#HE DID IT HE SAID THE THING!!!! The thing about the dragon!!!!!!!!

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

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Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you. 

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky. 

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on the same end of that deal just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected. 

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces. 

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different. 

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction. 

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait. 

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore. 

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks. 

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in. 

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is. 

Maybe he’s it. 

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine. 

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom. 

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him. 

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists. 

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust. 

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet. 

And you have a heated… What was it called again? 

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay. 

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you. 

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind. 

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works. 

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water. 

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, in its medieval iterations, all poofy skirts and velvet waistcoats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery. 

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. The theme is Midnight Elysium, and you look every bit the part - dangerous and glamourous and untouchable. 

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.  

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen. 

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact. 

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?” 

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake. 

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather. 

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask. 

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks. 

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed. 

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him. 

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating. 

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice. 

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to. 

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his. 

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality. 

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling possessively as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea. 

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna. 

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now. 

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The party is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most. 

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you wonder if he's wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice. 

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end. 

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t. 

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken. 

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting. 

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room. 

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track. 

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command. 

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep. 

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him. 

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features. 

“Love… you’re awake.”

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Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~Unexpected Encounters~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Word Count: 1521

Tag List: @snowtargaryen

Chapter 5 ---

The days following your tense encounter with Rhaenyra passed with agonizing slowness. You worked diligently, keeping to your tasks, always mindful of the eyes that followed you through the halls. Daemon’s scrutiny had intensified, though he still hadn’t confronted you directly. His gaze was like a shadow—constant, unnerving.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had become more aloof. You had noticed her lingering looks, her growing hesitance in conversation. It was clear she was piecing things together, but how much did she truly know? The tension between you and the princess was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

But it wasn’t just Rhaenyra who weighed on your mind.

Daemon was always watching, always lurking. You could feel it—his presence, his curiosity—and it unnerved you more than anything else. Though your interactions had been brief and polite, his growing suspicion was impossible to ignore.

Still, the warnings had to continue. You couldn’t stop now. You had already set events into motion, and there was no turning back. The next warning would be the most dangerous yet, and you knew it had to be delivered soon.

It was late afternoon when you found yourself in one of the less frequented wings of the Keep. The hallways were quiet, the only sound your soft footsteps on the cold stone floors. You were on your way to check on supplies, something you had become well-versed in since assuming your fabricated role as a midwife. It was a simple task, one that allowed you the time to plan your next move.

As you turned a corner, you came face to face with Rhaenyra.

You froze, startled by the sudden encounter. Rhaenyra looked equally surprised but quickly composed herself, her expression unreadable.

“Y/N,” she greeted, her voice calm, though there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place.

You bowed your head slightly in response, trying to steady your racing heart. “Princess.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could see the questions in her eyes, the subtle curiosity, the cautious distance she had begun to keep.

“How do you find your work here in the Keep?” she asked, her tone conversational, but you sensed there was more behind her words.

“It has been fulfilling, my princess,” you replied carefully. “I am grateful for the opportunity to serve.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on you, as if weighing your words. She took a small step closer, her presence commanding despite the calmness of the exchange.

“There are many in this court who believe they know what’s best for the realm,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “But few are as prepared as they think.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was she testing you again? Did she suspect that you were the one leaving the notes?

“I hope that those in power will continue to act with wisdom,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it was fleeting. Her gaze sharpened, and for a brief moment, you wondered if she was about to confront you then and there. But instead, she merely nodded.

“Wisdom is a rare gift,” she said, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “I hope you are as wise as you seem.”

With that, she turned and continued down the corridor, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering in your chest. The encounter had been brief, but the weight of it lingered long after Rhaenyra had disappeared from view.

She knew something. But how much?

That night, you couldn’t shake the memory of your conversation with Rhaenyra. You had been careful, but it was clear that she was starting to grow suspicious. The danger was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

And then there was Daemon.

The man was an enigma, his unpredictability making him all the more dangerous. You had avoided him as best you could, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed again. And when they did, you had to be prepared.

The encounter came sooner than expected.

You had just finished tending to a patient—a young woman recovering from childbirth—and were making your way back to your chambers when you spotted Daemon standing at the end of the hallway. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched you approach.

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no avoiding him now.

“Lord Daemon,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice steady as you bowed your head in respect.

Daemon didn’t move from his position, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that always seemed to carry an air of danger.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it that set you on high alert.

“I do what is asked of me,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

Daemon pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, filling the narrow hallway with a sense of menace that made your pulse quicken.

“And what exactly is it that you’ve been asked to do?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Your heart raced, but you kept your expression neutral. “I am here to tend to the needs of the people, as always.”

Daemon chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in the sound. “Tending to the needs of the people,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing slightly. “An admirable role.”

He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “But you’ve always struck me as someone who… knows more than they let on.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was this it? Had Daemon figured out your role in the warnings?

