#Dragon age reality shifting

[cottenbee]

Seeing my former DR-self as the Hero of Ferelden while I’m currently the Inquisitor:

[zartthefart]

Anyone wanna be shifting moots?

I haven't shifted as of yet but i have been trying for about 4 years (i say 'trying' but in reality it's more like i have been thinking about it and not actively trying). Things have happened and i really wanna lock in and shift for real. Wherever you're shifting doesn't bother me 🤙 But where I'm planning on going is mainly:

- My Hero Academia (College instead of a highschool)

- The Maze Runner

- Julie And The Phantoms

- Dragon Age

- Ghosts CBS

- Stranger Things

- Ikemen Revolution

- X-Men

[scribeofmorpheus]

Dragon Age Veilguard: Love, Wisdom and Pride

A very long Dragon Age post!

Warnings for: Veilguard Spoilers, Solavellan spoilers.

Okay, so I will preface this by saying that this ‘analysis’ primarily focuses on Solas’ arc; both romanced and unromanced. It isn’t intended to be a romanticised analysis, though it is very much enamoured with how a romanced Solas and his relationship with Lavellan foils (and informs my reading/reception of) that of Solas and Mythal’s relationship in Veilguard. There is a relationship I will address that I feel does parallel Solas and Mythal! Scroll down to “Reading Between the Lines” if you wanna skip my little intro below. Spoilers follow.

Truth be told, I wasn’t ever expecting much in terms of actually getting a sequel to Inquisition. The game dev market went through a tumultuous reshuffle before the remake madness breathed life back into many studios. Bioware game sequels (Mass Effect Andromeda) were underwhelming and not as fleshed out since the EA acquisition. I absolutely believe Bioware would have been shunted had Mass Effect Legendary Edition not been so successful. EA’s reputation was always lacklustre and underhanded, but laying off or losing several head writers attached to Bioware with almost two decades of work under their belts was the biggest red flag. Trevor Morris not being asked to return in exchange for a ‘bigger name’ was also a grave warning that returning to the atmosphere, ambience and world of Thedas that we knew was getting further and further away from a plausible reality. And on top of that, there’s the fact Solas was never intended as a romance interest during early development of Inquisition.

Solavellan seemed doomed!

Despite this, I still held out hope for a sequel, but I feared we’d always be in permanent Solavellan/developmental hell. Heck, I’m still waiting for a Beyond Good and Evil sequel—the game released in 2003! So, actually witnessing people play Veilguard, seeing reactions to it, seeing memes and gifs and essay pieces (like this one), it’s like my community has awoken again, and I never thought I’d see the day. Yet I am not blind to the fact we were robbed of so much potential. I knew thing’s wouldn’t live up to re-emerging expectations when Dragon Age: Dreadwolf was rebranded to Veilguard—the shift seemed to imply less of a primary focus on Solas (and apparently, according to the artbook, the early concept art proves this implication correct).

Things seemed even more dire when the devs revealed there was no tapestry mechanic. I had only one hope: that with the Inquisitor’s confirmed return, we’d get at least some form of catharsis for our Inquisitors (Lavellans and otherwise), if we couldn’t get the conclusions to so many storylines present in each of our worldstates. My main fear was that they’d go the clichéd Ultimate Sacrifice route (which happens anyway, but in a way that makes thematic sense given the stakes and heavily blighted worldstate).

Suffice it to say, there was a lot of evidence that Veilguard would disappoint me in the end. But it hasn’t. It hasn’t lived up to the many expectations and marks of excellence that the Dragon Age world built itself into with the first three entries, that’s for sure, but I am also just so deprived of conclusions, of endings (whether it be because TV doesn’t exist in a sustainable format anymore or that comicbook movies are made with a sequel in mind, never letting anything just “Exit Stage Left” gracefully; or the fact we live in a regurgitating content cycle with late-stage-capitalism where anything remotely profitable gets turned into a caricature of itself: Squid Game, Star Wars, etc.). The cycle is so exhaustive that I am actually at a point where I can say I am content with the ending we were given (on a Solas/Solavellan front), Veilguard gave me relief, and beautiful, achy pain to boot. Though I would absolutely be disappointed by both the "non-romanced Solas" endings, given that Solas winds up either "dying alone, forever" or turns to Tyranny.

Now onto the actual review of that Solavellan ending, Mythal and themes of Love!

Note: I have only gotten the ‘best’ ending in my first playthrough, but I also thought the consequences of not maxing factions would be more… dire? Another note, pls, if your romanced Inky swore to stop Solas, how does that ending differ, if at all? Let me know, I’m dying here!

Sidenote: I’m working on writing another review about my views on the ‘sanitised’ worldstate, the new companions (and why I think Varric was the wrong choice to have as an advisor in the game, given that the Inquisitor or Morrigan would have been more impactful; and not to mention that Cole or Briala should have been companions), removal of the tapestry and what it means for the future of stories in Thedas (The Story We Lost is such a poignant compilation of the sheer volumes of lost lore and depth that I honestly think I won’t go as in-depth on that review as this one), and why I think Veilguard is my final entry into Dragon Age.

Reading Between the Lines: What Pride Hath Wrought

One thing is for sure, Trick Weekes flourishes when writing within the ambiguities and complexities of meaning. This makes every word uttered by Solas so great to dissect, he's a god of lies not because he 'lies' but because he's so careful with how he phrases things, what he holds back, and what he reveals.

For instance, the famous Trespasser exchange where Solas mocks his own follies with sarcasm by saying:

“What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf Take you.”

Then a softer, more saddened and beaten-down Lavellan replies:

“And so he did.”

This irks him. Because he then realises in that moment that he absolutely did take advantage, but for some reason he frames it around sex rather than power because that’s easier to address than the latter. And he rejects the notion, even though he brought up the expression he knows to mean nothing close to a sexual inuendo for being ‘taken’, and yet he has the gall to try and derail the conversation by pivoting and saying:

“I would not lay with you under false pretences.”

When I first had this dialogue exchange, I was baffled, because did this mean that there was another meaning to ‘Dread Wolf take you’ that Dalish clans lost through the years, or was it more of a self-deprecating joke Solas had with himself because he, the Dread Wolf, romanced (took) a Dalish Inquisitor (away from her people’s beliefs, histories, past), and he found irony in the saying?

On the surface, “wouldn’t lay with you under false pretences” could simply mean “we didn’t sleep together” or “we did sleep together, but I wasn’t taking advantage as the Dread Wolf, I was simply Solas in your presence”. But I have recently thought of a more… ambiguous reading.  Lay could have been used in a milder, more vulnerable way; to mean to be at peace, to be completely vulnerable, as if to sleep. In that sense, the phrasing becomes: “I could not be at peace with you because I was living a half-truth”.

I absolutely think the moment he feels he is truly beyond hope is when we see his expression of abject horror as Lavellan shouts: “I would have had you trust me!”. He realises then that he did fuck up, he did take the choice away from her because he thought he knew better, him and his pride led to a decision that hurt someone close to him, and he could finally see how wrong he was, how alike the entire situation became to Mythal’s treatment of him. Especially if Lavellan asks to go with him. Because he can see that despite the hurt, the lies and the betrayal on his part, Lavellan still wishing to join him draws too close to his first regret: following Mythal.

Whether he likes it or not, Solas’ love which could burn like a bonfire was directed at a powerful woman—a Herald, an Inquisitor—and inspite of her greatness of character, it still shaped her into someone willing to follow him on his dinanshiral out of love, much like he left the Fade and took physical form for Mythal. So now whenever I hear Lavellan shout “Var lath vir suledin”, Solas replying with “I wish it could, Vhenan,” changes drastically with the Mythal reveal, knowing he always walks away from the Inquisitor in Trespasser.

“I wish it could, Vhenan” sounds heavily like: “You would regret me, as I regret Mythal, and I cannot bear for that to happen us.” More poetically, it could read as: “I wish our love could overcome a duty that has lasted an incomprehensible amount of time, I wish I could change my nature, but then I’d be twisted into a demon, like the spirit of Wisdom in the Dales; and yet again, I would become your regret.” These two readings are very, very romantic. Realistically, given what we know of his kinship with Felassan, and how they were comrades and friends for centuries (“A story unfinished. His back turned!”), and given what we know of the complexity of Mythal’s will that presides over the creation of his very being, and yet he was still able to muster the strength to kill a fragment of her to fulfil his mission,  “I wish it could” was most probably a lament: “Do not ask me to hurt one of the two women I’ve loved on this journey, because if it ever came to it…” he would.

Knowing what I know of Solas, of how he was able to convince himself that Varric’s death (avoidable as it was) was just another necessary step, that it was just another sacrifice, another loss that would be worth something only if he completed his ritual, I have no doubt that Solas would also be able to rationalise hurting Lavellan (which is why in his mind, turning away from her, breaking her heart, leaving with no explanation and aiding her in Trespasser so she could live whatever few years remained in “relative peace” is actually an act of preserving that love). I partially think the reason he reveals the truth in Trespasser (especially for a romanced Lavellan) is in the hopes his ‘truths’ will push her away. But on a deeper note, I think he also thinks of it as some twisted form of repaying her for loving him to the point that he could have almost forgotten what it was to be the Dread Wolf, to just be with her as Solas, that night at Crestwood. Maybe his harsh truths would push her to the point where she’d give up her love for Solas, now that she knew he was the Dread Wolf, freeing her from the shackles of their love. He’s very self-flagellating, all about self-sacrifice for the ultimate goal, the ends always justify the means, he will endure any pain and punishment as long as Arlathan returns in the end.

What is his love of a mortal compared to the despair and loss of an entire empire? Solas views himself as selfish for falling for her, and that nearly broke him, if he was selfish enough to leave the dream of Arlathan behind for her, what would that do to his spirit then?

In his way of thinking, perhaps telling the Inquisitor the truth is a way out, a rationale they can use to justify stopping him or to make it easier to hate him as the Dread Wolf rather than love him as Solas (someone he hasn’t been in so long).

‘Masking’ as the Dread Wolf

During Trespasser, the Inquisitor has every right to despise Solas after all they’ve learned, and I think he half reveals the truth as a tactic so the Inquisitor can have an excuse to hate him, to be driven to anger and have less pull over his choices, once they learn the truth. Solas is particularly skilled at making other’s play the role that makes his own choices seem inevitable, he orchestrates a lot of events to play out in a manner where it's easier for him to talk himself into bringing down the veil.

He goads Elgar’nan to anger easily. He inspires the spirits to fight for him to the death as a necessary distraction during the war. He absolutely allows the Inquisitor to speak to him one last time so he can offer insight, yes, but also so he can easily frame his actions as just and inevitable. But, Oh boy does he get in for a shock if the Inquisitor shows empathy towards him, it scares him because he’s become accustomed to being seen only as the Dread Wolf. To be understood? That gives way to remorse. And remorse gives way to doubt. And he cannot doubt his purpose, twisted as it is, it is all he has left of his former self. Without it he would most likely change into something different. Someone he doesn’t recognise.

This fear intensifies more so if a romanced Lavellan asks to go with him, and in that case, he takes command and distances himself away (rejecting the help of someone close to him; the chance for a possible betrayal; the chance at another Felassan or Mythal [x]; the chance to twist Lavellan outside of her purpose, in this case, the purpose would be love/empathy) but not without showing remorse at having sacrificed yet another relationship for his crusade.

“Ir abelas.”

Sorrow for what cannot be is at the heart of why the Solavellan romance is so powerful, especially because even though both Solas and Lavellan love each other passionately, love alone cannot be enough when faced with regrets. Love would ultimately be stifled. Corrupted into something else over time. And so, for Solas, having loved and lost tragically is better than having loved and corrupted.

He will not do to Lavellan what was done to him, even if it is her choice, because she knows so little, her naivete cannot close the distance of a millenia’s old sea, and it would hurt him immensely to take advantage of her kind heart [x].

By leaving, he keeps her heart pure. And the yearning! Knowing the love is there, but on its own it cannot be invulnerable to corruption, so it is better to lose it than twist it. Ugh! Him leaving Lavellan is the ultimate show of love! IT IS A WISE DECISION. A rare glimpse into pure wisdom. Which is why he kneels beside Lavellan in Trespasser, he does not “Stand Tall” in the face of Wisdom’s heart. He kneels beside her. And when he stands tall again, he is Solas once more, filled with regret, and once through the eluvian, he returns to masking as the Dread Wolf.

Sidenote: It’s especially confounding that Veilguard allows Rook to push the Inquisitor to save or stop him after you’ve reached act 2 despite your world state choice (I think this was done in case they feared the Inquisitor wouldn’t stand by Solas after everything he was revealed to be responsible for in Veilguard, however it doesn’t work because the Inquisitor wasn’t an advisor, Rook never told them what they learned from the wolf statues, so having a stranger hold the ability to make Lavellan keep her promise or not rings hollow). Personally, I wish the Inquisitor’s presence had more weight in the non-Solavellan endings, too. I wish the Inquisitor could end up being the last friend/former love that Solas destroys (if you don’t collect the wolf statues) which then prompts Rook to fight him because Solas’ last tie to empathy failed to redeem him, that the Inquisitor falling is the last straw and Solas snaps, choosing to be a villain in the hopes of being stopped because he can’t stop himself, and not the ‘I am a God’ ending they gave us. Same for if your Inquisitor vows to stop him. I also wish the Inquisitor was the one to do the wolf statue missions. Would have been a nice secondary protagonist mission like the switching perspectives between Kratos and Atreus in GOW: Ragnarök (the old guard and the new; Inquisitor and Rook). I would have loved if they dedicated more dialogue to Inquisition days too, which is why I think Cole should have been a companion (if he wasn’t recruited, he could simply be a compassion spirit that ‘follows’ the greatest pain in the Fade that yearns to be healed, giving a compassionate viewpoint to Solas’ folly; recruited Spirit Cole could have a greater connection to Solas than even Varric, seeing as Cole was most likely a literal representation of Solas rewriting his own history by preventing a spirit from becoming too ‘real’; Human Cole would have a deeper connection to the world of Thedas, and could have been a great tool to prove how change was inevitable, not always a bad thing, and inevitably out of even Solas’ control. But alas, we live with what we are given! Even Imshael could have served in this role! Spirit/Demon of choice and it wasn’t incorporated into the game that supposedly asks you to make the greatest world-changing choice ever; redeem the Dread Wolf or end the age of the Evanuris entirely?!

Now onto the next segment: I want to talk about Solas’ regrets and how I read the ‘love story’ between Solas and Mythal, and why Lavellan (and what she represented) wasn’t enough to get through to him (and that’s a very believable thing, that’s what makes their love both tragic and epic!).

The High Price of Redemption

A romanced Lavellan has the most agency to see through his guises, if she resolves to save him, but even she cannot undo the shackles that still bind him to Mythal—the binds that twisted Wisdom so far from its purpose it became Pride, even when he burned (Mythal) from his face. (Likewise, A close friend Inquisitor who promises to save him is most likely a parallel to Felassan, again, they cannot undo the shackles of regret either.) I fully believe the vallaslin had a deeper magic than simply marking one as being committed/devoted to an Evanuris, I think it linked them magically, and since Solas was the first to burn the vallaslin away, he probably wasn’t as good at severing the link on himself as he was for other elvhen, so maybe a part of Mythal’s will still lingers in him, twisting him to Pride still.

In Veilguard’s final confrontation, I love the intention of showing how Lavellan approaches Solas slowly, as she doesn’t know who she’ll be faced with up those steps, Dread Wolf or Solas. But when she speaks to him, trying to get him to change his mind yet again, forgiving him for his wrongs, we are reassured that Wisdom hasn’t been completely consumed by Pride despite everything we’ve witnessed in the game because he bows his head at her in reverence as he apologises.

He shows humility towards her. He elevates her and her enduring love as worthy of his respect, but he does not consider himself worthy of hers. Thus, Lavellan pries open the door to acceptance but his heart is still not enough. Which is why love alone cannot turn the tide. He’s too broken to accept it. He doesn’t think he deserves it, so the only way out is through; to continue the ritual, to prove he was right. The shackles persist. Varric’s death weighs on his conscience now more than ever. Possibly members of Rook’s team too if they died on his crusade. But he is vulnerable enough for Morrigan to approach, and now Rook can use Mythal’s essence to make the final push. The only way he could be with Lavellan, the only way he could atone for the past and shed the weight of his armour (his crushing duty to the Elvhenan) is as Wisdom, fully restored, unbound by mistakes.

“Ar lasa mala revas.” He could only find absolution once Mythal (the angered and more brash essence of Mythal, the one unchanged by Flemeth and all the human women’s lives she’s been shaped by, but the closest iteration to that of Mythal in Arlathan, the version that he perceives as having every right to be angry at him for turning his back on her, for not going that last final stretch with her and subsequently, not being by her side when she died) severed the final connection: facing his regrets, showing humility and apologizing, while not taking away the blame but sharing it.

What is Benevolence without Wisdom if not Hubris?

We know Elgar’nan was twisted to Tyranny during the war, and I saw a post somewhere where someone wondered what led to his corruption, and what he was before (leadership/command). Likewise, Mythal was not above corruption.

So far, I’ve seen a lot of takes on Solas’ ties to Mythal, the power dynamic of being a student/disciple enamoured (could be romantic) with the benevolence of Mythal, but not how Mythal’s purpose was possibly also twisted towards hubris the moment she asked Wisdom to turn physical and build weapons from its knowledge, twisting it to Pride. Without Elgar’nan’s tyranny to rally against after the war with the Titans, Mythal would most likely turn a similar route, seeing her ruling as “necessary” for the people: “If not me then who?”. And that is a very short stop and quick drop to “I am your all-powerful ruler, I liberated you, and only I can guide the way”. Benevolence twisted by hubris can easily turn to Tyranny too, only one more subtle, a kind of cultish indoctrination compared to violent subjugation. If Solas had not turned his back on Mythal when she chose to be Evanuris (a god over her people) then they most likely would have made the worst (best) pair in the Evanuris. Pride is the Seventh Deadliest Sin. But imagine Pride next to Godhood?! That is frightening. So, when Solas burns the vallaslin, walks away and works against the Evanuris, I believe that he also inadvertently stops Mythal from becoming a corrupted version of herself. The sorrow at having lost her closest confidant and “love” grounds her, keeps her saintly in Solas’ mind, and in some ways, perhaps saves the Elvhen empire from a worse fate than him erecting the veil to begin with. But neither of them ever consider this. And I think that sort of self-blindness perfectly encapsulates how flawed both Mythal and Solas are. Now onto love.

Solas and Mythal – a Love too complex to simply classify as mortal ‘Love’.

There’s no doubt Mythal and Solas shared a deep bond, one that definitely had love in it, when we hear Mythal calling him ‘love’, without the possessive ‘my’ in front of it, it’s easy to misconstrue what type of love they share. A small nitpick, but like a thorn, it applies sometimes just enough pressure to change a perspective. Not calling Solas “My love” but instead choosing to simply use “love” works within those wonderful ambiguities/complexities that Weekes thrives in.

If one started out as a spirit, it’s safe to say concepts like familial bonds, romantic bonds, and blood ties mean little to nothing. There is no one type of love and there is every kind of love all at once. It is only once physical bodies are introduced, that physical touch, the ability to stab someone in the back, to kiss out of affection, to hug out of empathy, to strike out of anger, that love now becomes this twisted thing too. There are no spirits of love because spirits always possessed love, but there are demons of Desire (Gluttony) and of Rage (love denied).

I believe, from DGL’s acting skills, his soft whisper, his almost submissive smallness in the breadth of Mythal’s already soft voice, that Solas was in love with Mythal, devoted as a student, beguiled by her benevolence, content even in her shadow, and possibly star-struck. He was in love with someone who doesn’t have the possibility to love him back the same, it is not in her nature to love those beneath her in the same intensity that those who look up to her do. It’s like a priest being in love with God. The priest can devote themselves, sacrifice everything, but a God will always love their flock equally, but they can still play favourites.

Benevolence cannot be enamoured with Wisdom because to be truly benevolent they must possess Wisdom but there is also Pride to be had in walking beside benevolence, but they can never be on equal footing. Likewise, Solas’ love is not reciprocated entirely by Mythal, but she does love him back in her own way. While Mythal is definetly Solas’ first love, layered and complex, it is also strangled by regrets and twisted by uneven scales of power. It would never be a nurturing love, only a consuming kind.

When he speaks of Mythal during the Solavellan ending, he calls her his “oldest friend”, much like what Mythal says, (paraphrasing) “would you have me be angry at my oldest companion whose experienced so much with me”. Because friendship is perhaps the easiest way to describe their companionship. They went through many iterations, one certainly holding romantic tensions (specifically from younger Solas), but ultimately, with that much time shared, kinship/friendship becomes the easiest to surmise. You can love your friends, fall in love with them, fall out of love with them, only to love them again, be disappointed in them, etc.

Media today is flushed with romance as a linchpin for driving a hero to make dire choices, and that has warped our perception of how a platonic/non-romance-based relationship can be all-consuming, and sometimes more impassioned than strict romance. But, to make it easier for people to understand Solas’ motivations, it's easier to see their love in the light Taash sees it (an unreliable, somewhat “still juvenile” narrator, in that they are still growing into themselves and their culture and the world): “They were doing it”.

However, Bellara, a companion whose entire companion story is linked to her strong, deeply character-driving relationship with her brother (platonic love) refutes that reading by saying (paraphrasing here): “We don’t know if their ‘love’ is the same type of love we tend to think of in a masculine and feminine relationship.”

