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madame-fear · 5 months

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How about a fic where y/n is not nobility but is a daughter of a businessman who deals with shipping things around westeros. In one meeting her father and corlys are working on things and luke, as the next lord of the tides is aprenticing to learn about his responsibilities but he's not learning anything at all when the businessman's daughter is there, also aprenticing under her father 😍

*ೃ༄ 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 .ೃ࿐

★ amira speaks! : hello honey! sorry it took me some time on getting this finished,, i apologise beforehand if it’s rather short, and since i wrote it heavily sleepy and tired, i really do hope it was what you expected. 💕 — summary : [ — ✧ request ] — word count : 1.8k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x shipping businessman daughter!reader — genre : fluff.

Sailing through the seawaves was something you’d been used to ever since you had memory. Your father, being a businessman that shipped all sorts of things throughout Westeros and particularly for certain royal Houses, constantly took you with him to every important meeting. After all, you were his one and only child, and you had to know how to properly keep the shipping business functioning once the responsability officially fell into your hands.

Soft, cool breeze gently swayed bits of your hair as you arrived to Driftmark, accompanying your father to meet the current, and future young Lord of the previously mentioned location. House Velaryon was one of the greatest Houses, being known for it’s rich maritime heritage and it’s great fleets. They have great knowledge on how to sail through the Narrow Sea, and the vast ocean. And with your father being well known for his great wisdom on trading, shipping for foreigner markets and throughout the entirety of Westeros as well, both House Velaryon and your own family greatly benefited from each other for each other’s respective businesses.

The people from Driftmark, the very moment you arrived, joyfully hosted you with great pride and kindness. Being fairly new to the shipping business, still apprenticing under your father, you remained as glued as possible to him. Despite always remaining quiet, attentively observing the way your father negotiated with whomever wantd to make business with him, you never considered yourself to be a timid person. Often, you were very polite and kind with whomever your father made business with.

But of course, this particular major meeting between your father and Lord Corlys Velaryon was different. Of course, it wasn’t only special because this time it was the grand House Velaryon the one you were making business with — but rather because, as expected, Lord Corlys’ grandson, Lucerys Velaryon, stood by his grandsire’s side; much like you stood next to your father quietly. And it was only natural for him to attend the meeting as well, as he was to be the future Lord of Driftmark. Lucerys was the future heir, like you were your father’s future heir. It was slightly awkward to admit it, but you could feel a tinge of shyness growing on you the moment you spotted him, noticing his sweet, vivid green hazel eyes.

The young Velaryon Prince seemed to be rather meek and awkward around you from the very first second you were introduced to one another. A faint rosy hue crept on his pale cheeks, mimicking your own fluster. Most certainly, you were very pretty — and there was no denial in that. How delicate his features were and how gentle he behaved when greeting you didn’t pass unnoticed at all, as well, and you could feel your heart slightly thumping loudly against your chest. Don’t behave strangely, you kept reminding to yourself mentally, realising you were becoming shy around him.

As the meeting officially started by getting inside of Driftmark and getting introduced briefly by the surroundings, both Lucerys and you followed your eldests from behind, attentively listening to how they chatted about the things they would ship and trade across the Narrow Sea, and Westeros.

Walking closely by Lucerys’ side, you couldn’t help but discreetly steal glances at the shy boy next to you, trying to catch his eye. He appeared to be deep in thought; or perhaps focused on the meeting himself, but really, Luke simply could feel your gaze timidly lingering on him, and felt too overwhelmed to even dare to dart his stare back to you, and engage in a conversation properly instead of being dead silent, following your father and his grandsire like lost puppies. The voices and occasional chuckles coming from the two men as they arranged some things to ship around leisurely faded away, being some sort of background noise for you.

Often, when following your father to his business meetings, you were never the type of person to easily lose your concentration on what truly mattered; which was, negotiation and managing the shipping business just as perfect as your father did. But this time, you could feel yourself too... Focused on your own steps without listening a word of what they were saying, and noticing the heavy awkwardness lingering between Lucerys and you, continously having each other grasping arms when you walked.

Part of you longed to initiate a conversation with the young Velaryon, and yet, you were too afraid of making things far more embarrassing than they already were for both of you. And, the one to break the ice for once and for all, was Lucerys.

His arms were hidden behind his back as he walked leisurely behind of his grandsire, and by your side. You were so distracting and overwhelming, but all of that in a good way, as you seemed charmingly delightful. Luke cleared his throat faintly, “You must be apprenticing under your father as well, my Lady, are you not?” as Lucerys craned his head to stare at you, he felt startled to see you so closely, fixing your beautiful eyes on his own. It felt as if his heart was going to melt right there, which made him have to gain courage and strength to not stutter right there.

“I am indeed, my Prince.” you replied, with a little timid grin tugging at the corner of your lip. “My father has been trading and shipping all sorts of things with many noble Houses throughout Westeros, and I have been following his steps ever since I have memory.” fortunately those words seemed to roll smoothly off your lips, being at the brink of feeling like you would begin stuttering.

“House Velaryon has been no exception today.” a toothy grin appeared on his lips, as your own quivered into a wide smile as well. “Both my father and I feel tremendously grateful. I must admit, I know everything that there is to be known about your House, my Prince.” those words spurred naturally from your lips, immediatly gazing down at your feet as you kept walking by his side, in a poor attempt to cover the fluster on your face that slowly intensified with a notorious crimson shade. His hazel eyes were fixed on you, feeling almost like a little boy with a growing crush.

As his Grandsire stopped walking rather abruptly to show your father something that seemed related to House Velaryon, both of you simply stood behind of them. Your hands were clasped together in front of your body, standing in front of him, managing somehow to gaze deep into his eyes.

The feeling of butterflies fluttering their wings softly on his chest appeared at the way you stared at him, “You do?” was all he managed to reply in a quiet tone, keeping his arms behind his back. “I feel honoured to hear you say so. Thank you.” he replied. It was meant to be a thought to himself, but it came out as a faint murmuring to himself, yet loud enough for you to hear. You snickered, nodding in agreement. “I do, my Prince. It’s safe to say, House Velaryon might be my favourite of all the noble Houses I ever met.” you continued, despite still feeling a bit awkward around him. Not in a bad way, of course, but rather, in a way that made you not focus about whatever responsabilities you had and just concentrate on having a good impression on him. And Gods, he was obviously doing the same.

Being the future Lord of Driftmark, he knew he had duties and responsabilities to fulfill, and constantly comply to. But it was so incredibly difficult not to focus on those beautiful features of yours, swallowing nervously. “I believe your great fleets, knowledge of the vast sea, and your honour and loyalty are the things that make just feel too tempted to keep reading about the traditions of your House.” you said, tilting slightly your head to the side, offering him a little proud grin after letting him know you had previously informed yourself about the values of his House.

The crimson hue on your cheeks seemed to creep across the rest of your face, noticing his own doing the exact same. “I see,” he replied meekly, daring to lean a bit more near towards your body with his own. Discreetly, he licked his dried lips in a swift motion. He was not the most courageous one when it came to talking to girls his age, nor expertise, but for you, Luke felt bold enough to try and approach you. “Well, then, perhaps... You could come visit us more often, here at Driftmark.”