“I am but a humble servant, my lord,” you replied, keeping your tone calm despite the panic rising in your chest.

Daemon studied you for a long moment, his smirk never faltering. Then, without warning, he leaned in close, his voice a low whisper.

“Secrets don’t stay hidden forever, Y/N.”

Before you could respond, Daemon straightened and walked past you, his smirk still in place as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing there with a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The encounters with both Rhaenyra and Daemon had left you on edge. You had managed to avoid suspicion for the most part, but it was clear that both of them were beginning to question your role. The tension was becoming unbearable, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something—or someone—gave.

But the most dangerous part of your mission was still ahead. The next note, the one you were planning to deliver in secret, held information that could change everything. You had to be more careful than ever, especially with Daemon’s growing curiosity and Rhaenyra’s watchful eyes.

And then, just as you were beginning to plan your next move, the unexpected happened.It was late one evening when you found yourself in the corridors of the Keep once more, a new warning written and ready to be delivered. You had chosen a time when the halls were quiet, hoping to slip unnoticed into the shadows.

But as you approached the alcove where you usually left the notes, you froze.

Rhaenyra and Daemon were there—together.

They stood in the dim light of the corridor, their voices low, but the tension between them was palpable. You could hear the tail end of their conversation, something about strategy and alliances, but the words barely registered as your heart raced.

This was not part of the plan.

You quickly turned to leave, hoping to retreat before they noticed you, but it was too late.

“Y/N!” Rhaenyra’s voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

You slowly turned, your heart pounding in your chest as both Rhaenyra and Daemon fixed their gazes on you. There was no escaping this.

“Out for a walk at this hour?” Rhaenyra asked, her tone curious but sharp. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied your face.

Daemon, on the other hand, remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched you with that same unnerving intensity.

You forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “I was merely… clearing my head, princess.”

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Daemon, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of their suspicion pressing down on you. They didn’t trust you. Not fully. Not yet.

But you had to play your part.

“I did not mean to intrude,” you said quickly, taking a step back. “I will leave you to your discussion.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before she finally nodded, though there was something unreadable in her gaze. “Of course.”

You bowed your head and quickly retreated, your heart still racing as you disappeared into the shadows of the Keep. You had avoided confrontation this time, but the tension was growing. And soon, something would have to give.

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood - Do I Wanna Know

Summary - In a heated confrontation between estranged lovers, unspoken truths and unresolved emotions surge to the surface, igniting jealousy and frustration. Within the commotion, raw desire and longing burst forth, driven by an intense, feverish infatuation.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2088

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you'd stay. Baby, we both know that the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day.

"You can stay," I said, propping myself up on my elbow, watching as he began to get dressed, his back to me while he fastened the clasps on his clothes. 

The room felt colder with each piece of clothing he put on, and I couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment settling in my chest.

"No, I cannot," he replied matter-of-factly, his voice void of any hesitation. I sighed, rolling my eyes and stretching out again, feeling the familiar sting of rejection.

"Of course," I mumbled under my breath, not really intending for him to hear. But he did. He turned back to face me, a questioning look on his face, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"You always bolt like this," I added, my voice rising slightly. "Every time we share something, you get up and leave as if it meant nothing."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture I knew all too well. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice sharper now, anger creeping in. "You know it's complicated."

"Complicated?" I scoffed, the word bitter on my tongue. I shook my head, more at myself than at him, wondering how I had once thought this would be different. 

"What's so complicated about wanting to stay?" I pressed on, my voice trembling slightly. "About wanting to see where this could go?"

He shifted uneasily, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the right words were hidden there. 

"I have my reasons," he said finally, but the words felt weak, lacking conviction.

"And I have mine," I shot back, frustration edging my voice. "But I'm here, willing to face whatever comes next. Can you say the same?"

The silence that followed was deafening. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and resolve. The weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air, the things we couldn't say in the harsh light of day, the truths we only dared to whisper in the dark.

His expression hardened, and he took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "I wish I could stay," he said eventually, his voice cold and distant. "But I can't. This is how it has to be."

I nodded, trying to keep my emotions in check. 

"Then go," I said quietly, forcing myself to lie back down as if the act of turning away could shield me from the pain welling up inside. My heart ached with the finality of it all, a dull throb that seemed to echo in the empty spaces of my soul. "But don't expect me to wait forever."

He finished dressing quickly, his movements abrupt and filled with a sense of urgency.

As he approached the door, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at me with a look of finality.

"Don't expect me to come back," he said, his voice carrying a final, unyielding edge.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left alone in the dim, silent room. The darkness seemed to close in around me, each breath heavy with the weight of unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. 

As I stared into the void, I couldn't shake the feeling that this might truly be the end, the final chapter of a story that had once seemed so full of promise.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"It's my pleasure, Lord Tully," I said with a playful smile, reaching out to accept the delicate flower he offered. 

His fingers brushed lightly against my hand before he lifted the flower to place it gently in my hair, his fingers brushing against my temple. The touch was soft, almost reverent.