Felassan’s letter after the Mythal Dragon fight alludes to Solas having been in love with Mythal, but nothing about how she felt. This is why I consider the Solas/Mythal relationship to be more of a one-sided romantic love, but a requited ‘love’ relationship for them both.  

A parallel I find so compelling: Solas and Mythal vs Briala and Celene. Solas and Briala both hold deep emotions for people in great power with the ability to end a tyrannical cycle of subjugation, enslavement and classism, yet for both of these ruler’s charisma and well-meaning intent, they often are swayed to side with tyranny. For Mythal, that was Elgarnan, the Evanuris who made all the other’s worse tyrants; as well as her own hubris for believing her presence alone could dampen the ravenous hunger for power that the rest of the Evanuris held at the small prospect of leading the Elvhen in a time of confusion (being a North Star is hard when all the other lights around you aim to blind the flock into submission). For Celene, this is more about the nuances of retaining favour, pull and power over other noble families, their backing (be it financial, political or simply cut-throat), and their support so she can be the ‘lesser of two evils’ compared to Gaspard’s warmongering personality and Florianne simply being a puppet with no backbone. Both Briala and Solas are turned to pawns despite their immense strength and compassion for their respective elven plights; Briala is rendered a fangless lion (for lack of a better metaphor) if she is reunited with Celene, whereas if she is chosen to puppet Gaspard, there’s every likelihood her story could parallel a ‘power-mad’ Solas if he’d been tethered to Rage (at betrayal) and not Regret (at having not rejected Mythal when she asked him to take a physical body) throughout his tenure as the Dread Wolf.

Solas and Lavellan – a Heart that was never intended to be Given/Taken

Now I will compare the lack of possessives in front of Mythal’s “love” to Solas declaring Lavellan as ‘Vhenan�� and then ‘Ar lath, ma Vhenan’ vs ‘Ar lath ma vhenan'; again, the coma is the thorn, the pause that shapes the quiet unsaid things we can deduce. In the Trespasser cutscene DGL puts the pause after “Ar lath”, even though the subtitles construct the sentence with Vhenan as a proper noun since it’s a nickname often used by Solas: “Ar lath ma, Vhenan”. But I believe Solas actually says “Ar lath, ma Vhenan”.

With “Ar lath, ma Vhenan” the stressor is after the pause, so the line reads: “I love [you], my heart.” And with “Ar lath ma, Vhenan” it makes even less structural sense but can be inferred to mean: “I love you, Heart”.  

The possessiveness of “My” is what definitively differentiates the love Solas feels for Lavellan as one more of the romantic side, it is a love of yearning and desire and a wish to have one last good thing that is pure and incorruptible. The one thing he had left to give. His heart. But that does not mean his heart is enough! The rest of him is still bound to the love of Mythal that was twisted through the ages. That changed him. And given how Pride often comes before a fall, I absolutely understand why Solas is actually very brash and ill-considering when he’s romancing Lavellan (“The kiss was ill-considered”/”It would be kinder in the long run”/”I wanted to show you what you mean to me”). He's on a precarious cliff during Inquisition. His first plan failed. He's allowed ancient elvhen magic to fall into a blighted Tevinter magister's hands. Literally everything the Inquisition did could have been for nought if the Mark had fallen to the wrong person. Things could have easily fallen apart for Solas too, so why not indulge in something trifling and fleeting? Execpt it wasn't trifling. Nor was it fleeting. And when he saw that the fall could potentially not happen, that the Inquisitor could do it, save Thedas and retrieve the orb, he was struck by the gravity of his brashness, of letting impulses control him instead of acting according to a plan. But it was too late. They'd both fallen for each other.

Solas didn’t expect to form entanglements within the Inquisition. He was committed. He was angry at the world, “walking through a sea of tranquil”, called flat-ear by the Dalish that later chased him from their village when he proved he was the Dread Wolf. He was despised by people who looked like him. Spirits were constantly being abused and turned into demons. People erected monuments to heroes who slew demons. Mages were caged. Elves were subjugated. The empire fell. Humans razed the lands with their wars and petty squabbles of succession. The darkspawn tainted the land. The dwarves would never dream. Solas awoke to the worst possible fate; in his eyes, it was all his fault.

So when he kisses Lavellan in the Fade, impulsively, he isn’t kissing her there because it is less ‘real’ than if they kissed while she was awake, it makes it so much more real. He’s kissing her in the space where he is most himself. Where he can shed the body he was forced to build and trap himself within, the body of Pride. He is acting on the impulses of an enlivened Wisdom spirit that does not consider tomorrow, for the first time in a long time. It isn’t a long game with Lavellan, like so much of his life has been about always thinking to the future, always considering the outcome, machinating, scheming, the wiles and woes of every trickster god in mythology. It’s being in the moment with her that is all-consuming. It lowers his guard, leaves him vulnerable, and when she enquires about the Fade or spirits or histories, he gets to be useful as pure Wisdom again.

Lavellan challenging him when he first shows animosity or irritation towards the Dalish (a prideful act), and then him being taken aback when she explains that maybe the Dalish could be shown another way (making him consider her words, being given a morsel of wisdom back, reminding him of his old self), these are all small moments where Solas can begin to see springs of hope in the broken world. And that’s terrifying. It means he’s destroying not just himself, but the memory of Mythal and Arlathan too, all for the love of a woman who fell for an apostate.

The best, most genuine unmasking of Solas for me is during Wicked Hearts, when he’s tipsy on wine, has no inhibitions, and revels in the intrigue, the gossip, the dancing, the music (something we now know is important enough to have an entire music room in the Lighthouse), the sex! He is at his most relaxed, and then he asks Lavellan to dance, not caring about how it would look for the “Inquisitor’s serving man, Solas” to be intimate in a fucking Orlesian palace with the Herald of Andraste, right after stopping an assassination attempt! He finds comfort in the world of Thedas at that moment. Something he rarely shows so outright.

When he takes Lavellan to Crestwood to confess, I believe removing her vallaslin wasn’t entirely just for her, it wasn’t just to free her from slave markings or to simply reveal a form of a truth he wanted to tell her, it was to resolve himself of what his first purpose was supposed to be, what she distracted him from. Removing the vallaslin had been something he’d done for the slaves of Arlathan, it was what earned him the mantle of Dread Wolf. When he removes Lavellan’s vallaslin, he resets.

Thedas cannot allow Wisdom to truly exist without fear of corruption to Pride, Thedas the world he was responsible for shaping, literally the Maker of the Veil, and he falls for a woman Heralded as Andraste’s Chosen One, Mythal’s incarnation in the South. The irony. The cruel, cruel irony. The Inquisition is tied to his past, every Andrastian he meets, every Dalish person with vallaslin on their face, every slave or city elf. Tevinter worshiping the dragons that still have the essences of the Old Gods. His heart alone cannot withstand all of the punishing, gruelling, oppressive weight that is Thedas. Even for Lavellan. So he frames their romance as this tragic, short-lived tale that was beautiful but ultimately destined to end. He expects it to pass for her, she’s mortal after all. But he also leaves his heart with her, literally giving her power over the last uncorrupted part of himself. Think Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann at the end of World’s End, but metaphorically. He gives her his heart to safe keep as he goes on a journey that could corrupt a heart, turn it cold and bitter, destroy it.   

Ar lasa mala revas. You are free.

He frees his heart.

Lets it go.

Twice!

So only once he is relinquished of his regrets, once Mythal does the same for him, only then is there “Nothing left except their love”. Because Lavellan still held his heart there was still something left after. Something beyond despair and regret and loss. He had given his heart to her to safekeep. And she did. Lavellan returns his heart to him when he is freed. What Mythal had to break so Solas could heal right again (like a bone), Lavellan casts a splint around so it can be set and heal properly. This is the difference between Mythal’s love and Lavellan’s. Both Mythal’s love and forgiveness broke him, but Lavellan’s love gives him the strength to Stand Tall one last time.

Solas, before Pride alone, as Wisdom (perhaps Solas always meant both Standing Tall and Wisdom, for Wisdom can grant one pride to stand tall for what they believe in), finds contentment with the rare and marvellous spirit that endured (his Vhenan). Wisdom endured because of humanity, something benevolence is beyond.

Bellanaris

When Lavellan offers to go with him, to continue on the dinanshiral that she already considers herself a part of, Solas is legitimately taken aback. His expression is soft yet full of disbelief and awe. He actually stops walking a few frames before Lavellan says this, as if hoping Lavellan would say something to him!

And then she basically proposes to him! “Bellanaris!” I absolutely adore the fact that Lavellan promises them eternity. A vow as sacred as a death right, as protected as an ancient, elvhen, undisturbed burial ground in the face of Orlesian colonialisation. They endured and now they will have an eternity. For once, we have an elvish tale that is not a curse, it is a love story with reunion at its core, where both elves reclaim something precious that was denied them.

Lastly, i am absolutely frothing at the mouth that Solas and Lavellan primarily speak in elvish! And even more feral at the fact Solas does not try to talk her out of joining him (because this sweet talker very well could!). He simply tells her where he is going is terrible. And she shuts that shit down immediately. No repeat of Trespasser. She's standing beside him, the South has all but fallen, whatever ties yet survive are strained, and she has fought the good fight for 8 years. I think the Inquisitor was about ready to leave Thedas behind.

The last decisions Solas makes are of his own volition. Entering the Fade for atonement. Stepping into the Fade with Lavellan (It was confirmed by Weekes that Lavellan’s presence in the Fade prison would fundamentally change it in a way we haven’t seen!). Thanking Rook for giving him one last shot at getting happiness. All his own!

This is the look of a man finally reunited with his wife! So much emotion in ONE frame. God! There’s never been a character like him. A love story like theirs! I’m so happy I got to see this ending. Full circle!

P.S. If you read this far, woah nelly! That’s crayyzeee, so here are some more great pieces: Why it was important for Lavellan to kneel for Solas as he knelt for her in Trespasser in the Solavellan ending [x], and here’s a great deep-dive on Solas as a spirit of Wisdom [x].

[curawrites]

Healing

Hiccup x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, no happy ending

Note: rewatched Race to the Edge and got obsessed and wanted to write angst 💚

Ever since the beginning you and Hiccup had been friends, best friends.

You had done everything together, you were the weird kids, the ones that never fit in, the ones that worked the forge during the nightly dragon attacks.

Being so close together had the adults in your life asking when the wedding would be. It had always made Hiccup chuckle uncomfortably while you stood beside him bashfully with pink ears.

You had really hoped that would be your future. It was childish to think but you were only a teen who thought things would never change.

Inevitably things did change. It happened so fast, one night you and Hiccup were handling the forge together as usual and then suddenly he was training to fight dragons.

You watched him get consumed with his training and whatever he was doing in the woods. You were completely unaware of the injured nightfury your best friend was training.

You were shocked when it was revealed that Hiccup had tamed such a dragon and that he knew where the dragon nest was.

Watching him get disowned hurt, you knew how much he wanted to prove himself to his father. You wanted to go after him, to comfort him like you had always done but you couldn’t and you knew you shouldn’t when Astrid was by his side. You knew how much the boy liked her, and even though it hurt you, you let them have their moment.

You watched as Hiccup had more moments with the other teens, helping them train the dragons, bonding with them. You were glad that he was finally fitting in.

His happiness brought you joy and at that age that’s all that mattered to you even if it meant being left behind.

You hadn’t been there to watch him become a hero but when the tribe came back you felt it. All of Berk was talking about his and Toothless’s sacrifice. In that moment you felt even more admiration for the boy.

You tried to be by Hiccup’s side when he was out, but it was difficult trying to squeeze in some time when five others also wanted to see him.

You felt a shift as soon as he woke up. When he was surrounded by the residents of Berk. When Astrid gave him a kiss and his gang rejoiced over his recovery.

You knew then that he would never be the same, he was no longer you Hiccup.

As the years passed you sunk into the shadows, watching Hiccup live his best life with his friends, riding dragons, going on adventures and exploring.

You yearned to be apart of them, for Hiccup to talk to you again, and help you train a dragon and bring you into the gang. But it never happened, he was to consumed with his new life to notice who he left behind.

When he left for the edge at 18 that’s when you realized your prior friendship was never going to be rekindled. The reality hit you hard, it was jarring. It made you truly process the grief of losing your best friend.

It made your spiral into a dark place, a void of black tar that wouldn’t let you go no matter how hard you tried to claw your way out. Eventually you let the tar consume you, let yourself believe in all of the horrible things you thought about yourself.

Months were spent rotting in your hut, crying, refusing to look at yourself in a mirror, and sleeping all day.

Once the sadness faded away all you felt was rage. How could he just forget you? You had been by his side for 15 years for Thor’s sake! How dare he abandon you to be with the “cool” kids!

Your rage fuelled you to better yourself out of spite. So you began training, releasing all of the anger and hurt with every strike of your sword against your opponent’s.

You learned a lot about yourself during that period of time. You couldn’t handle an axe or a bow but you were sure damn good with a spear and swords, you learned to be resilient and strong, you gained more intellect and strategy. It rebuilt a lot of your confidence and your self esteem.

After a while you began getting bored, you had fought pretty much everyone you could on Berk and you felt caged, you didn’t like being confined to the small island anymore.

So you left. By boat. In the opposite direction Hiccup had left for the edge, and began exploring.

You knew that at some point you would need your own dragon if you wanted to continue exploring, travelling by boat was becoming very inconvenient.

An opportunity came up a couple of months into your exploration journey. A particular village had kept being pestered and ransacked by a rowdy monstrous nightmare.

So you agreed to help the village get rid of it by trying to train it. How hard could it be right? Just throw some fish at it and put your hand out and bam! Tamed dragon!

Oh how wrong you were. The process was rough to say the least, the monstrous nightmare had refused the fish and smacked you out of its sight. So you tried to gradually invade it personal space, and it worked for a few days. Until you pushed your luck and tried to rush the process, earning you a deep long gash, starting at your mid thigh up to a four inches under your arm.

The wound was gushing blood, and you were losing your consciousness fast. You thought this was the end, it was honestly humiliating. You inhaled what you thought was your last breath and closed your eyes.

Eventually you woke up to a blinding light. Was this Valhalla? As your vision cleared you recognized the inside of the village’s huts and sighed. You were glad you were alive, as you sat up you hissed in pain. You shut your eyes tightly and clutched your bandaged side as you inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Suddenly you were nudged to lay back down. You opened your eyes, expecting to see one of the villagers but you were met with the guilty face of the monstrous nightmare.

It was a very inconvenient way to train a dragon but hey you managed. Now you had a very rowdy, loving and protective, royal blue monstrous nightmare by your side.

You named her Azule and as a repayment for your stay with the village healer you have the village your boat. Not like you really needed it anymore.

With that you resumed exploring and helping villages out with dragon problems. Thankfully these went much more successfully than the first.

While you weren’t fighting dragon hunters like some people, you still made some friends and acquaintances, and more importantly you had fun.

You felt alive again. Soaring the sky’s and camping out with your new companion brought you a new kind of happiness and fulfillment.

As fun as it was eventually it was time to return to Berk. You had spent a wonderful year where you had grown and gained new experiences and knowledge. You learned to overcome hard times, how to build relationships, how to work with others, and most importantly you learned how to be content with yourself.

You had left Berk as a hurt, reckless, immature girl but you returned as a healed and mature woman.

After being gone for so long, you knew your hut needed some much needed fixing. You didn’t want your home to remind you of your dark times, you wanted a fresh slate.

You got rid of practically everything and got new furniture.You made room for Azule, giving her, her own bed and little space in your hut. You repaired what needed to be fixed after a year of neglect and added some add ons as well. Outside you added a clothes line, a hammock, a sitting area, and a feeding station for Azule.

You decorated your home with tapestries, crystals and other knickknacks you got on your adventures. You transformed your space into the ultimate comfort.

You were finally content. Even a little happy. You had moved on, and felt like you were finally on the right path.

Hiccup and his friends eventually came back from the edge.

You had lived your separate lives and you continued to, your paths never crossing again.

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

ENJOY THE SILENCE

Lazy mornings with honkai and genshin boys (fem!reader x Diluc, fem!reader x Dan Heng) a bit suggestive in Dan Heng's part GENERAL MASTERLIST

DILUC

Your lover, Diluc Ragnvindr was without a doubt hardworking and responsible man. Running biggest winery in the industry, protecting Mondstadt at nights and still working full-time job as a bartender, he gave you plenty reasons to be proud of him. Unfortunately, his lifestyle came with many downsides, sleep deprivation and shortage of free time he could spend with you being one of them, so when you found your handsome boyfriend lying next to you in bed, you couldn't stop yourself from admiring him, for once so peaceful, so relaxed. You felt like it was ages since he could sleep in like that.

His voluminous hair tickled your nose, he smelled both manly and sweetly at the same time, scent of cecilias he cultivated in his garden mixed with leather and smoke, reminder of dangerous activities he indulged in at night. You shifted closer to him, inhaling this familiar smell. His eyes opened, morning light enhanced golden tones in his hues. When he met your gaze it felt like all the warmth in them poured into your soul, lightening it up like sunlight itself, taking your breath away.

Diluc smiled at you lazily, leaning to kiss you. He tasted like promise of adventure, but his strong arms were like a safe harbor, grounding you and sheltering from all harm.

"I hope I didn't wake you up" you giggled. "You deserve a good rest for once Diluc."

"Don't worry, even if you did, I'd rather enjoy your company then sleep my love. Compared to reality with you every dream is dull." he whispered gently stroking your hair.

You laid your head down on his muscular chest, happy to cuddle your big, strong, loving man for the rest of the morning.

DAN HENG

Your beloved dragon came off as cold and emotionally detached to most people, his reserved nature forged in solitude he lived in for most of this lifetime successfully scared most people off. Yet, there was other side to him, born from isolation he suffered in Xianzhounian prison as well. Hunger for life and experiences he was devoid off for so long, overwhelming need to be free and feed his senses with all things this wast universe can offer, things he knew only from books.

Dan Heng was used to relying on himself, never given a chance to ask for too much or express his emotions freely, so when he was alone with you he tried his best to not seem needy, but it was obvious just how much he craved to be close to you.

He always kissed you a bit too greedily, as if it was the last time he can taste something so sweet, and he never pulled away first. When he caressed your body his fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks on your fragile skin. Claiming you as his mate. He was touch-starved to the point of pain, skin to skin contact was so foreign to him it almost burned but he couldn't get enough. It was never enough.

Today you and your boyfriend woke up earlier than the rest of the crew. Before going back to your duties in the archieves you decided to take a quick shower together. Dan Heng looked stunning with water dripping down his perfect body, you couldn't take your eyes off his broad chest. He was more comfortable than usually, tracing marks on your skin with his fingertips.

Water washed away your mixed scent from your bodies when your hands massaged shampoo in his scalp. Dan Heng always made sure he does his share of work, both as Astral Express archivist and as your lover. It was a habit of his from time he first escaped from Xianzhou. He used to work for refuge and food in various places, justifying his existence with usefulness. Therefore you were not surprised when he returned the favor soon after you washed his hair.

" Why won't you let me spoil you sometimes?" you asked.

"You spoil me all the time." he calmly spoke up. "You give me all your love and help me become something more than a shadow of my past life by giving me another great reason to live here and now instead of dwelling on my nightmares. I merely return the favor."

Your cheeks flushed.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to earn my kindness each time." you explained, biting your lip. His hands rubbing your head slowed down a bit.

"Don't worry about that. I like doing things for you, that's my way of showing that I care about you." he sighed. "You keep on telling me I need to learn how to receive affection, but aren't you the same as me?"

You didn't say anything back, instead you just let go and let his hands get lower to massage the knots out of your back, your muscles relaxing under his tender touch.

[neve-rook-datv]

The Trouble Within - Neve Gallus’ personal notes - Part 1

Disclaimer : This story is inspired by fan critiques and discussions regarding the romance dynamics in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, particularly around the evolution of Neve’s relationship with Rook. Many fans felt some frustration with Neve’s hesitance to fully engage in the romance with Rook, and her reserved demeanor. This piece explores why Neve seems to keep her distance despite the intensity of her feelings and reimagines her interactions with Lucanis, whose light-hearted flirtation serves here as a facade to mask her true emotions toward Rook.

Arlathan Forest is a place that almost feels alive—ancient, watchful. The trees arch overhead, their leaves filtering the light into hues of deep green, amber, and burnt red. The ground is blanketed with fallen leaves that shift in color as the sun moves, and the air is thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp wood. It’s hauntingly beautiful, yet there’s a weight to the silence here, as if the forest is holding its breath, waiting.

And then there’s her.

Rook moves ahead of me, weaving through the trees with an ease that feels almost unnatural, like she belongs here in a way I don’t. The dappled light catches on her face, illuminating her profile in vibrant, natural hues, casting shadows that shift across her skin as she steps in and out of patches of sunlight. I find myself watching the way the colors dance around her, highlighting the quiet strength in her posture, the relaxed yet sharp way she holds herself.

Something about the way she walks—confident, steady, each step deliberate yet unhurried—makes it impossible to look away. Hints of amber and evergreen seem to cling to her, as if the forest itself recognizes her presence, drawn to her as much as… well, as much as I am.

I don’t know when this pull began. At first, I told myself it was curiosity, a fleeting interest in her reckless nature, in the way she throws herself into danger without hesitation. But now, watching her in this light, the forest colors framing her like some figure from an ancient tale, I feel something deeper—something I dare not name.

She turns, catching my gaze, and there’s that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Something on your mind?” she teases, breaking the silence and pulling me back to reality.