You anxiously swallowed, trying to hold back a dumbfounded toothy grin from suddenly appearing in your lips. “I would truly be delighted to show you around, and you could get to know about House Velaryon more personally.” at least, that sounded like the perfect excuse to him to be around you more often, talk to you, and get to know you better. His Grandsire seemed to be getting well enough with your father despite having exclusively met to discuss shipping business, so Luke was certain he would get to see you more often. “And perhaps, you could teach me more about sailing and shipping. Don’t you think so?”

His little grin was alluring enough for you to agree to his proposal in the blink of an eye. Not that you would deny it either way, of course. Without allowing silence to take room between the two of you, you snickered, and immediatly nodded. Your cheeks were entirely heated from the shy, yet excited nerves you had from being around him. And unbeknownst to you, he was truly doing the greatest effort to not shy away from you right there, or simply die from nerves.

“You’re tempting enough for me to accept your proposal, Prince Lucerys.” you retorted, “I agree, and I would be delighted to teach each other.” his smile grew wider, releasing a soft sigh that hinted at how a huge relief overwhelmed him, having been previously tense in case you would deny to see him more often. Playfully, he offered you his hand for you to shake, and you immediatly understood, chuckling lightly. Taking his hand, you gently shook it, fixing your gaze into his eyes, just like he was doing.

“We have a deal, then.”

The idea of lurking you to visit him at Driftmark with your family more often and having the opportunity to talk to you was thrilling. Your charmingly sweet way of being, your lovely company, and the knowledge you had about the traditions and values of his House were enough for you to have easily made your way into his heart without a doubt. And perhaps, you could be perfect to fit for the currently empty spot of being his future Lady of Driftmark.

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toms-cherry-trees · 7 months

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Fires of Harrenhal || AemondxReader/AlysxReader

Summary: Secrets and deceive always find their way through the stone halls

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Angst I think? Betrayal. Character death. Very mild NSFW. Canon divergene from both book and show. Mention of war crimes and murder. Idk how else to do this without spoiling. No beta reading I have no one to beta for me

Author's note: Never. EVER in my life had I written something so long. And it has me very anxious. Also I don't know what this is exactly. It is not angst, nor fluff. I don't know. Enjoy!

A gentle drizzle fell from the overcast skies. Fine droplets of water collected on the braids in her hair, beading in her eyelashes, rolling down the curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts. The fabric of the green gown slowly soaked, and the air around her chilled, but she did not feel the cold. The measly mizzle could do little to match the frost spreading through her bones, born from the very depths of her soul, turning her to ice from the inside out.

His emblazoned cloak still hung loosely from her shoulders, heavy and comforting, even though the warmth of his body had been long lost to the rain. His scent lingered, smoke and leather, a faint hint of spiced wine; and something else which is entirely his own, indescribable and unexplainable, but it evoked danger. And death.

Words befitting to the place she stood. Harrenhal had been long cursed, ever since Harren the Black mixed blood in the mortar which kept the bricks together. Ever since the Black Dread torched down the fortress with the King and his sons inside. The passing of the years only added to the jinx. Death and misfortune followed whoever dared to settle within the crumbled and slagged walls. Entire houses and lineages exterminated, most recently house Strong; from the eldest man to the babes in the cradle, put to death by Aemond’s command. All of them but one.

A Strong bastard, from all people.

Aemond’s infatuation with the wetnurse stunned those who bore witness to the affair, and speculation soon arose that the so called witch of Harrenhal had laid an incantation on the Prince, for otherwise it could not be explained that such proper and devoted man, always guided by rules and correctitude, devoted of the Faith, could so brazenly take a lover, an unworthy one at that, while his beautiful, perfect, dutiful wife awaited for his return at King’s Landing. No, Aemond could never.

But he could and he had.

Alys hadn’t been the first one. Others had been fleeting affairs or pleasures of one night, both before and after their wedding. Ladies from the court, his mother companions, town girls, even the occasional maidservant that caught his eye. But unlike with Aegon, they all came willingly, ensnared by the mystery of the one eyed prince. All of them forgotten as soon as dawn broke through, their silence bought with gold or jewels, and a cup of herbal tea drank under the watchful gaze of a maester.

She didn’t let their existence bother her too much. Always keeping her head held high and her gaze ahead, haughty, beautiful and proud. Aemond took great care to not leave a trail of bastards in his wake, unlike brother dearest, and never flaunted them in the open. No, before the court he only had eyes -eye- for his wife. A gentle hand on the waist, glances across the table, a kiss on the hand when they parted, and one in the forehead when they reunited. A most perfect and devoted husband, whose mask fell as soon as the doors closed behind him.

Some days she wished he would openly hate her, because at least it would prove him capable of any feeling towards her. Instead, he only offered her an impenetrable barrier of indifference bordering cruelty. Aemond would walk the Godswood with her, barely rewarding her with a hum of acknowledgement when she tried to engage conversation of any sort. She tried to show interest in his heritage, but he said she would never understand the history without carrying Valyrian blood. When she suggested meeting his dragon, he retorted that Vhagar didn’t take kindly to strangers, citing false concerns for her safety.

Even the bedding he treated like a chore to be dealt with. Methodical, efficient, and dreadfully boring. He laid with his wife as little as possible, just enough to avoid any whispers or bad talking. He would send a servant to inform her in advance that he would visit her bed so she could be “prepared”. A quick affair, his body always on top, not a sound heard other than the occasional creaking of the bed, done. He rolled over and fell asleep before she had finished cleaning herself. Hells, she didn’t hold great expectations of the act, but for a man who took so many lovers she hoped for a bit more effort.

When he became Regent, the weight of the borrowed crown awoke something deep within him, something that had always been there, dormant and expecting for its moment of glory. An obsession with control and power. He became possessive. He had to have her in sight at all times. If he sat the throne, she stood right next to him. When he held council, she acted as cupbearer, but only to serve his cup and his cup alone. If Aemond decided to sit in the library until the hour of ghosts going over scrolls and maps, she had to be there, dutifully waiting by his side until he decided to retire for the night.

They no longer slept separately, since he simply had the maids move all her belongings to his own chambers, while also disposing of things he decided she no longer required, like her childhood dolls, books of fantasy or any gown not made in green and gold. He also kept her diary in the drawer of his desk; it had to be back there every night without fail. She did not know if he read her entries, but decided to not risk it and write only about things he would like. The hours became long, since he allowed her to speak only with people he approved of; very few had earned that trust; and those who did she would rather not speak to. Even her servants had been swapped, her maids and guards replaced with former attendants of the Queen, more loyal to the Dowager than they would ever be to her.

Aemond’s departure for Harrenhal came as a relief, his presence having slowly grown into a suffocating weight on her chest and lurking shadow on her back. As soon as Aegon could rise from bed again, he sent his brother to retake the dilapidated fortress from their uncle, although she suspected it more to be a cock show off; to remind the people that even though the Greens had less dragons, they still had the biggest one.

Aemond requested his wife to accompany him, but Aegon swiftly refused. A warzone is no place for a lady, he said. She did not trust his intentions, but given he could barely do anything other than speak and drink, she felt confidently safe in the newfound solitude, dividing her time between accompanying Helaena, prayers with her good mother in the sept and her own recreations, in which she could now indulge fully, free of her husband’s criticism.