"Please, call me Oscar," he said, stepping back to admire the flower nestled in my hair.

"Does it look pretty?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. I knew he was watching, I knew he could hear, and I knew he was angry.

"Absolutely beautiful," Oscar murmured, his voice low and filled with genuine admiration. His eyes drifted from the flower to my face, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

I turned slightly, catching a glimpse of the figure lurking in the corner. His jaw was set, his fists clenched at his sides. For a man who vowed not to return, he surely held a great fascination with my whereabouts.

The figure in the shadows stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. 

"Is everything all right here?" Davos asked, his voice dripping with barely concealed anger. His gaze swept over Oscar as if trying to dissect the sincerity behind his smile.

"Yes, everything is fine," I said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. "Oscar was just showing me this beautiful flower."

Davos's eyes flicked to Oscar, his expression hardening. "You should be careful, Lord Tully. Not everything is as it seems."

Oscar straightened, meeting Davos's gaze head-on. "I assure you, my intentions are nothing but honourable."

"Intentions can be misleading," Davos shot back, his eyes narrowing.

The room felt like a battlefield, with me standing in the middle, trying to hold the line.

"Thank you, Oscar," I said again, more firmly this time. "The flower is lovely."

Oscar nodded, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before he turned to leave. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

As the door closed behind him, I turned sharply to face Davos, his eyes piercing through the dim light.

"Was that necessary?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sadness.

His eyes flared with jealousy, the intensity of his gaze searing through me like a brand. "You're really going to entertain him right in front of me?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "You have no right to be jealous. You walked out. You left me."

"I left because I had to," he shot back, his voice rising with an edge of defensiveness. "It wasn't a choice, it was something I needed to do. But that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"Caring?" I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "You think you can just walk out and then come back expecting everything to be the same? You made your choice, Davos. You decided to leave."

His expression softened for a fleeting moment, a glimmer of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. But it was short-lived. 

"I've thought it through. I want you. I've always wanted you," he said, his voice heavy with earnestness. "I realize that now more than ever."

I looked at him, incredulous. "So you come crawling back now, expecting me to just forget everything?"

"Yes," he said, his voice raw and honest. "Because I can't stand the thought of losing you. I can't bear the idea of you moving on without me."

We stood there, staring at each other, the air thick with unresolved emotions and unspoken words. The tension between us was electric, and before I could process what was happening, we both lunged at each other.

Our lips met in a desperate, fiery kiss, years of longing and regret pouring out in that single, explosive moment. His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, as if afraid I might slip away. I responded with equal fervour, clutching his tunic, wanting to hold onto him and never let go.

The kiss was a mix of anger, passion, and deep-seated love, a testament to the complicated relationship we had always shared. Without another word, he lifted me onto the table behind us, his hands firm and possessive. 

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and pulled the flower from my hair. With a determined expression, he crushed it in his hand, the petals falling to the floor like forgotten promises.

I couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the gesture breaking the tension. He grinned, a flash of his old self shining through, before capturing my lips in another searing kiss. His hands roamed my body, caressing and exploring, igniting a fire within me that I couldn't quench.

He pushed me back gently, laying me down on the table, his eyes never leaving mine. The cool surface beneath me contrasted with the heat of his touch, sending shivers down my spine. He leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear. 

"I've missed you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"Show me," I whispered back, my hands finding their way to his belt, tugging it free.

In a frenzy of passion and urgency, we shed our clothes, the room filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and whispered confessions. 

His focus was entirely on me, he trailed kisses down my neck, his hands exploring every inch of my body. 

"I'm going to make you feel things you've never felt before," he promised, his voice husky.

He paused, looking deeply into my eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his tone serious.

I pretended to ponder his question, a playful smile tugging at my lips, before nodding. "Yes, I trust you," I replied.

His eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement. He reached for a piece of cloth, tying it gently around my eyes. The darkness heightened my senses, every touch of his fingers on my skin more electrifying than the last.

With my vision obscured, I felt his lips return to my neck, his kisses trailing lower and lower. 

"I want you to feel everything," he whispered against my skin. His hands caressed my sides, moving with a tender yet firm pressure that made me gasp.

He explored every part of me with an intensity that made my body tremble. His lips and hands seemed to be everywhere at once, drawing soft moans and shivers from me. 

The anticipation, the uncertainty of his next move, made each sensation even more powerful.

As his lips travelled down my body, I felt a surge of pleasure unlike anything before. "Davos," I breathed, my voice shaky with need.

"Just feel," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. His words were a command and a promise, a pledge to make me experience every moment fully.

He entered me slowly, savouring the moment. Without my sight, the sensation was magnified, every movement sending waves of pleasure through me. I arched my back, a gasp escaping my lips. 

The rhythm we found was driven by desperation and need, a physical manifestation of the emotional storm that had brought us to this point.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

"I want you," I gasped, my body responding to his every touch. "I need you, Davos."