I force a laugh, a quick, dismissive sound to mask the way my chest tightens. “Just keeping an eye out. No harm in staying vigilant.” But the truth is, I’m mesmerized. The word Trouble slips through my mind again, and it feels like a warning—to her, to me. She’s trouble in every way, and yet… I can’t bring myself to look away.

The deeper we move into the forest, the darker and richer the light becomes, casting Rook in a way that feels almost deliberate, as though the forest itself is revealing something hidden in her. There’s a quiet strength in her gaze, a softness I rarely see, and each time she steps into a beam of light, she seems to command the world around her without even trying. I don’t think she realizes the effect she has on me, the way her presence keeps me unsteady, questioning everything I thought I knew.

Calling her Trouble feels like my last line of defense, the only way I have left to protect myself. It’s a label that’s meant to keep her at arm’s length, to remind me not to get too close. But as that barrier slips, I feel something inside me begin to unravel, like a cord stretched too tight, finally giving way. I can’t stop myself from looking her way, each glance feeding a pull I don’t fully understand, one that unsettles and captivates me all at once. The way she moves, how the light wraps around her, draws me in deeper, makes her seem almost otherworldly, untouchable. And yet, in these moments, I feel closer to her than I’d ever let myself admit.

Lucanis keeps things light, and I remind myself that’s all I need. His flirtations are easy, harmless—a game that lets me forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment. With him, there’s no need to dig deep or question anything; we can laugh, exchange glances, play at something that never asks for more. It’s uncomplicated, a distraction that feels almost safe in its simplicity.

But even as I tell myself that’s enough, I can’t help feeling a pull toward something beyond that ease, something that makes my heart race in a way Lucanis never could. And that’s when I feel her presence, like a quiet tension at the edges of my thoughts, impossible to ignore. And I… I am left to watch, caught between the fear of what this means and the thrill of simply being near her.

I wanted to keep things simple, to call her Trouble and pretend that’s all she is—a distraction, an annoyance. But standing here in the heart of Arlathan, surrounded by ancient colors and silent trees, I can feel my resolve slipping, the walls I’ve built crumbling with each glance, each step.

She doesn’t know, of course. How could she? She’s focused on the path ahead, oblivious to the chaos she’s causing in my mind. But as the reds and greens cast their final light on her face, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing this battle—that “Trouble” is no longer a warning, but a confession.

Edit: Wording, phrasing, flow.

[bullet-prooflove]

Final Words: Kayce Dutton

Tagging: @kmc1989 @midnightheat @queenslandlover-93 @littledreamer9211 @spooky-librarian-ghost @atomic-art-dragon @sleepystoner326 @themarvelousmaks

Nobody talks about the year that Lee went missing.

Kayce doesn’t even know about it until he finds the stack of journals tucked away underneath a broken floorboard he’s trying to fix. The damn thing has been creaking ever since he moved into this place and it’s starting to drive him just a little crazy. When he pulls up the panel he doesn’t expect to see the collection of black Moleskine notebooks, each one thick with dust. It’s when he pulls out the first one and starts flicking through the yellowed pages that he realises that they belong to his deceased brother. He had no idea that Lee kept a journal, that he had since he was sixteen years old.

He spends the next couple of hours sat in front of the fire with a glass of bourbon, reading through them in chronological order. The first one is about normal school shit, he describes the pretty girl who sits in front of him in Lit, how she lent him a pen when he forgot his own. They end up being partners in Biology and over the next few months Kayce reads about how his brother falls in love with Anna-May, how he promised to marry her one day.

It's insight into his brother he had absolutely no clue about. There’s was ten year age gap between him and Lee. Whilst he was secretly applying to colleges, Kayce was ten years old making up songs about each of the horses in the stables, trying to figure out what words rhymed with sugarcube.

It all turns to shit when Lee announces he’s going to Berkley. He details the conversation between him and their father, the refusal to pay the tuition. Lee couldn’t apply for financial aid because of their circumstances so his dream was dead in the water before it even had a chance to get off the ground. He helps Anna-May pack her things and sends her off to California alone while he takes his rightful place at the Yellowstone.

It’s for the best, he writes, it’s not fair to put the burden of the ranch on Jamie and Kayce.

It’s a six months later that their mom dies in a riding accident and Lee accidently causes a wildfire that takes out a couple of pastures on the Eastern side of the farm.

I can’t stand this numbness anymore, it feels like I can barely breathe anymore. I need to see her.

He takes off to California a week later, in a truck stolen from the ranch. He drives it all the way up to Berkley, where he wants for Anna-May outside of her dorm. When she finally lays eyes on her, he doesn’t get out of the truck because she’s with another man, his arm slung over her shoulders as he whispers sweet nothings in her ear.

I told her to move on, Lee writes. I just didn’t realise how much it would hurt when she did.

He doesn’t come home after that, he spends the next year travelling from state to state, picking up seasonal work, he’s been in Maine for three months, chopping wood when his father finally catches up with him.

In that moment I realised there was nothing for me but that ranch, my future had been set in stone from the minute I was born, what was the point in trying to fight it anymore?

It breaks Kayce’s heart because he can feel Lee’s exhaustion emanating through the pages. His brother takes the brand that night as punishment for abandoning his responsibilities. The acknowledgement of his failure is seared upon his skin, the same way it had been upon Kayce’s.

It’s three in the morning when he finally gets to the last one, the mood starts to shift, the tone changing. Anna-May had stepped back into Lee’s life and it was like his entire world had erupted into colour again, it’s only then that Kayce realises how depressed his brother had been throughout the years. He’d hidden it well on the surface but the reality of it is etched into each of these journals.

It's when he gets to the final pages of the one he’s reading that the sonogram falls out into Kayce’s lap, his breath catches in his throat as his gaze lingers on the last few words that Lee ever wrote.

 It’s become clearer over the past couple of days that we can’t stay here at the ranch. I see the way that my father is with Tate and I know he’s already being prepared for a role he has no awareness of. I don’t want that for my son, I don’t want that for Kayce’s son. I want them both to have the choices we didn’t, to live the way they want, to be the people they want to be.

It's then that Kayce sees the truth about Lee, the weight that sat on his shoulders, day in and day out, suffocating him. It’s the same one that sits on his own because Kayce, he thought this is what Lee would have wanted, someone to take up the role, to fulfil that legacy. He’s been killing himself to trying to honor a dead man’s wishes only to discover those weren’t his wishes at all, they were those of his father, the man that’s currently grooming his son to be the next in line for the throne.

It's that night that Kayce packs his bags.

He’s leaving Yellowstone and he’s taking his son with him.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[justmymindandstuff]

Bounded by fire and love - Helaena Targaryen x Aegon II Targaryen (18+MDNI; smut)

This is a sequel to bounded by fire and pain but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: Aegon has tried to be a good brother. He knows he hasn't always been successful. Now the day he had feared has come, his wedding day. He must marry his sister and do his duty. Now he will drag her into his dark abyss with him. But Helaena surprises him with her desire and he manages to find comfort in her arms.

Warnings: age up characters, hurt/ comfort, self-hate, thinking about suicide (briefly), dark!, angst, family issues, Aegon is a product of family issues, Alicent is a bad mum but she tries, , drinking, sexual trauma, blood (briefly), marriage night, loss of virginity, insecure Helaena, incecure Aegon, sibling incest (obvious), p in v sex, oral (f), fingering, innocent/virging Helaena, innocence kink, pet names (?idn Aegon calls Helaena good girl once), smut, 18+, MDNI!

Words: 10.066

A/N: My Helaegon brainrot starts as a joke, but guys its not a joke anymore. I can´t stop thinking about them and the crumbs the show gives us doesn´t help.

English is not my first language// Gif not mine// AO3 // This turned out much darker than I originally intended.

I will write Dragons and Roses 03 over the next few days I promise (and there will be a part 04 bc I have no self control)

Since the fateful night at Driftmarkt, something has shifted in Aegon. Since that night, he is trying to do better. He tries to be a good brother.

He is no longer mean to Aemond and Heleana. Aegon even took Aemond to the brothel at his 13 nameday. Just like his father had done with him. Viserys had said that this is a Targaryen men tradition. Aemond was angry, but Aegon tried. He also has learned to listen to his sister. Her riddles still confuse him, but he knows that he can make her happy with a new insect, and he even tried to learn something about the little crawlers. But the book that the teacher had given him was so boring that he gave up after two chapters. He prefers to listen to Helaena as she explains why certain beetles cannot fly while others can. He tries to remember as much as possible. He is really trying.

But Aegon likes it best when all three fly on their dragons together. Sunfyre's back is his only source of happiness. Experiencing this happiness with his siblings gives Aegon strength. For hours the three dragons fly over the Crownlands.

However, there has been no time for that in the last weeks. The last few weeks have been filled with wedding preparations. Every day Aegon escapes from the Keep. He wants to avoid reality. He spends his days with Sunfyre, and every time he takes his golden dragon to the skies, he thinks for a moment about flying away. But Aegon comes back every afternoon. One bath and a cup of wine later, he has usually disappeared from the Keep again. He spends his nights with drinking, gambling and prostitutes.

But he cannot run away from reality. When his mother waits for him in his chambers three days before the wedding, holding his elaborate embroidered weddingshirt Aegon feels unwell.

"Mother I don't want to get married," he says but tries on his wedding outfit without complaining. The tailors bustle around him, and one accidentally pricks his skin with a needle. Aegon flinches but bites his lip to suppress a curse.

"It must be," Alicent replies, smoothing the embroidered fabric over her chest before taking a step back and looking at her eldest son. Aegon cannot read her facial expressions. He has never been good at that. How is he supposed to recognize emotions when he can't even sort out his own feelings?

"Why?" he asks defiantly. A thousand times he had asked this question and never received an answer. Now his mother sighs.

"Leave us alone." she commands and all the tailors, pages, and servants leave Aegon's chambers. The feeling of relief only lasts a moment.

His mother moves through his rooms as if they were her own. She goes to the table and first pours herself a cup of wine, and then Aegon. Aegon takes a few steps towards her, takes the cup, and waits so she finally answers his question. Aegon knows that Helaena did not ask for this wedding either. This is all his mothers doing.

"You want to protect your sister, right?"

"Of course." but why doesn't his mother understand that Helaena needs to be protected from him?

"Do you know who is her alternative?" she sounds exhausted.

Aegon didn't even know that there was an alternative. But everyone is better than him. Maybe he could arrange for that other man to marry Heleana in his place? He can smuggle her out of the Keep and bringt her to the man who she deserves. Bring her to a better man. He shakes his head and is already making plans on how he can get Heleana out of the Keep.

"Jacaerys Velaryon."

Aegon's plan is falling apart like a house of cards. He would never allow that his sister have to marry that bastard. All his defiance and anger towards his mother dissipate, and Aegon lets himself fall weakly into the next chair.

"Oh."

His mother doesn't punish him at all. She doesn't punish Helaena either. Alicent protects Helaena.

"Yes. Oh. And even if it weren't Jacaerys, it would be some other Lord who takes her away from us. Do you want that? Do you want to say goodbye to your sister?"

"No," he replies softly. His mother is right. He hadn't looked at it that way before. Aegon sighs and concedes defeat. "I will marry her," he whispers.

Alicent sighs, approaches him and sets down her untouched cup. Her hand caresses gently over his cheek. Her lips are twisted into a sad smile. "You don´t have a choice in this."

Her words should perhaps provide comfort, but they only drain all strength out of Aegon and ensure that he drowns himself even deeper in wine by evening. Only after he has vented all his frustration on one of the prostitutes and is back in his chambers he can cry. He lies on the softest bed linens in all of Westeros, surrounded by expensive food and fine wine, his clothes feel soft against his skin, made from the finest material, surrounded by jewelry and every luxury someone can imagine, yet he smells like a beggar, is as powerless as a small child, and feels as broken as a dead man. Aegon closes his eyes. He wishes he could just disappear, sinking into his mattress as if he had never existed. That would be better. Then all the suffering he has caused would not exist either. Helaena could then be free from him. Perhaps Mother would then marry her to Aemond instead of the Strongbastard.

Aemond. His little brother Aemond. Aegon opens his eyes again, tears streaming from them into the pillows. Aemond wouldn't make it without him. The stubborn, headstrong, disciplined Aemond. Aegon can hardly help but laugh at the thought. Aemond wouldn't know what fun is without him. He would throw himself into his training, obsessed with being a warrior and a scholar. An impossible task. Aegon knows that Aemond does all these things to distract from the fact that he is broken. Aemond is broken in a different way than Aegon. But still broken. He can't leave him alone. His little brother needs him.

Helaena is the only one among them who isn't broken. Helaena is perfect, pure, kind. Helaena is the only one who is good.

And in two days she would be his wife, and he would ruin her. Aegon just manages to turn to the side before he expels the contents of his stomach. It's almost all wine, his esophagus burns from the acidity, and the disgusting taste lingers in his mouth. Aegon would prefer to throw up again, but nothing comes out. He turns onto his back and just stares at the ceiling. When sleep comes Aegon is glad, and just before he loses consciousness he wishes for a second not to wake up again.

**

Aegon chambers are full of servants, pages, tailors, and maids. His brother Aemond sits in an armchair by the fire, looking around with a bored expresion. Aegon know it is his mask. Aemond is already wearing his festive attire, yet he still has steel at his belt around his waist. Aegon has already been bathed and smells of the oils and perfume in which his servants have soaked him in. He is rotting inside. The chaos around him causes a headache, and an uneasy feeling crawls through his stomach. His hands tremble and he longs for a cup of wine. Aegon focuses his gaze on his brother's drumming fingers. On the outside, Aemond appears calm, just like Aegon, but inside he is also tumultuous. Aegon tries not to pay attention to the fact that his chambers have already been rearranged and many of Helaena's belongings were brought in. From this evening on, these will no longer be his chambers but their shared ones, their marital chambers. One of the maids pulls at his hair as she clumsily tries to cut it. Aegon grimaces as his scalp tightens.

"Enough," he says, roughly pushing her away. "Get Helaena. Heleana always cuts my hair," he says. Quickly, the maid curtsies and runs out of the room.

"Our sister will surely prepare for the wedding herself." Aemonds voice comes from the fireplace.

"Probably and she will surely find it lovely when so many people are swirling around her and touching her," he replies grimly. A tailor's apprentice stumbles against a chair while turning, causing a pile of sewing materials to fall to the floor and the chair to scrape against the stone floor with a disgusting noise.

Aegon can't take it anymore and explodes.'"Everyone out of here! I don't want to see anyone anymore who isn't part of my family." he screams and jumps up from the chair. For a second, no one moves, and Aegon tries to calm his heartbeat with heavy breaths. Then the hustle begins again as everyone grabs their things and disappears from Aegon's chambers. Aegon takes two steps and reaches finally for his wine cup. In just a few sips, it's empty, and Aegon pours himself another right away.

"Mother says I should prevent you from drinking today."

"Try to stop me." they both know that Aemond could do that with ease. But hje just shrugs his shoulders.

"Don't worry, not today."

Aegon lowers the cup from his lips and looks at his brother. Aemond's expression is unmoving, but compassion is reflected in his eyes. Aegon does not want his pity, but the fact that it is there calms the fear in his gut just a little bit.

The doors are open again and Helaena steps in. She wears a simple dress made of green silk, yet her hair is already intricately braided and tied back, with a diadem perched on her head. The light catches in the green gemstones. Helaena glances around briefly and then smiles. Aegon is relieved that she is smiling.

"Jen said you want me to cut your hair," she says. Aegon fills his cup with wine once more and then returns to his chair.

"Yes, please." he says and drops himself onto the chair. Helaena takes the scissors and walks over to him.

"She says you were mean." cautiously as always, she begins to cut his hair. Aemond huffs from his spot by the fireplace, which makes Aegon roll his eyes. Helaena remains unruffled. As her hands gently glide over his scalp, Aegon briefly closes his eyes. He rarely allows Helaena to touch him, but in those moments, he wonders why. "Aegon?"

He flinches slightly but then responds. "They annoyed me."

"You should still be nice. They are here on Mother's orders."

"I really tried to stay calm."

"I know. It's all right."

He feels like a little child being scolded by his mother. Only that his mother never explained with gentle words what he had done wrong, she had just screams at him and slaps him. He now he deserves every hit from her.

Helaena sets the scissors aside and gently wipes the loose hairs from Aegon's shirt. His wedding outfit is still lying on the bed. Aegon cannot bear to look at it.

"Thank you," he says and stands up. He is glad that the only mirror he has in his chambers is turned around. He cannot bear to look at himself. "Would you like a cup of wine?" he asks. He knows that Helaena actually has to return to her own chambers.

She nods anyway, and they sit down with Aemond by the fireplace. Quickly Aegon pours wine for Helaena and hands her the cup. He made sure that he always has her favorite type of wine in his chambers. Aegon stares into the fire.

"You both look like you're going to your own funeral." Aemond suddenly says. Aegon and Helaena both look up and then at each other. They look that way because they both feel that way. But then Helaena straightens her shoulders.

"No. I'm doing well," she says then. Aegon doesn't believe her. He takes a sip of his wine to avoid saying anything but Helaena addresses him directly. "Aegon. I am truly doing well. And you?"

He sets down the cup and shrugs his shoulders. The nervous feeling in his stomach is getting worse again. Everything in him screams to run away. But he stays seated and instead starts to play with his fingers. Then he forces a smile onto his face.

"I'm doing well too," he says, managing even to look directly at Helaena. He doesn't know if her smile is genuine.

"Today is not our funeral. Not today. I haven't dreamed of today, and I only dream bad things," says Helaena, and her tone makes him perk up a bit, but the strange feeling disappears right away as he remembers his wine. But before he can take another sip, the doors to his chambers are flung open again. Out of the corner of his eye, Aegon sees Aemond's hand going straight for his sword, and he is ready to jump up but his tense posture disappears immediately when he recognizes their mother.

"I thought you were here, Helaena," Alicent says, sounding relieved. Ser Criston closes the door behind them. Then Alicent's gaze shifts from her daughter to Aegon and the cup of wine in his hand, she grimaces. "Aemond, I asked you to make sure he doesn't drink so much."

"That's his first cup, Mother," Aemond lies, and Aegon sends a silent thank you to the gods for his brother. "We thought we would drink to today's special occasion as siblings."

Alicent nods, "Fine." she agrees. "But Helaena mus get ready now."

Helaena sets down her cup and smiles at her brothers once more. "See you in the Sept." she says. Alicent steps forward and grabs the wine jug from the table before taking Helaena by the hand and leading her to the door. "See you in the Sept" Aegon whispers as Helaena walks past him. His mother stops once more.

"Ser Criston, please make sure that Aegon changes and accompany him to the sept, and remind him that Sunfyre is being guarded by additional guards today," she gives the order before leaving the chambers with Helaena. Aegon sighs, now he has a babysitter too. But at least it's Criston.

"Sit down." Aegon stands up and points to the spot that Helaena has just left. The sworn shield of his mother takes its place. Aegon walks through his chambers and retrieves a new jug of wine from the cupboard. As if he had no reserve. He filles Criston, his brother, and himself a cup and then sits back down in the chair. He would need one more cup of wine before he could put on his wedding attire and make his way to the sept.

Aegon first looks at his brother, then at Criston. He has known this man his whole life, as far back as Aegon can remember, Ser Criston has been his mother's sworn shield.

And as far back as he can remember, he has dutifully carried out her orders. So it is today. He makes sure that Aegon puts on his wedding attire and then takes away the wine so that he doesn't stain the light fabric. The ride in the carriage to the Sept is silent. Aemond rides alongside them on horse back.

Only after Aegon has walked down the long aisle of the great sept, nodded to a few of the Lords and Ladies, and stood next to the Septon at the front, does Ser Criston leave his side and take up his position. Aemond stays next to Aegon, he is glade about his presence. It grounds him. Let him feel less lonley. It takes a moment, but then his mother appears. She smiles when she sees him and nods, then she takes her place next to the king. The Sept becomes quiet. Aegon feels as if he is about to vomit.

Helaena enters the Sept next to her grandfather Otto Hightower. The King felt too weak to walk her down the aisle.

As Helaena steps through the large door, Aegon looks from his brother to the entrance. He has to swallow. Helaena had pinned a delicate veil over her hairstyle, the cream-colored lace cascading down her wedding dress and flowing to the floor. It has the same color as his outfit. They are perfectly matched, as if they belong together. And maybe they do that? Aegon never wanted to admit it, always forbidding himself from even thinking about it,but now he can't help but acknowledge it. Helaena is beautiful. As she gets closer, he realizes that all the people make her uncomfortable. It reveals how she holds onto Otto's hand, her knickles white because of her tight grip. Helaenas gaze shifts restlessly back and forth. But then she looks at Aegon, he is glad that he is smiling at this moment because Helaena also starts smiling. Aegon takes a deep breath and suddenly Otto stands before him, handing over Helaena's hand. Her skin is cold. Aegon carefully pulls back her veil. She is paler than she was an hour ago, yet she bravely keeps a smile on her face.

The Septon begins to speak, but Aegon can hardly understand him. He has a ringing in his ears, he tries to focus on his breathing, but because he can hardly control it, it only makes things worse. Pull yourself together! Breathe in, breathe out. It gets a little better, but it is only the gentle pressure of Helaena's hand that brings him back to the moment. He takes the dagger from the Septon's hand and cuts into his palm, then he hands it to Helaena, and she does the same, grimacing for a brief moment as the blade slices through her skin. When she hands the dagger back to the Septon, her hand trembles. but when Aegon takes her hand, her grip is firm. For a brief moment, Aegon feels her blood running over his hand, but then it mixes with his own and he gets used to it. The Septon binds their joined hands. The only Valyrian part of this wedding ceremony is over, and the Septon is following the script of the Faith of the Seven.

