? And If so, who would be brave enough to deliver such correspondence? There wasn't any protocol on how to converse with a dragon. She was taught how to politely greet foreign emissaries, but somehow her etiquette lesson didn’t cover “how to greet a mighty dragon without being toasted”. Clearly a gap in her royal education. Most people - knights in search of gold and glory - marched into a dragon’s lair with two goals in mind: kill the beast and steal its treasure. They either succeeded or died, adding to the long list of nameless fools no one remembered. There was hardly any tale of them having a civil conversation with the beast.

And either way, if she knew how to politely engage the Azure dragon, she would first need to find him. One would think a creature this size would be easy to spot, but so far she only passed by empty rooms (saves for the mountains of books) and deserted halls. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the place to be abandoned.

As she continued her discovery of the underground palace, she stepped inside a dimly lit room, more vast than the rest, that looked like a library. There had been books in every room she visited so far, but this one looked like it was meant to hold paper and manuscript. It was dark, save for the few candles and the fire roaring in the hearth.

“Excuse me.” She called out to the shadows, not expecting an answer. She had been doing so in every room, and only got an eerie silence as a reply. So when the shadows moved in a corner of the room, she nearly jumped out of her skin. The shadow was in fact a man sitting in a chair with a heavy book in his hands. Her heart was in her throat, and it took her a few minutes to regain her composure.

“Forgive my intrusion,” she started, “I'm looking for the Azure dragon.”

The man barely lifted his eyes from the books to give her the most unimpressed look. He was handsome, almost painfully so: silver-white hair, high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut through glass. But his most striking features were his eyes: icy blue, pupils slit in the middle. And then everything clicked: the hair, the pointed ears, the haughty look...

“You're one of the Elezens” she whispered dumbfounded, “It was said that your race had passed into legend.” “Sorry to disappoint.”

Panic ran through her, insulting the very being she had come to beg for help was a mistake, insulting one of the Elezens was a death sentence. She quickly dipped in a graceful bow, knees almost touching the ground, and lowered her head as much as her spine would allow.

“Forgive me, your grace, I spoke out of turn.”

She did not dare look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her. She could sense his disdain and perhaps a hint of curiosity. She kept her head low and her knees bent, waiting for him to speak, to dismiss her, or worse, to kill her. Her muscles screamed at her, and she secretly thanked her mother for her rigorous etiquette lessons. Lya might look frail and delicate, but she could curtsy for hours, her body well-trained to the princessly art of lowering oneself (literally) to please powerful men.

“Sit.” He finally said. “And pray tell, why is a princess seeking me out. That ought to be an interesting tale.”

For a brief moment, as she sat opposite him, nervousness overwhelmed her. Her hand clenched into her skirt, her fingers tugging at the fabric. She had not planned for this, hadn’t even considered the possibility, his kind was supposed to be extinct. This changed everything. Elezen were stronger than most dragons, smarter too. Knights didn’t kill Elezens, they simply ceased to exist; or hid in the heart of a snowy mountain, it would seem. Still, she couldn’t help but stare, he looked so… human.

“Speak.” He ordered, “all the fidgeting and staring is deeply annoying.” “I’m sorry, your grace, I expected you to be…” “Taller?” “Bluer actually, with more scales perhaps?” “I can hardly read with a full set of claws,” he pointed out with a haughtily condescending tone.

She swallowed heavily and nodded. She had been willing to face a beast breathing fire, surely she could converse with a man reading a book. She hadn’t escaped her father’s dungeon and portaled all the way up north to give up now. She brushed off her skirt, took a deep breath and raised her head to meet his gaze.

“I've come to request the honor of being your captive.” Words stumbled out of her mouth so fast she wasn’t sure she had been intelligible. “Do I look that feeble that you’d rather be my prisoner than some baron’s wife?” He said, weary and just a little bit sharp. “Do you not fear me?” “I do, very much fear you, your grace. Even more so now that I know of your true lineage. But I wish to live, and being held captive, given the proper circumstances, seems rather small compared to losing my life.” “I don't follow.” “I was born under the blood moon, your grace…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, didn’t need to, they both knew what it meant. Silence stretched between them, only broken by the sound of a log cracking in the fireplace. When the dragon spoke again his voice wasn’t thunderous nor loud, it wasn’t “ dragon-like ”; it was soft, barely a whisper, with a hint of sadness to it, and something else. Empathy? Pity? Most people pitied her.

“I didn’t realize humans still followed the old ways. And they call us beasts… Very well, I can see how this agreement would benefit you, but what's in it for me?” “It is my understanding that a dragon’s reputation among his peers is correlated to the size of his hoard and his ability to keep a princess captive.” She started, glad her voice didn’t betray any of her fear. “Your hoard is rumored to be quite impressive, but you never…”

She hesitated for a while, she needed to be careful with her words, she had insulted him once, it would be a mistake to do it again, dragons weren’t known for being magnanimous. Still, there wasn’t exactly a pleasant term to describe the situation, ‘prisoner’ seemed a bit excessive considering she was offering to be locked away in a tower of her own free will. Well, maybe not locked away, and there was no tower…but ‘guest’ would be most inappropriate. Hosts had duties towards their guests, she could not insinuate that he’d owe her anything.

“You’ve never ‘harbored’ a princess before”, she finally settled on. “I suppose you find the task bothersome, fending off knights can be quite tiring, believe me, I know.”

He laughed, barely a huff, but she heard it, and she liked it. It spurred her on, and she smiled in return. Maybe their shared disdain for knights could bring them to a quid pro quo.

“I'm the thirteenth princess of the sand kingdom, hardly the golden prize, and even if a knight wanted to risk it all, well, rumor has it your hoard is made of books…” she let her eyes wander around the room, her stare landing on yet a precarious tower of volumes, minutes away from collapsing on the ground. “Not exactly the type of treasure knights tend to seek out. They're not very well-read. So you see, this agreement would benefit both of us.”

His eyes narrowed at her as he studied her. His stare was neither cold nor disdainful, but calculating. He was appraising her, measuring her worth and deciding whether she was worth the hassle; and for those interminable seconds, she held her breath in anticipation of his response.

“I can clean too. And sing.” She hastened to add. “I'm fairly good at enchanting animals. I could sing the rats away from your books.”

He huffed once more, amused at her outburst.

“No need to oversell it, Princess. You have yourself a deal.”

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #estinien x wol #Estinien Wyrmblood #my writing #soulmate AU #AU #dragon Estinien is the hill I'll die on

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