"Perfect," he murmured, increasing his speed. His mouth found my collarbone, sucking and nibbling softly at the skin. Each bite sent a shiver through me, the pleasure mingling with a sweet ache. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer.

The intensity built, each thrust bringing us closer to the edge. My senses were overwhelmed, every touch, every kiss, driving me higher. I could feel the tension coiling within me, a tight, burning need that threatened to consume me.

"Davos," I cried out, my voice a desperate plea.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice steady and reassuring. "I've got you."

With a final, powerful thrust, we both surrendered to the climax, our cries intertwining in the heated space between us. The sensation surged through us like an unstoppable force, a wave of pleasure so intense it left us shivering and gasping for air.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, he shifted slightly, his hands moving with a deliberate tenderness. Gently, he untied the cloth that had been concealing my eyes. The fabric slipped away, and I blinked as the room came into focus.

The sight of his face was almost overwhelming. His expression was a mix of relief, adoration, and a deep, unspoken emotion. He looked at me as though seeing me for the first time, his eyes drinking in the flushed, satisfied expression on my face. 

The connection between us felt electric, charged with the intensity of what we had just shared.

I reached up, my fingers brushing his face, feeling the warmth and firmness of his skin beneath my touch. 

"Did you feel everything?" he asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and satisfaction.

I smiled, my eyes meeting his with a mix of joy and contentment. "Yes," I whispered, "every single moment."

Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new. Now, I've thought it through. Crawling back to you.

A/n - Tbh I don't love this one, it didn't really go how I had it planned out in my head but I hope someone out there does lmaoo.

[gdn019283]

Kilgharrah is a dragon that lost his entire species, watched his fellow companions get killed by Uther and by his genocidal reign, and got imprisoned and chained in a cave with no food or water for more than 20 years. He had nothing and no one, but lived through it all by sheer force and the will of revenge. He is a sentient being, with emotions, thoughts, a voice and the most powerful magic the world has ever known (even more powerful than Merlin’s, and we saw it).

Yet, I don’t understand why most people in the Merlin fandom find him the culprit of many of the choices on the show and even of the end.

His kind has been wiped off; he had revenge to think about while being imprisoned. He did not point at Arthur specifically or at Uther, just at the injustice of it all.

But still, he listened to Merlin and respected what he had ordered him to do, even after all he had endured.

People often tend to forget that Merlin is, as much as Gaius, a class traitor, and if we can explain why he is, then why can’t we explain Kilgharrah’s behaviour?

Most choices he told Merlin to make were part of his rational mind, one that had seen various parts of the future. He thought of the ones that made most sense to him and even then, Merlin defied him, so how can he be Kilgharrah’s fault that everything went to shit in the end? The dragon was tired, old, lost and maybe hopeless, but he persisted, he tried giving Merlin what he never had, what even Gaius couldn’t give him:

a space to be actually free; the joy of flying; a good friend who understood what being magic was like, because Kilgarrah is as ancient as the earth itself and magic flows through him too.

He helped Merlin so many times, told him about killing Morgana, because he knew that Merlin had already made a mistake. From then on, the future had changed shape and Kilgharrah saw it. He tried to prevent the worst, but it was Merlin who didn’t listen to him, it was him who said he didn’t want to kill a friend, it was Merlin who said that he couldn’t stand his friends’ grief, it was Merlin who commanded rather than asked Kilgharrah to gift him the power to heal Morgana, and it was actually Gaius who had told Merlin he had done the right thing by trying to kill Morgana (and this is only an example. Merlin did not kill other people when Kilgharrah told him to, so Merlin had something called free will. Every choice was made by him, and the Great Dragon has nothing to do with it).

All Merlin’s points were right, yet, for a dragon who didn’t have the tools to prevent Merlin’s mistakes and choices, he tried to warn him the best way he knew how. Most of the times it was with simple actions that went straight to the point.

If someone has to be at fault, then Merlin has to be at fault too.

I like Kilgharrah.

He is a great character, an example of what genocide can do to you, and he is so funny, so complicated and the fact that they were able to give such a good personality to a dragon warms my heart. He is a listener, he tried helping Merlin even when he couldn’t and was so happy when Aithusa was born.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

Merlin was his friend, because they were the same:

Lonely, and just that tad bit hopeful that a greater future was ahead of them.

Merlin did not fail because of Kilgharrah and to the dragon’s opinion, Merlin actually didn’t fail at all.

What I find unjust in the show isn’t really Arthur’s death. It’s the way we come to it and all the wrong things that happen in between, the non logical way Merlin’s magic worked, but what if Arthur had to die in order for Albion to have its Golden Age?

And perhaps, Kilgharrah knew, but didn’t know how to tell Merlin, much like Merlin couldn’t tell Gaius what he had seen in the Crystal Cave, because the future can take so many different shapes, and it was Merlin who ended up creating it, while he had tired to avoid it and change it, at the same time.