Helaena and Aegon speak the words. They leave a strange feeling on his tongue, but they don't sound wrong. The kiss is nothing more than a slight touch of their lips, and then it’s over. They are married.

He looks at Helaena, she nods and smiles. Then he turns her halfway, and those present begin to clap while the newlyweds walk back down the aisle. Aegon keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. He cannot look at his mother. Outside a carriage is waiting to take them to a banquet at the Red Keep. Aegon is not hungry. And he doesn't want a banquet, he doesn't want to dance. He would prefer to have something to drink.

Aegon chokes down a bit of the food. Helaena, who is sitting next to him at the high table, hardly touches her food too. Alicent instructed the servants not to give Aegon any wine, but Aemond and Cristion always manage to secretly slip him a cup. Aegon thanks all the gods for the two of them.

Speeches are being given and music is played. Aegon dances exactly one song with Helaena before he flees back to his seat and takes a sip of his wine.

He hates it here, finds all of this repulsive. He can hardly stand to stay in this room for another moment. But he pulls himself together and clings to his chair and his wine.

His gaze sweeps across the room. Helaena is talking with her old nanny. A woman long past her fortieth nameday and one of Helaena's confidants. Alicent couldn't bring herself to send her back home when Helaena got older, so she stays at the Keep in Helaenas services.

Aegon looks at his hands, the nail beds are bloody, yet he can't help but keep picking at his skin. To distract himself he looks at his mother to see if her hands are bloody as well. Alicent sits in here seat next to the king, watching the dancing people. Her foot is tapping to the beat of the music. Aegon had heard that his mother, when she was young, had danced for hours on end with his half-sister. But Viserys is old and sick and hasn't danced in a long time. So his mother doesn't dance anymore either.

The thought is not yet fully formed when Aegon is already on his feet and walking over to his mother. He remembers his courtesies and bows slightly before the queen and the king.

"You allow your Grace?" he says to his father, but he looks at his mother while saying it. She looks surprised at his outstretched hand. Viserys laughs briefly beside him and then suppresses a cough before he responds.

"Of course, of course." his voice almost breaks with joy. Alicent reaches for Aegon's hand and allows him to lead her to the dance floor. The other couples respectfully make room and limit their dancing to the sidelines.

Aegon hopes that enough of the hated dance lessons have stuck with him so that he doesn't completely embarrass himself. But his body seems to remember the dance steps. After a moment of uncertainty he manages to lead his mother safely to the music. She shows a radiant smile, tears welling up in her eyes. Aegon is not quite sure, but he hopes that she is happy.

"I don't know if you remember," Alicent begins to speak softly. "But when you were little, we always danced in my chambers. You were standing on my feet. I hummed the melody because we didn't have any musicians. You always laughed so much." she swallows and her smile trembles.

"I remember it." Aegon lies, feeling a lump forming in his throat. For a brief moment, he does not see his mother, the queen, but Lady Alicent, the young girl she once was. Then guilt overwhelms him, because he is the reason she is no longer that young girl. Through him, she has become a mother. He forced her into the role of a mother.

"And now you are married and grown up." she sounds sad, and Aegon doesn't know what to say. His mother sighs softly, but then confidently executes her dance steps with a quick turn. When Aegon can look at her again, she smiles again. "I am glad that Helaena has you as her husband."

Everything in him wants to scream that she is mistaken. Helaena cannot be happy that he is her husband. But Alicent keeps talking.

"I know that you will protect her. You will be good to her. Because you are my little boy and she my little girl." she sobs and can't manage to keep her smile up. "I'm so sorry."

Aegon is glad that the dance is over at this moment because he feels frozen. His throat is dry, but he knows he has to say something. He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what. His head is empty. And after a blink of an eye, his mother put on her perfect smile again and wearing it like a mask. She takes a step back, and as her hand slips out of his, he feels as if she is slipping away from him. I will not fail you. He wants to say it, but it's too late. Alicent smiles and curtsies, then turns around and walks back to her place next to the king. Viserys claps his hands, and immediately everyone turns to him. Aegon is glad about his father for the first time in his life because he still cannot move.

"It's time. We have decided that there will be no bedding ceremony, so we will now bid farewell to the newlyweds here." Viserys hadn't decided anything at all, it was all his mother. She would probably have burned down the Red Keep before she would have allowed strange men to lift Helaena and tear her clothes off her body. Aegon is glad about that. The attention of the people turns to him, Aegon looks around and is relieved that Helaena is already approaching him. He reaches out his hand and she grabs it. This time her hand doesn't tremble, she stands so close to him that he can feel her body heat. The king stands up unsteadily and reaches for his cup. "Let's drink to the prince and the princess. For health and a good and fruitful marriage." The bystanders also raise their cups. "To the prince and the princess." Helaena and Aegon can only stand there and receive the false blessing. No one cares about them. Aegon can hardly stand it any longer and leads Helaena out of the hall.

Aemond, Ser Criston, and two other Kingsguards follow them to his cambers. He closes the door to his chambers behind Helaena and hin and leans his forehead against the wooden door. He takes a few deep breaths.

Aegon knows that Aemond will now withdraw, just like the Kingsguards. Ser Criston would stand by the door. Aegon's skin crawls at the thought that Criston's task tonight goes beyond just keeping watch. Aegon is not sure if Helaena knows that they are being listened to. He doesn't want to tell her. He is not even sure if he is capable of fulfilling his duty.

Despite it he turns to Helaena. She had taken off her hair ornament from which the veil was hanging and placing it on the table. Her gaze wanders to her things that are already here. Skeptically, she furrows her brows as her fingertips glide over the fabric of the veil.

"Nothing has gone broken." says Aegon. That must surely worry her right? He wishes he could read her thoughts. Are they as confused as her words?

"Tomorrow they will bring the rest of my things," says Helaena, turning her head to look at him. "I'm sorry that you have to share your chambers with me now."

Aegon shrugs his shoulders. It had been a decision, his decision. It doesn't bother him. It is not foreign to him to sleep next to Helaena in a bed. Countless nights, the siblings had crawled into each other's beds. On particularly terrible nights, Aegon had even bring it over him to show up at his mother's doorstep. She never rejected him when he stood before her with tear-streaked cheeks, reeking of wine. She would alway pull him into his arms. No one talked about these nights. It is a silent agreement between Alicent and her children. Aegon imagines that it can be nice to never have to sleep alone again.

"I like having you with me," he says, wanting Helaena to not feel guilty for moving into his chambers.

The two of them are standing indecisively in the room. Aegon would prefer to run away. Instead, he goes to the table and reaches for a cup. "Wine?"

"Mother took your wine with her." Aegon goes to one of the dressers and takes out a carafe with Helaena's favorite wine to pour it into the cup.

"If there's one thing that's for sure it's that I always have some wine hidden somewhere." as he hands her the cup, she smiles gratefully. Helaena takes a big sip while Aegon pours himself a drink. He notices that his hands are not trembling. Only after he has drowned his cup does he dare to say what has been swirling in his mind all evening.

"The dress is beautiful." he takes a deep breath. "You look beautiful."

Helaenas eyes widen in surprise and blood rushes to her cheeks, Helaena begins to play with the fabric of her dress. Now in the candlelight, it shimmers more gold, and Aegon has to swallow at the sight.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Is she insecure? Did he unsettle her? Words form on his tongue, but he swallows them down. He stares at Helaena, he knows he should look away but he can't. Forget it. That's just Helaena. His Helaena? He has known her her whole life. She is now his wife. She is now his Helaena. Or maybe she has always been his? Always been a part of him?

"Is it okay if I say that kind of things?" he feels dumb and insecure. A smile appears on Helaena's face. Aegon is sure that it is real.

"Yes, it's okay. I just didn't expect it. You've never said that you think I'm beautiful."

Aegon takes a deep breath. He chooses absolute honesty, only then does he feel like he is not failing. He has always tried to be better than he is. Now he has to be better than he is. For Helaena. He has no other choice.

"I have never thought it. I forbade myself to see you this way years ago. But today I couldn't help it," he explains. Helaena nods and then takes a sip from her cup before pushing it aside.

"I chose the color of the fabric myself, and then Mother had your festive outfit coordinated with it. It was nice to be able to make a decision." Aegon furrows his brows, trying to find the deeper meaning in her words. Is there even one?

"Can you help me take it off?" It's a bit heavy. Or should I call the maids?"

"No, I can help you," he says quickly. When the doors to these chambers are opened once more, he knows that he cannot hold himself back and would run.

Helaena turns around and Aegon begins to untie the laces of the dress at her back. To his surprise, Helaena starts giggling after a moment.

"What is funny?"

"I was just thinking that you've probably done that a few times already." again, she giggles. She doesn't seem to be angry at all that he has already been with other women. Aegon's lips also curl into a smile.

"Yes. I've done this a few times," he admits as he carefully pulls the fabric over the loose strings, causing the dress to slip from Helaena's shoulders. His breath catches for a moment before he forces himself to take a step back. Helaena pulls the dress off her body, the fabric pooling around her feet, and she steps forward out of her shoes and the dress. Aegon suppresses the need to take a step back again.

Under ber dress, Helaena is wearing a silk nightgown. Aegon can't help but stare at her.

"We can talk around it for half the evening now, but you know what still needs to happen for me to truly be your wife."

Aegon flinches slightly at her words. She is clearly braver than he is. He starts fiddling with his hands again.

"You are right," he says softly.

"I don't know what to do." Helaena says, fiddling with the white fabric of her nightgown.

They dressed her up for him, and that's wicked, and it drives him crazy that it works. He forces himself to turn his gaze away from the almost transparent fabric and the curves beneath it.

Aegon thinks about the whores he takes. Always fast and hard, he never looks them in the eyes, they always have bruises when he is done. He looks at Helaena's pale skin, and when he imagines that it is also stained with bruises, he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"I don't know either." Silence spreads before Helaena hesitantly begins to speak. "But you already have done…I mean, I often hear about your visits to the brothel."

Aegon laughs joylessly. "Yes," he answers to her unasked question.

He doesn't even need to ask if Helaena is a maiden. Not only did she grew up  under the watchful eyes of her mother as a princess in the Reed Keep, but she is Helaena, the girl who sometimes can hardly bear it when her mother holds her hand. Helaena in a passionate embrace with a man? Aegon can't even imagine it. And in the next moment, he realizes that he has to do the unimaginable today.

"So you know what we have to do?" her cheeks are flushing and stand in contrast to the radiant white of her nightgown. On top of that, the way she looks at him with her big eyes paints the perfect picture of innocence.

Aegon knows that he will be send into the deepest of the Seven Hells because he cannot suppress the burning desire that this sight awakens in him. He wants to take away her innocence. He is a wicked man.

"What happened in Silk Street and in the brothels are things that you don´t do to your wife."

"Oh."

He glances at her briefly, and this time he is sure that she is insecure. He doesn't want her to feel that way. It is now his task to take that  from her. He will not fail. Aegon briefly closes his eyes to sort his thoughts before he speaks.

"There are two ways we can do this. We can see this whole thing as an obligation. We handle it like a task or we try to find passion and pleasure in it. "

"Pleasure? How?"

Aegon must pull himself together so that his thoughts don't drift off to all the ways that could worship her body. Instead he takes a step closer to her. Aegon hesitates for a moment, then places a hand on her cheek. She does not flinch at his touch.

"I can't explain it. I want to show it to you. May I kiss you?"

Helaena nods slightly, and Aegon leans in further and places his lips on hers. The kiss is only brief, like a test. Aegon doesn't know what he had expected, but not that a pleasant warmth would spread within him. And also not that Helaena follows him when he wants to withdraw. He stops and her lips are already on his again.

This kiss is more passionate than he had expected, and Aegon feels a shiver run through him as she parts her lips for him, allowing his tongue to glide over hers. Breathless, Helaena pulls away from him. She rests her forehead against his, Aegon's thumb caress over her neck.

"Did I do it right?" she asks softly. Aegon feels that the only appropriate reaction would be to sink to his knees and pray to her. Instead, he curses quietly before he answers.

"That was perfect. You are perfect."

He strokes her cheeks and kisses her briefly once more. Helena's hands wander over his clothed chest.

"Can you take that off?" she asks, a slight blush already shimmering over her cheeks. Aegon feels the need to relieve some tension from the situation.

"Should the answer to this question ever be no, please take a dagger and stab me," she giggles softly like he had hope. Aegon begins to unbutton his shirt, but Helaena places her hands on his. They are a little warmer than before.

"May I?"

Aegon nods at her question, and Helaena opens his shirt. Her fingers gently glide over the exposed skin, and a shiver runs through Aegon's body. It tickles slightly, and Aegon can't remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. Gently Helaena strokes his upper body, and Aegon places his hands on her hips. She stops a his chest for a moment they simply stand there breathing in each other's scent. Aego feels calm like he hasn't felt in weeks or was it months?

"Can you let your hair down for me?" Aegon asks into the silence.

Helaena smiles and nods. Then she takes a step back and starts pulling hairpins out of her hairstyle. Aegon's hands lose contact with her hips, and he has to suppress a sigh. While Helaena undoes her braids, she walks back to the table and places her hair clips on it. Aegon pushes his shirt off his shoulders. He runs both hands over his face and takes a deep breath once more. Then he looks over at Helaena. She had already undone almost all of her braids, and her blonde hair was falling over her back. Aegon slowly approaches her. When she undoes the last braid, he places his hands back on her hips and gently pulls her closer to him. She leans into his touch. Aegon stands behind her and gently brushes her blonde hair from her neck and over her shoulder with one hand. Slowly, he leans down and kisses her neck.

Helaena gasps for air, goosebumps rise on her neck.

Aegon is very aware of these two facts, and they send a hot desire racing up his spine. His lips wander up her neck to her earlobe. "I'm not good enough for you," Aegon whispers in her ear. "I am a sick man."

She responds in a heartbeat. "Then I am also a sick woman." Helaene's voice trembles. Aegon needs a moment to understand what she has said. She wants him, desires him. Presumably not in the same twisted way, but in her own way, she desires him. She turns to him, letting her hands wander over his bare arms and shoulders until they rest on his neck.

There is no trace of hesitancy as she speaks. "I want to choose option two. I want to try it with passion and pleasure."

Aegon can no longer resist her. His lips crash onto hers. Helaena presses herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Aegon turns them both around, his lips wandering over her cheeks to her neck. He lightly sucks on the pale skin, and Helaeana lets out a moan.

In this moment, Aegon vows to himself that he will find every spot on her body that makes her make those sounds again. He needs all his willpower to tear himself away from her one last time.

"Helaena you look like a goddess in that nightgown but you have to take it off, otherwise I will have to tear it."

Once again Aegon is relieved that she is giggling. Helaena takes half a step back and reaches for the hem of her nightgown to pull it over her head. The fabric carelessly lands on the floor. Aegon doesn't even try to stop himself from letting his gaze wander over her naked body. Of course, she is perfect for him in every way. Hot disire washs over him, like he never experience before.

"Perfect. You are perfect. Beautiful." he says before even a trace of uncertainty can appear in her. Helaena smiles. Aegon glides her to the side of his bed. As she stands before him, his arms slide to her knee pit, and with a smooth motion, he lifts her onto the bed. Helaena shifts and adjusts a bit on the soft sheets.

This morning, Aegon had observed how the maids had changed the bed sheets with fresh white sheets. Sheets just for this one night. Aegon quickly pushes the thought away. He wants to concentrate on the beautiful, naked woman in his bed now.

He follows Helaena onto the bed. His lips find hers again as he bends over her. Helaena's hands caress his shoulders and Aegon gets goosebumps.

Some of his blood has long since wander down from his brain and he feels his hardness pressing against his pants. The kiss becomes more intense and he lets a little more of his weight sink onto her. Helaena leans towards him and wraps her legs around his waist. The sudden contact makes Aegon moan softly. Helaena rubs herself against him and moans softly into the kiss. Her hands clench and he feels her nails lightly scratching the skin on his shoulders. Aegon suppresses a curse and a groan.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He has to make sure one last time that he is not completely misinterpreting this whole situation. He has to make sure that he is not failing her.

"Yes, I am fine. That feels good." Helaena answers him quietly.

"Yes." he groans. "But you have to stop." She stops moving immediately and takes her legs off him, afraid of doing something wrong, but Aegon continues. "Otherwise I'll come in my pants like a twelve-year-old."

"Is that a bad thing?" she asks innocently and strokes the hair on his neck.

"Well, that would be very embarrassing for me." he grins at her neck and moves a little lower to her breasts. Gently he presses her hips down with one hand to prevent her from unconsciously rub against him again. It turns him on so much that he would probably actually come in his pants. Aegon kisses her breast while his other hand gently strokes the other's nipple. Helaena lays her head back on the pillow and bends towards his hand. Her breathing is rapid and Aegon has never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. He would like to sink his teeth into the pale skin under his lips. He wants to mark her as his, but he suppresses this urge. She is innocent. Don't drag her into your abyss. At least try to keep her away from that abyss for as long as possible.

Instead he pushes his hand along her hips a little further towards her middle. Would she let him touch her there? His hand wanders a little lower and then he notices how Helaena spreads her legs further for him. She makes room for him and Aegon lets his hand wander the last bit. When he notices how wet she is, he groans. The next moment he lets go of her breasts and instead bends up to kiss her lips. Helaena gasps at his sudden movement. Aegon wipes his finger on the bedsheet and puts his other hand on Helaena's cheek. She looks at him curiously he also recognizes lust in her eyes.

"I want you to relax. Is that possible?"

"Yes." Helaena leans back slightly into the pillows her hands sliding from his shoulders and resting on the soft bed linens beside her body.

"Good." says Aegon and kisses her lips once more. "You have to tell me if something doesn't please you or doesn't feel right." he kisses her cheeks and plays with one of her strands of hair. "And you have to tell me when you like something and it feels good." he kisses her other cheek, and Helaena giggles softly again. "Can you promise me that?"

"I promise it."

"Good Girl." his voice is a bit rough, and Helaena whimpers beneath him. Aegon's lips wander again over her neck, his hands gently glide over her body. He takes his time. He caresses the soft skin of her perfect hips, letting his lips and tongue wander over her nipples and kissing down her belly. He enjoys the feeling of her writhing beneath him, the soft whimpering and moaning searing into his brain, and Aegon already knows that he will become rock hard just from the memory. He shifts his weight back and sits back. Helaena's breath comes heavily, and she looks at him with half-closed pleasure-drenched eyes. Aegon lets his gaze wander over her perfect body. They say Targaryen are closer to gods than humans and as she lies naked in front of him, Aegon believes it. He looks forward to all the future nights he will spend exploring every inch of her body. Then he makes himself comfortable between her legs. He places her slender leg over his shoulder and begins to kiss her thigh. Helaena gasps slightly in shock, but then reaches out to him and his touches. Aegon kisses her thigh downwards with practiced ease. If Aegon learned anything during his years in Flea Bottom and Silk Street than how to satisfy a woman. Her wetness glistens slightly in the candlelight, and Aegon can hardly wait to taste her. The desire surprises him but he allows it. Enjoys it even so he let himself dive into his lust.

Just before he finally reaches her center with his lips Helaena flinches slightly and sits up a bit in bed. Aegon lets her withdraw and loosens his grip around her legs slightly as he looks up at her.

"Is that appropriate?" Helaean asks, and Aegon could die right here and now because he has seen all the beauty of this world. He lightly kisses the inner side of her thigh and lets his fingers glide over her bare skin.

"Yes" he replies then. "That is even necessary so that you have as little pain as possible."

"The pain is going to be bad, isn't it?"

"I don't know." he says honestly. He had never cared about the woman pain. Now nothing is more important to him than Helaena's well-being. "But I am as careful as I can be. Hurting you is the last thing I want."

"Okay. I trust you, Aegon." she lies back down on the pillow and stretches out toward him again. Aegon thanks the gods for Helaena before he kisses down her thigh again and finally he can close his lips over her center. Helaena gasps and Aegon pulls back slightly to give her a moment to adjust to the new feeling. Her wet middle is right in front of him and he has to hold himself back from diving into her as if she is his last meal. Aegon can hardly wait to slide his cock between her wet folds. At the thought his cock twitches in his pants. Aegon closes his eyes for a moment. He needs to pull himself together. He can´t fail now. Not with Helaena.

He leans forward again and as his tongue glides gently through her folds. He can't suppress a moan. She tastes better than anything that has ever touched his lips. She flinches slightly, but Aegon gently holds her at her thighs. He dives into her, licking carefully upwards to her clitoris. He carefully sucks on it and is rewarded with a moan from Helaena. Aegon needs all his willpower not to completely dive in. Pull yourself together! You can´t overwhelm her.

So Aegon takes his time, his tongue explores her folds, leaving no spot untouched. He lets his tongue glide over her center and her pearl, alternating the rhythm and intensity. He remembers exactly which spot, which movement elicits a whimper or moan from Helaena. She writhes beneath him, stretching out towards him.

"Aegon." his name slips from her lips as her hand buries itself in his blonde hair. It's over, all restraint is breaking down. He dives deep in. His tongue glides into her, curling inside her. Once again, she moans his name. Aegon feels her moisture running down his chin, soaking him. He licks up every single drop. She twitches, her legs begin to tremble, and her hands claw into the sheet beneath her.

"Aegon stop."

Immediately he withdraws although everything in him screams to continue. Worry floods through him. Was it too much? Did he fail? He looks up at her.

