#SINISTER LORD OF DRAGONS

[viridisvilla]

TMNT Saturday Morning Adventures Spoilers under the cut ( just to be safe )

I'M SO NORMAL I'M SO NORMAL IM SO NORMAL I'M SO NORMAL I'M SO NORMAL I'M SO-

*implodes*

I'M SO FU CKING EMTOIONSLAGNJFGBHDGFDGKMFD

Source: https://x.com/Dream_Tmnt/status/1806593659682349191

[patheticdarling]

Her Sacrifice

Summary: The assassins had no such luck finding Prince Aemond but what were they to do when they stumbled upon the beloved wife of King Aegon instead? Her belly swollen with his heir.

Warnings: Blood & Cheese/murder/gore & blood/cursing/threats/blades/pregnancy/kidnapping/funeral/incest (reader is helaena's older twin)

Word Count: 2236

"The other lords will be accompanying me for a drink in the Throne Room. Shall you join us, Wife?" Aegon asked, a slightly eager smile on his face, anticipating your agreement.

You sighed as you began to undo the braids in your hair, "The hour is late, Husband. I must rest."

Aegon pouted, "Just a cup! We've attended to our royal duties all day, have we not earned a bit of respite?"

"Respite is what I shall get with a good night's sleep. Not drinking until sunrise with you and your comrades," you teased. You stood from seat at your vanity, walking over and placing Aegon's hand on your growing bump, "Besides, do you not wish for our babe to be born healthy? So that they may grow into formidable dragon riders like their parents."

He smiled softly at your belly before kissing it sweetly, "You make a good point, my dear. Mayhaps I should stay in with you."

You shook your head, smiling down at him, "Do not let me stop your fun. You are right. The King deserves his respite. Besides there may not be many more nights where we get to enjoy ourselves," motioning to your bump.

"You are going to make a wonderful mother," Aegon stood from his seat, "I shall allow you to enjoy your last moments of rest then." He planted a soft kiss on your lips, "I love you, Y/N."

You stroked his hair, "I love you, Aegon."

Aegon kissed you once more before giving your belly a playful squeeze and disappearing from your chambers. You summoned one of your ladies to help you finish getting ready for bed. Thanking her as you got yourself comfortable between the silk sheets of you and Aegon's bed. Finally bidding her good night as she blew out most of the candles, leaving a few on for Aegon's drunken return.

You could not be sure of the hour when you heard your chamber doors creak open followed by the shuffling of feet. You did not even bother opening your eyes, assuming you'd feel the bed indent as Aegon stumbled towards it.

"Back so soon?" you teased, "I was only being half serious about the sunset-"

Suddenly, a large hand clamped over your mouth. Your eyes shot open as two men loomed over you. You screamed and panicked as the larger man used his other arm to keep you pinned to the bed.

"Quiet!" the smaller man pulled a blade out, pressing it to your throat, "Unless you want me to bleed you like a pig."

You nodded, terrified of what these men could do, "W-Who are you? What do you want?"

"Its not our wants you should be concerned with, Your Grace."

"Who sent you? What do y-you want from me?" your voice shook.

"A life is owed. It wasn't supposed to be you. A son for a son we were told," the smaller man shrugged, "But it seems Prince Aemond isn't in the castle tonight."

Of course, you thought. This was about Lucerys. Your younger brother had taken the boy's life and that was a deed that could not go unpunished. You knew how deeply your eldest sister loved all of her children. The loss of one would be devastating. Taking Aemond's life made sense. But taking yours? And the life of your unborn child? That was not in Rhaenyra's nature. This was plotted by someone far more sinister and dark.

"My uncle sent you, didn't he?" you spoke up. They both sent stares to the other, "Daemon Targaryen. He sent you to kill one of us."

The large man scoffed, "Aren't you a smart one?"

"Shame those smarts won't do you any good now, will they?" the smaller one mocked.

"Please," you tried to beg, "Do not do this. No good will-" The large hand came down on your mouth again.

"That's enough," he grunted before turning back to the smaller man, "I'll hold her down and you cut."

Your blood ran cold at his words. Not only were they going to kill you but they were going to tortuously cut out your unborn child. They both yanked you further down the bed until you were flat on your back. You tried to kick, scream, bite, thrash as much as you could but the man proved to have almost inhuman strength. The smaller man raised his blade, that same sadistic grin plastered on his face before he began to dig it into the lower part of your abdomen.

White hot pain seared through your body as he continued to slice into you. Your vision was blurred with tears and you could have sworn your throat was raw from your cries. Though the pain was so intense that you could not process the sounds that might have been leaving you. Warm blood pooled all around you, the once ivory sheets now a deep crimson. One last gasp left you as they pulled your child from your body.

Suddenly you had remembered your mother telling you about the pains of childbirth when you first married Aegon and all anyone could talk about was you producing his heirs. She had a rather negative approach that utterly terrified you. So, you decided to find comfort in Rhaenyra's advice instead.

"I will not withhold the truth from you, it truly is the most excruciating pain a woman must go through."

You groaned, "That is not what I had wished to hear, Sister."

"You did not let me finish. The process is hard, yes. And you will feel the urge to curse the Gods or even your husband and swear to never bear anymore children," you both laughed, "But the moment you hear those sweet cries and your babe is placed upon your chest, the pain is forgotten. And nothing has ever seemed so worth it. Then you will know, right then and there, that you would do it all over again if it meant you could finally find that purest form of love."

And yet, you would never discover that beautiful feeling your sister had painted so clearly. The room was almost eerily silent besides the dripping of blood onto the stone floor.

"What do you know?" the man panted as he held your lifeless infant, "A son. Congratulations, my Queen."

You could not speak as you felt your body numb itself. Tears falling with no cries as they stuffed your son's body into a sack. It was as if you could feel your heart shatter. The men finished their sinister act before fleeing through a secret passageway. You tried little to fight the heaviness in your eyes. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream and if you shut your eyes, you'd open them to find yourself in bed with Aegon's arms wrapped securely around your belly. The last thing you could muster was a small smile at the sentimental image as your vision faded out completely.

"Sister?" Helaena called out into your bed chamber, "I did not wish to wake you but Aegon is being so loud and I cannot sleep with him-" Her voice caught in her throat at the sight of your mangled body lying on the bed. Your figure lifeless and your eyes vacant as you stared at the canopy. She approached your body, a shaky hand reaching out to touch your face to be met with utter stillness. Helaena backed out of the room slowly, tears flowing down her cheeks before sprinting to find some sort of help. As if anyone could undo what had already been done.

"I-I don't know what happened. I came in and she...she was..." Helaena's voice cracked with sobs as various people filed into the royal bed chamber; the Kingsguard, the Dowager Queen, the Hand, and lastly, your husband.

They all stopped at the sight before them, their eyes welling with tears and their stomachs churning. The Dowager Queen let out a heavy sob as all their attention turned to the King. Aegon approached your body cautiously.

He fell to his knees, his hands cradling your bloodied face as he sobbed, "My wife, my dearest-"

Nobody dared say a word as Aegon mourned over you. His sobs heavy with grief as he called out your name over and over again. The Queen Mother clutching Helaena's arm as they cried with him. The Kingsguard hanging their heads low in shame at their failure to protect their Queen. Otto Hightower, known to be quick with his word, said nothing.

The council meeting that followed was one full of dread and grief. Most of the council mourned, the Hand schemed, and the King could do not but curse the Gods and swear revenge.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should speak of the funeral arrangements for the Queen-"

"No," Aegon was quick to stop the Hand, who raised a brow at his grandson's denial, "I will not have my wife's body dragged through the streets like a dog!"

"Not dragged, honored!" Otto corrected him before lowering his tone as he spoke to the King, "Y/N was my granddaughter and I loved her. She deserves the funeral of a Targaryen princess, a Targaryen queen. The small folk wish to mourn their Queen and the heir she carried. And they need to know who is responsible for this."

Aegon's face twisted in disbelief, "How could they not already know?! Who else would do this save the bitch queen of bastards?!"

"We must know for certain, Your Grace," Lord Jasper suggested, "If it was not your sister, this may prove to be an even bigger threat to the crown, to you, my King."

Aegon scoffed, "I do not care what threatens me. My wife is dead. And my child," he stifled a sob, "That cunt did this, I know it. Her and her kingdom of traitorous bastards will burn for it."

Before anyone could speak, the doors of the council chamber opened as Lord Larys entered. He bowed meekly as all eyes turned to him.

"My lords, Your Grace," he greeted the council.

All stood still, "State your purpose, Lord Larys," the Hand spoke.

"We have apprehended one of the assailants. A gold cloak, known for his brutal nature. The guards caught him fleeing the Gate of Gods. He carried the child's body in a sack."

The King hardly wasted any time, stomping over to the doors, "I shall kill him myself."

"We might retrieve further information about who is to blame for this tragedy after questioning," Ser Criston stopped Aegon from leaving as Otto spoke, "I trust in your skill set, Lord Larys."

The Strong Lord bowed before exiting the room. All eyes turned once again to the King and his Hand.

"We will hold the service for both the child and mother-"

"I said no," Aegon grunted, "My wife and child will not be put on display for the Realm."

"Your Grace, we might use this to our advantage in the war you wish to march into. Your people need to know the depravity that Rhaenyra is capable of. The great houses of Westeros will see that she is not fit to rule given her cruel nature. They will flock to your side and with them, their armies and bannermen."

Aegon continued to shake his head. He could not just let them see you or your child like that. They did not deserve it.

"Mother," he turned to the Dowager Queen for support.

Alicent approached Aegon's chair, "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it might be the right one."

The King could not muster anymore fight, "Have the Silent Sisters prepare the Queen and child for their journey. Behind them will be Princess Helaena and the Queen Mother."

"No, I do not wish to be a spectacle," Alicent argued but her father would not hear it.

Your husband visited your body as the Silent Sisters began to prepare it. They had cleaned the mess and dressed you in one of your favorite dresses, the emerald color complimenting your skin and hair.

"Your Grace, it is ill-fated to look upon the face of death," Maester Orwyle warned.

"That is not the face of death, Maester. That is my wife," Aegon spoke, "Leave me with her."

Maester Orwyle and the Silent Sisters bowed before leaving the King with your body. He softly stroked the hair from your face as he broke into sobs once again.

"I am so sorry, my love," he cried, "I-I should have been there to protect you. And our son." Maester Orwyle had informed His Grace that the child you carried was a prince, a perfect heir, "You truly would have been the most wonderful mother. You were already a perfect wife and Queen. Motherhood would have come naturally."

Aegon recounted how well you did with Rhaenyra's last two babies, the ones she had with his uncle Daemon. As much as he did not care for his half-sister, he knew you did. Always quick to defend her, even against your own family. So, he was forced to ask himself, how could she do this to you? To your child?

"They will pay for what they have done," your husband muttered to you, "I will win this war. I will win it for our child. I will win it for you. With fire and blood. Your sacrifice will not be for naught, my Queen."

[novaursa]

The Golden Oath

- Summary: The lion falls in love with the daughter of the Mad King, which starts a domino effect that eventually collapses the realm onto itself.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: So, here is the first chapter. Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged in future chapters.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: closer

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

The Red Keep was not what it once had been in Tywin Lannister’s youth. In his early years, he had walked these halls with the knowledge that the seat of kings was an extension of his will, where lords whispered his name in awe and deference. Yet now, as he strode through the familiar corridors, the air itself felt different—stifling, thick with the scent of incense and perfumed oils meant to mask the creeping decay of a court in decline. The torches burned high, but the shadows stretched long, and for all the banners of black and red draped across the stone walls, there was something sinister lurking beneath the surface, something just beyond his grasp.

Jaime could feel it, too. His father’s stride was unyielding, his presence commanding, but there was a tension in his shoulders that had not been there when they had last left King’s Landing. Tywin had never been a man given to weakness, yet even he could not conceal the way his gaze sharpened with every turn, watching, waiting. Aerys II sat the throne still, and though he remained clothed in all the splendor of his office, there were whispers of his growing instability. They were only rumors, but rumors had a way of rotting the foundations of power.