Kilgharrah is an amazing character and I love the shit out of him.

[horizon-verizon]

Something that is rarely mentioned in the context of the maester conspiracy are the suspicious fertility problems among some Targaryen women. I saw people shrug it off as the result of inbreeding, but the Targaryens are quite literally stated to have magical blood and if their genetics worked like the real world genetic does, everyone with any drop of Valyrian blood would be more misshapen than the Habsburgs and be completely infertile by that point, yet Valyria did not collapse due to lack of babies or everyone being disabled. And if that the inbreeding argument truly was the case, then surely most if not all of the Targaryen women would have these issues, yet it’s only a handful of them... at awfully convenient times.

Take Aemma Arryn, for example. She just so happens to die the moment she gives birth to a son Viserys wanted so much (after several miscarriages and one child dying in the cradle, no less) and is immediately replaced by the Faith and Citadel aligned Alicent Hightower, whose machinations start a devastating war, which results in dragons dying out, and with them, magic disappears from the world (just like, per Marwyn, the Citadel wants things to be). Then we get Rhaella, who also has a staggering amount of fertility issues: three miscarriages, two stillbirths, three kids who lived for less than a year. And that is right after Summerhall and the birth of Rhaegar, when the numbers of the Targaryen dynasty were greatly reduced due to the tragedy. Call Aerys mad and paranoid for the precautions he took after Viserys’ birth, and yet it is precisely when the child turns out perfectly fine. Legit, this may be the only thing that Aerys was right to be suspicious about, just that he could not see who was truly to blame.

When Marwyn talks about “who do you think killed all the dragons the last time around”, he may also mean it figuratively, dragons, as in Targaryens.

I don't remember where I said this online, but I mentioned once how the Targaryens really didn't have issues reproducing amongst themselves before the Conquest once you look at their family trees. And there's no legends or stories of how hard it was for their women to birth kids, not even passed down rumors. And i don't think GRRM did this accidentally, either.

Notice how after the dragons are gone, there's hardly a real, stark pattern of Targ women losing their lives in childbirth like there is before the Dance?

So, anon, thanks for bringing this up and I love the point about Aerys and Rhaegar. It's tragically ironic and very likely. Something had to have made Syrax so crazy (not with Joffrey V, afterwards).

[cordsycords]

been thinking more about the info about the backgrounds that we've seen, regarding Rook's past, and I really hope we get some reactivity with our companions, especially ones that are in the same faction as us:

shadow dragons - okay, from the single line we get in the prologue from Neve, it doesn't seem like she's specifically heard of/worked with Rook before. This kind of makes me wonder if the Shadow Dragons are a much more decentralized faction than something like the Wardens or the Crows, with multiple cells that are all working together towards the same goal, but keep minimal communication with one another due to secrecy. Might be cool if we have a mission that's like "find the leader of the Shadow Dragons" because no one knows who it is*. The background info from the CC kind of supports this idea, Rook is specifically said to have been "brought to the attentions of the Venatori" and put in time out because of that.

As for reactivity, I guess it would be nice if you could mention that specific mission, and Neve could "oh right I heard of that. You did the right/wrong thing." and just give her opinion on it. I can actually imagine Neve not being really keen on it, as a private investigator she needs a certain amount of discretion to be able to do her job properly, and might not appreciate Rook's brashness if it endangers the wider goal of the shadow dragons.

mournwatch - the mournwatch background is still driving me a little Insane, because what do you mean Rook was found as a baby in the Grand Necropolis. Anyways I kind of assume the Mournwatch is a much smaller faction, because they have a very specific focus, and they only operate in a specific part of Thedas. Since the info specifically says Rook was "raised by necromancers" it would be super cool to see if Rook and Emmrich had a Mentor/Student relationship at one point. Would also be interesting if Emmrich specifically was the one to tell Rook to travel after the incident with the War of the Banners. It would be great to see his response to Rook coming back and suddenly being in charge of this little rebellion, they just can't stop themselves from getting into trouble.

Also Mournwatch!Rook taught Manfred to play rock-paper-scissors. That's my headcanon and you can't take it away from me.

antivan crows - So it seems like Rook is a relatively new antivan crow, and from the little I've gleaned about Lucanis' recruitment mission, it looks like he might have been thought to be dead for the last year or so? Would be cool if Rook has heard a bunch of stories about Lucanis and has some hero worship going on. Would also be funny if we told him all that we had heard, only for him to shoot all the more fantastical elements of those tales down.

grey wardens - This one is also a little up in the air regarding whether Davrin and Rook knew each other before the events of Veilguard. Rook's faction backstory mentions them being in a group along with other Grey Wardens, so it would be nice if Davrin was also on the mission. I would also be really interested to see how Davrin got Assan, and maybe Rook played a hand in that somehow as well. Did Davrin literally find Assan in the middle of nowhere, and maybe Rook was there? Or were the eggs all found and then distributed among the Grey Wardens that were in high favour? Was Rook passed over for a griffon? I do remember one of Davrin's missions from an IGN previwe being specifically about saving the griffons, so it's probably the case that Assan is the only one actively around right now.