"Are you in pain?"

"No. It felt good. But there was such a tension in me, a knot. Is that normal?"

Aegon has to bite his lips to avoid cursing or groaning. His cock twitches at the thought that Helanena ruined her first orgasm because of her innocence. It shouldn't turn him on that much. He is wicked.

"Yes, that is normal. Let it happen. It will feel good." he leans forward again and sucks on her pearl. "Let yourself fall."

She relaxes again, trusts him completely with her body. Helaena lets out a sigh as Aegon glides his tongue between her folds once more, Her legs tremble again. She writhes beneath him, but Aegon only quickens his tongue's strokes. Helaena moans loudly, Aegon notices how she pulsates around his tongue and starts to twitch. And then she comes onto his tongue. Her whole body shakes as she leans toward him once more before collapsing with a groan. He carefully licks up her cum wanting to taste every drop. Only when she stops twitching and pulsating he lets go from her.

Trembling and breathing heavily she looks at him with wide eyes. He kisses the inside of her thighs, caresses her belly, her hips. Under his fingertips, she gets goosebumps. His cock pulses almost painfully against his pants.

"Are you good?"

She nods vigorously. "Yes. I´m good. It was... I have no idea what that was. I let myself fall." she sighs and lets her head fall back into the soft pillows. Her loose hair forms a crown around her head. Once again Aegon can't help but think that she looks like a goddess. How could he have been so blind all this time? "Is it always like this? I mean, if we share the bed, will it always feel this good?" she asks while stroking his neck and running her fingers through his hair.

Aegon doesn't even try to suppress a moan at her touch. He lets his lips wander over the soft skin again. He can't get enough. She leans towards him again, relaxing right beneath him. He breaks free to answer her.

"I will do my best to make you always feel like this." he says secretly vowing to himself that he will never come with his cock near her before the bed sheets are stained with her wetness and she has moaned his name at least once in a moment of passionate climax. His hand caresses her waist, she doesn't flinch. "Are you ready?" he asks before kissing her slender belly.

"For the consummation? Yes!"

He laughs softly. He would have never dared to dream that she is so eager to be dishonored by him.

"Not yet." he carefully slides a finger into her. Helaena gasps for air, but she doesn't pull away. "How does this feel?"

"It feels strange. But not bad. Unfamiliar."

He nods, pushing his finger a little deeper into her tightness, up to the second knuckle. He carefully curled his finger. Helaena stretches towards him she doesn´t even trying to suppress her whimpers and moans. Her wetness runs over his hands, he carefully adds a second finger. She is so damn tight that for a brief moment he doubts if she can take him. He moves his fingers slowly and then slightly spread them, trying to prepare her. His thumb caresses over her clitoris. Helaena cries out in pleasure and begins to move with him. Aegon stops his movement for a moment, but Helaena simply starts to pleasure herself on his fingers. He can't take his eyes off this sight. He has never seen anything so hot. He notices how she pulses around his fingers, her hips moving faster. Aegon can't wait any longer. It must be enough. He has to have her now. Aegon carefully pulls his fingers out of her. She lets out a disappointed whimper. He sits up, letting his gaze wander over her body once more. His eyes stop on her breasts with the erect nipples. He bends forward to close his lips around it. His cock is throbbing painfully again and craving his attention. Aegon thoughts start racing, he definitely doesn't want to hurt her and is afraid that he is too big for her.

"Let's switch places. You can sit on me, then you can have the control," Aegon suggests. Helaena briefly furrows her brows as she thinks, then her cheeks turn red and she shakes her head.

"What if I do something wrong?"

"You can't do anything wrong," he explains to her, stroking her cheek. She leans into his touch, close her eyes for a moment. Aegon yields to the need, leans forward and kisses her forehead.

"I am unsure," says Helaena. "Is there another way?"

"Oh sweet Helaena," he sighs kisses her cheek. Thenhe wanders with his lips to her neck and then up to her earlobe. He bites carefully, and Helaena lets out a soft moan. Her eyes stay closed as she tilts her head to the side to give him more space. "There are thousands ways and if you allow it, I will show you each and every one." She giggles softly. When he sucks on her neck, she moans.

"Yes please," she says. Aegon thinks for a second that he's going to comes like a twelve-year-old. He releases her neck braces himself on his arms to avoid putting all his weight on her, and looks at her. Her eyes are drenched in desire, a few dops of sweat have gathered on her forehead. His gaze lingers on the red hickey on her neck. It is clearly marked on her porcelain skin. He has marked her as his own. Aegon takes a deep breath and kisses her briefly on the lips. He climbs out of bed and starts to unbutton his pants. Helaena watches him. As he pulls down his pants and his member springs free, her eyes widen slightly. He is hard and pre-cum is leaking from the tip. Helaena looks like a shocked deer. Aegon knows that he is not small, above average and for the first time in his life, he wishes it weren't like this. Everything in him resists causing her pain. He comes back to bed positioning himself between her legs which she opens for him. He kisses her, and Helaena returns the kiss, their tongues playing around each other. Her hands caress his neck, running up and down his back and over his shoulders. Everywhere she touches him he gets goosebumps and his skin tingles. Aegon lets his hands wander over her breasts, his lips move over her neck, continuing down to her collarbone and then to her breasts. He sucks on her nipple while his fingers caress the other one. She gasps and stretches out towards him again, her hips twitching and her waist rubbing against his shaft. Aegon groans at her breasts. He extends his hardness into her moisture. Helaena crys and he captures her lips in a kiss. Aegon shifts his weight slightly and pushes his tip between her folds. Helaena takes a sharp breath. Aegon needs every shred of self-control not to mercilessly hammer into her. Hot desire races up his spine, he feels how his cock twitches inside her. He has to breathe deeply to avoid coming right away. His hand grips her hip, he gently presses her into the sheets to keep her still. If she twitched upwards now, he wouldn't be able to hold back. He needs it to ground himself. Slowly, he pushes himself forward. She whimpers beneath him, slightly grimacing in pain. Aegon stops in his movement.

"Should we stop?"

"No!" she claws at his shoulders, the slight pain as her nails dig into his skin makes him moan softly. "Please don't. I want the Aegon." she leans up to him and kisses him. This time it is her tongue that glides into his mouth and plays with his.

He continues to sink into her his tip gliding inside her, she is so damn tight. Aegon noticed how her wetness ran down his cock. He feels a resistance and stops. He slowly pulls out again. He caresses her body, kisses her soft skin, and then slowly thrusts in again. This time she manages to take him a little further before he pulls back again. Inch by inch he slides inside her.

Helaena tenses up a bit while Aegon tries to distract her with kisses, kissing her neck and allowing himself to nibble on her skin. Careful not to leave any bite marks. With his next thrust, Helaena bites her lip to keep from screaming as he fully enters her for the first time. Aegon's whole body is tense as his cock is enveloped by her warm tightness. He trembles but tries to stay as still as possible while she gets used to him. Helaena takes a deep breath. Then she places her hand on Aegon's cheek strokes it and smiles.

"I'm doing well," she says even though tears are welling up in her eyes. Aegon can't help but kiss her. It is a soft, innocent kiss. But only for a few moments. Helaena wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him closer, and then pushes her hips forward as a sign that she is ready. Aegon moans at her lips. He completely withdraws only to then glide fully between her folds again.

What has he done to deserve something so good? He is a broken man. A sick man. But as he sinks into the wet warmth between her legs, he is sure that the gods have forgiven all his sins and rewarding him with heaven.

He maintains a slow rhythm, even though everything in him screams to selfishly take her and spill his seed deep inside her. Helaena moves her hips with his, her breath quickens, her kisses become sloppy. Aegon reaches for her hand, intertwining their fingers. With the next thrust, Helaena moans again and wraps her legs around his hips. So she pushes him further inside her and Aegon curses against her lips. He won't last long.

Aegons hand wanders between her bodies and he begins to gently rub her pearl with the flat of his hand while continuing to thrust into her. She moves with him, fitting him like a glove. Aegon feels as if they fit together perfectly. Sweat drips from his forehead. He notices how she trembles again, her walls pulsating around him as she moans. His name falls from her lips. Aegon quickens his movements around her clit, and then she comes. As she pulls him in and starts clenching abround him, she drags him over the cliff with her. Aegon moans her name like a prayer as he comes, painting her walls white as he spills into her. He moves his hips carefully, riding out their orgasms before collapsing on top of her. He tries to keep his weight off her, but she wraps herself around him and pulls him closer. Helaena starts to scratch his neck. Aegon buries his face in the curve of her neck and takes a deep breath of her scent while trying to calm his pulse. He notices how Helaena is still pulsating around him. He gently pushes his hip a little forward. Helaena inhales sharply before she lets out a groan. A moan escapes his lips as he gently thrusts one last time, and then they both sink into each other, completely overstimulated. For a few heartbeats they remain like that. Helaena tucks a blonde strand of hair behind his ears. Aegon leans into her touch.

"You did not fail me," she whispers in his ear. Aegon notices how tears gather in his eyes. He quickly closes his eyes to prevent himself from crying. He breathes in the scent of Helaena's hair deeply and swallows his tears. For a brief moment, he still enjoys the feeling of her scratching his neck. Then Aegon carefully pulls himself out of her and rolls from her.

He doesn't know what to say. Should he say anything at all? Or would he say exactly the wrong thing now? Aegon remains silent and simply pulls Helaena into his arms instead. He kisses her lips and then her forehead. She wraps her arms around him and snuggles up to him. Gently, her fingertips glide over his shoulders. Aegon closes his eyes and pulls her closer to him at her waist.

Helaena takes a deep breath, turns slightly in his arm to look at him.

"The way you have give me pleasure." she starts. "How can I do that for you?" Aegon laughs softly and kisses her forehead. "Oh sweet wife. First of all it gives me the greatest satisfaction to see you come, and secondly, we still have enough time for that." Helaena smiles and nods. She snuggles back into his arms. Of course, her head fits perfectly in the crook of his shoulder.

"Okay sweet Husband."

It's the first time she calls him that and it makes Aegon's heart race for a brief moment. Maybe he wouldn't drag her into his abyss. Maybe she would pull him a little away from his darkness.

[cottenbee]

Hi, I’m a new-ish in the world of reality shifting. You can call me “Bee” or whatever if you want. Im here to have fun and make stories end less sad. I also have zero idea how to use Tumblr, so please bear with me. Let me know if you’re going to one of the same realities as me, so we can chat :) or if you just want to chat in general. I edit this every once in a while

List of my DRs:

Pixie Hollow

Kingdom Hearts

Land of the Lustrous (4x)

Soul Eater

The Boys

Animorphs

Teen Titans

Stardew Valley

Naruto

The Hunger Games

Hogwarts

Dragon Age (Warden Edition)

Dragon Age (Inquisitor Edition)

Skyrim

HTTYD

Pokémon

Spider-verse

Demon Slayer

Viva Piñata

Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines

Sometimes I like to go to fucked up DRs so I can change the story so that it’s more on the sweet side. I’ll probably change this list a lot, adding more places I want to shift to. I’m going to Land of the Lustrous a bunch, I love it there. Ask me anything you want

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Four

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,9k

Warnings | +18, violence, slapping, smut noncon, forced blowjob, abuse, yandere themes, humiliation, explicit and dirty language, forced cum swallowing, spitting, prostitution, Jimin is cruel (yes, it is a warning)

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | This chapter is stronger than the others, if you don't read yandere don't go on, it has triggering content.

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

"I have no problem shooting you right this instant. So I won't say it again, leave what belongs to me and never come back to this brothel."

Minho let go of the grip with which he was forcing the girl to suck him off, she fell back on the bed at dead weight, desperate for air, with tears clouding her eyes she saw Minho hastily compose himself, before Jimin moved to the side to let him out, still with the gun tightly clenched in his fist.

"This is not over, Jimin," threatened the man.

"I think it is."

"We'll see," was the last thing he said, before leaving that bedroom behind.

Y/N could not speak, too shocked by the experience she had just gone through, on her tongue she still felt the overwhelming taste of the bastard, but even more agonizing was the thought that Jimin had used her to anger Minho.

He could have acted that way from the start, but no, he had decided to give the man time to use her, making her feel if possible even more like an object.

She hated him, damn it.

"Are you still alive?" he asked her without a hint of tact, Y/N gritted her teeth inhaling through her nose.

"Does it matter? Dead or alive, things will not change. I'll live as a whore and die as one," she hissed, letting the boy finally have a view of her red and tear-streaked face, "And it's all your fault, you're a fucking monster and god ... you don't even know how much I hate you!"

A backhand hit her full in the face, for a moment she saw everything white, she only had time to feel a shift of air about her before a stabbing pain hit her in the skin, Jimin was gripping her hair with such brute force that her head began to throb and burn, she screamed in despair as she was dragged away.

No one in the hallway came out to help her, why would anyone bother, then?

Jimin was in charge there, it was his right to do whatever he wanted with the girls, especially if it was his first choice.

After minutes that seemed interminable, she was thrown inside a room she recognized as her own, indeed, theirs.

"You hate me for that? Oh no, my angel," he shook his head, slamming the door behind him, "I'll give you more reasons to hate me, good reasons," he concluded, beginning to remove his own clothes.

The more skin was shown, the more Y/N feared what was soon to come, Jimin's otherwise perfect arms were littered with ink weaving into thick sinuous lines, heavy tattoos stared at her menacingly when the man's belt also fell to the ground with a thud.

"What are you going to do?" she asked with a trembling upper lip.

Jimin shot her an unfriendly look, brought his hair back in a neck movement that the girl would have found attractive and manly if they were normal boys in an equally normal setting. Instead, she found it threatening and stifled a cry as the man began to unzip his pants.

No. Not again.

"I'll take what's mine, you whored with another man in front of my eyes, this deserves punishment," he replied with deadly calm, he knew things were not like that, he had given her the order after all, but he enjoyed provoking her, the girl tried to retort but Jimin was quicker, "Do you know why I stopped him before he finished?"

Y/N didn't know what to answer, she just watched fearfully as the boy shed all his clothing, he was completely naked. His cock stood straight and swollen, Jimin ran a thumb over the turgid tip and moved closer and closer to her, who curled in on herself.

"Please, I don't want to do this," she cried, but Jimin did not take pity on her.

"Answer me."

"I don't know... I don't know" she shook her head, the young man grabbed her face hard, blocking her.

"I stopped it because the only cum your pretty little mouth is going to swallow is mine," he said firmly in a statement that went against the Dark Moon's own principles, again trapping her head in his firm grip, "Hate me, Y/N, I want to feel how much you do it while your throat is squeezing me," he chuckled viciously, before thrusting unceremoniously into that delicious hot, wet cavern, he closed his eyes biting his lips, the woman moaned and cried with her mouth tight around his girth, swallowing against her will every single inch of the man, until she touched the tip of her nose to the boy's pubes.

 Jimin let his moans filled with lust and satisfaction wander around the room, with his hips he pushed deep into Y/N's throat, she threatened to choke on her own spit, long rivulets trickled down her chin, going to soak Jimin's belly closer and closer to her face as the speed of his harsh thrusts increased.

"Aaah... you're better than I thought, tell me the truth... you like being my personal whore, mhh if I touched you... you'd be wet, right?" he asked cruelly, Y/N shook her head forcefully, she was tired, her jaw ached and that bastard's cock kept pulsing and swelling without showing any sign of coming, but she felt it that strange sensation snaking up to her lower abdomen, making her legs tighten to her horror.

She really was Jimin's personal whore.

That realization made her feel disgust for herself.

A grip on her hair more fierce than the others caused her to lift her shiny red eyes to those of her "boss."

The man's hard and cold expression did not match the desperate movement of his hips, "You will swallow every single drop of my cum and afterwards you will lick my cock until it is completely clean, because that's how my whores do it," he grunted giving increasingly frantic and violent thrusts, the girl only wished that this torture would end as soon as possible, she was in such a devastated state of mind that she would follow his every single order to get him away from her, so she nodded weakly as she met the first hot spurt, the muscles of her throat contracted around the cock, throwing down every single drop, just as she was ordered to do.

Jimin's chest swelled in satisfied pride, seeing her there, her cheeks swollen with his cum devastated him in a way he would have struggled to admit out loud.

He released her mouth and finally Y/N was able to take a long breath of air, before the man once again crushed her face against his swollen cock, ever more humiliated she stuck out her tongue, beginning to give small licks along his still stiff length, collected seminal fluid mixed with her own saliva, Jimin's ever-deepening sighs intensified, breaking into a moan at the small suction on the soft, veined skin.

The grip on her hair softened and soon Jimin let her go, Y/N abandoned herself in the clean sheets, her vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Open your legs, sweetheart," he ordered, and in the girl's mind flashed the thought of resisting him, of not giving in to him. But what would that decision bring? Only pain, so much pain both physical and mental.

She opened her legs as ordered, but looked away to prevent herself from seeing that violence.

Jimin grinned, he did not rip off the young woman's underwear as she had imagined, he spat on her belly causing her to shudder in disgust, he pressed his heavy and still hard cock on her moistened skin and began to slide over it with ease, grunting at each savage lunge and at the intense overstimulation he himself was forcing himself to endure.

He squeezed the girl's chin between two fingers, forcing her to watch as he used her body without giving her the same satisfaction, her look filled with anger and disgust was enchanting to the man, who with one last thrust came one more time, soiling both of their bodies with his cum, such was their closeness.

"Are you angry because I didn't smash your tight pussy?" he asked amusedly, sinking his thumb into the woman's lower lip, "I might as well lick your pussy if you would behave well with me, and I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon with such an attitude...think about it, my pleasure could be yours too if you wanted it."

Y/N turned her head abruptly, releasing herself from his grasp with an expression of disgust firmly stamped on her face.

"I couldn't take pleasure with you even if I wanted to, you're a piece of shit," she spat between her teeth, Jimin clenched his jaw before giving her yet another resounding slap that made her swallow the tears she was holding back.

"Careful, I might consider cutting out that bold tongue of yours, you'd be able to suck me off without it anyway," he hissed before abandoning her, just like a whore.

"You put on a show yesterday."

Jin welcomed Jimin into his office in an icy voice.

"Yes? Well, a rat had sneaked into my territory, I couldn't turn a blind eye, I hate rats," he sat confidently across from his friend and business partner.

"Yet Namjoon must have informed you of my intentions regarding that rat."

Jimin clicked his tongue against his teeth, "How long have we been friends, Jin?"

"Jimin, don't take this key with me, it's just business those with-"

"But family is not business!" blurted out the younger man, "I don't care about the whores and new friends you make, because I know you would never screw us over for someone else, which is precisely why I don't understand what went through your mind when you decided to go into business with Choi," he said harshly, Jin maintained a somewhat neutral expression despite the shaking of his clenched fist.

"I meant no disrespect, Jimin," Jin replied more calmly, "Choi Minho is not involved in what happened to you, so I thought it was accessible."

Jimin leaned toward Jin with fury in his eyes, "No Choi from that family is accessible, if you still want me as your business partner, but especially if you still want me as your brother, drop any negotiations with them," he ordered.

Normally Seokjin would not have accepted such a tone from one of his subordinates.

But that was Jimin, one of his closest friends, one of his brothers, and faced with his stormy past with the Choi family, he could only bow his head and look for another way to get into politics.

"I will cut Choi Minho from my list of names," he finally said, Jimin nodded a little more relaxed.

"Thank you, Jin."

"I'm not done," he blocked him before he could get up, "What are you going to do with that girl?"

Jimin glowered at him, "What do you mean?"

"I need to make sure you're not going to cause trouble with other clients, I heard you were quite possessive of her."

"Possessive? Come on, I was just having fun to provoke Minho a little."

Seokjin didn't buy that excuse; Jimin could tease anyone but him.

"If you want her, I'll wrap her up myself with a nice bow and send her home to you, Jimin."

Jimin narrowed his eyes, "And let's hear it, why would you do that?"

"Because you like her."

The pierced boy swallowed, speechless. Yes, he liked her, he had made that clear, but to that extent? Would he have taken Y/N away from the brothel to enjoy her himself?

"You're imagining things, man," he chuckled, Jin raised an eyebrow.

"Is that your last answer?"

[shiftingwithmars]

Unpopular places I’m shifting to

The Babysitters Club (2019 show)

Teen Wolf Cast

Deadly Class (Major plot changes)

Monster High

Young Band Reality (aged 14-18)

Mutuals Summer/Waiting Room

Spy DR (Based off of spy kids)

New Mutants

Summer Camp

Wakanda Uni (Marvel DR specific to Wakanda)

Guardians Of The Galaxy (Specific DR for them)

Loki (show)

Greek Mythology DR

One Direction DR

Small Town DR

H20 DR

Merlin Academy

Theater DR

Boy Meets World

Pixie Hollow

How To Train Your Dragon

Skater DR

Lab Rats (Disney show y’all)

The Sims (Just hear me out please😭)

Hogwarts Legacy

Cosplayer DR

Victorious

KC Undercover

Free Reign

Dancer DR

Narnia

90’s Fame

My Little Pony (Again, hear me out😭)

[eunsuri]

Eternity

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: In the final battle with the false gods, Solas must make an impossible choice.

Word Count: 2,443

Warnings: ANGST. Followed by some real sweetness to heal our Solavellan pain.

A/N: Hey everyone! It's been a hot minute since I've posted or even done any writing, but all the Veilguard hype and replaying the Dragon Age games has inspired my poor Solavellan heart. Hope you enjoy it and let me know your thoughts! Also posted on AO3!

“Solas!”

It had all happened so quickly.