Still, they had come at his command. Aerys had summoned them, and so here they were, Jaime and Cersei walking side by side through the grand hall that led to the throne room, the towering doors of oak and iron looming before them. It had been years since their last visit, and though Jaime had been but a boy when they had left court, his memories of this place had not faded. He remembered the way the light caught on the polished marble floors, the way the banners rippled in the drafts that crept through the halls. And he remembered the Targaryens.

He had not seen Rhaegar since the prince had been a young man barely out of boyhood, and now the crown prince stood as a vision of Valyrian majesty, his silver hair glinting in the dim light, his indigo gaze steady and unreadable. He was every inch the figure of a legend, and yet it was not Rhaegar who made Jaime pause mid-step, a strange tightness winding in his chest.

It was you.

You stood beside your brother in a gown of deep violet, the color rich against the porcelain glow of your skin. The candlelight flickered over the curve of your cheek, casting shifting patterns along the soft slope of your jaw, the delicate bridge of your nose. Your pale lashes swept downward, the color so light that they nearly disappeared against your skin, but your eyes—those were unmistakable. Indigo, like Rhaegar’s, yet softer, deeper, like the sky at the cusp of twilight, full of something that was neither innocence nor mischief, but a quiet, knowing sort of serenity.

Jaime had not seen you since you had been a girl of six, a slip of a thing with wide, wondering eyes and a voice that carried like a songbird’s call through the halls of the Red Keep. He had almost forgotten you in the years that passed, the memory of you tucked away among all the others that had faded into the background of his childhood. Yet now, standing in the presence of the royal family once more, he found himself staring, his pulse beating just a little too quickly.

You were beautiful.

Not in the way that Cersei was beautiful, all golden fire and biting, smoldering edges, but in a way that was unreal, almost dreamlike. There was something about you that made him feel as if he were gazing upon a vision, a creature not meant for the world of men, but for the old stories whispered in the dark, of dragon princesses and ethereal queens who could steal the breath from a man’s lips with nothing more than a glance.

And it was just a glance.

Your gaze flickered over him only briefly before moving past, as though you had not even noticed his presence at all. Jaime felt his stomach twist, something uncomfortably close to disappointment gnawing at his ribs, but he forced it down. He was not a boy any longer, not some lovesick fool to be undone by the sight of a girl, even if that girl was—

"Lord Tywin."

The king's voice cut through the silence like the edge of a blade, drawing all eyes toward the Iron Throne. Aerys sat slouched upon the blackened steel, his long fingers drumming lazily against the armrest. His hair was the same shade of silver as Rhaegar’s, but where the prince’s bore the luster of molten light, the king’s was thin, brittle, hanging in wisps about his face. His violet eyes burned too brightly, wide and restless, darting between Tywin and the twins at his side with a sharpness that set Jaime on edge.

"You have returned," Aerys mused, his lips curling slightly, though there was no humor in it. "It has been far too long since I have seen your children." His gaze flickered to Cersei, lingering, then shifted to Jaime. "And my, how they have grown. How fine a pair they make, do they not, Rhaella?"

Queen Rhaella sat rigid beside him, her expression unreadable, but she nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Aerys hummed, leaning forward. "You must forgive me, Lord Tywin. It has been too long since I last laid eyes upon them. They are nearly as fair as my own brood." His lips curled again, and for the briefest moment, Jaime thought he saw something dark in his gaze. "Your daughter, Tywin—she is the very image of her mother. A pity Joanna is not here to see her."

Cersei’s jaw tensed, but she did not speak. Tywin inclined his head. "Your Grace is too kind."

"And your son," Aerys went on, his gaze turning to Jaime now, the weight of it pressing against him like something tangible. "Jaime Lannister." He let the name roll over his tongue as if savoring the taste. "You wish to be accepted into Kingsguard one day, are you not?"

Jaime swallowed, straightening. "If it pleases Your Grace."

The king laughed. It was a sharp, grating sound, like steel scraping over stone. "Oh, it would please me greatly," he said, his eyes glinting. "A Lannister in white—how it would wound you, would it not, Tywin? To see your son sworn to me, his sword mine alone?"

Tywin did not flinch. "If that is what Your Grace desires."

Aerys smiled, but there was no warmth in it. He leaned back against the throne, his fingers drumming once more. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I think I would like that very much."

Jaime felt Cersei stiffen beside him, her fingers curling at her sides. He did not dare glance at her, nor at his father, though he could feel the weight of Tywin’s fury like a storm gathering in the distance. Instead, he let his gaze wander once more—past the throne, past the lords and courtiers watching the exchange with veiled interest—until it found you again.

You had not moved from Rhaegar’s side, your hands folded neatly before you, your posture poised, serene. You were not watching him, nor his father, nor even the king. Your gaze was cast downward, your expression unreadable. But as the torches flickered and the shadows shifted, Jaime could not help but think that for the briefest moment, you had been watching him, too.

The great hall of the Red Keep was alive with the murmurs of courtiers and the flickering of torchlight, yet none of it seemed to touch Tywin Lannister. He moved through the gathered nobility with the assurance of a man who commanded the world with a glance, his golden cloak trailing behind him like the banners of House Lannister itself. Jaime and Cersei followed closely, their expressions schooled into careful neutrality, though Jaime could feel the lingering weight of Aerys’s words pressing against his thoughts. The king’s laughter, cutting and cruel, still echoed in his mind, but it was not the promise of the Kingsguard that unsettled him—it was the way Aerys had looked at his father, at Cersei, at him. There had been something dangerous in his gaze, something that made Jaime’s stomach twist in a way he did not like.

They did not go far—only to a quiet alcove tucked away from the main chamber, where the marble walls dampened the sound of the court’s endless hum. Tywin turned on his heel, his stern green eyes sweeping over his children, his expression unreadable save for the ever-present weight of expectation. A silence settled between them, thick with something unspoken, before he finally spoke.

"You have seen them now," he said, his voice low but firm. "Rhaegar and his sister."

Jaime swallowed. He had seen them. He had seen her.

Cersei tilted her chin upward, her golden hair catching in the dim light. "Rhaegar is handsome," she said, the words carefully measured, as though already crafting how she would speak of him to others. "More than that, he carries himself like a true prince should. He will be king one day."

Tywin gave a short nod. "And he will need a queen." His gaze lingered on her, sharp with meaning. "You are to conduct yourself accordingly."

"I will," Cersei promised, her voice smooth, her eyes gleaming. There was something hungry in her expression—Jaime had seen it before, though never quite like this. It was not just ambition; it was desire. Cersei had always spoken of queenship as though it was her birthright, but there was something new in the way she spoke of Rhaegar, something that made Jaime uneasy.

Tywin turned his gaze to him then, and Jaime straightened under his scrutiny. "And you," his father continued, voice steady as stone, "will do the same with his sister."

Jaime felt something in his chest tighten. His sister. He had barely even spoken to you, had only caught fleeting glances, and yet his mind had already conjured a thousand versions of you in those few moments—the way the candlelight glowed against your pale skin, the way your indigo eyes seemed to hold entire worlds within them, the way your very presence had made the air around him feel heavier, richer.

"You mean to wed us to them," Jaime said, though it was not truly a question.

Tywin's lips pressed together. "That has been my intent since you were children."

Jaime exhaled slowly. It had not been a secret, of course. He had known, even as a boy, that his father had always wanted a Targaryen match. But knowing something and standing face to face with the reality of it were two different things entirely. It was one thing to imagine a political union, to think of a Targaryen princess as a distant concept, a title without a face. But you were no concept. You were real, standing in that great hall beside Rhaegar, as unattainable as a dream and yet suddenly within his reach.

"And the king?" Cersei asked, her voice carefully neutral. "Will he agree?"

Tywin’s expression did not shift, but there was something colder in his gaze now, something calculating. "Aerys is a fool," he said bluntly. "And a fool’s whims can be unpredictable. I will speak with him in time, but it would serve us well if you both make yourselves… indispensable to his children."

Jaime understood the meaning behind his words instantly. He did not simply want them to be agreeable matches—he wanted them to be wanted. If Rhaegar and you favored them, if the royal children themselves expressed desire for the matches, Aerys would have little reason to refuse. Aerys had always been possessive over his family, jealous of their affections, but he was also vain. If Rhaegar wished for Cersei, if you wished for him—Jaime’s stomach tightened at the thought—then even the king’s paranoia might not be enough to stand in the way.

Cersei smiled then, the expression small but satisfied. "That will not be difficult."

Tywin’s gaze flickered toward her, measuring her confidence, but he did not contradict her. He turned back to Jaime. "You will conduct yourself as a man of your station. You will speak when it is necessary and hold your tongue when it is not. You will not grovel, nor will you posture. You will be clever. You will be interesting."

Jaime let out a slow breath. "And if I fail to be those things?"

His father’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You will not."

Jaime met his gaze for a moment longer before looking away. He was fourteen, still a boy in many ways, but never had he felt the weight of expectation so acutely. The thought of winning a girl’s favor was not foreign to him—he had seen how the ladies at Casterly Rock and Lannisport whispered and giggled when he passed. But you were not some noble girl, nor a lady of his father’s court. You were a Targaryen. You were her. And suddenly, the idea of winning you felt not like a challenge, but an impossibility.

Still, Tywin Lannister did not believe in impossibilities.

Jaime swallowed whatever doubts lingered in his throat and nodded.

Cersei exhaled through her nose, the hint of a smirk playing at her lips. "And what of Aerys? Will he let Rhaegar have a wife that is not of his choosing?"

Tywin’s expression did not change, but Jaime thought he saw a flicker of something dark in his father’s gaze. "The king’s favor is not what it once was. His mind rots with each passing year." He straightened. "It is Rhaegar who will rule, and when he does, he will need loyal hands around him. If he favors you, Cersei, then that is what matters. And if his sister favors Jaime—"

Jaime’s pulse quickened.

"—then all the better."

A silence stretched between them. The hall beyond the alcove was still alive with murmurs and laughter, the ever-present hum of politics and ambition that never truly faded in King’s Landing. But in that quiet space, Jaime felt the weight of his father’s will settle over him like a mantle.

You had barely even seen him, had barely even looked at him. And yet, before the night was through, before he even truly knew you, he had been given a task he was not certain he could fulfill.

He had to make you want him.

And the thought alone sent something cold and unfamiliar through his veins.

The gardens of the Red Keep were bathed in the golden light of morning, the first warmth of the sun spilling through the carved archways and casting dappled shadows across the stone paths. The scent of myrtle and orange blossoms hung in the air, sweet and thick, mingling with the salt of the distant sea. Jaime had always thought King’s Landing smelled of too many things at once—sweat, smoke, rot—but here, in this secluded part of the castle, the stench of the city did not reach. Here, the air was still. Quiet.

It was not difficult to find them.

He and Cersei moved through the garden paths with practiced ease, the rustle of their fine silks barely disturbing the morning peace. The sounds of the court had not yet spilled into the open spaces, leaving only the soft trill of birds and the murmur of voices beyond the flowering hedges. And then, as they rounded a curve in the path, the voices became clearer.

You were with Rhaegar.

The prince stood beneath the shade of a slender lemon tree, his silver hair catching the early light, his posture at ease in a way Jaime had rarely seen in men of his station. He was dressed in dark violet, the fine weave of his tunic unmistakable even from a distance, and though his face was unreadable, his voice—soft, thoughtful—held something close. Something warm.

You stood beside him, only inches away.

Jaime felt it first—the quick, sharp pulse at his throat, the sudden tension in his shoulders—as he watched the way Rhaegar touched you.

It was nothing improper, nothing that would scandalize the court, and yet it was… intimate. A brief brush of his fingers against your sleeve as he spoke, a slight tilt of his head in your direction, as if drawn to you as naturally as the tide is drawn to shore. And you—

You were looking up at him, your indigo eyes catching the morning light like polished gems, and you were smiling. A small, secret thing, the kind of smile that seemed meant for him alone.

Jaime had never seen her smile before.

For a fleeting moment, something inside him tightened, an unfamiliar weight settling in his chest. Was this how it was always to be? He had barely spoken to you, and already Rhaegar stood at your side, silver in the morning light, his presence enough to make you soften. To make you laugh.

He almost hated him for it.

Cersei, ever attuned to the smallest shifts in a room, must have noticed as well. Her pace slowed beside him, her green eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the scene before them. Then, as if shaking off whatever thoughts lingered in her mind, she lifted her chin and strode forward.