Either way, it would be cute to see an encounter where Rook remarks on how much Assan has grown/changed since they've seen them last, if they even know about Assan at all pre-Veilguard

lords of fortune - I think the relationship between taash and a LoF!Rook would be a good case for a slightly more antagonistic relationship. As an organisation of treasure hunters, probably focused more on profit and glory than anything else, it would be cool if Rook got in the way of taash's scores or jobs. Maybe Taash has moved up in the faction since Rook was forced to peace out, and wants to lord her achievements over Rook in an attempt to make them jealous. It could be pretty fun.

veil jumpers - I imagine Bellara and a jumper!Rook would probably be pretty aligned with one another. Reading the background info on Rook in the Veil Jumpers, i can imagine Bellara would probably approve of what Rook had done, while also being just a tiny bit disappointed that the map was lost. It would be cool to see a scene where they traded notes with one another, recounting all the weird things that they've seen in Arlathan, and then maybe trying to figure out why certain anomalies occur, or how they work. Just a bunch of co-nerding out with one another

anyways, I am definitely thinking way too much about this, but there's still 6 weeks to go, so it's not like there's much else for me to do :shrugs:

* it would be equally cool if that leader is a previous char from inquisition. I'm kind of banking on Dorian, or the inquisitor themselves considering the clothing we see them wear in that single shot of them in the CC is shadow dragons casual wear (i believe)

[daemonwritesstuff]

AEGON II & HIS BELOVED AELLARA TARGARYEN

A/N: this is yet another trade with my best bud @sugutoad !! I’m so happy to do yet another one of these and I hope I did this one with justice (I think I’m just gonna go dig up a hole and die in there once this is posted 🧍) but I will forever be grateful to do so many matchups with ya 😭❤️ here ya go! and yes this is aegon x anna’s OC!

It was a peaceful evening for the two couples Aegon and Aellara, they spend their nights together in each other rooms or someone deep into the night with no one around, it was just them together in the world.

 Aellara and Aegon’s relationship was a secret, no one knew about them only his family did, including his sister-wife Helaena, she understood their situation and aware of how in love they were, she wouldn’t interfere with them…

One night where Aellara and Aegon usually met up frequently, this time they were in his own chambers… When Aegon and Aellara are in each others arms she decides to ask a question to her beloved and it was a very simple question that no one should really be upset about, she asked the boy “Are we ever gonna be together?” Aegon got out of her arms in confusion, why was she asking such a question?

“Of course we are…” Aegon assured her but it really wouldn’t last long and the tension started getting more stronger, Aellara was losing her hope… her thoughts kept bugging her, telling herself that maybe this love was not meant to be.

She had said it out loud… not knowing that Aegon was still with her, he got up and started yelling at her… telling her that they will be together but Aellara is sick of hearing the same thing, if Aegon really loves her and wants her then wouldn’t he do something about this marriage he was in and finally be with her?

“I… I don’t think this was meant to be…” she said as she let out her sobs, her pain, everything single horrible thing she has ever thought of, she let all of it out during this breakdown, before Aegon could even say a word she unstably got up, lifted her dress and started running away sobbing, Aegon’s soul was screaming at him to tell his guards to go after her, to stop her, but the words… nothing could come out of his mouth as his heart kept putting pressure on him and he started crying.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It’s been a few days since he was last spoken to Aellara, she has not spoken face to face with him recently and he began to grow anxious, waiting for her to come back to him so he can be in the comfort of her arms, the real place he called “home”.

He decided to use his sword and start attacking a wooden statue (meant for using swords) to let out his anger, Criston just happened to be waking by and stopped by and asked Aegon if he wanted to duel with him, and without a doubt he did… this lasted for a few hours until Aegon has gotten tired and decided to sit down.

Aegon told Criston how he can make it up to his beloved, Aellara… how he can fix things with her once again, it took Criston a few moments to figure out something and tell him, he told him that he can invite her somewhere she wants to go, no questions or anything, just to take her. He also added that he can divorce Helaena somehow and try to plead to his mother to let him marry Aellara.

Aegon who listened to Cristons words decided to do exactly what he said, he had got the cooks to pack him and his mistress a meal, one of his liking and of her liking so he can make it up to her, after the meals have been cooked and brought to him Aegon bumps into Aellara and tells her to come with him and he has a surprise, she was a little bit suspicious of what he was doing but never declined, just giving short answers like “Ok”.

He wanted to take her dragon to go and eat but Aellara took a liking to his dragon and insisted that she would like to go on his dragon, he could never decline anything his beloved wanted, so he decided to take her on Sunfyre and fly off to the destination he planned to take her.