Bliss, however, proved to be fleeting. One day Aegon summoned her while she broke her fast, to his bedchamber of all places. The alcove smelled stale, a combination of souring wine and the sickly scent of various medicines and tinctures, all mixed with the pungent stench of something unidentifiable decomposing somewhere. Perhaps the putrefaction within finally caught up to the surface, and Aegon himself had begun to rot from the inside out. Which wouldn’t surprise anyone, given his current state.

The open letter in his scarred hand and the knavish smirk on his lips gave her a bad feeling. He sat unabashedly naked in his bed, his immodesties hidden only by a sheet soiled with something indescribable. She tried and failed not to look at the ruggish and reddened skin marring his left side, the movements of his arm clumsy and stiff as if Aegon had been coated with tar. Although that probably would have been a kinder fate than his armour melting into his flesh.

When her eyes met his own, she saw a twinkle of delight sparkle on them. A sick pleasure earned from her evident discomfort at the sight of himself.

“Your dearest husband summons you to his side, now that Harrenhal is back under our command. And I, ever the benevolent brother, will allow it”

Suspicion gnawed at her insides. More so when she tried to take the letter from Aegon’s hand, and he kept waving it teasingly out of her reach, displaying surprising agility despite his wounds. Right before she could snatch it away he tucked the paper under the sheets, in a place where he knew she’d never reach out, even under threat of death by dragonfire. His smile reached his eyes for the first time in months as he dismissed her, pleased like a child who got away with a prank.

Sleep refused to come to her that night, forcing her to toss and turn as she went over the day. She didn’t trust Aegon more than she’d trust a dog guarding a roasted pig. Aemond summoning his wife at his side would not be inconceivable; the brother who fulfilled his duty to the Crown and now demanded his prize. But Aegon’s willingness to let her go told a different story. Nothing entertained him more than toying with his little brother, and what better way to do it than denying him access to his wife only because he could.

An ulterior motive had to be there for the King to grant such freedom. Something she could not yet see.

Aegon even arranged her departure himself. A messenger went ahead so everything would be arranged for a proper welcome. The retinue, albeit reduced, included fine soldiers and swordmasters, all dressed in plain cloth and without pomp. Ser Criston himself joined in on the journey, wishing to also meet up with Aemond to discuss war strategies and their next moves.

Green and gold banners and soldiers in formation awaited them in the immense courtyard upon arrival. The whistling of the icy wind through the cracks in the masonry made sounds like the fortress wept and howled, the souls of those who died within the walls using the wind to disguise their lamentations.

The steward and a knight led them inside, up the Kingspyre tower and towards where she assumed her husband awaited. Large double doors of blackened wood stood slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light into the hallway. The steward pushed the door open and announced Criston and herself. Both stepped into a large dining room, a table laid out with a feast to feed a dozen. Yet only two sat at the table.

Aemond presided over the supper, at the spot of honour in what could only be described as a throne. In his lap sat a woman of milky skin and raven curls, cherry lips pulled into a seductive smirk, her elegant fingers carding through Aemond’s silky tresses. The bodice of the woman’s silk gown had been unlaced, one breast out of the garment and firmly captured in Aemond’s mouth.

She didn’t have time to see Aemond’s face before Criston pulled her away by the arm, his broad form standing between the disconcerted woman and the indecorous scene. But she made eye contact with the black haired woman, the woman who sat her husband’s lap, the woman whose fucking tit he suckled like an indefence infant. Green eyes bore into her own, resplendent and alluring like emeralds. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was the woman winking at her, as if they shared a secret.

Everything made sense now; the scattered pieces falling into place perfectly. Aemond had never written. Why would he, when he had a woman keeping his bed warm and his needs fulfilled, a woman whom he craved like a drunk craves a drink. Someone, no doubt a carefully placed spy, had surely written to Aegon to report the affair. And the King, in pain, scarred and woefully bored, allowed himself some entertainment. Soon enough he would be doubling over in laughter at the picture of his perfect brother caught with the Strong bastard’s tit in the mouth.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife in the days that came. In order to preserve her own dignity, she had to act as if nothing had occurred. She broke her fast every morning with Aemond and Criston, not a single word spoken besides the usual morning greetings. Aemond could not look any of them in the eye, especially not his fatherly figure, who had never gazed upon the prince with such disappointment before. The silent treatment hurt Aemond more than the cut of a sword, that much was evident upon his face. But his wife didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him; in fact, she rejoiced in his shame. She wanted Aemond to feel at least a fraction of the silent disgrace she carried with herself. She wanted him to be the one who had to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He hadn’t even tried to come to her chambers, aware of the reaction that would await him if the thought so much as crossed his mind. Which is why the knock on her door, late on the seventh night, came as a surprise. On the other side stood no other than Alys, the so-called witch, wearing the same gown of that first day. The wife tried to slam the door shut, but not fast enough to keep the woman out. Alys entered the chamber and sat near the fire, her skirts spread around her as she stared into the dancing flames.

Before she could hurl insults and perhaps something more tangible at the whore, her voice echoed through the alcove. She had never heard Alys talk. Sweet and velvety, every word slipping past her plush lips in a mellow murmur. Even though they stood away from one another, the witch’s words resounded in her ear like a close whisper.

“You are unhappy”

Not a question. An affirmation.

“Unhappy because your husband doesn’t love you like he loves others. Because he refuses to show you care and adoration like you always dreamed of. He doesn't know how to cherish you, and you think you deserve better. You know you do”

Every fibre of her being urged her to scream insults at that brazen whore, to drag her by those perfect curls of hers and push her out the window. Yet she found herself unable to move or speak. Because, deep down, Alys had only said the truth. As if with just one look, she had been able to read her deepest thoughts and laid them out plainly in a way she never could. Tears pooled in her eyes, but her prideful nature kept her from letting them out. Crying in front of her husband’s mistress was a disgrace she would never recover from.

Alys stood, eyebrows knit together and features contorted in what could only be described as pity. Her soft, motherly hands cupped the younger woman’s cheeks, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. They stood like that for a moment, the tension dissolving into a comfortable silence as they assessed one another. At last, it was the wetnurse who broke the spell.

“I have seen your life in the flames. Not even diamonds shine as bright as your future”

The witch gave her a brief kiss on the lips and walked out silently, her steps silent in the flagstone, leaving behind a flabbergasted woman.

After that, Alys came to her chambers every night. And for some reason, she didn’t turn her away, not even once. Maybe because she knew, deep down, that the woman could not be blamed for Aemond’s weakness of mind. Because her words had struck a chord inside her. Because if not her, she had no one to turn to at the moment, alone and isolated in a place where everyone bowed to Aemond’s bidding.

Maybe because she found herself enjoying Alys’ company more than she ever did his.

She found in the witch a friend she never had in the Red Keep. They strolled through Harrenhal together, Alys narrating the story behind those walls, and the lives born and lost there. She taught her about medicinal herbs and plants, knowledge forbidden to them as women. Alys had a voice suited for melancholic songs, and she would sing to the lady as she brushed her hair at night before bed, and before returning to the Prince’s rooms. Shared between two spouses who refused to look at one another, and whose only thing in common was their infatuation with the Rivers woman.

The arrangement felt ideal for her, having found in this odd circumstance the closest thing to happiness she had experienced since the day she recited her vows in the Sept. But Alys kept pushing for reconciliation between her and Aemond, urging her to salvage the feeble bridge of their marriage before it sank into the abyss. She felt unwilling, finding great comfort in not being forced to endure his presence. But Alys brought forth a greater problem, a problem which grew by the day under her dress.