"Your Grace," she said smoothly, her voice carrying through the garden with the practiced ease of a woman who had spent her entire life perfecting her presence. "Princess."

The moment shattered.

Rhaegar turned first, his gaze settling on them, the warmth that had lingered in his face cooling into something more composed. His hand fell back to his side, slipping away from the fabric of your sleeve as though the touch had never been there at all. You followed his motion, turning to face them fully, and Jaime had only a moment to truly look at you—to see you.

You were dressed in the softest shades of lilac, the color subtle against the pale glow of your skin. The embroidery along your sleeves shimmered faintly, Valyrian patterns woven into the silk with a hand so delicate it was nearly invisible unless one looked closely. Your hair, silver as starlight, had been loosely pinned, allowing strands to slip free in the breeze.

Jaime had spent years imagining what you would look like grown—if you would still have the wide, wondering eyes of the girl he had once known, if you would still hold that same unearthly presence that seemed to belong more to a dream than to the waking world.

You were nothing like he remembered.

And yet, somehow, you were exactly as he had imagined.

"Lady Cersei. Lord Jaime," Rhaegar greeted them with a nod, his voice polite but absent of the warmth it had held only moments ago. "It has been some time."

"Too long," Cersei agreed, stepping forward with the ease of a woman born to this kind of encounter. "We were children when we last saw each other, but I am pleased to see time has only been kind to you, Your Grace."

A flicker of amusement passed through Rhaegar’s eyes, brief but present. "Time is not always so kind. But I thank you for the sentiment."

Jaime barely heard them.

His attention was fixed on you.

You had not spoken, not yet, but your gaze had settled on him now, studying him in a way that was both careful and unhurried. There was no immediate recognition in your expression, but neither was there indifference. Curiosity, perhaps. Or something softer.

"You do not remember us, do you?" Cersei’s voice was lighter now, teasing. "Or at least not well."

Your lips parted slightly, as if tasting the words before speaking them. "I remember you," you said at last, your voice quiet but smooth, like the lilt of a song yet to be sung. Then, after a small pause, your gaze flickered to Jaime. "And you as well."

Jaime felt his breath catch, though he did not let it show.

Cersei let out a soft laugh. "I hope your memories are fond ones."

Your head tilted slightly, as if considering the question, and then—a smile.

"They are," you said simply.

Jaime did not know what he had expected. He had imagined your voice a thousand times, had thought of what it might sound like when spoken to him. He had thought he was prepared.

He had not been.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew his attention, and he turned slightly to see Ser Barristan Selmy standing a short distance away, his face unreadable as he observed the exchange. A quiet, constant presence, watching.

Protecting.

Jaime knew, then, that this moment—this conversation, this fleeting breath of time—was not truly his. It belonged to Rhaegar, to you, to the threads of fate already weaving their pattern around them. He was an intruder in something far greater than himself, a pawn in a game he had not yet learned to play.

And yet—you had remembered him.

A small, insignificant thing. But Jaime was not sure why it suddenly meant so much.

The small council had been dismissed, the great doors of the chamber closing behind the last of the departing lords, leaving only Tywin Lannister and King Aerys II within. The room was bathed in the dim glow of the torches along the walls, their flames flickering against the polished wood of the long table, casting shifting specters that stretched toward the gilded seat where Aerys lounged.

Tywin stood before him, every inch the composed and calculating Hand of the King, his expression schooled into perfect neutrality. The scent of parchment and ink still lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of the oils and perfumes that had been used to mask the sickly-sweet scent of rot that seemed to cling to the Red Keep more and more with each passing year.

Aerys had not yet spoken.

The king sat reclined in his chair, his long fingers drumming idly against the carved armrests, his violet eyes half-lidded in something that might have been boredom or amusement—or something darker. His silver hair, once immaculate, had begun to thin, the strands hanging limp against the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. He had not always looked like this.

Tywin knew that well enough.

But the years had changed him. The whispers had changed him. The paranoia had settled into his bones like a sickness, creeping into his thoughts, turning his once-sharp mind into something that wavered between brilliance and madness.

And yet, this was still Aerys. Still the man he had served since youth. Still the king of the Seven Kingdoms.

Tywin had waited patiently, knowing better than to rush him. And at last, after a long silence, Aerys spoke.

"You linger, my old friend," he murmured, his lips curling slightly as his gaze flickered to Tywin. "What is it that you wish from me? I doubt you remained behind simply to enjoy my company."

Tywin did not smile. "I wished to discuss the future of your royal children, Your Grace."

Aerys let out a soft hm, his fingers stilling against the chair. "Ah, yes," he mused. "The lion always has something to offer."

Tywin inclined his head. "It is no secret that Rhaegar will need a queen," he said, his voice measured, careful. "And your daughter, a husband of suitable station."

Aerys exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been a laugh if not for the sharpness beneath it. "Come now, Tywin," he drawled, his violet gaze gleaming. "Do you truly think me so simple? I expected this." His fingers twitched slightly. "You seek to offer Cersei to Rhaegar, just as you did before."

Tywin gave nothing away, neither at the reminder of Aerys’s earlier refusal nor at the amusement that danced behind the king’s words. "It would be a union of benefit to the realm," he stated, his voice calm. "Cersei is beautiful, well-bred, and clever. She would be a queen worthy of him."

Aerys’s smile was sharp. "You mean she would be a queen worthy of you."

Tywin held his gaze steadily. "I mean she would be a queen who would bring strength to the realm—and to House Targaryen."

Aerys chuckled then, leaning forward slightly. "And what of the girl?" His head tilted just so, the light catching in his irises, making them gleam like polished amethysts. "What of my daughter? You would see her married off to your cub?"

Tywin did not allow himself to hesitate. "Jaime is young, but he is my heir," he said evenly. "He will one day rule Casterly Rock, and there is no greater seat for your daughter than the Westerlands."

Aerys made a small noise in his throat, something between interest and disdain. "So eager you are, Tywin. But tell me—does Jaime himself share your ambitions?"

Tywin did not react outwardly, but something in Aerys’s tone made the air between them grow heavier, the words laced with something unspoken.

"He is young," Tywin said, his voice cool. "He dreams of knighthood, of glory, as boys do. But he will learn that true power does not lie in tourneys or oaths. His duty is to his house, to his legacy. And in time, he will see that his place is not as some wandering knight, but as the Lord of the Rock."

Aerys was quiet for a long moment.

Too quiet.

And Tywin knew this silence.

It was the silence that came before Aerys’s moods shifted—the silence that had begun appearing more and more over the last year, the precursor to his unpredictability, his paranoia.

When he finally spoke, Aerys’s voice was softer, but there was something sinister beneath it, something almost dangerous.

"You overstep, Tywin."

Tywin remained still. "I seek only what is best for the realm, Your Grace."

Aerys let out a breath—a slow, measured breath. And then he laughed. It was not a true laugh, not one of mirth, but something hollow, something edged. He shook his head slightly, as if amused by some private joke.

"The lion reaches, always reaching," he mused, the flicker of a smile on his lips. "You would love that, wouldn’t you? To see your golden children bound to mine. To see them rise, to see them elevated." His voice lowered, his fingers curling against the chair’s armrest. "To make your daughter queen. To make your son the husband of a Targaryen princess."

Tywin did not move, but he could feel the weight of Aerys’s gaze pressing against him.

"You have always been a proud man, Tywin," Aerys murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Proud enough to think you are owed such things. But do not forget—you serve me."

A pause.

"And I am not yet so old that I have forgotten what happens to men who reach too far."

The words hung between them like a blade, the meaning clear.

Tywin’s jaw tightened slightly, but his expression did not waver. He had seen Aerys’s temper before, had endured his outbursts, his jests laced with venom, his sudden shifts from affection to suspicion. He knew how to navigate him.

He would not push—not now.

Instead, he inclined his head. "I serve at your pleasure, Your Grace."

Aerys studied him for a long moment, his fingers still curled, his eyes still bright with something unreadable.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the tension in his posture eased. His lips curved upward, though the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Yes," he murmured. "You do."

And with that, the audience was over.

Tywin turned and strode from the chamber, his steps measured, his expression impassive.

But beneath it all, something had shifted.

And he knew—he had seen it in Aerys’s eyes.

The king had already decided something.

And Tywin would be damned if he did not uncover what.

The scent of myrtle and citrus lingered in the air as Jaime and Cersei moved away from the Targaryen royals, their departure marked only by the soft rustling of silks and the fading sound of Cersei’s carefully measured farewell. It had been a successful meeting—at least in her eyes.

As they stepped further down the stone path, passing through the arching trellises heavy with climbing roses, Cersei released a slow breath, a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

"That went well," she murmured, her voice rich with satisfaction.

Jaime barely heard her.

His mind was still there, lingering in the gardens, where the dappled light had painted shifting patterns across the silk of your gown, where your indigo eyes had met his and held. He had thought about what you might look like for years, about what kind of woman you had become, but no amount of imagining had prepared him for the reality of you.

You were beautiful in the way that the dawn was beautiful—something soft, untouched, and entirely out of reach.

His chest felt tight.

Cersei turned to him, her green eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement. "Rhaegar is everything I thought he would be," she continued, a touch of hunger in her voice. "He is—" she exhaled, her lips curling, "—perfect."

Jaime forced himself to listen, his jaw tightening.

"He was polite," he said simply.

Cersei let out a soft laugh. "Polite? Jaime, he was more than that." She stopped, turning fully to face him, golden hair catching in the morning light. "You saw how he looked at me. He noticed me."

Jaime hesitated.

Had he?

Rhaegar had been courteous. That was his nature. His words had been pleasant, his gaze steady, his posture measured. He had not been cold, but neither had he been anything more. Jaime had watched him closely, searching for some sign of interest, some flicker of intrigue in the prince’s indigo gaze—but he had found nothing that could not be dismissed as simple courtly manners.

And yet—Cersei believed it.

"He was polite," Jaime repeated.

Cersei’s expression darkened slightly, but she let out a breath and shook her head. "You have no sense for these things," she muttered, turning away and beginning to walk again, her skirts swaying with each step. "I have spent my life preparing for this moment, Jaime. He will see me. He will come to want me."

Jaime did not reply.

Because his thoughts were not on Rhaegar.

His thoughts were on you.

As they walked further from the gardens, he could not stop himself from glancing back, just once, to the spot where you and Rhaegar had stood beneath the shade of the lemon tree.

You were still there.

Jaime’s steps faltered.

Rhaegar had turned back to you, his attention fully yours once more, and it was different now—warmer. More natural. The kind of ease that had not been present when he spoke to Cersei.

Jaime watched as the prince murmured something, his voice low, the words meant only for you. He saw the way your lips parted in response, the way your eyes flickered with something soft, something genuine. You did not laugh the way the ladies of court did when they wished to charm a man, did not tilt your head coyly or lower your lashes in feigned modesty. You simply smiled.

And Rhaegar smiled back.

Something hot and unfamiliar curled in Jaime’s stomach.

It was an ugly feeling, one he did not know how to name.

He did not know what he had expected—he was not foolish enough to think he could step into your life after all these years and suddenly become the focus of your gaze, the recipient of your affections. You had known Rhaegar your entire life. He was your brother, your closest confidant. It was only natural that you would smile for him, that you would look at him with something gentle in your eyes.

And yet—why did it unsettle him so?

Cersei was still speaking beside him, but her words had become nothing more than a distant hum, drowned out by the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

He had never felt this before.

Never.

The women at court whispered about him, admired him for his looks, for his name. They smiled too easily, touched his arm too often. But it had never mattered. He had never looked at them the way he had looked at you in that moment, standing beneath the lemon tree, bathed in morning light.

You had only spoken a handful of words to him.

And yet, he felt as if something inside him had shifted.

Something he could not push away.

Something he was not sure he wanted to push away.

The Lannisters were gone, their presence nothing more than a lingering whisper in the air, yet the garden still felt touched by them—by their ambitions, their careful words, the weight of what they had left unspoken. The gentle rustling of leaves and the faint trickle of the fountain filled the silence they left behind, the scent of citrus still clinging to the breeze.

Rhaegar did not move at first. He stood beside you, watching the path where Jaime and Cersei had disappeared, his expression contemplative, though his eyes held no surprise. There had been nothing unexpected in what had just transpired. It had been, as he might say, well placed.