Once they arrive they got to a garden that they both enjoyed going to here and there for dates, it was also the same garden he also took her to on his first date with her. They start talking like they normally do and after some time after talking there’s a silence, but Aellara decides to break that silence and lean over to kiss him, and then Aegon gives her a few pecks back and they both smile sweetly to each other.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After their pleasant little picnic they enjoyed Aegon takes her to go walk up a hill, enjoying the view of the sunset, he tells her “Do you ever wanna just run away?” Aellara giggles at his silly question and jokes back with him, causing him to start joking back with her and telling her (terrible) jokes that make her crack up.

After they stop laughing at some point Aellara decided to tell him something that she needed to tell him (before the argument never happened) but she was nervous to, after getting him to listen to her she decided to tell him that she is with a child…

His smile fell, but after a few seconds his smile came back and he picked her up and started spinning her around in joy and starts celebrating a little that he’s gonna have a child with her! But he sooner realizes that the child might be a bastard and is worried about how she’ll react, but Aellara reassures him that she doesn’t care as long has their child has their father with them in their life.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After Aegon heads back he immediately tries to talk with his parents and his grandfather, Otto Hightower. Aegon immediately tells them that he wants a divorce with Helaena and to let him marry Aellara, she was also of his blood too and it would strengthen more of the bond more.

Viserys refuses this at first because of their traditions and tells him that he shouldn’t try to do that, to keep the tradition going and he focuses on his legos after that 💀. On the other hand with Alicent and Otto also persist and they start bringing up the history of the Dawn’s Empire between House Dayne and House Targaryen (which was kind of stupid to compare that to…)

But after some time, Viserys will allow him to marry Aellara and get divorced with Helaena (much to his sisters joy, she can finally be free from being queen and go back to focusing more on her insects).

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After some months, Aellara and Aegon are officially married! They got married in the way of Old Valyria since it would strengthen them more through soul and no one would be able to separate them at all, not even the gods.

Their party was amazing and so much fun, lavish but the room was filled with joy, there was a lot of singing, talking and dancing, there was no bad stuff happening at all, all anxiety and fear was gone, it was a refresh for a better life they were about to have. Aellara and Aegon were made for each other and no one could ever separate them, no matter how much they try.

[thatpersonwhosaidtheywouldnt]

Thinking about how the biggest reason I think the Young Justice show went with the origin they did for Wally and Barry (Wally doing the experiment Barry did, Barry doing the experiment Jay did) is because the creators of the show did not include the Speed Force. Greg Weisman does not like the idea, doesn't see the point of it (and in my opinion clearly misunderstands it) someone on Reddit did a write up on it if you wanna see all he's said here.

So what's this gotta do with the Flash origins in YJA vs comics? Well, first off, the Speed Force was something Mark Waid created to unify the Flash's powers and bring a bit of sense to them:

"It really was just a matter of trying to unify the powers. Barry and Wally's origins were identical, but Jay ostensibly got his speed by inhaling 'hard water,' a.k.a. 'ice.' I never really thought of it as 'mystical' in any real sense, just scientific --- or as scientific as you can get when you're talking about what happens on the other side of lightspeed (which was my original pitch, an idea that to this day I can remember its exact moment of birth)" (Waid from Ask Chris #317 here )

So without the Speed Force, YJA had to solve a problem Waid had solved with the Speed Force a different way. Waid chose not to or didn't have the option to change Wally's origin from being the exact same as Barry's so he made it make sense through the Speed Force, in essence, choosing Wally (and Barry and Jay and every other speedster). YJA had the option so they went a different way.

Barry was always inspired by Jay Garrick. In comics he was a lucky fanboy who got the powers of his favorite comic character and took his name. In YJA, he's not lucky, he, instead, performs the same experiment that gave Jay speed on himself (YJA Barry is simply more unhinged because what).

Wally, similarly, was also a lucky fanboy who got the powers of his favorite superhero (who happened to be the guy his aunt was dating... Very lucky). In YJA... Well it's the same as Barry again expect he's a literal child performing an experiment on himself which puts him in the hospital (comics Wally is notably fine, just wet from the chemicals).

I think it's a pretty significant change to make Barry and Wally want and grab for the superpowers of their heroes (and beg to be a hero before having those powers in Wally's case) instead of them being super fans that have powers thrust upon them. Powers they choose to use for good but not powers they chose.

And then we have Bart... See, with Bart, things are very different. They have to be. Bart's first appearance is in the exact same comic as the first appearance of the Speed Force. Getting rid of it... Basically gets rid of Bart.

Of course, he's in YJA, so that's not quite true. And, admittedly, I think there were ways to do Bart more accurately without the Speed Force... But it's hard. And YJA essentially avoided making a proper attempt at all and made a fully new character. Instead of him being raised in virtual reality while his body was speed aging due to his biological connection to the Speed Force, he is raised in a post-apocalyptic dystopia. He pretends to be chaotic, impulsive, and sorta dumb but is actually very calculating, a bit cynical, and jaded. He is an interesting character for sure... but he's definitely an original character in all but name, and you can see the character type they took inspiration from - the likes of Cable, Future Trunks (Dragon Ball), and Silver the Hedgehog, instead of his original characterization (a characterization I think is much more original and lacks a character that's similar). A final, more minor point, is that the lack of the Speed Force seems to be why he had to build his own time machine, unable to run through time as in comics.