The world seemed like a fractured dream—shadows and light bleeding together, the edges of reality blurring into something unrecognisable. Hues of blue, purple, and red painted the sky. The sounds of battle—screams, the clash of steel, the roar of ancient magic and blighted gods—melted into a single, indistinct hum, as if the world itself had begun to unravel.

Solas’ Dread Wolf form was quickly fading, returning to his battered Elven body. Pain throbbed in his every limb, a dull, relentless ache that clouded his thoughts and blurred his senses. 

He tried to focus, to grasp onto something solid, but the ground beneath his feet slipped like sand, shifting and unstable. It was Lavellan’s voice, raw with emotion, that anchored him, drawing him back from the brink of unconsciousness. His racing heart thudded in his ears, eyes searching for the source of Lavellan’s cry, as fear gripped his very being at the thought of her laying broken and defenceless in the chaos. 

Thunder continued to roll while lightning cracked through angry clouds over the twisted form of the ancient elven goddess, Ghilan'nain. The Mother of the Halla, and huntress of the People, was now a twisted abomination of decay and rage. Her shriek tore through the Veilguard ranks, a cry born of millennia of rage and betrayal, a keening wail that echoed with the fury of a goddess locked away for centuries. 

Then, through a fog of pain and confusion, Solas saw Ghilan'nain’s blazing red eyes seeking out the Dread Wolf, her corrupted form rising above the fray and ready to strike. Before he could even register the danger, before he could summon the strength to call out to Lavellan, a flash of blue crystals sped into his vision. 

It was Lavellan. The lyrium dagger clutched in her hand, armour shattered and boots worn out, the scent of muddied blood from her injured leg mingling with the air, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Yet, despite the pain and exhaustion etched into her every movement, her eyes burned with an unyielding fire, a fierce resolve to protect the one she loved.

Without a second thought, she leapt forward, her body moving of its own accord, driven by a love that eclipsed all fear. The impact was immediate, the force of the blow reverberating through her as she intercepted the strike meant for Solas, driving the lyrium dagger through Ghilan'nain’s heart. Pain lanced through Lavellan, white-hot and unforgiving, unlike anything she had ever felt before.

“No!” Anguish tore through Solas, his cry shattered the battlefield, raw and filled with terror at the sight of her figure flying across the battlefield.

He didn’t know how he had managed to gather the strength to stand once more, but in an instant, he was at her side. The battle faded into a ghostly echo as his world narrowed to the broken form in his arms. The ground beneath them was cold and unyielding, but it was the chill in her fading pulse that froze his racing heart. Her breath, once steady and strong, came now in ragged, shallow gasps, a desperate struggle against the darkness closing in.

“Vhenan…” Her voice came as a laboured, broken whisper. 

The scent of iron and death hung heavy in the air, the distant screams of the battle barely registering in Solas' mind as he frantically hovered his hands over her wounds, his bloodied fingers trembling with the urgency of his magic. But the damage was too great, the energy she had taken was meant to kill, to obliterate. Hot crimson blood seeped through the cracks in her armour, staining the cold stone beneath her. The warmth of it clung to Solas' skin, a stark contrast to the creeping numbness that threatened to consume him whole.

He found himself unable to muster a single word in response to her, the weight of his despair crushing him. He could feel the ancient magic flowing within his veins, yet every spell he cast faltered against the reality of her mortality. Each pulse of energy he sent into her only slipped through his grasp, her life ebbing away like water through his fingers, her fading breath a cruel reminder of his powerlessness.

For the first time in millenia, Solas felt truly, utterly powerless. The gravity of his failure thrust down on him, sharper than any blade, heavier than the mountains he had once shaped. He had experienced many failures, disrupted rituals, and power drunk magisters. Yet the pride and determination that would fuel him through these failures could not fill the gaping void that failing his love would leave inside him.

Since the Veil’s creation and his awakening from Uthenera, Solas had borne witness to countless lives slipping away, each loss a distant echo in the vast expanse of time. He had watched countless lives flicker and fade, each loss stoking the embers of his desperation to restore his People’s immortality. But this—this was different. 

He had convinced himself that the price he would pay was justified, a necessary sacrifice for the future he sought to reclaim. This world and its people, fleeting and fragile, would have to perish in order to restore his own, to undo the grievous mistake he had made. He had always known that losing this world would mean losing her, that her mortality was inescapable—especially with the Anchor’s relentless power surging through her veins, marking her as temporary. He had hoped that by severing their bond and leaving the Inquisition, he could sever his attachment to her as well. Yet, even as he watched over her each night in the Fade, anticipating the loss of his love, nothing could have truly prepared him for the agony of this moment.

The pain that seared through him now was unlike any he had ever known, sharp and relentless, cutting deeper than all the centuries of loss combined. He had thought himself prepared, had steeled his heart against the inevitability of her mortality, but as he looked at Lavellan, broken and bleeding before him, he realised with a shattering clarity that he could not—would not—live in a world without her. The thought of truly losing her was a wound that would never heal, a chasm of despair that would swallow him whole for eternity.

Memories, vivid and bittersweet, flooded Solas’ mind. He remembered the first time he had seen her, the feeling of her marked hand clutched in his as he guided her to close the gaping rift. He recalled the stolen moments of quiet between battles, where they had shared dreams of a life beyond the chaos once the battle with Corypheus would end, her laughter a balm to his soul. The nights she would seek him out in dreams, or sneak into his tent, where she would lay against his chest while he read books or told stories of his dreams in the Fade. The feeling of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, the softness of her lips against his, lingering like the delicate petals of a blooming flower. Their magic intertwining, flowing through them like a gentle current, binding them together in a harmony that felt as eternal as the stars.

Moments in which the crushing realisation dawned on him—that she could sway his mind to find another way, that the world he sought to restore could be returned without the destruction he once deemed necessary, that everything and everyone he had fought so hard alongside could be real, not just a dream of the past.

But now, those memories twisted like a knife in his heart, the sweetness of each moment laced with the bitter sting of loss. Without her, those moments would remain nothing but a memory that would haunt him for eternity.

“Please,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure to whom he was begging, his voice a plea to the empty skies. 

The thought of truly losing her now was unbearable, a pain he could scarcely endure. For him, she had endured unimaginable suffering—the searing torment of the mark that claimed her arm, the heartbreak when he severed their bond, and the endless nights spent in relentless pursuit of him, only to stand between him and the final, fatal blow. He could not let her die, not after all she had sacrificed for him.

Solas wracked his brain for solutions, continuing to frantically attempt to heal her and keep her conscious. His vision was blurred with the rivers of tears streaming down his skin, the fierce hand of desperation gripping itself around his throat. She was fading, her weakened life force flickering like a waning candle, its flame struggling to cling to the charred wick, desperately resisting the darkness closing in.

Then, in the depths of his despair, a single option took root—a desperate, impossible choice. There was one thing he could do, one last act that could save her. But it would cost him everything. His heart thudded against his chest heavily with the weight of the decision, the ancient power within him pulsing like a living thing, reminding him of all that he was about to lose. Immortality. His essence. The very fabric of his being.

But what was immortality without her? What was all of his power worth if it could not protect the one person who had come to mean more to him than anything in this world or the next?

His resolve solidified, born of a love so deep it defied all reason. He could not imagine a world without her—without her laughter, her touch, the warmth of her presence beside him. His pride and desire to mend his past errors would not stand in his way again. And so, with a heart full of love and a mind clear of doubt, he cast his pride into the depths of the abyss, where it would be lost to the shadows of his past, and embraced the decision he would have to make.

Solas placed his hand, now strong and steady, over her heart. His eyes glowed with an ethereal blue light that seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality, a stormy flash of magic emitting from his palms. 

He could feel it—the life force that had sustained him for centuries, ancient and vast, now flowing out of his being and into her. It was like tearing a piece of his soul away, a pain so profound it threatened to break him, but he did not falter. He would give her everything if it meant she would live. 

As the celestial light enveloped her, knitting her wounds and restoring her strength, Solas felt his own power wane. His once-immortal form grew weaker, the essence that had defined  him slipping away. But with it, the burden of centuries lifted, replaced by a calm acceptance. He had chosen this—chosen her—and in that choice, he found peace.

Lavellan gasped as warmth surged through her, revitalising her strength, but with it came the unsettling realisation of what he was doing. “Solas, stop,” she protested, her voice growing stronger even as his weakened. She attempted to push him away, her hand trembling against his chest, but he drew her closer, gently lowering his forehead to hers, the gesture silencing her pleas.

“I will not lose you, Vhenan,” he breathed, his voice heavy with resolve as his ancient power flowed into her, binding them both to a mortal life.

Though Solas would remain formidable, he willingly embraced the fragility of mortality, finding solace in the certainty that they would face the years together, no matter how fleeting they may seem. 

The engulfing light dimmed, leaving them in a hushed silence. With a newfound strength, Lavellan lifted herself upright, pausing to drink in the sight of the Dread Wolf, now a mortal man. His eyes, no longer glowing with ancient power, were filled with a quiet love and deep relief, the tension that had once gripped him now replaced by a serene acceptance of his mortality. She could see the peace in his expression, the contentment that came with knowing he had chosen this—chosen her—and this world. 

A wave of relief washed over her being, drawing her worries back into its current, and allowing the peace she had sought for a decade to finally grace her. Though it pained her to see him sacrifice such an intrinsic part of who he was, she felt a deep sense of gratitude knowing she had changed his heart away from the destruction of this world.

Solas reached forward, delicately brushing his fingers over her mended cheek. Her eyes glistened with life and unshed tears welled along her eyelashes, captivating him as they always had. She released a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding in, and lunged herself into his embrace. 

Her arm twined around his neck, clutching the fabric on his back as a quiet sob shuddered through her lungs. “Ma serannas, Ma’lath. Thank you. Thank you,” she whispered between breaths, tears trickling down his throat and soaking through his clothing.

He held her tightly against him, as though she might vanish if he loosened his grasp. The warmth of her presence, so long absent, was a salve to his aching soul. For a decade, he had watched her from afar, his dreams haunted by the memory of her touch. Now, finally enfolded in her embrace, he marvelled at the tangible reality of what he had yearned for so deeply. Each trembling breath she took, each tear that fell, was a testament to the long-suffered separation and the profound relief of being truly reunited.

“I’ve lived through many lifetimes, yet without you, it is all empty, lost,” Solas confessed, his voice a low murmur against her hair. “Now, I see a new path forward.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hand gently tracing up to his face. Her voice was soft, yet firm with conviction, as though speaking the very truth of her soul. “And we will face it together,” she vowed, wiping her thumb across his cheek as her teary eyes searched his. “Var lath vir suledin.” The words trembled on her lips—ancient, yet timeless.

“Yes, Vhenan.” This time, he believed her. “Our love will endure. Always.”

Though the blighted false gods had been freed from their eternal prison, and the battle was now won, the task of rebuilding the world lay ahead. Together, they would forge a new path to save their people—one devoid of further death and destruction.

For now, they were alive, together, but irrevocably changed—two souls who had sacrificed everything for each other. 

Their love had endured, and would continue to endure for centuries to come.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-One

Before her mind could fully process his presence, Maera’s body reacted. She gently set aside the dragon egg and carefully rose from her seat, her rounded belly leading her movements. Her eyes never left Aemond as she stood, a mix of wariness and longing etched on her face.

Aemond had been gone for five weeks, and Maera could immediately tell he was changed. His face bore the marks of age and fatigue, likely the aftereffects of battle. She had seen it before in some of her oldest brothers—an unmistakable weariness that came from enduring the horrors of war. His meticulously neat silver hair was now curled at the ends, with knots forming throughout, a testament to the hardships he had faced.

Despite her injuries, Maera cautiously limped towards him. Each step was a challenge, yet she pressed on, her heart driving her forward. Aemond strode towards her purposefully, his eyes locked on hers. They met in the middle of the room, capturing each other in a long embrace. The moment was filled with a complex blend of relief, sorrow, and unspoken words, as they held each other tightly.

The Princess squeezed her husband’s waist desperately, as if she never wanted to let him go again. She buried her face in his chest, and tears began to flow freely. The sobs that wracked her body were silent but profound, each one a release of the pent-up emotions that had built during his absence. She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar smell of dragon smoke and leather, grounding herself in the reality that he was truly back.

Aemond's hand gently combed through her hair, offering a soothing counterpoint to her grief. He pressed kisses on the top of her head, each one a tender affirmation of his presence and his relief at their reunion. His breathing was short and shallow, mirroring the intensity of the moment, as he too was consumed by the emotion of finally being together again. They stood entwined, both finding solace in the embrace, a fragile yet powerful connection rekindled amidst their shared pain and love. But then the facade cracked.

“Ahhhh!!”

Aemond attempted to hold Maera even tighter, but in doing so, he accidentally knocked the healing wound on her upper arm. With a yelp, she jumped back from him, her other hand instinctively coming up to cover the wound. She shoved his chest away in the process, her face contorted with pain as she breathed deeply through her nose, trying to stave off the wave of nausea that the sudden pressure had caused.

After a moment of regaining control, Maera looked up to find her husband staring at her with deep concern. His single eye roamed over her body, searching for any other signs of distress or injury. The worry etched on his face was unmistakable, a testament to his guilt and fear for her well-being. Before he could ask any questions, Maera gestured for him to join her seated at the hearth. He nodded in agreement and allowed her to lead the way, his gaze following her every movement. He watched as she limped and grasped tightly onto the furniture for support, each step a visible effort.

As the pair sat together, a hushed silence enveloped them, broken only by the crackling of the hearth. The warm, flickering light cast dancing shadows across the room, creating an almost intimate cocoon of peace amidst the chaos of their reunion. Maera turned to look at Aemond's face, the flames casting shifting shadows across his sharp features. His expression was a mix of concern and remorse, his violet eye focused intently on the flames.

Within Maera, a confusing concoction of feelings churned. She was grateful he was alive, thankful that he had returned to her relatively unscathed. The mere thought of receiving news that he had come to harm filled her with dread. The relief of his presence was palpable, a balm to the wounds of worry that had plagued her during his absence.

Yet, even amidst this relief, the anger within her continued to simmer. She could not forgive him for what he had put her through, the betrayal and the pain still fresh in her heart. The conflicting emotions battled within her, gratitude and love warring with hurt and fury, leaving her in a state of numbness overall.

The One-eyed Prince was the first to speak. “Are you well?” He asked.

His wife did not answer him. She feared that responding might unleash her fury, and once started, she wasn't sure she could stop. She was exhausted, as she so often was nowadays in the late stages of pregnancy, and she did not need him adding to her weariness. Not tonight.

Maera's green eyes wandered over his form, taking in his attire, which struck her as different. He wore a black leather belt and an eyepatch, and his boots gleamed in the firelight, polished to a high shine. His tunic, however, was not the black she was accustomed to seeing him in; it was a rich, deep green.

This confused her. All of Alicent Hightower’s children had traditionally donned green attire, but never Aemond. He had always stood out from his family, consistently clad in black leather. She couldn't help but wonder about the significance of this sudden change, a small but unsettling detail in the midst of their already fraught reunion.

Her eyes continued to explore his body, eventually landing on his gloved hands, where she then noticed he was holding something. In Aemond’s grip was the Conqueror’s crown, the Valyrian steel and ruby gemstone glinting in the hearth’s light.

“Why do you have that?” She asked him meekly, her voice tinged with concern. Aemond looked down at the crown, his expression distant as he turned it in his hands, examining it closely. His single violet eye held a depth of sorrow.

“He is gone,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with melancholy.

“Gone?” Maera asked, her brows furrowing in confusion, the implications slowly dawning on her. “Oh Gods.” Her hand flew to her chest as if to steady herself, and her breathing became erratic. The shock of the news hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily breathless.

What she felt was not sadness for Aegon’s demise. In truth, she would not miss her brother-in-law. But with the King dead, she knew that things were about to get a lot more complicated. The stakes had just become much higher, and the already precarious balance of power was now on the brink of upheaval.

Panic crept into her voice as she realized the gravity of the situation. “What happened?” Maera's eyes filled with tears as she awaited her husband's response, her heart heavy with dread.

Aemond took a deep breath, his jaw tensing as he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth, lost in his thoughts. “The original plan was for me to meet Meleys in the sky once Cole ordered the scorpions to fire,” he explained bitterly. “But Aegon just had to be there, had to be a part of it and claim the glory for himself.”

Maera listened in stunned silence, her heart sinking with each word. She could see the pain etched on Aemond's face as he continued. “Sunfyre was so much smaller than Rhaenys’s dragon. What the fuck was he thinking?”

Aemond then turned to look at his wife, his single violet eye burning with intensity. “Meleys had Sunfyre’s neck. There was fire…and so much blood.”

He paused momentarily, his hand gesturing in a slow, deliberate motion, mimicking the descent from above. “I attacked from above and managed to get them to the ground. I knew it was a risk but…”

The Princess’s heart ached for her husband. She had never seen him like this before—a crack in his usually stoic manner, revealing a scared little boy beneath the hardened exterior. Maera initially reached out with the intention of laying her hand atop his, which still gripped the Valyrian steel crown. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay.

“Aemond…” Her hand hovered just above his, the warmth of her intended touch almost tangible.

But then she hesitated. How could she be sure that everything would be alright? Their marriage was far from alright, and the outside world seemed to be descending further into chaos. Doubt and the weight of their unresolved issues clouded her mind. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back to rest in her lap, choosing instead to quietly listen as her husband continued to speak, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability that tugged at her conflicted heart.

“Sunfyre and Meleys had killed each other. Rhaenys, or what was left of her, was burnt to a crisp on the ground. And Aegon…”

Maera covered her mouth in shock as her husband detailed the horrific scene. “He was still alive. Gods, he looked awful. His armour had fused to his skin.” Aemond paused, his face contorting with disgust. “The smell. He was missing one of his legs…he was crying. Scared.”

Maera took a shaky breath, her heart heavy. Aegon was despicable, but she would never wish such a fate on anyone. She watched as Aemond clenched his jaw, his single violet eye filled with unshed tears. “I stayed with him until he passed, until the light left his eyes. Cole found me shortly after.”

The Princess clenched her fists in her lap. “I am sorry, Aemond. For your loss. And all that you went through.” Aemond looked up at her, his face softening slightly. “Why did you not come back? Why did you not write?” she questioned him.

The one-eyed Prince shifted in his seat, looking down. “I wanted to tell my mother myself.”

A wave of sadness washed over Maera. That could not have been easy for Aemond; to tell his mother that her eldest son, her firstborn child, had died horrifically. She could only imagine the pain it caused him to see the grief in Alicent's eyes, knowing that Aegon's death would spell further complications for the Realm.

Maera knew Alicent would be heartbroken, but her thoughts quickly turned to Helaena. Aegon was a tyrant, her abuser, and yet he was still her husband, her elder brother. Maera hoped that the news would not further worsen Helaena’s already fragile mind. The prospect of another emotional blow to Helaena worried her deeply.

Aegon had only one son, two-year-old Maelor. The little boy was just beginning to form sentences and was still in napkins. With the death of his elder brother Jaehaerys, who had been murdered so easily, the news of Aegon's death would spread quickly, leaving little Maelor even more at risk of harm. Maera's heart ached for the innocent child, now thrust into a perilous position in an increasingly dangerous world.

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Maera felt the crushing weight of the uncertain future pressing down on her, intensifying the already profound sense of dread that had settled in the room.

“What happens now?” She asked her husband meekly. “Maelor is just a babe…”

“Cole will take my place as Hand,” Aemond declared, his voice steady. “I will regent for Maelor until he comes of age.”

She winced. Her husband was an ambitious man, driven by a lifelong hunger for power as the second son. Now, with a glimpse of authority over the Realm, her unease grew. The thought of Aemond wearing the Conqueror’s crown, combined with Criston Cole as his Hand, made her stomach churn.

Maera could feel his gaze burning into her, almost as if he was expecting a reaction, or possibly words of congratulations, but nothing came out of her mouth. “You have been through a lot husband. It is time for you to rest.” She stood from her chair, smoothing out her gown as Aemond watched. She hobbled to a nearby table, picked up a bell, and rang it. The young maid who always served her appeared immediately, her presence a silent, efficient comfort in the tense atmosphere.

“Prepare a room and a bath for the Prince.”

The serving girl nodded, scurrying away and shutting the door behind her.

The One-Eyed Prince rose from his chair, his expression confused and ever so slightly hurt. “You would not have me in our bed?”

Maera almost felt bad, seeing the raw emotion in his gaze, but she stood her ground, her resolve unwavering. “I require the bed for myself.”

Aemond walked slowly towards her, his hand reaching up to cup her face. She flinched initially, her mind telling her to recoil from his touch but her body immediately relaxed as his calloused palm touched her face. There was silence as Aemond searched her forest green eyes, looking for an explanation or a reason for her conduct that evening, yet Maera bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to budge.

After a moment, Aemond merely nodded. As the door shut behind him, Maera’s heart clenched. She mourned for the relationship they had once shared, a connection now marred by betrayal and pain. Although she was grateful he was back, she also felt a sense of relief that he was now out of her sight.

The next morning, Maera’s rooms were quiet, save for the soft clinking of her cutlery against the bowl. The chambers were filled with the gentle morning light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the array of breakfast items on the table before her. Fresh bread, sliced fruits, cured meats, and cheese were laid out, but her attention was drawn to the raspberry tarts and custard that she now craved with every meal, a particular indulgence of her pregnancy.