You exhaled softly, tilting your head to look up at him. "That was… predictable."

His lips curled slightly, though there was little amusement in it. "It was well-placed conversation," he murmured, his voice calm, always calm.

"You mean it was orchestrated," you countered, your indigo gaze searching his, the meaning of your words lingering in the air. "We both knew what they wanted before a single word was spoken."

He let out a breath, slow and measured. "Yes," he admitted. "We did."

You lowered your gaze, fingers brushing lightly over the smooth bark of the lemon tree beside you. "Cersei was no surprise," you murmured, thoughtful. "Her eyes have been set on you since she was old enough to understand what a queen is."

Rhaegar hummed, though he did not confirm or deny the statement. He had always known. The weight of expectation pressed against his shoulders like a crown he had not yet worn, and Cersei Lannister had long envisioned herself at his side, her golden hair intertwined with the legacy of House Targaryen.

But that was not what lingered most in your thoughts.

"It is Jaime that surprises me," you said, your voice quieter now. "I thought he had ambitions for the Kingsguard."

Rhaegar turned to you fully then, his gaze softening, though there was something knowing in his expression. "He is still young," he reminded you. "And his father’s ambitions have never been a secret." He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Besides…"

You glanced up at him as he trailed off. "Besides?"

Rhaegar was silent for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"I saw the way he looked at you," he said simply.

Your brows lifted slightly, but you did not immediately respond.

He continued, his voice light but knowing. "Jaime Lannister may still dream of glory and knighthood, but there is something else there now. He has spent his youth training with steel and chasing the glories of men, but today, for the first time, he looked at something he was not prepared for."

You blinked, your fingers stilling against the bark of the tree. "And what was that?"

Rhaegar’s gaze did not waver. "You."

There was no teasing in his voice, no jest. It was merely truth, spoken as plainly as the sky was blue.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping for a brief moment before returning to his. "And if that is so?"

He smiled again, but this time there was something fond in it, something affectionate.

"Then I wonder if he even realizes it yet," he murmured.

A soft breath of laughter escaped you, and Rhaegar reached out then, his fingers brushing lightly against your sleeve, a familiar gesture, one you had known all your life. His touch was always gentle, never demanding, always warm.

"He is not like the others," he continued, his voice quieter now. "His father has sharpened him into something harder, something that should be unfeeling. But even steel has its weaknesses."

You tilted your head. "And you think I am one?"

Rhaegar’s lips curled slightly, though there was nothing mocking in it. "I think you are something unexpected. And men like Jaime Lannister are rarely prepared for things they do not expect."

The air between you was calm, steady, untouched by the weight of expectation that had followed the Lannisters into this space. With Rhaegar, there was never pretense. He had been your brother, your closest companion, your shield against the world since you were small, and even now—when duty loomed ever closer, when the future threatened to shape you both into something neither of you had chosen—he was still this.

Soft.

Steady.

Yours.

"You think too much," you murmured, tilting your chin slightly in mock accusation.

Rhaegar let out a soft chuckle, his long fingers lingering against the fabric of your sleeve for just a moment longer before falling away. "And you think too little," he countered, though there was no reprimand in it, only fondness.

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. "Perhaps we balance each other."

He did not deny it.

Instead, he reached up, gently tucking a stray silver strand behind your ear, his fingers brushing the warmth of your skin for only a heartbeat. The gesture was absent of hesitation, absent of thought, as natural as breathing.

And though Ser Barristan stood a short distance away, ever watchful, ever loyal, he said nothing.

Because this was not new.

This was Rhaegar.

This was you.

And the world—its expectations, its demands, its whispers of Lannisters and alliances and duty—could wait.

For now.

[felassan]

Original post:

amirdrassil: "datamined veilguard character descriptions google doc is now complete. i've even organised all the characters into their respective factions and added a clickable table of contents!! yippee!!! [link]" [source]

Please note that this work and document resource was put together by amirdrassil on Twitter! they kindly gave me permission to cross-post it here. 🙏

DA:TV spoilers and long post under cut.

VEILGUARD DATAMINED CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS These are all taken directly from the game files; wherever a character had interesting additional information such as accent, age range, or appearance, I’ve also included it.

GODS & SPIRITS

RETURNING CHARACTERS

COMPANIONS

CROWS

VEIL JUMPERS

WARDENS

SHADOW DRAGONS

LORDS OF FORTUNE

MOURN WATCH

KAL-SHAROK

MISCELLANEOUS

UPDATE (19/11/24): Added Teia, Viago, Anaris, Aelia, Hezenkoss and Rana.  (Thank you to @/ZILVYR on Twitter for finding these ones!) I did my best to look through the files as thoroughly as I could, but if you find any more I missed, feel free to DM me on Twitter (@amirdrassil) and I’ll add them with thanks. :-)

I’m adding a disclaimer here, because I’ve seen a lot of people treat these datamined descriptions as absolute canon. Many of them are remnants of scrapped or altered storylines, meaning that they no longer align with the finalised story that the game presents.  Please take everything you read here with a grain of salt, and where the game’s content itself directly contradicts the datamining, the former should always take precedent over the latter. At least as far as “canon” goes! And of course, it goes without saying, but please don’t use any of this datamining as an excuse to be mean to anyone; please understand that game development is a lot of hard work, and storylines are scrapped all the time as writers get new ideas or are faced with inevitable roadblocks from the game system side of things! No matter what, Veilguard was made with love. Anyways, feel free to use any of this as fuel for fanfiction, fanart, headcanons, or just healthy discussions about what the game might’ve been.  Thank you very much, sorry for rambling and please enjoy!! :-)

GODS & SPIRITS

SOLAS AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Solas, from the previous game. (Some characters also have a TTS voice assigned to them, and Solas’s is “PeterSad22k_HQ”, which makes me laugh/cry, as no other major character so far has had their TTS voice specified as being the “sad” variant.) ELGAR’NAN AGERANGE: 99 ACCENT: British Isles; an ancient contemporary of Solas. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Ancient elven god-king. Blighted. GHILN’NAIN AGERANGE: 35 ACCENT: British Isles; an ancient contemporary of Solas CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Ghilan'nain is our sinister Mad Scientist god. Analytical and curious, she uses magic to mutate people into powerful but disturbing forms. She often lists things in a clipped fashion, cataloguing as she sees. She's obsessed with experimenting on all kinds of living beings, viewing everyone (except her fellow god, Elgar'nan) as potential "stock". She's pitiless about her work—Ghilan'nain will happily slice open a hundred people for parts—but is not purposefully sadistic. It's nothing personal. She can be angered, however, by people interfering in her plans. When she is, rage runs cold. Some backstory: Ghilan'nain is an ancient, now corrupted, elven god. She rose to power thousands of years ago by creating living wonders, and had the distinction of being the only mortal elf uplifted into the pantheon. She embraced the corrupting power of a force called the blight in order to improve her magic, and has been unalterably twisted by it over the centuries. BETRAYAL OF FELASSAN CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas's regrets and betrayals (in this case, Solas's murder of his friend Felassan by stabbing him in the back).

FALL OF THE PROTECTOR CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas's regrets and betrayals (in this case, the death of Mythal). SLAUGHTER OF THE PILLARS CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas's regrets and betrayals (in this case, the murder of the Titans). SPIRIT OF PROFIT CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Spirit of Profit who has set up shop in the Crossroads. They are friendly, but very single-minded and tend to speak in one or two word sentences, mostly about profits. SPEECHPATTERN: Simple, clear expressions of intent. This merchant is a spirit with a singular mind (i just thought this one was neat!) GENERAL FELASSAN AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The second in command of a resistance army. You've an elf who's fought against the tyranny of your gods, cruel despots who've enslaved your people. You're practical, level-headed, and have good sense for what other people are feeling, which makes you well-suited for your role. Your leader is an elf called Solas, a powerful mage who isn't quite the people person you are. You respect him, and are there to help him with whatever he needs - especially when he needs guidance about being the face of a resistance. THE CARETAKER SPEECHPATTERN: Simple, mysterious, with a sense of vast wisdom and power ARCHETYPE: Angel / otherworldly helper who gives the player what they truly need, not necessarily what they think they want. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A mysterious masked and cloaked spirit. They are patient, otherworldly, and helpful... in their own way. The Caretaker is the guardian of the Lighthouse, a magical shelter. Unknown to the player, the Caretaker is what remains of a truly ancient dragon, who long ago took on the form of this spirit. Underlying their patient and otherworldly nature is a sense of strength. The Caretaker was summoned centuries ago by ancient elves, the original builders of this place. Now it has new inhabitants: the player and their friends. You're guiding them through the mysteries of the Lighthouse, but do not give any straight answers. It's important to you they bridge the gap themselves. NOTE: The Caretaker is referred to as they/them because they're a supernatural entity (as opposed to the more normal human non-binary characters in the game.) We'd like a feminine voice to differentiate them from some of the other spooky/mysterious spirits in the game who sound masculine (e.g. Vorgoth.)

SPIRIT OF CHAOS CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit of chaos and freedom, unleashed by Solas to break through a labyrinth to his ally Mythal. SPIRIT OF NEED CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit heavily implied to be the Caretaker in another era, speaking with Solas about the attempt to rescue Mythal. Speaking with the spirit, Solas makes it clear that he will sacrifice anything to save Mythal. ANARIS AGERANGE: 35 (no other info except what’s in cyrian’s description) XENON THE ANTIQUARIAN CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A nobleman who made a deal for immortality which did not include eternal youth, Xenon is the master of the Black Emporium, a shop selling curiosities from his personal collection of magical items.

RETURNING CHARACTERS

THE INQUISITOR AGERANGE: 30 APPEARANCE: Inquisition uniform under a long cloak with hood. ARCHETYPE: Relatable leader and mentor CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Inquisitor, the protagonist from DA:I. Confident, knowing, they are still the head of a powerful organization, but now act in a mentor role. They would bring too much attention if they get personally involved, so they are looking for the right people to act for them. CHARTER AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A returning character from DA:I, Charter serves as Rook's link to/mouthpiece of the Inquisitor and what's left of the Inquisition. VARRIC CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Varric! DORIAN CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: It’s Dorian! MORRIGAN AGERANGE: 40 SPEECHPATTERN: Morrigan-y. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Returning character from previous games. ISABELA AGERANGE: 50 APPEARANCE: Well-aged but perfectly maintained warrior gear for close and brutal fighting. Two possible appearances, depending on how the player resolves her past: 1. Dark black dyed hair 2. Red hair with streaks of grey CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Isabela from Dragon Age II

COMPANIONS

HARDING AGERANGE: 29 ARCHETYPE: Girl-next-door CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Scout Lace Harding, from Inquisition. It's been almost a decade and Harding's a little older and wiser, but she still thinks of herself as the simple country girl from Ferelden. Harding is cheerful and friendly, and always tries to be positive. She is kind, warm and compassionate, quick to laugh and slow to anger. EMMRICH AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Follower - will have an audition script. MANFRED CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: An undead skeleton that serves as Emmrich's faithful assistant and companion. Manfred is curious, loyal, innocent, and wants to be helpful. He doesn't speak at first, only replying in hisses that express his mood. Over the course of the game, however, as he learns more, Manfred eventually surprises everyone by speaking in short, one or two word sentences. ASSAN (listed as “GRIFFON”) CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Davrin's griffon. A VO character so he can squawk and screech during banter and ambients. LUCANIS AGERANGE: 36 ACCENT: Hint of Italian, but not as strong as Zevran's. (He is from a coastal city in Antiva, which had an influx of Tevinter refugees from Seheron after the Qunari invaded 100 years or so ago. That’€™s why he looks and sounds different from Zevran and Josephine.) APPEARANCE: Lean, sinewy, handsome, but haunted Antivan human man. Mid thirties. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Once the heir to the First Talon and the Antivan Crows' best mage killer, Lucanis now bears scars both physically and mentally from his time as a brainwashed executioner for an evil mage cult. No longer the pragmatic assassin always in control, he wrestles with becoming what he’s spent his life hunting: a demon-possessed abomination. He longs to return to his former glory, but the monster inside him demands blood and vengeance. With his future hanging in the balance, Lucanis must decide whether to give into the demon or control it.