Bart, in comics, is chaotic, whimsical, and impulsive. He was born in the far future because of some chaotic time travel-related reasons, and his father and aunt (the Tornado Twins) were killed soon after his birth. He was taken by the Earth government (in a roundabout way), run by his grandfather (who happens to be a descendant of the Thawne family... making Bart related to Professor Zoom), and instead of trying to stop his speed aging, merely observed him while raising him in a virtual reality. Iris breaks him out and they time travel to the past to get help from Wally. Through a series of events, Wally ends up handing Bart over to Max Mercury (basically the Speed Force expert) to raise cause Iris dipped and Wally is not capable of raising a teenager. Max, Bart's main parental figure, is not and cannot be in YJA because the Speed Force not existing or being known of, makes that impossible. It is the most intrinsic to his character out of all speedsters.

Much of Bart's character arc has him have to learn that life is not a video game and he does not get a do-over. There is a very powerful arc where Bart (who has this speed force power of essentially making clones of himself) loses one of his speed force clones and feels the death of his clone as if he died as well. It terrifies him. But without the Speed Force, without the powers that create that arc, this is not something that can be explored in the cartoon. YJA Bart is, in some ways, the opposite of his comic counterpart. He clearly understands death well; it's all he knows, a dying world. He likely expects to die himself traveling to the past like he does. Bart in the cartoon has to learn different lessons.

I think at the end of the day, this choice to ignore the Speed Force (and therefore the center of Flash lore since the mid 90's), is a bit disrespectful. I don't think Weisman saw it that way, of course. To him it seems he was adapting the Flash lore prior to that. Which does make some sense, seeing as Wally was Kid Flash and the Speed Force is very much tied to Wally's time as the Flash (something he never gets to be in YJA). And I am not saying I dislike Wally in this show, in fact that show is why he's one of my favorite characters. But I think it's all interesting to think about... And I do think the Flashes are much better handled in their comics, no matter the love I have for Wally in the show (except maybe the letting Barry be a dad part). But it's the nature of adaptations I suppose. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 🫡

[limnsaber]

“Anakin sometimes thinks of the dread that eats at his heart as a dragon. Children on Tatooine tell each other of the dragons that live inside the suns; smaller cousins of the sun-dragons are supposed to live inside the fusion furnaces that power everything from starships to Podracers.”

“But Anakin’s fear is another kind of dragon. A cold kind. A dead kind.”

“Not nearly dead enough.”

-Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover

[catmask]

okay i think i am learning.... something

[egophiliac]

I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!

I am not normal about any of these characters!

[sukibenders]

Not people talking bad about my girl Helaena just to support Aemond. Like, she had a right to ask him if what he did was worth it because, even if Aegon is atrocious, Aemond is the reason that her son was killed in front of her, the reason that she had to choose which of her children dies, and is the reason why she has to live with that now. While other characters played a part in that, without Aemond killing Luke, Jaehaerys would probably still be there or wouldn't have died in such a cruel way. B&C are sent there to kill Aemond, and when they can't find him they follow through with their next order of "a son for a son". And while Aemond may be smarter and more strategic (and not a disgusting man like Aegon) as prince regent, he is still, as Alicent called out, volatile and brewing with unchecked anger. I wouldn't feel safe having him on the throne just as much as Aegon, but because he served face and is the lesser evil I'm supposed to be okay with it? No, Helaena can question this man as much as she likes, for the rest of her life given what she has to go through. (Also, she literally just asked him a valuable question that deeply needs to be considered, so why are people mad at her?)

[ode-to-fury]

I dont understand why people are having aneurisms about george spoiling helaena's death in his blog post? Like the book has been out? Isn't that like complaining about someone telling you that both romeo and juliet die in the end before you go see the play? And I am genuinely asking here because it's not an isolated thing i've seen upwards of ten people say he shouldn't have done it

[13reasonstoeatthatcake]

I really want to know how Lilith Sorrengail feels about trying her best to get her youngest daughter away from whatever it was that her dad supposedly found in the Archives after Brennan 'died', just to get said daughter even more involved with the tyrrish rebellion two: electric boogaloo.

[sea-jello]

@nyaskitten tumblr ate your fucking ask uhh ignore how this is months later BUT i finally watched dr s2 AND

I GET IT NOW. I UNDERSTAND.

[audhdgoku]

I've Been Saying This For YEARS Because Of My MS, But Maybe With The Tragic Death Of Dragoneer This Will Finally Spark A Change

Its Unfortunate That It Would Need To Take Someone High Profile Like His Death To Do This, Given There Are Innumerable People Who Have To Deal With How Shitty The US Heath Care System Is DAILY, But I'm Hoping SOMETHING Will Change