“It is only you who can help me, my girl. One day he will tire of me, and me and my babe will be put to death, just as he did my entire House. He had the infants smothered in their cribs before the eyes of their mothers, and the women bury their children with their own hands before their heads rolled. What do you think he will do to a bastard born of another bastard?”

Panic and rage bubbled in her stomach at the thought of losing Alys. She had been witness to her husband’s cruelty during his time as Regent, which only grew after being given free will at Harrenhal. Servants lashed at the faintest of errors, maids with their heads shaved and fingers broken. Executions on the daily, followed by new servants being forcibly dragged from their homes to Harrenhal to maintain the cycle. Anyone who tried to flee ended with their head on a spike and their body fed to Vhagar. It seemed like the curse of Harrenhal had slipped into Aemond’s mind, filling him with blackness and slowly pushing him to the brink of destruction like many before him. And it disgusted her to no end.

No, she could not allow herself to lose Alys. She needed her like she needed to breathe. She needed those motherly hands braiding her hair, that sweet voice entoning the saddest melodies ever written, the scent of her skin embedded in her pillows to soothe her into sleep as nimble fingers caressed her hair.

For her, she would try.

That night Alys came to her chamber as usual, Aemond with her. Husband and wife stood face to face at last, infelicitous and tense like their first night, their unspoken words lingering heavy in the air. Alys moved to stand behind her, hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. Soft fingertips tracing the curve of the neck, up to the crown of the head and then down to the collarbones; calmness spread through her veins like a salve, warming her to the tips of her toes. Alys’ lips caressed her ear, her words seeping into her brain like smoke and clouding her thoughts.

“Trust me”

Trusting Alys came as easy as breathing. Even as she undressed the lady slowly, taking her time to undo the laces of the bodice and the clasps in her skirts. Peeling away silk, lace and linen, baring soft skin and feminine curves. Aemond’s pupil widened with lust as he stood spectator, witnessing his mistress caress his wife with the greatest love and care. Kisses brushing down the neck and collarbone, gentle hands tracing the curve of the hips and the descent of the thighs, moving over forbidden places as warm lips met into a shy and delicate kiss; tongue against tongue, small sounds of delight escaping through.

When Alys finally passed her into Aemond’s embrace, she whined in protest. Aemond didn’t know how to touch her. His coarse hands were clumsy on her flesh, too harsh where she wanted featherlight, and not enough effort where she wanted more action. When her husband laid her on the bed, nestled between her thighs, Alys sat at the head, kissing, teasing and fondling while Aemond chased his own pleasure amidst grunts and pants. Alys’ hand snaked down her body slowly, between the breasts and past the navel. She screamed her climax into the woman’s neck, legs instinctively wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he too found his release.

The routine repeated night after night, for weeks on end.

And the more they did it, the more she found herself wishing it was just her and Alys; Aemond’s presence having gone from a necessity to a nuisance. His wife no longer wanted him to touch her, and only withstood on the promise that it would be her favourite witch the one to rip the highest throes of ecstasy from her body. This no longer was just about securing Alys’ safety; she wanted her safe and sound, by her side. Forever. And as she said, one night long after Aemond had left them, only one way they could secure such idyllic future for themselves.

The news of the fall of King’s Landing had reached them not long ago. The relief of Aegon’s disappearance alongside his children could not placate the terror Aemond felt at knowing his mother and sister remained at the Keep, now prisoners of Rhaenyra and her mad husband. Aemond wished for nothing more than to climb Vhagar and torch down the Crownlands, burning the last leaf on every tree to retrieve his family. But he stood put, on Alys’ command.

“You do not need to chase the war, my Prince. It shall come to your door through clouds of storm”

So they sat and waited, as day after day passed with sunny and clear skies, the God’s eye reflecting the blueness, waters calm and inviting. A fortnight after Alys’ vision, the night chilled and the wind picked up. She stood behind the lady, a silver comb in hand as she untangled her hair before bed. Her scent filled her nostrils and eased her fears. Picking up her uneasiness, she brewed her tea, which she fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time.

“All will be well, my child. Our troubles will vanish and our futures will be clearer than the waters in the God’s Eye”

That night Aemond didn’t come. That night belonged only to Alys’ and her little lady. To taste in the seclusion of the chamber what would be theirs for the rest of their lives.

The next morning, grey clouds hovered over Harrenhal, the breeze carrying the smell of rain mixed with sulphur. The high pitched dragon cries echoed in the mountains around the keep, alerting of the approaching danger. Aemond emerged from the tower, a vision of black and gold in his armour, his sword hanging from his belt and a cloak with the three headed golden dragon in his back.

First he bid Alys farewell. She whispered secret words in his ear; whatever she said, it made him set his jaw and tighten his fist around the hilt of the sword. Then he moved onto his wife. He had shown himself warmer and more loving since Alys’ intervention, blissfully unaware of his wife’s feelings. He cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her like never before, humming against the softness of her sweet lips. She fitted his helmet over his head, tucking the silvery white braid away. The first drops fell from the clouds, and he unfastened his cloak to wrap around her shoulders, providing warmth and safety.

“I shall see you at the end” He murmured the words against her hairline, placing a tender kiss upon her brow.

And with that Vhagar rose to the skies with a deafening screech, the flapping of her leathery wings sending gushes of warm wind around Harrenhal’s dilapidated towers, the empty halls and vast chambers echoing with eerie wails that forewarned the battle to unfold. On the opposite side of the God’s Eye, Caraxes appeared as well, high pitched roars and puffs of smoke sent as a warning, his misshapen body cut over the greying clouds. Once more, dragon against dragon would clash in the sky, and tears would be shed in the wake of their fire.

Any witness would assume Aemond had the upper hand, the deformed and younger Blood Wyrm being no match for the considerably larger and more experienced war dragon. But dear Alys’ visions had never failed her, and they wouldn’t betray them now. Nor would the gentle poison she had concocted for the occasion, spread across the wife’s lips just moments before she kissed Aemond farewell, not strong enough to kill, but the right dosage to ensnare the senses and befuddle the mind.

Calm, deliberate steps took her to the top of Kingspyre tower, her path illuminated by the blazing glow of the fire coming in through the windows, the skies tinted in bright hues of red and orange. The wind blew warm and strong as she approached the ledge, ground trembling beneath her feet, reverberated by the clashing of colossal bodies. For a brief moment she feared for her own life when they flew too close to Harrenhal, but the vision had been precise and showed no threat to her life.

Her hands rested on the stone, ancient dust sticking to the sweat of her palms; heartbeat quickened in anticipation. As predicted, in perfect synchronisation, both dragons widened their jaws. Caraxes pierced Vhagar’s throat, while she tore his wing to shreds and slashed his belly open. Both beasts spiralled downwards, locked onto one another. From afar she couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if a small, black blur fell from Caraxes’ back. Whatever it was, it was soon obscured by the spray of water that rose from the Eye as both dragons sank, the gout as tall as the tower she stood in. When the lake finally settled, all that marked the spot of such a great battle were bubbles and steam rising to the surface, and then silence. A silence like never before had existed.