Maera smiled to herself as she took a bite of the tart, savoring the sweet and tangy flavors. The babe within her kicked out, causing her to rest her hand on her stomach with a tender expression. The small moment of connection with her unborn child brought her a fleeting sense of joy amidst the surrounding turmoil.

Aemond did not join her to break fast, for which Maera was honestly thankful. The bright light of the day would have made it difficult for her to maintain the illusion of a demure and polite wife. The solitude allowed her a brief respite from the complexities of their strained relationship and the looming responsibilities that weighed heavily on her.

Today would be a good day. Once the maid had cleared Maera’s table, she assisted the Princess in bathing. The warmth of the bath enveloped Maera, providing a soothing comfort that eased her tired muscles. As the maid gently washed her hair with soap, Maera’s fingers danced across her gigantic belly, tracing the stretch marks that decorated her skin. Each mark was a testament to the life growing within her, a visible reminder of the miracle she carried.

When Maera got out of the bath, she sat at her dressing table, wrapped in a robe, as the maid carefully combed through her hair. The blend of brown hair with Maera’s distinctive silver streak shimmered in the morning light. As the maid’s gentle strokes continued, Maera found herself lost in thought, wondering about the baby within her. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they inherit her brown hair or Aemond’s silver locks? Green eyes or violet eyes? The anticipation and uncertainty of what lay ahead filled her mind, intertwining with her hopes and fears for the future.

The Maester arrived shortly after to re-dress Maera's wounds. As he worked, Maera noted how much stronger she felt on this day. The sharp, shooting pain that had once plagued her thigh and arm had subsided to a dull ache, which she welcomed as a sign of healing. Maester Cain’s gentle and practiced hands made quick work of the bandages, and with a few encouraging words, he departed, leaving Maera feeling more hopeful.

She was then dressed in a loosely fitted black gown that accommodated her growing bump. Her hair was divided into multiple braids before being joined together with a golden ribbon, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance. As she stood from her dressing table, Maera took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. Her body, as well as her mind, had changed so drastically these last few months. The physical transformation was evident, but the internal growth and strength she had gained were even more profound.

Walking through the castle on the arm of Ser Willard was tense, but Maera could not bring herself to care. She had not seen the knight since reprimanding him and his soldiers, and it was clear that he was not happy to be around her. His stiff demeanor and lack of conversation made the tension palpable, but that mattered little to Maera.

As she walked, she noticed that her leg felt stronger, able to bear the weight much better than in previous weeks. The scars on her thigh and arm were still unsightly and would no doubt be with her forever, but she saw them as a testament to her resilience. They were marks of survival, symbols of her ability to endure and overcome.

When they reached the gardens outside Harrenhal, Maera paused to take in the scene. The once scorched lavender field was beginning to show signs of life. In the earth, tiny green buds had started to sprout, a hopeful promise of renewal. The sight of new growth amidst the scars of the past resonated deeply with her, mirroring her own journey of healing and strength.

As Maera walked on the cobblestones, her dragon Ebrion lifted his giant black and blue head and trilled to her, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the field. Ser Willard was visibly shaken, still haunted by his previous encounter with the beast. Seeing his discomfort, Maera kindly dismissed him back to his post on the edge of the field. This would allow him to keep watch while also giving her some much-needed alone time.

Maera hobbled over to Ebrion, embracing the beast and rubbing her face against the smooth scales of his snout. The warmth and familiar scent of her dragon brought her comfort. She then sat beside him, taking in her surroundings. The sounds of running water from a nearby brook filled her ears, and the wind carried the smell of wildflowers and dragon.

Although it was delightful to see that the earth was healing from Ēbrion’s fire, it did not erase what had happened to her. The scathed body of Alys did not remain, likely consumed by her dragon later. The thought caused Maera to wince, a grim reminder of the brutality she had faced.

Her gaze dritted to the tree where Alys had pinned her, the place where her own blade had sliced through her arm. The wound throbbed at the memory, a dull ache that brought the horror of that moment back to the forefront of her mind. She instinctively covered it with her hand, trying to soothe the pain and the memories it brought.

Maera huffed to herself, frustration bubbling up inside her. She was sick of looking at the place where she had almost died. She was sick of looking at Harrenhal with its ridiculously high walls and towers, the oppressive stone fortress that seemed to trap her in a constant state of dread and sorrow.

Her world felt so small. She only knew the Stormlands and King's Landing, and now the entirety of Westeros was at war. The people she could trust were few and far between, and her marriage was also falling apart. The once solid ground of her life had become a quagmire of uncertainty and betrayal.

She longed to get away from here, to escape the suffocating confines of her current existence. Maybe she could start anew. After all, she was a dragon rider now. She could fly to the Summer Isles, explore the exotic lands of YiTi, or be completely removed from society altogether and venture to the Grey Waste. Anything to get away from here—the war, the constant threat, and her husband.

The thought of freedom, of soaring high above her troubles on Ēbrion’s back, filled her with a sense of hope. She imagined the wind in her hair, the endless horizons stretching out before her, and the possibility of a life unbound by the chains of her current reality.

The Princess rose from the grass and limped slowly towards Ēbrion’s side. She was not dressed for flying, but the loosened robes she wore in the late stages of her pregnancy would be much easier to manage than the elaborate gowns she had previously worn. The fabric billowed around her, giving her the freedom of movement she desperately needed.

Ēbrion raised his massive head, his eyes narrowing with concern. He emitted a low growl, a rumbling warning that vibrated through the air. Maera, determined and resolute, paid no attention. Reaching his side, she reached out and tested the weight of the rope in her right hand. She took a steadying breath. She had done this many times before. She could do it again. Today, she felt stronger.

With a firm pull, Maera lifted her right leg and secured it onto the rope. She smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Then came the tricky part. She reached up with her left arm and grasped tightly, preparing her left leg, hoping that if she made the movements in quick succession, she would be able to haul herself up.

As she pulled, her arm gave way, pain shooting up through it and forcing her to let go. She fell backward onto her backside, her left leg tangled in the rope. She attempted to free herself, but her giant stomach prevented her from reaching her foot. Struggling, she felt a mix of frustration and helplessness.

“Urgghhh for fucks sake!”

Ēbrion leaned down, his large eyes filled with worry as he nudged her gently with his snout, trying to help her up. Maera took a deep breath, calming herself, and tried again to untangle her leg, before a smooth voice cut through the air.

“Do you require some assistance?”

Maera turned her head sharply, expecting to see Ser Willard looking down at her pitifully like the helpless princess everyone seemed to think she was. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, looming over her.

Aemond had bathed, his silver locks back to their usual straight style. Despite his refreshed appearance, a dark circle under his single eye indicated his lack of sleep. He wore a leather doublet, the torso black but the sleeves dark green and patterned like dragon scales, a testament to his Targaryen heritage and loyalty to the Green’s cause.

He was hiding a small smirk on his face at the sight of his wife tangled in the ropes, which further enraged her. The combination of his amusement and her own frustration fueled a fire within her. She glared up at him, defiance sparking in her green eyes as she struggled to untangle herself from the ropes.

Maera sighed, deciding to put her pride aside for a moment. She blew a strand of brown hair out of her face and angrily gestured towards her foot, indicating she needed help. The Prince nodded, stifling a chuckle as he gently untangled her foot from the ropes. Once her leg was free, he offered his hand to help her up. Maera batted it away, instead using Ēbrion’s nearby foot to push herself to her feet.

After attempting to mount her dragon, Maera looked red-faced and exhausted. The effort had left her breathless and frustrated, angered by her inability to climb onto her dragon’s back. She felt foolish for even trying, her cheeks flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.

To make matters worse, her husband stood in front of her, attempting to act like a chivalrous gentleman. His demeanor, as if trying to return to how things were before, only fueled her anger further. The juxtaposition of her struggle and his composed, almost mocking presence, made her feel even more enraged.

An awkward silence set in. Aemond searched Maera’s face, his eye seeking a glimmer of the warmth they once shared. Her face, however, remained hardened, her expression a mask of resolve and anger. He attempted to reach out, his hand moving to stroke her cheek, but she took a step back, her eyes narrowing, putting a deliberate distance between them.

The Prince returned his arm his side, frowning as he muttered, “Something has changed.”

His wife scoffed, shaking her head. “Everything has changed, Aemond.”

Evidently tired of the games his wife was playing, Aemond's jaw tightened as he closed the gap, his eyes reflecting frustration and confusion. "Since I have returned, no one can give a straight answer," he lamented, his voice strained with emotion. "I have asked the Lords and Maester why you are limping, if anything of note has happened since I have been gone.” He paused for a moment. “If Alys has given birth."

Maera's nails dug into her palm as she suppressed a surge of anger at the mention of the witch's name. Ēbrion growled in response, flaring his nostrils as a puff of smoke escaped, the air around them thickening with tension. The dragon’s agitation mirrored her own, the bond between them so strong that even her suppressed rage resonated with him.

“Jātās,” Go, she commanded him, her voice firm and commanding, unsure if she could trust herself not to lose control and have her beast pick up on her desires to absolutely obliterate her husband. The dragon, sensing her command, rose to his feet and stomped away, the ground trembling beneath them.

As Ēbrion retreated, Maera turned back to her husband. Her eyes were cold and unyielding, reflecting a mixture of hurt, anger, and defiance. She gestured around the desolate field, the remnants of the once-vibrant lavender offering a stark contrast to the present scene. "Look around you, husband. Do you remember what was once here?"

Her gesture was a silent invitation to acknowledge the devastation that had unfolded in his absence. Yet, before Aemond could respond, Maera preempted his words, her tone tinged with bitterness. "It was lavender, so bright and fragrant. I was hoping to use some of it in my labors when my time grew close. But now I cannot stand the smell."

Maera’s gaze shifted to a scorched tree in the distance, her voice tinged with scorn. "I saw your whore, laboring near the elm tree. I stupidly went over to see if she was ok." A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Do you know what she told me?" Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable. "That this so-called prophecy she revealed to you…was wrong. Specifically the part I played in it."

She watched her husband’s face. His face was a mix of frustration and resignation, the weight of their strained relationship evident in the way his shoulders slumped slightly.

“So what do you think she did next, my Prince?” Maera questioned sharply, her eyes boring into Aemond's. His confusion spread, evident in the flicker of uncertainty across his features, but he remained silent, awaiting her explanation.

Maera pulled down her sleeve, the fabric of her black robe falling away to reveal the bandaged wound on her arm. With deliberate motions, she removed the bandage, exposing the reddened skin adorned with stitches and dried blood. Aemond's eye widened in shock at the sight. “First she stabbed me in the arm,” Maera growled, her voice edged with bitterness. She then swiftly rolled up her sleeve before bunching up her skirts, revealing another bandage on her left thigh, which she ripped off to reveal an even larger wound. “Then she stabbed me in the leg.”

His gaze locked on the gruesome injury, Aemond remained speechless, his mind undoubtedly racing to comprehend the extent of Maera's ordeal.

Maera's eyes pleaded with him as she continued, desperation lacing her words. “Do you know where she set her sights next?” Still met with silence from her husband, she pressed on. “Our child. She tried to kill me and our child. With my own. Fucking. Dagger,” her voice cracked with emotion, the pain of her trauma palpable in her tone. “It was thanks to Ēbrion that I managed to survive.”

Taking a shaky step forward, Maera reached out to touch Aemond's leather-covered chest, her finger tracing a line across the fabric. “And your whore? Your bastard in her belly?” Her voice lowered to a whisper, her breath ghosting over his lips. “Gone.” The single word hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their shared loss and betrayal.

Aemond recoiled slightly, the weight of Maera’s words hitting him like a physical blow. He struggled to find the right words to express the depth of his remorse and regret, but the damage had already been done, leaving a chasm between them that seemed impossible to bridge.

She had never seen her husband speechless before, and had it been any other situation, it may have actually been amusing. After a minute of silence, Aemond finally stumbled over his words. His brows furrowed, his violet eye darting around Maera's face as he searched for the right words. “Maera, I did not know-”

She intercepted his attempt to speak, her tone sharp and mocking. “That what? That she would try and hurt me and your child?” She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Then you are truly lacking in common sense.”

Every muscle tensed with suppressed rage as she began to lay into Aemond. Her finger jabbed sharply into his chest with each pointed accusation, her voice a mixture of pain and fury. Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply, attempting to control the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her eyes, normally so vibrant, were now filled with a mixture of betrayal and hurt.

“Thanks to your delusional belief in that witch, she gained power here. The guards, the Lords both feared and listened to her. All because of you!” Maera's voice wavered with exhaustion as she confessed her regrets. “I should have left Kings Landing on Ēbrion when I had the chance,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do not say such things,” Aemond retorted sharply, his expression hardening.

“Why? Because it will hurt your feelings?” Maera mocked him, her words dripping with disdain.

Aemond’s face hardened as he grabbed her by the wrist of the hand that was jabbing him. He sharply yanked her forward, maintaining a fierce grip as he stared down at her, his single eye blazing with intensity.

“You think I give a shit what that whore did or didn’t say?” Aemond growled, his fingers digging into her skin. “You are mine. You have always been mine. I have always known-”

“Since Alys told you we were bound in order to save her own skin?” Maera interjected, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Aemond's expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something more complex, almost pleading. “Since we were children,” he declared, his voice firm, as he loosened the grip of her wrist slightly, the pressure easing but still firm.

His other hand moved with a surprising gentleness, tangling his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck. “Since you first came to Kings Landing as a girl of nine.”

He pulled sharply, forcing Maera to look up at him, the proximity of his presence overwhelming. The feeling of his fingers in her hair, the closeness of his body, sent an involuntary shiver down Maera’s spine. “And I have been yours since I first laid eyes on you.”

Despite the anger and hurt, the familiarity of his touch stirred a conflicting sense of longing within her. Her breath hitched, the intensity of the moment leaving her momentarily speechless. The air between them crackled with unresolved tension, the depth of their connection evident even in the midst of their turmoil.

Aemond brought his head down, pressing his forehead to hers. Maera could not help but lean into his touch, the closeness a balm to her turbulent emotions. His sharp nose bumped against hers as their breaths mingled, creating an intimate cocoon that momentarily shut out the world.

“I do not wish to fight,” he murmured softly.

In that moment, Maera longed to forget everything that had happened between them, to surrender to the comfort her husband's presence provided and move on.

“I do not either,” she whispered sadly. She craved the solace of his embrace, the familiarity of their bond, and the fleeting hope that they could find their way back to each other. But the memories of betrayal and the scars on her heart were too deep. Her heart could not take it.

With a heavy sigh, Maera flattened the hand she had against his chest, slowly pushing him back to create some distance. The gesture was gentle but firm, a silent declaration of her need for space. Aemond's grip on her wrist and hair loosened, and he reluctantly let her go, the warmth of his touch lingering as a reminder of what once was.

“Allow me to explain how things will go from now on,” Maera declared, her tone resolute. The statement caused her husband to frown. “I cannot leave this marriage. Not just because I cannot stand being around you after everything you have done, but because of our child.”

Maera brought her hand to her stomach, a protective gesture. Her babe was the only reason she was acting with civility and goodwill. She would not allow her child to not know their father.

“I will do my duty to you and our House. I will birth your heirs, my dragon will contribute to your war, and I intend to be involved in the Council.” She then closed her eyes and shook her head, her voice filled with sorrow. “But beyond duty…I cannot offer you anything more.”

She glanced up at Aemond, who had a look of devastation on his face. “Maera, please-”

“You drove away my chances with another noble lord because of your possessive nature,” she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. “You murdered my family in the name of a prophecy. You bedded a witch and got her pregnant because of your ambition.” Maera threw her hands up in frustration, her movements sharp and agitated. “You abandoned me here, with the witch having free rein, thus allowing her to try and kill me and our child.”

She felt wet tears begin to roll down her face, but she did not bother to wipe them away. “No. There is nothing left for me to give.”

Aemond, who famously did not know how to handle his emotions, reacted instead out of anger. His jaw clenched, and his eye blazed with a mixture of rage and disbelief. His hands, which had just moments before been tender, now balled into tight fists at his sides. “I will not allow you to do this,” he declared firmly, his voice rising as his nostrils flared as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“You are my wife, my Princess. The mother of my child and the love of my life. You cannot simply cast me aside and have us live together in a sham of a marriage.” He took a step forward, his posture aggressive, as if he were ready to physically challenge the reality she was imposing on him.

Maera's face twisted with disdain yet she remained rooted to her spot. “If you need a reason as to why things must be this way, I suggest you look in a mirror,” she sneered at him, her words dripping with contempt as she stared defiantly back at him.

A part of her wanted to cave in, to take back her words and soothe his anger. But she couldn’t forgive and forget. It was as if her heart were made of glass, and every time she entrusted it to Aemond, he would shatter it. No matter how much he tried to piece it back together with apologies or acts of kindness, fragments still remained missing. Even though those pieces were minuscule, it meant her heart could never be whole again.

“I need to go back inside, and have the Maester re-dress these wounds,” she said through gritted teeth.

As she hobbled away, making her way back towards the castle, Maera cast one last look at Aemond. He looked even worse than the day before. His face was a mask of anguish and defeat, the dark circle under his eye more pronounced, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled. The sight tugged at her emotions, but she steeled herself, knowing that preserving her heart and their child’s future was paramount. Her decision, though painful, was necessary.

“I will have the servants move your belongings to a separate chamber.”

Notes: Sorry updates are slow, it’s been a busy week in the Blue household. My son has decided to climb out of his crib, so now he’s having to sleep in a proper bed as well as potty-train himself all in the same week (despite my attempts to previously train him but the kid is so fucking headstrong everything has to be his way and on his terms 🤣) This was so sad to write though 😢

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[mywitchyblog]

Adressing the Race-Changing Discourse

It seems that a debate has been stirred up within the Shiftblr community, and my recent posts might have unintentionally added fuel to the fire. So, let me clear up where I stand.

First off, do I race change? No, I don’t. It’s just not something I’ve felt the need to do in my shifting practice. But do I support others who choose to race change? Absolutely, as long as they’re doing it with respect and not for some fetishizing bullshit.

There are two things everyone needs to keep in mind when it comes to this whole controversy:

Respect for Opinions: Everyone is entitled to their own damn opinion. If someone doesn’t like the idea of race changing, that’s their business. But what we can’t stand for is bullying, harassing, or insulting someone just because they see things differently. Everyone’s perspective deserves respect, even if you don’t agree with it.

Diverse Preferences: Just like some people don’t like using face claims or prefer not to mess with certain Desired Realities (DRs), some people don’t like race changing. And that’s perfectly fine! It’s called freedom of speech and opinion, and it’s a fundamental right—only limited when you start screwing with someone else’s rights.

Now, here’s where things get real problematic:

If you’re cussing people out, insulting them, or harassing them because they disagree with you, you’ve crossed a line. No one has the right to attack others over their opinions. Period.

To those who oppose race changing: I get it. I understand that you might feel uncomfortable with it, and that’s completely within your rights. HOWEVER, it’s crucial to recognize that not everyone who shifts to a different race is doing it to fetishize or sexualize that race. That’s a fact that needs to be acknowledged, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Yes, there are people who misuse the practice of race changing, but you’ve also got to recognize the other side of the coin—the respectful and beneficial aspects of this practice within the shifting community. Here’s the thing: nothing in reality shifting is inherently good or bad, black or white. It’s all shades of grey, full of infinite nuances.

And let’s be real—some of you are being downright hypocritical.

Yeah, I said it. You can argue or debate in the comments all you want, but the truth is, some of you are cool with people shifting to become Mermaids, Animals, Aliens, Na’vi, and whatnot, but then you turn around and label anyone who changes their ethnicity as weird or wrong.

That, my friends, is the textbook definition of a hypocritical double standard. It’s the same damn thing.

If I were to ask why you shift to become a Na’vi, a dragon, a god, or an alien, I’m sure your reasons would be rooted in curiosity and exploration—not to sexualize or fetishize that race, right? The same logic applies to those who shift into a different human ethnicity.

You can’t claim that one side of the apple is bad while the other is perfectly fine. It doesn’t work that way. If one side’s rotten, the whole damn apple is.

Yet, while shifting to become a fictional or non-human race is often celebrated as a form of exploration and creativity, shifting to become a different human race is slapped with labels like wrong or offensive. This criticism completely ignores the potential for personal growth, empathy development, and deeper understanding that comes from experiencing life through the lens of a different racial identity. Just like with age changing, race changing in shifting can be a powerful tool for healing, exploration, and expanding your consciousness.

The hypocrisy here is glaring: the same people who criticize race changing as cultural appropriation or fetishization often have no problem with the idea of embodying entirely "fictional races", which can involve similar, if not greater, levels of stereotyping and romanticization. Keep in mind that in the context of reality shifting it is not fictional nothing is.

Imagine if someone discovered that you shifted to be their race and they are discriminated and persecuted and you shifted because of it (looking at you Avatar shifters that shift to be a Na Vi you are litterally shifting to be Native american but with a blue paint on top be fucking for real, you cannot ignore the fact that they litterally inspired at 99% by Native culture and their struggle against colonial forces The remaining 1% is the fictional setting, remove that and its just human history from this reality).

If the argument is that adopting another race’s identity is wrong because it involves stepping into experiences not your own, then the same damn logic should apply to any form of identity transformation in shifting. But it doesn’t—and that’s where the double standard lies.

This hypocritical double standard also reminds me of how teenage shifters react when they hear about adults aging themselves down to be minors. They immediately assume the worst—yet have no problem aging themselves up to 30-something parents in one DR and then being 16 in the next. This inconsistency shows a deeper misunderstanding of what shifting truly involves and how it allows us to explore different aspects of identity and experience with respect and intention.