DAVRIN (he doesnt have anything aaaaa) BELLARA (she doesnt have anything either aaaaaaaaaa) NEVE AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A mage who knows the streets of Minrathous, Neve helps investigate crime in Tevinter's capital. Hired by Varric to assist in the fight against Solas, Neve brings her unique blend of time and ice magic, along with her investigative skills, to the team. Neve is clever and driven, with a dry-but-playful sense of humour. She can be cynical about the world - especially Minrathous - but she believes in doing the right thing herself and has a strong sense of duty. TAASH CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Taash is a Qunari agent with a specialization in infiltration -- a thief, basically. She can scale buildings, pick locks, and take out enemies with quick and brutal efficiency. She is also blunt and laconic -- more likely to answer with a single word than give you a big long monologue. She's not grumpy as much as badass deadpan -- she doesn't trust people in general, and she doesn't like thinking or talking about her feelings, but she believes in what she does. (Taash correctly has the “NonBinary” gender tag, but unfortunately the CharacterDescription field misgenders them. However, it also seems there are some things here and there that changed in early development, like the Qunari agent thing.)

CROWS

TEIA AGERANGE: 28 ACCENT: Italian/Spanish SPEECHPATTERN: Warm APPEARANCE: Elven female, mid to late twenties CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Passionate, showy, hot-blooded, flirtatious, and arrogantly confident. Teia believes she's a celebrity athlete who will die gloriously before she gets old and live forever in song. She has no guilt about being an assassin, and thinks anyone who judges her for it just doesn't understand how things work in Antiva, or indeed anywhere in the world where powerful men play games. Abandoned as a child, she has a soft spot for the downtrodden. VIAGO AGERANGE: 32 ACCENT: Italian/Spanish SPEECHPATTERN: Formal, hint of snobbiness APPEARANCE: Human male, early thirties RACE: Human (Brazilian) CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Calm, ambitious, and ruthless, Viago is the bastard son of the late King of Antiva. As a high-ranking member of the Crows, Viago has just as much influence as the Monarchy, but he still resents the fact that he is not a legitimate heir and feels his birthright was stolen from him. Beneath his cool exterior is a lot of anger and frustration. He will not be satisfied until he sits upon a throne. ILLARIO AGERANGE: 35 SPEECHPATTERN: Charming but with a hint of smarminess. ACCENT: Italian APPEARANCE: Ativan pretty boy CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Antivan pretty boy. Mid 30's. Illario is a power hungry assassin who cares only for himself. On the surface, he is a fun-loving, upperclass Antivan with a weakness for wine, duels, and gambling. But beneath that shallow facade is a calculating, ambitious man with grand plans for the Crows.

SPITE SPEECHPATTERN: Taunting, sing-songy, creepy CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The demon trapped inside Lucanis's head. Spite was once a Spirit of Passion drawn to Lucanis's will to live, but years of torture and a desire for revenge has twisted him into a Demon of Obsession. CATERINA AGERANGE: 80 ACCENT: Italian/Spanish APPEARANCE: Older Korean-Spanish or Korean-Italian woman (from the same region as Lucanis). Can easily play the part of both sweet grandmother and mafia boss. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Godmother of the Antivan Crows. Sassy, ruthless older woman of power, who will do anything for the success and protection of her family/house. ZARA AGERANGE: 35 APPEARANCE: Beautiful human mage. Mid 30’s. SPEECHPATTERN: Soft and teasing with a Tevinter accent. Upperclass, so formal, but not cold. More of a sensual snob than an ice queen. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A vain, hedonistic Tevinter Magister, who uses the blood of her slaves to stay young and beautiful. She is Lucanis's nemesis and is the one responsible for forcing a demon inside his head. CALIVAN AGERANGE: 55 SPEECHPATTERN: Formal, snide CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Calivan is the prison warden in charge of the Ossuary. He is as cruel as he is curious and likes to experiment on his inmates with blood magic. GOVERNOR IVENCI AGERANGE: 45 SPEECHPATTERN: Formal, curt, demanding APPEARANCE: A Trevisan government official. They don't go around armed, because they secretly know they don't have anything to fear from the occupation. ARCHETYPE: Money-respecting Official demanding the heroes stop disrupting the status quo. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Governor Rayan Ivenci is a non-binary human, about 45, Trevisan with a Caucasian appearance. They used to be a mercenary and still have the skills, but have softened somewhat as they aged. They have been a government official for a decade, and have grown sick of being a toothless figurehead. The Crows are the true authority in Antiva, relegating officials like Ivenci to almost symbolic bookkeepers. Ivenci thinks the Crows are spoiled mascots, and Treviso should be ruled by serious figures who don't waste time on petty rivalries and theatrics. Ivenci allowed the occupation and has made steady profit from it, selling out Treviso with the intent that the Crows would be killed fighting the Antaam, expecting that and when Antiva eventually ousted the Antaam, Ivenci would solidify power before Crow houses in other cities could re-establish here. Under Ivenci, Treviso would be the thin edge of the wedge that ended the Crows power. But the Butcher didn't rampage, and didn't kill all the Crows. This has left Ivenci pretending to help fight the occupation, while also chastising the Crows for stirring up trouble. Once the Butcher is dead, Ivenci casts aside any pretense and simply takes power.

FLETCHER AGERANGE: 30 SPEECHPATTERN: Measured, serious. ARCHETYPE: Connected merchant guild leader ACCENT: Antivan APPEARANCE: Fletcher is a tradesperson and a skilled combatant with a bow. They are always dressed for travel. They aren't flashy, preferring to appear as their own guard instead of a merchant hawking wares.  CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Fletcher is a human Crow with merchant ties. Skilled in bows and ranged support, they are kitted for travel and protecting people and goods on the move. They are non-binary, tall with a thin build that codes slightly feminine. Ethnicity can be anything.

HEIR AGERANGE: 40 SPEECHPATTERN: Calm, measured. Almost dispassionate. ACCENT: Orlesian APPEARANCE: She is pale with short dark hair and an Orlesian accent. Dressed in good light armor befitting someone who trains others in small-weapon combat and takes the occasional hit. She was the assassin trainer in Inquisition, but it's been many years and doesn't need to match the appearance except in a general sense. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Heir is a Dalish elf who acts as a trainer and mentor for young Crows. JACOBUS AGERANGE: 15 ACCENT: Antivan SPEECHPATTERN: Sullen teen with an axe to grind APPEARANCE: Young, skilled, lithely muscled. Jacobus is well trained in double-daggers, but has the typical lack of discipline of an undirected teen. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Jacobus is a young male Crow who is in danger of losing himself to vengeance. He should be as young as we can make him. If he can't be a child, he should be no older than 15. His family were killed by the Antaam, and the hate is still fresh. Skilled in daggers, he is lithe and quick, but sullen in his mannerisms. He doesn't smile yet. Ethnicity can be anything. ARCHETYPE: Youthful spite for the world NOA DE ACUTIS AGERANGE: 55 ACCENT: Antivan SPEECHPATTERN: Formal with strangers, warmer with her brother. APPEARANCE: Older veteran Crow female duelist CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Noa is an older female in her late 50s. She has been a Crow for all of her life, and remains capable and fit. Her build has the old-woman wireyness of a duelist's body that was fit her whole life. She is slow to smile, and is the more serious of the de Acutis siblings. Ethnicity can be anything, but needs to match her brother Neri encountered in the Crow plots. ARCHETYPE: Older sister, skilled assassin

NERI DE ACUTIS AGERANGE: 55 ACCENT: Antivan SPEECHPATTERN: Thoughtful, homespun APPEARANCE: Classic swordsman assassin, with an old-fashioned flare. He doesn't look dated, he looks distinguished. A godfather displaying modern tradition. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Neri is an older male in his late 50s. He has been a Crow for all of his life, and remains capable and fit. His build has the old-man-strength of a swordsman's body that was muscular his whole life, but has now lost some of the mass as he transitioned to a mentor or godfather role. He has a hard face, but is quick to a melancholy smile. Ethnicity can be anything, but needs to match his sister encountered in a later plot. ARCHETYPE: Stern but loving godfather FLEDGLING DARTONIA AGERANGE: 17 SPEECHPATTERN: Tentative due to inexperience. More confident after seeing Rook in action. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A young person in training to become an assassin. Nervous because of inexperience, but capable and willing.  Farming background. Hunted for food. Now living in the city because the lands were lost to occupation. Dartonia and Temitri are encountered in the Crow sanctum, the Diamond casino. They chat casually with each other about how their training is going, and the things they've heard about. They are young recruits to the Crows, still getting used to their training and the strict but caring manner of their trainer, Heir. They respect and have a little fear of the veteran Crows like Viago and Lucanis.  Especially Lucanis, who is a figure of some renown.

FLEDGLING TIMETRI AGERANGE: 17 SPEECHPATTERN: Over-disciplined to compensate for inexperience. They relax after seeing Rook in action. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A young person in training to become an assassin. Overcompensating for inexperience, but capable and willing. Traveled with a military family. Used to discipline, but has crafting hobbies like making various kinds of dolls. TREVISO GONDOLIER AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A blue collar gondolier pilot who runs errands in the canals of Treviso. Used to slipping past patrols for stealthy deliveries, before and during the occupation. Fit from daily work, you are no soldier or assassin, but you help in your way. ARCHETYPE: Workaday everyman who helps the assassins get from place to place. QAMEKMASTER CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Antaam Qamekmaster is a fanatic who normally is in charge of brewing the horrible mind-stealing poison, qamek. Like all Antaam, he is large, muscular, and has a soldier's mentality. However, now he is giving in to the corruption of the gods. He thinks this makes him better than the regular Antaam, and he's been locked up by the Butcher because of it. When Rook finds them, they willingly succumb to the corruption entirely, and become a monstrous creature called a Reaver. Once transformed he is a massive, fleshy juggernaut consumed by fervor and rage. Most of his dialogue is combat as the transformed Reaver. CHANCE CANDIDE AGERANGE: 25 SPEECHPATTERN: Confident, with a flare for the dramatic. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Standard Crow garb on a young man. Chance is a stylish, dramatic Orlesian who joined the Crows to be their emmisary among the courts of Orlais. (French accent.) He has since joined the effort in Treviso, and is fighting the Antaam occupation alongside his fellow Crows. He has chosen to rally people in the underbelly of town, which is a bit of a contrast from his previous position, but that's what he likes. He's the bright spot in a dark time for many people. ARCHETYPE: Gentleman assassin

MARKET MASTER AGERANGE: 45 SPEECHPATTERN: Friendly but businesslike APPEARANCE: Market master in expensive clothes. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The all-business master of the market in Treviso. She's frustrated by the occupation, but uninterested in discussions about who should be in charge. She's only interested in getting whoever is at the head out of the city's business. Her name is Master Sidestreet Alidare. Sidestreet is a nickname representing her low origins and her ability to do deals on the side.

VEIL JUMPERS

CYRIAN AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Bellara's brother. Zealously dedicated to the rebirth of the elves. Half-possessed by Anaris, an ancient elven would-be god who lives inside a magical mask. STRIFE AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: One of the Dalish faction agents. Strife is a keen-eyed hunter who grew up in the elven city slums, but was taken in by the forest-dwelling Dalish elves and taught to be an expert woodsman. He's rugged, tough, adventurous, and doesn't suffer fools. He feels some disconnect between his city-upbringing and his current role as a hunter - somtimes Strife worries he's an imposter, not truly growing up with his people, but he's tried to take their teachings to heart. Strife is loyal to those who earn his friendship, and fiercely protective of his clan. IRELIN AGERANGE: 25 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Dalish elf who grew up in the woods, Irelin has learned the ancient and incredibly rare art of shapeshifting. She uses this ability to move secretly in the forest, scouting for her people. Practical and no-nonsense when it comes to defending her clan and her friends, she has a healthy distrust of outsiders, especially the humans who've persecuted and exploited her people for so long. Irelin takes a secret joy in the thrill and power of shapeshifting, however. She loves exploring as the different animals of the forest, and knows some of their paths better than anyone.