She remained rooted, hands on the stone, eyes fixed on the middle of the lake until the last bubbles popped under the raindrops. She did not move from her lookout post. Not even as the rain fell stronger, droplets hitting her skin like icicles, aiding into the ruined shell of the freshly grieving widow she pretended to be.

A knight came to her, nervous and apologetic, calling her attention with a sharp clearing of the throat. She looked up, rapidly blinking away unexisting tears, and dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Composed but frail. Dignified even in the face of loss. He waited for any sort of acknowledgement, and when none came, decided to speak.

“We share your sorrow, my Lady, and our thoughts are with you. This has washed ashore, and we thought you may want it” The soldier’s voice did little to sway her, and she didn't even grace him with a look.

The heavy, loaded silence between them was broken by the soft tapping of female slippers and the rustle of stiffened skirts. A brief exchange of hushed words later, the knight left the rooftop; she remained silent and still until she could no longer hear the metallic clanking of his armour.

Alys stood by her side, dark curls fluttering freely in the wind. In her pale hands, resting lightly atop the curve of her swollen belly, was Aemond’s helmet, still in pristine condition, not a scratch upon its surface. The older woman stared at it for a few moments before placing it in her hands. It felt final. Like closing a tedious book, or awakening from a bothersome nightmare. The last word in another chapter of history. A chapter written by their own hands.

Alys called her name, moving to stand behind her. A soft kiss pressed at the nape of the neck, slender fingers running down the length of her spine soothingly, making her shiver pleasantly. The smell of sandalwood, lemongrass and honeysuckle engulfed the girl.

“It’s over” Her words tickled her ear “His name will not be called again, and no good thoughts will be evoked upon his memory”

Another kiss behind the ear, hands on her breasts, pulling her flush against her body “I know your thoughts are troubled, my child, but the right thing has been done. His fire burned too strong, and he would have brought the realm to ashes, including you and me”

Her words were soothing. She was right; Alys was always right. Aemond would have been their demise. They did what they had to protect themselves, and protect the realm. A kinslayer could not be trusted; it had been his nephews before, and any day would be his brother and anyone else who stood between the sapphire Prince and the Iron Throne. He had to be stopped.

“My only regret is that he died not knowing it was me. The one he would have never suspected. I would gladly give all my family’s gold for the chance to tell him, even if it meant paying him visit in the Seven Hells where he belongs”

The neckline of her gown was pushed aside, plush lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck towards the collarbone, hands sliding down from her bosom to the hips, digging into her flesh.

“Worry not your little head, my girl. That does not matter anymore. His bones will rest forever at the bottom of the God’s Eye. And whatever you wished to tell him, you will soon be able to pass the message along”

Alys and her cryptic words. She loved to speak in riddles and rhymes, unnerving those who heard them and didn’t know better. She only smiled and nodded.

And then the helmet rolled down.

Her hands remained mid aid, fingers curled around nothing, every muscle tense and trembling. She looked down past them towards the crimson stain growing upon the fabric of her bodice, and the sharp length of blade protruding from between her hips, coated in a red so deep it seemed black, viscous drops falling from the tip onto her husband’s last possession.

The scream died in her lips as the dagger was twisted and dragged upwards, effectively slicing her open like a squeaking boar. But she had not made sound, nothing aside a choked cry of agony as the weapon was brought down again, ensuring the cut along to be neat and thorough

“I truly didn’t want things to end like this, my sweet flower” Same gentle voice and soothing tone, words dripping venom and malice mixed with honey and sugar. Her index traced a slow line from her neck down to the point where the hilt of the dagger was pressed against her back, the carved handle still firmly grasped in her hand

“I truly enjoyed our time together, and you could have been so much more. You have the guile and the guts to match, and your mind is a most resourceful place. You could have achieved greatness, and with my nurturing, no one would have been able to stop you”

Both of her tender, motherly hands placed upon her lower belly, right under the fatal wound. The blood soaked her hands, red on white, and she gasped almost excitedly, basking on the feeling of life spilling on the stone. She did not know how her body was still standing. Perhaps it was the witch’s doing. Dragging on her demise, enjoying the wicked pleasure that came along with having power over someone else’s life.

She made a shushing sound against her ear, tenderly rubbing her abdomen in circles as the first tears finally poured from her eyes.

“I see it all, you see. Everything and more. I have seen what lies ahead of you. Trust me, I am sparing you from a lot of pain and grief”

The edges of the world faded to black, vision narrowing until all she could see was the dagger. That and the puddle of her own blood growing at her feet.

“His blood cannot carry on beyond the confines of Harrenhal. Only this cursed place can halt the strength born of his offspring. But there can be only one”

Her voice sounded distant. The last thing the lady saw was the courtyard, far down but growing closer as her body felt weightless in the air.

“Only one son can be born”

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #alys rivers x reader #aemond x alys x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond one eye

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constellationandcompendium · 4 months

Text

Writeblr Intro

Greetings traveller!

About Me:

She/her approaching 30

PhD graduate working in heritage

British (obsessed with tea)

Also sings and crochets

Enjoys both Star Trek & Star Wars

Occasional NaNoWriMo participant

Fanfic writer of 15 years making the jump into original fiction (find my fandom blog @thetamehistorian)

Happy to take asks / play tag games etc.

Has a habit of designing covers rather than writing

Second attempt at this blog (main blog this time, cha cha real smooth)

Tends To Write / Read

Sci-Fi & Cyberpunk

Urban Fantasy & Fantasy

Historical

Comedy (this suprised me too)

Introducing My WIPS

A crime thriller with a touch of cyberpunk...

Featuring

Man with habit of doing wrong thing for right reason

Best buds to reluctant allies to ‘I would die for you’

That ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this’ meme

Conspiracies and double agents

Lots of angst and hurt (with some comfort)

Wholesome parent / child relationships

Summary

Solaris City has a problem. Whilst the metropolis flourishes, down below in the old mines the Undercity grows wild and dangerous, it’s people cut off from the prosperity above, dreaming of the sun and spreading Haze - an addictive drug.

Elias also has a problem. Working for the Bureau has cleaned his slate but he hasn’t cut all ties with those underground. Now there’s a girl hidden in his flat and something big has been uncovered that has his contacts in a flurry.

With two days to go to a vote on unifying the two halves of the city, and his friend Sebastien caught right in the middle, Elias has a feeling that it'll only take one domino falling for everything to come crashing down.

WIP Tag

First Draft Complete, If Messy (Mind the Plot Holes)

A sci-fi comedy of a ship of misfits...

Featuring

Puns for ship names (and just bad jokes in general)

Captain packing up the ship and all its crew because they can no longer thrive in this household

Overly social parents (please stop inviting my professor over to dinner)

Space worker unions (and aliens)

Learning self-worth and finding strength through working together

Found family

Summary

The United Earth Ship Archimedes patrols the border of charted space. Beyond it - the vast and unexplored reaches of the universe.

It’s an exciting prospect for Aster Kobor, newly graduated from the fleet academy and hoping to make her mark upon the stars. Unfortunately, it only takes a few weeks for Aster to realise that the Archimedes is nicknamed ‘the screw’ for a reason. It’s a ship for the rejects and misfits, those deemed unfit to serve in the frontier ships and command never lets them do anything exciting. Still, Aster is determined to make the best of it and, unbeknownst to her, her meddling Captain is about to give the crew of the Archimedes their chance to show command what they're made of.