[felassan]

post from Dragon Age: Dreadwolf developer Luke B. (Game Systems Director for Dragon Age) on the unofficial BioWare forum, discussing the reasons why in Dragon Age: Inquisition there was no healing mechanic and instead the barrier system was introduced in the gameplay:

"I can't speak to any other games directly but I can give a bit of historic context for DAI. The game was initially a more dungeon/linear delving - see how far you can get - experience and there was no barrier of any kind. As a side note: healing has always been a hot topic in design because as soon as you include it there are many other conceits you now need take into consideration for the gameplay - one of which I will call 'the Anders problem'. Anyway, as DAI got the date moved and shifted more into the pseudo-openworld the concept of attrition (see how far you can get before having to return to camp) became less relevant and we needed to help the Players have more moment-to-moment agency around their survival. Unfortunately for various reasons (one of which is the sad reality of designing a game with a shifting timeline) the healing couldn't be re-added so we ended up with more of a mitigation strategy in the barrier system. It went through a lot of iterations but eventually landed on what it shipped with which I would call... acceptable (but just barely). Now, I will concede that a part of the reason it didn't return after that shift was an aversion to holy trinity gameplay specifically for MP but it wasn't the core reason. As a side story, trying to balance the game (as that was my job on DAI - and yes, it could be much better haha) we had to all but force Players to take barrier. It is intentionally the first skill in the first tree for the Mage and all the autolevel (I also handled that) is designed to get it right away. Feel free to ask other DAI questions, I'm happy to answer about things I was directly involved in 😁. Anything DA:D related you'll have to wait for at least a few months after launch to grill me...though I'm hoping they let me stream at launch as an official thing 🤞." [source]

a user asked about what the hardest class to balance in DA:I was:

"I feel like anyone who was around for the post-launch content will already know the answer to this as it was the bane of my existence when I got put exclusively on MP after launch but the Knight-Enchanter barrier absorbing was a pain. Stuff like that is very challenging to feel good without being broken as they are relative to damage so scaling is fairly open-ended. Too little and the casual players won't get use out of it, too much and the character builders will be wildly OP. We actually had a 'no nerfing' guideline for the SP side so it was a hard battle to fix that silly thing 🙃." [source]

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Prophecy (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Disobedience has consequences. You learn it the hard way.

Warnings: Finally the chapter that marks this fic as dark. Forced nudity. SA. Groping a person under coercion. Low blood pressure. Cursing. General Daemon being nasty.

A/N: Please keep in mind Daemon is not an objective narrator. I do not support his views. Remember, he has a wrapped perception of reality. And if you find yourself urged to send me nasty asks, or comment awful things, I will remind you that I warned you.

Previous parts here.

It’s not often that Daemon finds himself in such a dilemma. Not often, either, he decides to think before he acts. Violence comes easily to him. The best method of conflict resolution, and one that has certainly brought great benefits to House Targaryen through the ages.

Yet, this matter requires more delicacy. It’s his wife, who he is thinking about. And while Daemon might push you around, perhaps hold you down a little, he is not one for hurting women in such a way. This topic requires silk gloves instead of gauntleted fists.

Daemon likes to think the impulsiveness of youth has already left him, but knows himself too well to not recognize he is lying to himself. While he is no longer a flamboyant young man, the urge to have a fit of rage remains. He has gotten better at controlling it, but the dragon still roars and shifts on his chest, begging to be unchained.

He needs to soothe his nerves. Daemon sends for a Dornish red, if only to numb himself a little. The stronger the best, in his opinion. While some men get belligerent when drunk, Daemon it’s not one of them. Alcohol tends to take the edge off, loosen his tongue and inhibitions, but fails to cloud him with the red mist affronts on his pride do.

Daemon doesn’t want to hurt you. He repeats it to himself, over and over again. Not hurt you, not hurt you, not hurt you, not…. He takes one look at your pitiful form and suddenly, it’s easier.

You make quite the pitiful figure on the floor of your chambers. You have never taken a beating in your life and it shows. Curled on yourself on top of a rug and cradling your injured shoulder as best as you can with bound wrists. The whip didn’t even draw blood, but you acted as if it was the worst injury you had suffered in your short life. Every once in a while, you let out a tiny, frightened sniffle, before looking at him to make sure he has not heard you.

His proud, proud little dragon. Thinking a few tears might make you less. Daemon pretends to be oblivious to your little sobs, just to watch you sigh in relief at the lack of reaction. It’s starting to amuse him, turning into a game. Moving his head just so as you sniffle, or reaching for an object, just to see you freeze.

He quits it before the wine arrives. While he often enjoys putting the fear of the Gods on others, it’s not really enjoyable when it’s you. There is something strange curling in his stomach at your tears, something painfully akin to discomfort.

Daemon dislikes righteous people. Viserys gets enough on his nerves as it is. Pretending to have the moral high ground is for the weak, in his opinion. And the stupid. And the reckless. Stepping between a servant and a whip was certainly recklessly stupid on your part. Daemon would never. Not even for Viserys. Perhaps for Rhaenyra, given that she was a woman and needed protection.

Still, when you were the one doing it, he stopped finding it recklessly stupid and found it a little charming and brave. What a troublesome thought. Distressing, in truth. Is he starting to develop a conscience? Or worse, are you growing on him?

Daemon sneers. He has to put a halt to this. Show you who is really in control.

“Speak your terms, little fool.” He sits down on your bed, looking around the room. There are little comforts, and none he feels like taking away from you.

There are a few books, stacked in piles near the bed. You seem to be in the process of reading them, which surprises Daemon. He had been vaguely aware of your ability to read, unusual for a bastard girl. He had figured Rhea had taught you because while she might have been a bitch, she was a proud one. She was a Royce from Runestone, not a Baratheon fool. She wouldn’t have her heir running around without knowing her letters.

The most surprising part is not that you are trying to read the books, but the fact that you are actually making progress. There are a few parchments tucked in, with some terrible attempts at penmanship on them. As if you were slowly decoding them. To actually try to learn High Valyrian on your own spoke of a dedication he was not aware you possessed.

Throwing the books in your chambers had been more of an ambience choice for Daemon. When he had thought about decorating your living space, putting books on High Valyrian had seemed like the obvious choice. A little dreamer, with her Valyrian clothes and surrounded by her little temple, needed books in High Valyrian. It was only right.

Everything was as it should be. Daemon finally had his Valyrian bride. Besides, it didn't matter if you didn’t know how to read them, when he could do so without any hardship. He had figured that if you were a boring lay, he could always turn to the books for entertainment.

Lay. Hm. Perhaps taking the bed would teach you there were worse fates in this world than being the wife of a Prince. But Daemon could already see in his mind’s eye your pouty face. You would whine, and give him your sad puppy look…. Oh, Seven Hells! What was wrong with him? Was he turning into a soft fool, like Viserys had been for Aemma?

Daemon had had plenty of pouty mistresses in the past. In fact, it was a prerequisite of the position. Any woman he took to bed had to be able to get her way via a few well-placed pouts. They knew he had a weakness for it. None had affected him as you.

Besides, you could have nightmares. Or sleep badly. Which was not right, for a dreamer.

“I… I could tell you another secret.” You look up at him, all big sad eyes. It makes something in him jerk. Something stands at attention with the urge to comfort. Daemon doesn’t like it.

“Is that what the girl’s life is worth to you?” And he was not planning on whipping the girl to death, but you don’t know that. The panic in your eyes doesn’t fill him with as much satisfaction as he hoped. Is this some sort of domesticity trap? No. Daemon needs to crack down on you, hard. This cannot keep going. You have denied him too much. “I could easily get that from you by force.”

“You could get anything from me by force.” Defiance. How cute. You look like an angry kitten, more than a real threat. Your eyes are narrowed at him, and he feels the urge to laugh. “What do you want?”

“I dislike your tone, Wife.” In truth, it’s a good question. What does he want? Daemon barely knows it himself. It used to be Rhaenyra. When he couldn’t have that, he had thought maybe Lady Laena was enough. She was pretty, young and would birth him strong Valyrian children. But while he had planned to marry her, and felt aroused by the prospect of bedding her, he didn’t feel the urge to please her as he did with you. Probably, if Daemon had married her, he would have made her miserable with little care. Like he is making you.

What does he want? What does he want?

“You like baths, do you not?” As if struck by inspiration. He would call it divine, were it not for the fact Daemon knows he was forsaken a long time ago.

“I do? What does it have to do with anything?” You give him a confused look.

Daemon smirks. He is not sure what else from you he wants, but for now, the idea of getting close to your naked, wet body, is enough.

“No.” You mutter.

“Or I could just kill the whore. Your choice, Dreamer. What’s going to be?”

Not an hour later, Daemon sits in a scorching hot bath, naked. You sit between his legs, still dressed in one of your shifts, turned transparent by the water. Unchained, for once.

The glow happiness gives you is unmatched. You look deliriously happy in the hot water, talking so fast he can barely keep along. At first, you had been shy, but when he had leaned back, allowing you more space in the tub, you had blossomed.

You had been humming under your breath, but when he made no move to censor you, you had started talking. The words were low, almost to yourself. As if you had almost forgotten he was there. Daemon made no move to remind you, answering to your ramblings with a few well-placed grunts and noncommittal hums.

“…. And I have really been trying to keep all the grime off my hair, but I really miss sulfates, you know? And conditioner. Oh my god, conditioner! You have no idea how hard it is to detangle my hair.”

“Here.” Daemon passes you a comb, lips twitching. He doesn't want to smile at your antics, but there is something really endearing about it. Even if he barely understands a word you are saying. Is he getting old? Are conditioners something you used to have at the whorehouse? And don’t even get him started on the tunes you were humming earlier. He had never heard them, not even in the most raunchy of ale houses. “When you are done, lean back and be quiet.”

You frown. Your mouth opens and closes, as if you are about to be argumentative. It’s one of his favorite looks on you, to be honest, but it’s starting to become a little annoying. This is not an experience to get you to practice your rusty social skills, but to put you in your place.

No matter how much he enjoys seeing you open up to him, Daemon can’t lose the opportunity to finally get you to submit.

“What was the girl's name?” It's only a simple phrase, but it works like a charm at shutting you up. Your body language shifts in the blink of an eye. Your shoulders curl in, defensive, and you start brushing your hair. The strokes are harsh and punishing.

If you want to do his job for him, Daemon will not stop you.

“You just have to accept your place.” He doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out regardless. It's the truth. If you just stopped fighting and stopped getting huffy about all sorts of things, it would be much easier. He could have you out of these cuffs, by his side. You just had to accept you were his.

Daemon places a hand over your shoulder blades and rubs a circle. The feeling of the wet shift is unbearable. He would much rather be touching your bare skin, but you had started pouting and huffing and mentioning Rhea, then Aemma… The night was already too charged to insist on it.

“My place? My place! The sheer audacity of you!” You jerk away from his touch, trying to get out of the tub. Daemon curls his arm around your waist and tugs back, hard. You are sent back into the tub, upsetting the water that splashes everywhere. Ah. Well, some servant will clean it, later.

Unwilling to lose his advantage, he perches his head on your shoulder. He nuzzles the crook of your shoulder, towards your neck. The scent of your skin is intoxicating, clean, and sweet. He likes that you smell exactly how he wanted you too.

Maybe those Seven Pointed cunts were onto something. Marriage was truly a delight. No whore smelt this sweet for him, not even when he gave them the exact perfumes he wanted them to wear. They lack the sweet smell of innocence that gushes out of your pores.

“Why don't you take this off?” Daemon tugs at the shift, despite your distressed whine. This is punishment, after all. No matter how enjoyable he intends it to be, a little fear will make the lesson stick. He can do anything to you, and it’s time you remember it. “And let me rub some rose oil on your wrists?”

“No.” Your lower lip wobbles. Pouting? Again? It's like it's his name day or something. No one told him it would be so pleasurable, teaching an impudent little chit to behave. Because this is more than just about his pleasure, and both of you know it. This is a power struggle, a way to finally get it to sink into your little head. You are never escaping him.

There is something enjoyable about breaking women, Daemon muses. A certain appeal. Getting them to accept their natural place in the world, getting you to submit… It sounds like the stuff of his fantasies.

It has to be done carefully, so you do not realize what’s happening until it’s too late. Other men, less skilled in the ways of pleasure, might think the ways of getting a woman like you to do their bidding have to be violent. Daemon is too proud for it.

It’s a battle of wills. And Daemon will not lose. He knows he is skilled at seduction. All seduction starts with an unwilling victim; otherwise it is not seduction. Still, when you test his temper, like tonight, he does feel some violent urges. Perhaps bending you over and taking you without mercy would leave you much more agreeable.

“Come on. Looks uncomfortable. Wet cloth clinging to you all over and getting cold.” Daemon coaxes, gently kissing your jaw. He maps the path towards your ear with his tongue, blowing slightly to watch the goosebumps rise on your skin.

Your pretty features scrunch up, in a delicious mix of pleasure, confusion, and betrayal. Maidens. How fun it was teaching them the ways of pleasure. Always so concerned about being proper and meek, of not appearing too wanton. But Daemon knew the truth about you. You were the blood of the dragon, just like him.

You burned for him. Daemon would bet, if he were to slip his hand between your soft thighs, he would find you wet and ready to be taken. Virgins were like that, after all. It only took a few skilled touches and their bodies were ready, even if their minds were not.

He doesn’t want to take you, tonight. Just explore the crevices of your body a little, understand you better. Daemon can be patient. If he riles you up enough for it, he is sure you will come to him thinking it’s on your own terms.

He pulls at your shift, slowly starting to lift it. You don't notice at first, too lost in the confusing feelings his lips are inciting. Daemon keeps his hand on your thigh, slowly gathering the fabric up until his fingertips brush bare skin.

He keeps it up, fingertips drawing nonsensical patterns on the side of your thighs, your hips. You are so soft, skin plump and smooth. Daemon wants to grab you hard, until you bruise. See his hands digging into your thighs, watching the flesh shift under his grip. But he doesn't.

He doesn't because the moment his hand touches your hip bone, you jolt. You buck under him, all wild mare, trying to get him to unhand you.

“At ease, wife.” Daemon whispers in your ear. “I won't hurt you.”

“I don't want…” You start trying to pull the shift down. He bats at your hands, but you squirm too much to let him keep enjoying it. Anger builds up in him, anger and a certain cruelty. Who are you, to deny him what’s his? As your husband, he has a right to your body. He has been much more patient than other men would be in his circumstances.

The urge to get you to roll over and show your belly, so to speak, is too strong to help it. You are starting to remind him of the worst parts of Rhea, and that can’t be allowed to happen. You are meant to be his delicate little dreamer, not some Bronze Bitch.

So, he leans in, to whisper in your ear.

“Mia… Mary… No. Mina.” Daemon takes your earlobe into his mouth, sucking lightly. You go deadly quiet, all fight gone. He gets to take your shift off, and he groans. Better than he had dared to hope.

Your body is soft. All smooth skin, bared for him to see. Your breasts are a worthy pair, and look firm enough. You have hips and a stomach that look like they could stand a pregnancy well. He finds himself growing excited by the prospect of watching your hips and breasts become fuller, once he gets you pregnant with his heir.

Under the excuse of cleaning you, he starts rubbing at your arms, curious about how far you will let him push. He strokes your collarbones, then your chest. Not groping, barely skimming his fingers over your sensitive nipples. Daemon is enchanted by the almost silent sighs you let out, how you fight and surrender to a pleasure that is clearly so new to you.

Daemon kisses your ear, slowly making out with the shell of it. You struggle against him, trying to get away, but your mouth parts in overwhelmed pleasure. It only takes a few more well-placed licks for you to surrender to the pleasure of it all.

His hands stroke your hips. Then, slowly, towards your inner thighs. Slowly, his cock fattens and begins to ache. Daemon pays it no mind. If he were, you may spook and be brought off the trance you are in. You might oppose resistance.

How he longs to roll his hips against yours, to bury himself deep inside your eager little hole. He knows you would suck him right in. And you would be so warm, just short of scorching hot inside. So soft, too. Perhaps, if he was lucky, when the time came, Daemon would get to pin your hands, so you couldn’t muffle any of the delicious moans that would surely escape you.

As for right now, he likes how quiet you are. Too often, whores will moan loudly in his ear, hoping to provoke a reaction. Somehow, it never works. His cock doesn’t react to that as it does to the way you fight to keep your little sighs quiet. Perhaps one day he will teach you to be unashamed, but right now, the quietness speaks of a modesty lowborns lack.

It’s good enough, Daemon decides. He has enough with pressing his hardened member to your lower back, with having you all flustered. The memories will allow him more than a few pleasant tugs at his cock, later on. The face you make as he scratches at your inner thighs will haunt his dreams for many nights to come.

He can’t help but be greedy, though. How far will you let him push? Will you let him look at the real prize? He lathers his hand with a bit of soap, and slips it between your thighs.

You speak then. Shame. He always liked looking at maiden’s cunnys. The anticipation is very enjoyable. Looking at those tiny holes and thinking how he is about to break them, force them to take more than they are ready for. Watching them cry, watching their expressions turn from pain to pleasure.

“Rhaenyra’s firstborn will be called Jacaerys.” You take his hands in yours and interlock your fingers. It’s a subtle thing. A way to derail him without openly denying him. Daemon likes that you are learning fast.

“Jacaerys? That’s not a Targaryen name.” His interest is genuine. Knowing the future fascinates him. It’s not something he has thought about before, more centered on the past of his house and his present. But getting a glimpse of the future is tantalizing. What will happen to him, in ten years, in twenty? To you?

He lifts your hand and checks your pulse, under the pretense of rubbing some oil into your abused wrists. It races beneath your skin, scared little bird that you are. Despite your awful behavior today, Daemon might get you softer cuffs. Or keep you in these, but release you from time to time. Under his careful supervisor, of course.

“Is it not? It sounds similar to that word, the one you use for Caraxes to breathe fire.” Your voice comes out a little shaky, but you are getting better at pretending not to be scared. Or perhaps you are not scared anymore. Whatever it is, it pleases him.

“Dracarys?” Daemon asks, amused. It sounds similar, but it's not spelled the same way at all. He kisses your temple. His smart, pretty girl, slowly getting interested in her heritage.

“That’s the one.”

“I think it’s a Velaryon name. Why would she allow it, though?” Sure, Rhaenyra was married to a Velaryon, but why did she break tradition so? Daemon had thought her a true Targaryen, like him. It made no sense. She was supposed to understand just how precious their blood was, how special. They had a legacy and centuries of tradition to uphold, and his niece would throw it all away? What was next, naming a child something as common as Robert?

“The boy will have dark hair.” You mutter, lazily. Ah, a bastard. How wonderful. One would think that she would be more careful. Muddying their blood was one thing. Another was doing it so and producing dark-haired children no one would ever believe were her husband’s.

“I see.” He rewards you by adding more hot water to the bath. It's not something he would do for anyone. It's servant's work, after all. But you have been a good girl so far, despite earlier transgressions.

This escape attempt of yours was a blessing in disguise, truly. No real damage was done. The servant girls got whipped for less at the Red Keep in his grandfather’s reign. Maybe not now because Viserys was a soft-hearted fool, but he is sure it’s still happening at other castles.

The servants here… It’s clear there had been an oversight on his part. He had been away too much when he was married to the Bronze Bitch, and she had given them too loose of a leash. Women. Unable to enact discipline, no matter how tough they thought themselves to be. No, a firm hand was needed. Or else his little dreamer would suffer from it.

At the addition of more hot water, you sigh and go pliant, relaxing against him. Your head sags against his shoulder, as if you are exhausted. Poor thing, that you were. Daemon should get you into bed. It was closer to sunrise than sundown. The night had been trying, especially for someone with the fragile disposition of a dreamer.

“This is how I knew you were a dragon.” Daemon laughs a little. You have the cutest blissed out expression. Another proof you were a Targaryen by birth, and not only by marriage. At first, he had thought your love for baths was because you were a bit of a clean freak, but now he realizes it’s about the heat.

You mumble something inaudible.

“Jace… He is… Ugh.”

“Your favorite?” Daemon asks, trying to keep the conversation going, despite the slightest pang of jealousy in his chest. It was to be expected, of course. You would prefer the heir to the Iron Throne. Despite all your eccentricities, your outstanding abilities, you were just a girl.

Daemon would make sure to keep this Jacaerys away from you. He was sure you would lose interest in him, anyway. How could a mere boy compare to him? Now, sure, you thought him attractive, but because you were only a girl yourself. You would learn to prefer a man’s company over a boy’s.

The favor of a dreamer was a heady thing. Daemon would not put it past the boy to try to charm you. The Gods knew it would have been something he would have done if he had the chance. Daemon would just have to make sure the bastard was kept away, perhaps whisking you away to some other place when the boy was growing up.

He waits for you to keep the conversation going, worried about the sudden quiet. He calls your name. You stir and make a small grumbling noise. You have fallen asleep, pretty eyes closed. Daemon lets himself relax a few more moments, greedily enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. Something this bastard Jacaerys was never going to get. Just basking in your presence and warmth. Then, he lifts you out of it and dries you as best as he can.

Daemon places you in a clean shift, with a slightly lower cut than you would choose for yourself. Despite him buying you an entire wardrobe, you seem to favor higher cuts, which he cannot understand. You have a gorgeous body but seem unwilling to flaunt it.

As he looks at you, asleep on the bed, looking like a small otherworldly being, he almost regrets it all. He thinks of leaving the room unlocked, of not putting you in cuffs.

Daemon cuffs your wrists and ankles before he leaves.