WARDENS

ANTOINE AGERANGE: 25 ACCENT: French (Orlesian) CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Antoine is a cheerful and enthusiastic member of the Grey Wardens. He's quick-witted and willing to run with a crazy plan. Compassionate and kind, he'll put his life on the line to protect others. (filename tag is “agent_improviser”) EVKA AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Evka is a devoted member of the Grey Wardens. She's a good-natured pragmatist who's calm under pressure and not easily fazed by the monsters of Thedas. Despite her professional attitude, she isn't above some mild sarcasm or gallows humour. (filename tag is “agent_tracker”) WARDEN GRETA AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Grey Warden lookout. Greta is friendly, personable, and loves being a Grey Warden. She is generally positive (though has a low moment following the fall of the Warden base Weisshaupt). Greta provides information to Rook and always welcomes a chat. If Rook is a Grey Warden, Greta has met them before--they both became Wardens around the same time. Greta doesn't know Rook well--it's more like running into an old school mate--but she likes them. WARDEN RHODRI AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Grey Warden lookout. Rhodri is determined and brave. He worries about other people, but tries to show confidence so others are not afraid. He prefers simple solutions to complex plans.

HOLDEN AGERANGE: 35 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The father of Mila, the little girl in Weisshaupt mission. MILA AGERANGE: 9 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A plucky little girl Rook meets during the siege of Weisshaupt. JAYNIE AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Grey Warden lookout. Jaynie is organized and observant. She's someone who likes to have a plan. She is a loyal friend and has a dry sense of humour. Jaynie believes you should always try your best. FLYNN AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Flynn is the local physician in Lavendel. They recently went through the Warden Joining ritual which gives them Warden abilities (though they will remain a doctor). Flynn is smart and compassionate. A pacifist who is somewhat soft-spoken and has a self-deprecating sense of humour. (there’s other minor wardens with names and short personality descriptions; if you’d like any of them just let me know. to the nobody that is reading this. i have a headache rn. but i will persevere.)

SHADOW DRAGONS

TARQUIN AGERANGE: 39 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Tarquin is a burned-out templar who had the idealism beat out of him years ago. He now fights with the Shadow Dragons, offering a more cynical, realistic view that often contrasts with the idealistic and impulsive Viper. Tarquin is a trans man. SPEECHPATTERN: Gruff, deadpan. (filename tag is “agent_cop”) THE VIPER AGERANGE: 30 (filename tag is “agent_vigilante”) MAKAL DAMAS AGERANGE: 45 ACCENT: British/Tevinter-Appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The secret head of a criminal organization. Calm, businesslike, and shrewd. He may run a crime network, but he has a sense of loyalty and a code. That said, he'll be violent and ruthless when needed. ELEK TAVOR AGERANGE: 30 ACCENT: British/Tevinter-Appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Charming and friendly con artist. Friends with Neve despite being on opposite sides of the law. CAT CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A cat. HALOS AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A blunt-but-kind merchant. Knows he sells the best food in the city. Neve is his most regular customer and therefore his favourite.

LORELEI AGERANGE: 40 SPEECHPATTERN: Fereldan, from Denerim, so she should have an accent that matches our Fereldan accents. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Lorelei is an elf who runs the pawn shop that conceals the Shadow Dragons' hideout. Lorelei was originally from Ferelden, captured and sold to Tevinter slavers. She has since been freed thanks to the Shadow Dragons, and continues to work for them. MAEVARIS TILANI AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Maevaris Tilani is a powerful, notorious Tevinter magister who was one of the founders of the Shadow Dragons. Respected by some, and hated by others, Maevaris will not rest until she achieves her dream of changing Tevinter for the better. Maevaris is a trans woman and her first appearance was in the comic book, Dragon Age: Those Who Speak. AELIA AGERANGE: 30 ACCENT: British or Tevinter-appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A devoted member of the Venatori who believes Minrathous must return to its former glory. Neve foiled her plans in the past. Cold, determined, passionate. RANA SAVAS AGERANGE: 30 ACCENT: British/Tevinter-appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A determined and idealistic templar. By-the-books, she believes in following the law and that rules are the best. Doesn't give up or compromise her ideals despite the corrupt system she finds herself in.

LORDS OF FORTUNE

DRAGON KING AGERANGE: 45 SPEECHPATTERN: Blunt, arrogant. A brutal warlord or crime boss. Also speaks lines in the Qunari language. APPEARANCE: Big Qunari (ox-man) with enormous shoulders and battle scars. Old enough to be a military commander, but not so old that anyone would think of him as weak. Big, brutal, mean. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Qunari in charge of the Antaam in this area. Used to be a military officer, but when the Antaam went rogue, he became something like a warlord of cult leader. A powerful warrior with a booming voice. He should sound like the paragon of big dangerous evil masculinity, and he makes his warriors go through painful rituals to prove their devotion. He's strong, blunt, and devoid of mercy or empathy. Will likely kill anyone he doesn't see as useful or entertaining to him. Basically, a bad guy doing his evil bad guy best. SHATHANN AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Qunari woman in her 50s. Former Qunari government worker who fled with Taash when Taash was revealed as a fire-breather. CUTTER AGERANGE: 24 APPEARANCE: A Qunari, but only about as tall as a human -- short by Qunari standards. Dresses as a mercenary, fashionable because he's full of himself. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Cutter is Qunari, but he grew up in Rivain and acts human (ie, he does not follow the Qun or even know much about it). He's a junior member of the Lords of Fortune, the same mercenary band Taash is in. He's young, cocky, and jealous of how strong and competent Taash is. He wants the respect Taash has earned, and when he doesn't get it, he betrays Taash and sells them out to the Dragon King. Generally speaking, he should act with the kind of smug, entitled confidence of someone who doesn't have much real-life experience -- bluster with jealous insecurity underneath.

KARASH AGERANGE: 50 SPEECHPATTERN: A little stilted and formal, because he grew up speaking another language. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A middle-aged Qunari man who was a civilian navigator and weather expert assigned to work on a military vessel. After seeing the military commit war crimes, he deserted, and now lives alone on a beach, doing odd jobs and keeping to himself. He is polite but withdrawn, a little cautious around strangers. Taash (and Taash's mother, Shathann) bring him food from time to time, and he is much more comfortable around Taash, talking to her more like an old uncle. (Again, incorrect pronouns used for Taash here in the character notes.)

MOURN WATCH

MYRNA AGERANGE: 25 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Myrna is a necromancer from Nevarra. Utterly precise diction, calm demeanor. Crisp, polite, and intimidatingly competent. Myrna often speaks in declaratives, and absently drops archaic or obscure words at least once a conversation. She's not unfriendly, however, and firmly on the side of those doing good. Myrna is part of the Mourn Watch, an elite group of necromancers who run Nevarra's sacred repository of the dead: the Grand Necropolis. They also protect people from occult dangers, a duty she takes seriously. VORGOTH CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Vorgoth is deep-voiced, solemn, and imposing. They're a member of the Mourn Watch, an elite group of necromancers from the kingdom of Nevarra. But what Vorgoth is exactly—their species, age, gender, whether or not they're alive—is a mystery, shrouded and masked in a cloak. Vorgoth clearly has supernatural powers, however. Even their voice has an otherworldly echo. Vorgoth doesn't speak much, and only in short sentences. As one of the Mourn Watch, they help guard Nevarra's sacred burial complex, the Grand Necropolis. Like all Watchers, Vorgoth is also sworn to stop occult threats to this world, and takes this duty seriously. NOTE: Vorgoth is masculine in appearance (tall, broad) and voice, but their pronouns are "they/them". Vorgoth does not use they/them because they are non-binary (as opposed to our more typical non-binary characters); they use them because they're a total unknown (and may be a pluralistic entity; in the rare instance Vorgoth refers to themselves, they use "we" not "I".) HEZENKOSS AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Arrogant, supremely confident, and spiteful, Johanna Hezenkoss is a "mad-genius" necromancer supervillain with grand plans to conquer the kingdom of Nevarra. Hezenkoss is all feverish energy and big, sudden gestures. She is constantly fueled by an overwhelming ambition and rage. Hezenkoss is probably as intelligent as she boasts, incredibly powerful, and filled with a seething resentment that people try to keep stopping her from ruling everything. Foremost among these people is Emmrich Volkarin, her former friend and fellow necromancer. Johanna and Emmrich have known each other for decades-they used to work on magical research together in the Mourn Watch, an elite order of Necromancers. They had a falling out when a power-hungry Johanna started practicing forbidden necromancy and was kicked out of the Watchers for it. Ever since then, Johanna and Emmrich have clashed as he's tried to stop her villanous schemes. In this game, Hezenkoss has crafted her most diabolical plan yet: a 10-story tall bone golem that can drain peoples' souls and crush anything in its path. She'll stop at nothing to complete it so she can take over Nevarra's capital city. Emmrich and his new friend Rook, frustratingly, stand in her way.

LICH LORD CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: This is lich: an ancient, undead mage. Her speech is formal, authoratative, and occasionally sharp when she has little patience for the living. Speaks in shorter sentences, as she's so old she's fallen out of the habit of vocalizing too much. While impossingly sinister-looking, she's not evil. She just has a viewpoint that thinks in centuries instead of years. KEEPSAKE CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit that guards the Grand Necropolis, an enormous underground complex full of the sacred dead-and undead. There's a lot of possessed skeletons wandering around down there.  Keepsake manifests as a glowing, floating, see-through skeleton in a shroud. Keepsake has worked with the necromancers who take care of the Necropolis for ages, and knows a lot about what's going on down there. Sometimes mocking or sardonic, with a dryly morbid sense of humor, it's still dedicated to helping people. Keepsake always appears with its companion spirit, Curio, who's the more positive and upbeat of the pair. CURIO CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit that guards the Grand Necropolis, an enormous underground complex full of the sacred dead-and undead. There's a lot of possessed skeletons wandering around down there.  Curio manifests as a glowing, floating, see-through skeleton in a shroud.  Curio has worked with the necromancers who take care of the Necropolis for ages, and knows a lot about what's going on down there. Its chatty and friendly, often deeply curious. A strange, whimsical being, intrigued by the mortals who wander through. Curio always appears with its companion spirit, Keepsake, who's the more sardonic and cynical of the pair.

SEALED SPIRIT CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A prideful, ancient demon that's been sealed away for centuries.  You're malevolently curious about what makes these foolish mayfly mortals tick. As part of your imprisonment, you've been splintered into multiple bodies with the same mind. You use them to goad the player, hoping they'll try to defeat you, because you think you can manipulate them into freeing you from your prison. If they do, you have a surprise for them: once freed, you can possess an undead dragon, wrecking untold devastation on the land that thought it could chain you.

KAL-SHAROK

STALGARD AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Stalgard is a dwarf from Kal-Sharok, a mysterious dwarven city that has very little contact with the outside world. Stalgard is stoic and steadfast and serious, with a strong sense of honor. DURRA CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Durra is a dwarf from Kal-Sharok and Stalgard's sister. She is one of Kal-Sharok's historians, known as "Stewards of Memories." Much like her brother, Durra has a strong sense of honor, but is a lot less serious. STONE ORACLE CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Oracle is a mysterious entity. known to the Kal-Sharok dwarves. They revere her as a spiritual figure. She is connected to the Titans and makes herself known through a strange rock statue. The Oracle was originally Shaper Valta (first seen in DAI's 'The Descent' DLC). After Valta connected with the Titan in the Wellspring, she became the Oracle and made herself known to the Kal-Sharok dwarves. All Oracle lines should have audio processing on them.

MISCELLANEOUS

THE SCHOLAR CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A self-important, uptight scholar. He is trying to prove himself to the academy and will go to any means to do so--including murder if that's what must be done. THE EXECUTOR APPEARANCE: Human-appearing CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A masked and hooded figure that speaks like someone unfamiliar with language in general. Stilted, awkward, but with a low menace. SPEECHPATTERN: Stilted. Is trying to form words from thoughts that are far more complex than a regular person's.

[source]

again please note that this work and document resource was put together by amirdrassil on Twitter! they kindly gave me permission to cross-post it here. 🙏

[radawaycunt]

High Risk

PART ONE: STAR PATIENT

Mini-series masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Nurse!Fem!Reader

WC: 3.5k words

Series Summary: You, a nurse at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, are assigned to the newest inmate -- none other than the Chesapeake Ripper, otherwise known as Hannibal Lecter. He is nothing short of charming, but the dangerous mysteries that lurk beneath are equally alluring. So much so that you can barely resist the urge to uncover them all.