Soon a bad reputation is the least of their troubles and, whether the crew like it or not, they’ll have to learn to survive in deep space - where their only certainty is each other.

WIP Tag

Currently Wrangling Vibes Into ~ Characters ~ and ~ Plot ~

A historical novel about determined women, trains, and winning a war…

Featuring

One woman’s obsession with the railways

Code breaking commuters

Breakfasts cooked on a coal shovel

Being accidentally adopted by an elderly fireman and driver duo

Occasional air raid for added ~spice~

Solidarity in the face of adversity and outdated systems

Summary

Bea had always been fascinated by the railways, but her dream of driving one of the locomotives always seemed out of reach. Working the trains is dangerous, dirty, and completely off limits to the fairer sex.

Then the war came and the men went off the fight. Answering the call to help, Bea and her fellow railway volunteers find themselves with an opportunity of a lifetime. Obscured from judging eyes by steam and smoke they shadow the veteran drivers and engineers, learning what they can on the job and hitting the library when they can't.

The trains need to run, they are vital to the war effort. All it would take is one rogue bomb, one mishap to take out a driver and the wheels stop spinning.

Or at least, that's what the station manager thinks.

Currently Doing Research and Initial Planning!

#introductions #wips #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #writer

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toru-oikawas-milkbread · 1 year

Text

Sleepy Cuddles With Diavolo

Pairing: Lord Diavolo x f!reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings/contents: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Notes: I don’t think I really have much to say for this. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, it was so much fun to take his character and make him such a sweet and loving fiancé who’d be on your side no matter what. So, with the thought in mind, I rolled with the idea and 2k words later, here we are! I hope that you guys can enjoy this chapter!

<>~<>~<>

Truth be told, the rumors were getting to you. That you were only with Diavolo because he was someone so important. That you were less interested in him and more his money, his heritage, even his body. For the longest time you laughed them off, but it seemed as the years went on they were only growing more intense.

To battle off the annoyance you felt from the constant rumors, you decided to get a job. Going from a child who had everything handed to her in the Devildom to falling for the young Lord, you’d never so much as needed to think of getting a job to make cash. But now, you simply weren’t in it for the money. Instead you were trying to appeal to the people of the Devildom. You thought that maybe if you showed yourself to the public more, if you were viewed as more than Lord Diavolo’s fiancée, that people would see you as more than a lowly gold digger who’s dried up money drove her to any length possible to continue the lavish life that she’d lived.

So you got a job at one of your favorite restaurants: Hell’s Kitchen. A constantly busy, understaffed restaurant that was always looking for new employees.

Often times you ended up serving your oldest friends; Beelzebub, Belphegor and occasionally the other brothers when they would tag along. After joining the Hell’s Kitchen team, you were surprised at how quickly everybody, even the customers, had welcomed you to what some pessimistically teased you as calling “The lower world.” However, Beel’s words were at the front of your mind when people said such things to you.

“Don’t worry about them. They don’t matter. More people here like you than dislike you.”

After a month now of working daily at Hell’s Kitchen, you’d grown accustomed to the working life; you’d grown fond of the regulars and even made friends with most of your coworkers, as fleeting as some of them may be. After some time, it seemed at the rumors were slowly dying off. That your plan to get people to realize you were in it for the long run with the entirety of the Devildom was working.

However you weren’t ready to leave the place you’d joined almost reluctantly a month ago. You felt like you were at home when you were at Hell’s Kitchen. As much as you missed getting in bed with Diavolo and instead coming home after he was already asleep, you were enjoying the time you spent with other people.

But that didn’t mean that you weren’t sometimes more exhausted than normal when you returned back to the place that you called home with Diavolo. With a yawn, you leaned back into the dining room chair and rubbed your tired eyes. You quickly opened them and sent a smile at Barbatos as he poured you a warm cup of your favorite, sweet smelling tea and set it in front of you.

“Thank you, Barbatos.”

“Of course,” he said politely. “You seem more worn out than usual tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.” You took a sip of your tea and nodded before speaking.

“Today was extremely busy and two people quit yesterday so more tables than normal were left up to me alone.”

“Is that why you had to work more hours?” He inquired as he used a feather duster on the shelf by the window, though he was clearly listening as he worked.

“Yes, that’s why I went in early and stayed late. But I don’t want to complain, I saw Beel and Mammon today as well as a few other regular customers and their families. I got some very generous tips today. I think that I’ll give them to Mammon, he’s always complaining about what he owes in debt, though I have my doubts he’d use this money to settle them and instead he’d most likely buy something that will end up laying on the floor sometime soon.” You added the last bit with a soft laugh.

“Is all of this exhaustion, worth it?” He asked, catching your attention. You sent him a confused frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you don’t mind, it seems as if you’re rather exhausting yourself further than needed for some small rumors.” With a small gasp, you opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it. The air was thick for a moment before a familiar tone broke it.

“Barbatos is right.”

“Young Lord.” Barbatos greeted Diavolo with a smile and a gentle bow.

“Diavolo—“ You spoke, but your fiancé raised a hand to silence you and took the seat across from you.

“You’re beyond exhausted.” Barbatos grabbed another cup and pored Diavolo a cup of steaming tea before he quietly excused himself from the room. “This isn’t the same part-time gig that you told me you were looking for."

“Diavolo, you don’t understand— I’ve invested myself in Hell’s Kitchen. I know the customers, I know the chef’s— I’m one of the only servers left. I can’t leave.”

“I’m not asking you to leave. I’m asking you to take it less seriously.” You frowned lightly and took another sip of your tea.

“I can’t take it less seriously; that’s not how I know how to work. That’s not how I do these things.” Diavolo gave a soft sigh and reached a hand across the table, offering comfort for you that you easily gave into.

“Barbatos is right, my darling. You’re exhausted. You’re working long hours. I permitted this when you were only working a few hours a day to show the people of the Devildom that you weren’t simply using me to get somewhere higher,” you flushed and looked down, unaware that Diavolo had known your plot all along, “However this has gone too far. You’ve more than proven yourself.”

“I should have known that you would see right through me,” you said with a sigh.

“I hear the rumors. I see the way that you slowly started to let it in. You suddenly taking a job at Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t surprising, but I didn’t think that it would go so far.” He stood, keeping ahold of your hand and helping you up out of your chair. “Come now, my love. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let me clean up real quick—“ You started, however Barbatos was quickly behind you gathering the cups.

“You’re going to replace me if you keep cleaning up after yourself,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll handle the cleaning tonight.”

“Thank you, Barbatos,” Diavolo spoke, gently tugging you along to the stairs to head to your shared bedroom. “Come now. Let’s get to bed.” Sighing, you followed the man with no complaint. Things were silent on your way to the bedroom. He opened the door for you, closed it behind himself, and crossed his arms while you sat on the end of the bed. “Be honest with me.” There was no strict guidelines. He knew that there was more on your mind than you were letting on. You had never known that you were so predictable in his eyes.

“I am.”

“There’s things you’re neglecting to tell me. Not hiding, not lying about, but neglecting. I’d like you to be honest with me.”

“Oh Diavolo… why do you have to know me so well.”

“In this moment, I believe that’s your saving grace.” He sent you a gentle smile as he spoke. “My love, what’s going on?” Gently, the man sat beside you on the end of the bed and placed a warm hand on your shoulder. “I just don’t think that you’ve been yourself lately.”

“I have been.” With a sigh, Diavolo stood again.

“One of these days, I’ll get your guard down. For now, come lay with me.” Your fiancé stripped his jacket off, not bothering to put it away like he usually does. Diavolo took his shoes off and pulled the thick comforter back, laying beneath the sheets on the bed and offering an arm for you as you slowly stood up. You gave in, laying on the bed with the man and moving against his side. “How was work today then? You were gone an awfully long time.”

“It was so busy,” you started, though minding your words carefully. You didn’t want to complain; Diavolo had the entirety of the Devildom on his shoulders, you felt wrong complaining about anything to him. Especially since you knew that he would only make you feel listened to and be there for you. It made you feel selfish to think about. “But it was a good day— Beel and Mammon stopped by for a little while near the end of my shift. I had a quick snack with them before they left when it was closing time. A couple regulars came in, some with their family.”

“It sounds like it was quite crowded today.”

“Extremely.”

“Are your feet tired? Would you like me to rub them for you? I can only imagine that it wasn’t very comfortable to be standing and running around all day in your work shoes.”

“I can’t complain too much.”

“You never do.”

“Well— that’s not true. I complain.”

“Very rarely.”

“There’s nothing to complain about.” Diavolo gave a quiet chuckle and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You always say that. You know, even optimists can have rough days that they need to complain about,” you frowned and went to speak, but he quickly cut you off “— maybe complain isn’t the right word. Maybe vent is the appropriate term.”

“I have a good life. I’m happy.”

“Then even happy people can have rough days.”

“I really don’t have anything that deserves to be complained about.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked with a small frown.

“It supposed to mean that you have the entire Devildom looking up to you and Barbatos has the future and the past in his eyes, and he’s constantly working all day long. Lucifer has his brothers that he’s always looking after and Levi and Belphegor are extremely misunderstood and they need help.”

“I see. You feel like your problems are not justifiable. Is that it?”

“No, I just… do we have to keep talking about this?” You frowned., your temper growing short “It’s been a long day and I don’t want to have this conversation.” With another quick kiss to your forehead, Diavolo spoke.

“We can talk about it later.” With a huff, you nuzzled into his shoulder.

“Will you just let it go?”

“Absolutely not.” He spoke the words that you knew you were going to hear, one’s that you already heard in your mind before you even finished your sentence. “Maybe I do have the entire Devildom on my shoulders, but you are my first priority. And if you think that life is stressful for me, you’re incorrect. I love my position. Barbatos knows that when he’s tired, he can take a break. Lucifer loves his brothers. Belphegor is growing closer to his brothers and Levi is warming up to people. Everything is okay with everybody else right now. And if everything with you is not okay, then it won’t be okay until we fix it, and that is okay.”

“I hate that you’re always so encouraging.” A laugh left the man as he rubbed your shoulder.

“No you don’t. You hate that you’re just wrong this time around.” He quickly teased you. “Now, please, promise me that you’ll open up to me soon. It doesn’t have to be tonight, maybe not even tomorrow. Maybe not even a week from now. But you can talk to me. We’re not engaged because we neglect to tell the other what tires us.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” You spoke softly.

“Never.” He spoke in a quiet tone. “Never could you be a burden. Certainly not to me. Now ease your minds of such futile worries and rest your head on me now. Good girl. Get some rest now. I’ll be here for you whenever you’re ready to talk.”

#obey me #obey me x female reader #obey me x female reader fluff #obey me x reader #obey me x reader fluff #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x female reader #obey me diavolo x female reader fluff #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo x reader fluff #obey me imagines #obey me stories #obey me shorts #obey me lord diavolo

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artistmacposts · 2 years

Video

youtube

Ride on CTA Flxible Experimental Bus

#youtube #Chicago #IL #Illinois #Flxible #heritage fleet #Old Look #New Look #Twin Coach #CTA #Chicago Transit Authority #metropolitan transit #Daley Plaza #chicago loop #transit bus #bus #buses #green limousine

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ltwilliammowett · 5 months

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Half time with our calendar and this is the perfect moment to introduce you to a lady who shows the interface of Age of Sail and Age of Steam. She is generally regarded as the start of the Age of Steam and yet she still has both elements. But who am I talking about ? - The HMS Warrior

HMS Warrior

More about her history here:

HMS WARRIOR was built as part of Britain’s response to concerns over France’s maritime ambitions which included the building of LA GLOIRE, a powerful ironclad which was the most advanced warship of its day. WARRIOR was commissioned on 1 August 1861 and at that time unquestionably ruled the seas. Her main guns, engines and boilers were contained within an armoured wrought iron hull and she could be driven by both steam and sail. This combination meant that she could outrun and outgun any ship afloat and she never fired a shot in anger – the classic deterrent.

During the first commission her main role was to lead the Channel Squadron. On 22 November 1864 she paid off for her first major refit at Portsmouth Dockyard during which the ship was comprehensively refurbished. She was also completely re-armed with 7” and 8” muzzle loaded rifled guns. However, in the American Civil War the success of the Monitor was to have a dramatic effect on naval thinking and WARRIOR’s role as ‘Monarch of the Seas’ was to be very short-lived.

She re-commissioned in July 1867 and re-joined the Channel Fleet. The second commission was rather less interesting than the first as she was no longer regarded as the most powerful warship afloat and faded from the limelight. The second commission ended in 1871 and she then spent four years in refit at Portsmouth being fitted with improved boilers, steam power for the forward capstan and a new poop deck to accommodate an Admiral. On completion in 1875 she became part of the First Reserve Fleet where she was to remain until paying at Portsmouth on 31 May 1883.

After periods as a depot ship and part of HMS VERNON she was paid off in 1924. She was then converted for use as a floating oil jetty and in 1929 was towed to Pembroke Dock where she was to remain for the next 50 years. In 1967 the campaign to restore WARRIOR started and prominent in this was Sir John Smith who formed the Manifold Trust. A committee chaired by the Duke of Edinburgh met in 1968 to discuss her future and from this emerged the Maritime Trust. When Pembroke Dock closed in 1978 the Manifold Trust agreed to underwrite the cost of restoration and the ship was handed over to the Maritime Trust in 1979.

In 1983 ownership was transferred to the Ship’s Preservation Trust which became the Warrior Preservation Trust in 1983. Although the hull was very sound the rest of the ship was in a poor state. The task which was part restoration and part re-building needed vast resources not only of money (£8M) but also of skill, patience and endurance. The 8 year restoration programme at Hartlepool transformed her into one of the world’s most important historic warships and in 1987 she returned to Portsmouth where she is now moored in the Historic Dockyard.

A planned preservation programme is in place for the ship and over the years she has been dry-docked twice, and the upper deck, (£725K provided by the Heritage Lottery Fund), all three fighting tops and half moons and the stern gallery have been replaced.

#naval history #naval artifacts #tall ship #hms warrior #1860 #day 11 #age of sail #age of steam #advent calendar

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sitp-recs · 27 days

Note

Do you fics that portray Harry as academic/"book smart" or that are not focused on Harry being a man of action/ physically powerful wizard? I crave a trope reversal :)

Hi anon! Ohhh that’s a great one, I’d love to see more academic/researcher Harry in fic. I got a couple recs for you, you might also enjoy my rec list with odd jobs :)

Forget Our Heritage by dwell_the_brave (T, 16k)

When Harry Potter returns to England to take the All Souls Fellowship Examinations, the last person he expects to see in Oxford is Draco Malfoy. After all these years, has Malfoy truly changed?

Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 30k)

Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.

The Unplottable Time Conundrum by @writcraft (E, 45k)

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska. Years of hard work have culminated in an opportunity to work with an experimental wandmaker to study the intersection of Healing and wand theory. When Draco arrives, he doesn't find the wandmaker, but does find his apprentice, who happens to have ridiculously messy hair, a lightning bolt scar, and a definitely-not-charming smile.

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #academic Harry #smart Harry

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ceapa-mica · 4 months

Text

The First Date 💌 - a Thrawn headcanon

I got so many views for my NSFW alphabet, I couldn't keep myself from writing another Thrawn headcanon! 🤗

This one is SFW, there's no mention of Reader's gender.

When Thrawn tells you he would like to get to know you better and asks if you want to spend the evening with him you agree without having to think twice.

Later you find a box on your bed containing a beautiful dress. Somehow it's exactly the right size and in your favorite color. You never told Thrawn either and are not sure how he could have known.

There are two places where a date with Thrawn could take place. One being his quarters on the Chimera and the other a not very well known city on a backwater planet.

Let's start with the scenario on the Chimera.

Your dress turns some heads on your way to Thrawns quarters. It's not regulation after all and the entire 7th fleet will gossip by the time your date is over.

Thrawn wants his private life to remain private. Unfortunately for you, that means lots of secrecy. He won't share words of love and affection in public, no physical touch beyond what is considered ‘professional’ either. You keep a strictly professional relationship during working hours.

Tbh either way, your relationship will be the biggest open secret aboard.

Thrawn assumed the dress would suit you well, but when he sees you wearing it in the flesh his heart skips a beat.

He ordered the good food, none of this mess hall mush, and a large portion too! It's the best food you've eaten since you joined the Imperial Navy. Along with that a bottle of fine Alderaanian wine he kept for special occassions - the expensive one!

Thrawn is suave af, and sincerely interested in you. When he said he wanted to get to know you better he meant it.

You are the first human he ever dated. It's a new experience for him and it fascinates him how different it is from dating a Chiss. Humans are just so much more expressive with their emotions. While this could be seen as a weakness by others of his kind, he admires it. He admires you.

You tell him about your life away from duty. Your family, your hobbies, your dreams and aspirations.

When, in return, you ask him about his life he starts talking about art. His favorite artists, art of cultures he admires etc. You're a little bit disappointed he leaves questions about his family and general heritage unanswered and skillfully turns the conversation back to your interests or his interest in art and warfare.

This is your first date, what did you expect? Thrawn has a mysterious aura for a reason. For him to tell you about his home you need to establish a relationship first.

It was a pleasant evening. He insists on taking you back to your quarters.

When you arrive at your door and make sure it's just the two of you, he leans in for a sweet kiss.

His lips are softer than you imagined. He tastes like the dinner you just ate and like something that's so distinctively him.

Being so close to him, you notice for the first time that under the scent of standard issue Imperial soap™ and aftershave lies his very own musky scent. He smells different from humans, somehow crisp like a winter breeze.

That moment of closeness passed too quickly for your liking. You wish each other a good night and he leaves you alone in your quarters.

Let's say you won't be able to sleep for a while, his kiss being the only thing on your mind for the rest of the night and the days after.

Now let's look at the other option - going out with Thrawn - a date away from the Chimera.

You meet at a small shuttle at the Chimera’s hangar. You notice it's the first time you see him unaccompanied by his death troopers outside his office.

You blink in astonishment at his attire. Instead of his pristine white Imperial uniform he wears a black civilian suit without the chest candy indicating his rank.

He refuses to tell you where he wants to take you. It's a surprise, but a welcome one.

The city he visits with you is only a short hyperspace travel away. The planet is relatively unknown, but it's rich with culture.

Before you leave the shuttle he takes out a pair of green shaded sunglasses. It takes everything in you not to laugh at his appearance.

He explains that he wears it for safety reasons. Leaving the safety of his fleet puts a target on his back, and being seen in public with you puts one on your back as well.

He takes you to a picturesque part of town to a small restaurant where you sit in a dimly lit corner.

You chat about basically everything I have already named above.

The food served in the restaurant is exotic, unlike anything you've ever tried before. You and Thrawn choose anything that sounds delicious from the menu. The food is better than anything the kitchen droids on the Chimera could ever cook.

Thrawn tells you he heard of this place’s excellent cuisine last time he visited the planet incognito to attend an art exhibition.

Slow jizz music plays in the background and it feels like time has stopped completely, at this moment it's just the two of you, you've only got eyes for each other. (He took off his shades since the corner where you eat is quite secluded) Thrawn feels the same and it intrigues him.

You're a little tipsy from the wine by the time you leave the restaurant. The date night is far from over though.

He takes you to a historic building that houses an art gallery.

It's the middle of the night, but Thrawn notified the owner, who he knows due to his past visits, and they let you in. You have the entire gallery for yourself with no prying eyes.

He explains different art styles and points out details you wouldn't have noticed without him.

You eventually come across a painting by an artist you've never heard of. You love the style, the image itself and how the colors compliment each other. It speaks to you in a way you can't explain.

Of course Thrawn knows all about said painting and answers all your questions.

You wonder why he has become a Grand Admiral and not an art critic.

You tell him how much you appreciate spending time with him. For once not occupied with destroying rebel cells, you get a glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade.

Your words mean so much to him. There's a romantic tension in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Once the chance presents itself, he pulls you into a dark corner behind one of the large curtains, your faces are close, his gaze wanders from your lips to your eyes for consent.

As soon as you nod, his warm soft lips are on yours, the kiss gentle, but it quickly turns passionate as he deepens it, his tongue begging for entrance.

His hands start roaming your body. It feels like he's everywhere all at once, his unique scent surrounding you and his taste on your tongue. He's respectful though, keeping his hands away from intimate areas. It's your first date and you're still in public, remember?

During your little makeout session you lose your sense of time.

Tbh you wish this moment would never end.

Once you separate for air, he caresses your cheek. For a fleeting moment there is a softness in his scarlet eyes you've never seen before.

From that moment on he calls you 'ch’eo ch’acah' when you're alone with him. You don't know what it means at first. One day he will tell you, and it might be just the first of many Cheunh phrases you will learn from him. (it means 'my darling/beloved')

The evening went by way too fast for your liking. You both agree though that you enjoyed yourselves and want to go on another date in the future.

You return to the Chimera and he drops you off at your quarters before heading to his own.

You don't know where this blossoming relationship is going, but it definitely feels right.

Please keep in mind that Thrawn keeps your relationship secret to keep you safe from harm. Only at the point where your relationship is serious enough (like engagement) will he admit to it to others.

One more thing: A few days after your first date in the city you receive a package. It contains an exact replica of the painting you liked so much. It comes without a note, but you don't need one to know that your feelings for the Grand Admiral are in no way unrequited.

Let's visit a Thrawn relationship headcanon next time! This was only the first date.

Feel free to add to this headcanon! ❤️

#grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn fanfiction #mitth'raw'nuruodo #blue man hot #star wars rebels #ahsoka series #star wars

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