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, canon typical violence (mentions and some descriptions), slight canon divergence (here frederick is still director of the hospital), corruption, manipulation all around, eventual smut, secret affair(ish?), sort of power imbalance, ongoing murder investigation (the red dragon), cursing, not-so-slow burn, hannibal being hannibal pretty much, aaand that’s all I can think of but lmk if something should be added!

—————

“A woman being never at a loss…. The devil always sticks by them.” — Lord Byron

———-

Much like the Minotaur’s labyrinth, Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was designed never to let one escape. At least, that’s how you viewed it, even if you were a worker and not a prisoner there. 

Still, you weren’t sure that was any better.

The place’s immaculate cleanliness was almost unnerving, but it was fitting. The walls were a glaring white, and the floors were always polished until they shone. The hallways were meant to confuse those who hadn’t actively tried to memorize them, every corner seeming the same.

Your uniform had to be impeccable too, lest you made the place look bad. It was absurd how much laundry you had to do, and how much time you had to spend on your appearance. All for it to go to waste whenever things got messy with rowdier inmates. 

But despite it all, there was a certain allure to the place that made you want to return each day. Something morbid, almost sinister, like a secret waiting to be uncovered. It was irresistible, and it would be until you found it out.

Doctor Chilton had just given you the rundown about the new inmate, stressing the importance of following protocol when dealing with him. He’d handed you his file to look over and on the very first page, there was a picture of the man they called the Chesapeake Ripper — Hannibal Lecter. 

You were taken aback for a moment, not expecting him to look like that. Luckily, the Doctor did not seem to notice your reaction, and you quickly made sure your expression was neutral once more.

Despite having worked there for a few years, witnessing all sorts of things, you were a little rattled by the way he spoke about him. Especially after mentioning he didn’t want to lose any more nurses, alluding to the incident with a former inmate, Doctor Gideon.

As it turned out, Hannibal was also a doctor, and you couldn’t help but shudder at the prospect of some macabre pattern forming. 

Of course, none of the other nurses wanted to be assigned to him, but Doctor Chilton trusted you to handle things well. You did what was asked of you and never caused any trouble. Truthfully, it wasn’t because you were particularly driven, but you wanted to fly under the radar and take it day by day.

And yet, it had still led you there, despite your efforts. 

You took the elevator down from the top floor, reading the file as you went. It was noted that the risk of him being violent was quite high, but he had thus far been cooperative with the staff. In fact, he had even turned himself in to the police, which was a detail that stood out to you. 

Considering his numerous horrific crimes, along with Doctor Chilton’s psychological assessment of him, he did not seem like a man who would let himself be apprehended so easily. It would gnaw at you, but you weren’t sure if you’d get the answers you suddenly seeked.

You left the file at your station to finish reading later, trying your best to ignore the looks of fear and pity some of the other nurses shot your way. Hopefully none of them would try to give you shallow words of affirmation, knowing you’d be the subject of gossip for the next week or so.

The maximum security cells were on the basement floor, but you stopped by the kitchen first to get his meal tray. You steeled your nerves as you passed through the extensive clearance, continuing down the hallway until you reached the very last cell, which was behind a set of double doors.

Was the light dimmer there, or were you imagining things? You could see shadows lurking in the corners of the room, an ominous feeling curling in your stomach. A cool gust from one of the AC vents made you shiver, but otherwise, you willed yourself to stay composed.

Finally, you dared to look into the actual cell. It was much nicer than most of the other cells, equipped with two bookshelves, a large mahogany desk, and some elaborate sketches that were taped on the walls. Perhaps part of a bargain struck with Doctor Chilton based on his cooperation with the authorities. 

Then again, he was the new star patient, so that probably earned him a few more privileges. Despite those small luxuries though, you knew it’d be hard for him to forget that he was incarcerated.

Hannibal himself was lying down on his cot, reading, but he sat up as soon as you entered. He was even more handsome in person, almost rakish, and you allowed yourself the smallest pause to continue looking at him. 

He had a fine nose, dark eyes, and an aristocratic air to him. Not to mention, a full, obscene mouth that was surely meant to cast impure thoughts. 

Somehow, you had to admit that even his slate gray jumpsuit fit him quite well. If he truly was the Devil, then word of his burning, unholy beauty was not a lie.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted with a smile that you were sure had charmed many in the past.

“Good afternoon. Stay where you are, please,” you said firmly but politely, returning the smile just slightly. “I’ve brought lunch.”

He obeyed, hands resting on his knees. Slowly, tentatively, you made your way to the slot in the glass where you could deposit the tray. 

“Please don’t retrieve it until I’m gone, and let a guard know when you’re done so they can collect it.”

He nodded, smile still in place. “Thank you.”

You began to retreat, feeling his gaze fixed on your back. It wasn’t until your hand was on the door knob that you realized your heart was racing. Adrenaline was dancing beneath your skin like little bolts of electricity, but at least your breathing was even. 

What was it that had affected you so deeply? Was it the thrill of looking into the eyes of pure evil? 

No, that was far too simple, and therefore what you had expected… but that wasn’t all you’d been able to see. It was hard to decipher just at first glance, but you hadn’t been brave enough to hold eye contact for long. And you certainly weren’t any braver when you returned to deliver his supper later that evening.

He was still all smiles and charming obedience, but you noticed his eyes wandered a lot more. It might have been a little amusing, if you weren’t so nervous. If anything, to have his attention was both intimidating and bewitching.

It made you want to say something more, but you weren’t sure what. Still, you knew better than to engage too much outside of protocol.

Or at least you thought you did. 

--------------------

Moonlight slipping through the foliage, anointing the darkened world in silver. A deer silently drank from a stream, unaware the hunter had spotted it. Head bent, throat long. It would be an easy shot, arrow cleanly piercing the jugular. 

It ran, but it did not get very far.  Its wide, ink-black eyes were looking up at the beautiful face of the moon, silhouetting the hunter. Its weakening heart leapt at the sight.

The last thing it saw was his knife.

---------------------

You woke up with a start, panting and confused. Sleep slid off you slowly, like a veil uncovering your eyes. Your hand unconsciously went to your throat, but unsurprisingly, you found no arrow’s fletching.

Two weeks had passed with nothing especially of note. You had read the entirety of Hannibal’s file, the details of his brutality leaking out into your life beyond Baltimore State Hospital.

It was hard to peel off all the misery embedded in its walls, especially being exposed to it daily. It was easier to compartmentalize instead, letting your mind go blank at the end of the day. But the dreams were an inevitable torment, nonsensical and intensely vivid.

You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes and sighing into the silence of your small bedroom. You stared into the middle distance for a few minutes, mentally preparing to start your day. 

In the time that had passed, you had exchanged a few more words with Hannibal that were not part of protocol. He had asked your name, his tone kept carefully casual, and you thought it only fair to tell him. 

After that, he had ventured to ask more innocuous questions about yourself, perhaps trying to test the limits of your interactions. You had answered most of them truthfully but vaguely, worried about him psychoanalyzing you.

Something told you he'd also know if you were lying, so you figured it’d be mostly useless to try. But you were entitled to your secrets, too, and you preferred keeping your cards close to your chest.

Yet you were also aware that it would not deter him, but unbeknownst to him, you were just as headstrong. 

Later, after having slipped on your mask of cool indifference and clocking into work, you brought down his breakfast. You found him at his desk, sketching. He glanced up without moving his head, pencil still moving.

“Good morning,” he greeted. “Is it nice out today?”

“Depends on what you consider ‘nice’,” you said mildly, making slow work of depositing his meal tray. “It’s been intermittently raining since last night, and I don’t think it will stop any time soon.”

“Not bad at all,” he said, his tone ever so slightly wistful. “I do quite enjoy rain. I hope you didn’t forget your umbrella.” 

Strangely, you couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for him. The sudden loss of freedom was an unbearable thought to you, and you didn’t really wish it on anyone. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t deserve to be in the position he was in.

He noticed you hovering but not saying anything. Finally, his pencil halted and he looked up at you, leaning forward slightly. His assessing gaze pinned you in place, but your body was tense and ready to flee.

“You sound tired. Did you sleep poorly?” He asked.

You blinked in surprise, the question snapping you back to the present. Lowering your gaze, you inclined your head.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” you said politely. “I should get going, I’ll be back in an hour.”

He pursed his lips in what seemed like irritation, but he didn’t press you. Instead, he stopped you once more by changing the subject. 

“Before I try to talk to Frederick about it, there’s something I’d like to ask you,” Hannibal said.

You looked at him with apprehensive curiosity. “I cannot promise you anything, but you may ask me.”

“I would like to draw you, if you’d model for me,” he said. “Simple stuff, all of it appropriate. I promise. I’m just in dire need of a muse.”

“What makes you think he will say yes to such a request?” You asked, not yet processing everything in your state of shock. 

He smirked. “He needs my help with certain things, so it’s only fair I get something in return.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And… Why the interest in me, specifically?”

“It would be a sin not to immortalize features like yours.”

Heat crawled up to your face and your arms tightened against your torso, but you kept a mostly neutral expression on your face. You weren’t sure if he was being serious or just toying with you to unnerve you, but you had a feeling it was a mixture of both.

You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of a bigger reaction, but it was likely he could still tell he’d rattled you. The worst part was that deep inside, you also took his interest as a compliment, but there was no way you would let that show.

“I’ll give it some thought,” you said slowly, unsure why you were even considering it. “Pending Doctor Chilton’s approval, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

With that, you left, floating down the corridor as if detached from your body. The whole situation had a feeling of unreality to it, and you kept expecting to wake up once again.

As you got to the nurse’s station, another nurse told you that Doctor Chilton had summoned you to his office. You blinked at her in surprise. Impossible… Had Hannibal really been so fast?

Next thing you knew, you were knocking on the door to his office, turning the knob when you heard him grant you access.

“There you are,” Doctor Chilton said, one hand resting on his cane. “Close the door behind you and take a seat, will you?”

You dipped your chin in compliance and mechanically followed instructions. For what seemed like an eternity, he said nothing, studying you instead. You shifted slightly in your seat, instinctively returning the favor if only because you didn’t want to be the one to look away.

He himself had been a victim of Hannibal’s more than once, and his body bore all of the evidence. Still, the Doctor had an undeniable obsession, using any and every opportunity to brag about Hannibal’s capture.

Clearly, the impact had been more than skin deep. No one ever dared to outwardly gossip about it, but it was well-known regardless.

It wasn’t often that you dealt with him directly, and you were being painfully reminded of why you preferred it that way. 

“Did…” you began, but he interrupted.

“I watched it all through the cameras. He knew I would be when he asked you that.” He leaned forward on the desk, hands clasped. “Wise choice not to give in just yet.”

You couldn’t help but balk at this. “I beg your pardon?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It must have been a tempting offer, to be the Devil’s muse. I would not blame you if you were at least a little flattered.”

Your eyes, just like your resolve, were like steel. “Why have you called me here, if I may ask?”

His smug, easy grin faded as he let out a long sigh, his patience wavering for a moment. 

“Hannibal is right about my needing him, though I am not the only one who does. The reason why is classified, as you can imagine, so I cannot tell you much,” he said, keeping his tone bored as if he couldn’t be bothered to explain it to you. “What I’m trying to understand now is why he wants you in return.”

“I’m just as confused, trust me.”

“From what I have observed, you don’t speak much, even if he has tried. I wonder if the challenge interests him…” he drifted off thoughtfully for a moment. “Though I suppose he’s always liked to surround himself with pretty things, too.” 

You stiffened, taken aback by the strange compliment. “And so you are expecting me to say yes?”

“I’m not expecting, no, but I’m sure you’ve gathered that this goes beyond Baltimore State. Of course, should you choose to assist us, you would not only be generously compensated, but I would be immensely grateful, as well.”

You thought about it for a moment. The additional income would definitely be helpful, but you had to admit you were also growing more and more curious about the whole thing. What else did you have going on, otherwise? 

Still, you had to try and cover all your bases first. You couldn’t make it too easy for him, after all.

You slightly tilted your head to the side.“Grateful… so you could call it a favor, then?”

He raised both eyebrows. “A favor?”

“Yes, Doctor. He’s a highly dangerous patient and you are asking me to spend longer periods of time – I’m presuming alone – with him. The safety of all staff should be your top priority, right?” you said pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest. “What use is money if no one’s alive to collect it?”

His green eyes narrowed as he seemed to weigh his options. Your face remained implacable, though there was also a challenging shade in your features that he did not miss. Otherwise, he could not get a very good read on you, and that suddenly intrigued him. Perhaps you’d be more useful than he’d originally thought.

“Right… You make a good point,” he finally conceded. “Well, I am a man of honor, after all. Anything you might need, you can always ask.” 

You smiled as genially as you could. “How gracious of you, Doctor Chilton. Thank you.”

His false smile was more like a sneer. “Of course. You don’t have to give your final answer now, but…”

“I accept,” you said, cutting him off. “I am honored by the opportunity.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

“How close are you able to get to the glass?”

“Up to ten paces away,” you said, taking your cardigan off and draping it over the back of the chair you’d brought. “Should be close enough, no?”

“Not nearly,” Hannibal said with a small, flirtatious smile that you did not return. 

Still, he could see a flicker of amusement cross your face, softening you infinitesimally. It only made him ache all the more to see you up close. He felt a sudden thrill that warmed his extremities — a feeling he recognized but had not felt for some time.

“Doctor Chilton has given us two hours, so I’d advise you to use the time wisely,” you said, slightly lifting an eyebrow and setting your hands on your hips. “How would you like to start?” 

“Just as you are, at your most natural,” he said, picking up his pencil. “Let’s see…”

It was strange at first, to have him stare so intently at you. You, who were seldom cowed by anything, could still barely keep eye contact with him. As an excuse, you offered your profile, turning your body to face the wall. 

He complimented the elegant swoop of your neck and you rewarded him with a demure glance and soft words of gratitude. His grip on the pencil tightened, his heartbeat spiking. You caught the way he shifted slightly in his chair, swallowing hard. 

Despite your icy exterior, you felt a thrill at the effect you seemed to have on him. 

You hadn’t been instructed to do anything but show up, but you knew instinctively that it would take more than that to keep Doctor Chilton’s favor… and Hannibal’s interest. Luckily, you were well versed in the art of slow seduction – giving just enough, but then withdrawing in equal measure.

Not to mention, it felt safer to do so on the other side of the glass.

Once or twice, he gave you brief instructions on how to pose your arms or which way to angle your head. You fell into a sort of meditative state, the reality of the whole situation slipping away from you, as well as the passage of time. 

When your watch’s timer went off, he seemed to snap back into focus at the same time as you. You looked up, startled at the sight of all the sheets of paper strewn about the desk. You noticed his hands were stained with graphite as he set his pencil down.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you took a step closer if only to try to get a glimpse. There was an almost frantic quality to the sketches, as if he was worried he might not be able to trace all the lines he wanted to in time. You weren’t able to gather many details from that angle, but you did not doubt his talent. Something about those hands…

“Productive first day,” you said, lightly teasing him to distract yourself from other thoughts passing through your mind.

A smile and the faintest dip of his chin. “I have not been so inspired in a while.”

“You flatter me too much. I’m sure it wasn’t just due to me,” you said, looking behind him at his bookshelf. “What are you currently reading?”

He seemed momentarily surprised at your interest, glancing over his shoulder and slightly raising his eyebrows. 

“Byron, actually.” He chuckled as he saw your reaction to the poet’s name. “The irony of it is not lost on me, trust me.”

You looked away. “You’re finding beauty where you can. I understand.”

“I always have, in my own way,” he said. “I have a feeling you might relate.”

“In places like this, there is no other choice,” you said, noncommittal. “Not if you want to survive it.”

“The great object of life is sensation,” he quoted. “To feel that we exist, even though in pain.”

You let out a short exhale as you slipped your cardigan back on. How curious that he would be a romantic, but you supposed, in a way, it made sense. 

Free of being a so called muse for the day, you withdrew back into yourself. He’d gotten the barest glimpse of another side of you — softer, more open — and that had to be enough for the time being. 

Had to leave him wanting more, after all.

“I will see you bright and early tomorrow, Hannibal. Get some rest.”

------

[jaehaeryshater]

“Near the end, [King Jaehaerys] grew certain [Alicent] was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea.”

artist: @riotarttherite

I had the great pleasure of commissioning, in my opinion, one of ASOIAF fandom’s greatest artists on this gorgeous piece. I had never commissioned any artwork before and didn’t know what to expect, and this far exceeded my expectations. The attention to detail is beautiful and the overall piece conveys exactly what I was envisioning in my head, so I wanted to start off with a big thank you.

The idea for this art piece was originally a “what if” or AU where Saera either didn’t get caught at the brothel or was brought back from the Silent Sisters as was allegedly Jaehaerys’s plan (or if she had bonded with Balerion and gotten to stay! Would have loved that for her) so she stays in King’s Landing and becomes his caretaker in his old age instead of Alicent Hightower. As his daughter, she would have significantly more influence in being able to “speak for him” instead of a caretaker for another House, so although I do not take Saera as someone particularly obsessed with power, I do find it very interesting to imagine her deciding to cause chaos as the Old King’s mouthpiece. The streets of King’s Landing are burning as we speak! Even before Jaehaerys seemed to succumb to dementia, Saera did appear to have a strange influence over him, so once Alysanne passed away, it only makes sense that Saera would become the person in his ear. Not all that great for the smallfolk or even Lords of the realm, but great for drama and storylines. And Saera, of course! I’m sure she would have paraded everywhere, weighed down by jewelry and the finest wines. Perhaps she would have had a full menagerie, as she appeared to love animals. Definitely an elephant there somewhere.

As this piece was being worked on, however, I did think of a second meaning to the art that I also think is really neat. You could also view this as what Jaehaerys is seeing as Alicent is caring for him. He did believe her to be Saera in the end, as his mind was being lost. His Saera had come back to him, and although I do not like Jaehaerys and think he probably deserved worse, he most likely died happy at that thought, believing Saera was reading to him. So if you prefer to interpret this as viewing things through Jaehaerys’s mind, I welcome you because I love it at least equally to the first idea.

Lastly, the detailings are beautiful so I wanted to touch on them and give them the attention they deserve for the moment. I asked Riot to have a caring but sinister vibe, that she is caring for him for a plethora of reasons but certainly that includes self-serving reasons. I believe this was captured really well! I wanted it to be illustrated that Jaehaerys had lost his wits a while beforehand, so he has a vacant look, and Saera has the keys, showing that she is the real power behind the Crown. She has several expensive jewelry pieces (she has many from her lovers, but she doesn’t bother with them, leaving them to collect dust, only thinking gifts from the King are worthy to wear), but my favorite was one I specifically requested. Her jeweled bodice, which contains replicas of the King’s jewels that are present on his crown. Dare I say, she had her mother’s crown repurposed for herself? The intention is clear, Saera is effectively the Queen now, not in name, but Queen nonetheless. As for the general fashion, I told Riot that my favorite era of fashion was the Tudor era, more broadly 1300s- 1550s. As you can see, this was more than delivered and extremely beautifully inspired by historical fashion. GRRM doesn’t always describe his character’s outfits, and the GOT and HOTD outfits were often lackluster. This was exactly the type of beauty I was looking for. The dragon embroidery on Saera’s sleeves? Mwah!

Anyway, thank you so much for geeking out with me! The Saera/Jaehaerys dynamic is one of the most interesting dynamics to me. There’s simultaneously so little and so much there. It’s complex and layered, I can’t stop thinking about it. If you have been on my tiktok, you may have heard about my extensive theory regarding that dynamic, iykyk. If you ever want to talk about them, absolutely feel free to inbox me. More commission ideas coming this year definitely, at least a couple more of this dynamic, but I don’t know how a piece could be any more perfect <3

[eroticcaa]

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙊𝙉 𝙃𝙄𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎 ▸ 𝐵𝐿𝐴𝐶𝐾 𝑆𝐸𝐴

𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑅𝐼𝑆𝐸, 𝐼 𝐹𝐴𝐿𝐿. 𝐼 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷, 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑊𝐿. 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑇𝑊𝐼𝑆𝑇, 𝐼 𝑇𝑈𝑅𝑁. 𝑊𝐻𝑂’𝑆 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝑆𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝑈𝑅𝑁?

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

EPISODES: 7+ [updated!]

LEAD STARS: Y/N STYGIAN. QIMIR. OSHA ANISEYA. & MORE.

Tags: !!EXPLICIT CONTENT!! MINORS DNI. — AFAB!READER, ANGST, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, INFIDELITY, JEALOUSY, FORCED!MARRIAGE, CORRUPTION, YEARNING, SHARED FORCE CONNECTION, AMNESIA, DEATH, FORCE!SENSITIVE!READER, SMUT.

SUMMARY: You were the empress of The Assai, located on the Planet Eadu in the Unknown Region. A beautiful world known for its dry, sandy, rocky terrain and hot weather. The waters surrounding the cities were murky black waters, at night it glimmered with a green phosphorescence. People's attire consists of a red cloak, black mask or veils, skin covered in tattoos or runes. Your planet became a ruin, because of the Jedi. They believed that a powerful Sith Lord were to be alive or reincarnated on this planet. If only they knew it was something much darker, sinister.

Note: just a little heads up, this is an Alternate Universe at play — Star Wars, peeks of Game Of Thrones, House Of The Dragon, Marvel’s Scarlet Witch. This will not have anything to do with the canon storyline! Some scenes will be used from the show just altered.

ACT I: 𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿 𝑀𝐸, 𝑊𝐻𝑌 𝐷𝑂𝐸𝑆 𝑀𝑌 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐵𝑈𝑅𝑁 𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁 𝐼 𝑆𝐸𝐸 𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝐹𝐴𝐶𝐸?

EPISODE 000

EPISODE ONE

EPISODE TWO

ACT II: 𝐼 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿 𝐼𝑇 𝑅𝑈𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑁’ 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻 𝑀𝑌 𝑉𝐸𝐼𝑁𝑆, 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼 𝑁𝐸𝐸𝐷 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝐸 𝐽𝑈𝑆𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐾𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐼’𝑀 𝐴𝑊𝐴𝐾𝐸. [COMING SOON]

———

© EROTICCAA 2024.

thank you sm for the reblogs, likes & comments! ima try to keep this series short but I fear it may be long, I didn’t expect to go crazy on this but my docs are filled with lore of how the reader will come to be how she is.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

"Shouldn't you be in my bed?" For Daemon, please

(Lemme know if I'm sending too many)

"My, my," Daemon replied predatorily, eyes slitting with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. He was good at that. At hiding his thoughts behind walls of shields. You supposed he had to be, given he was a Prince of the Realm and all. "Aren't you quite the temptation."

Daemon's lips curled up into something just a touch sinister, and the sight made the hairs on your arms stand at attention. An internal response to danger that you recognised all too well. You wouldn't back down, however. Not ever when it came to Daemon.

"You should be careful- inviting dangerous men into your bed. I don't know too many lords or ladies who would voluntarily invite dragons into their nests," he picked at a speck of grime under his nail, though you were under no illusions. He was watching you very carefully, reading you and your intentions.

"I assure you, my lord," you answered, attempting to placate the Prince with a submissive smile. "I have nothing but the most innocent intentions."

It was always like this with Daemon. He liked to play hard to get, and you liked the chase.

"I'm sure you do," he chuckled darkly, allowing you to take his hand and lead him towards your chambers.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Dragon Blood

Chapter 5: Being a bastard is difficult as is. But claiming a dragon, training under Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and navigating politics is a whole other ordeal.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader

Tags: jealousy, possessive Jace, angst, kissing, hickeys, appropriate use of 'dracqrys', more kissing,

TW: Some unwanted touching from a side character,

You had trained under Prince Jace for weeks, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion. Despite the bruises, the aching muscles, and the seemingly endless challenges of learning to ride and command your dragon, you remained dedicated.

Jace's approach was rigorous, often harsh, but you could sense the underlying intent to mold you into a warrior. You couldn’t deny the pride you felt when his rare words of praise slipped through the cracks of his otherwise stern demeanor.

"Well done," he assessed when you expertly dismounted your dragon, landing on your feet without losing your balance. Your heart would pick up its beat at the praise.

Every day was a battle to prove your worth, to show that you were deserving of the blood in your veins, of the dragon by your side, of Jace’s attention.

It wasn’t just the training itself; it was the way you listened intently to his every word, your eagerness to please him shining through in how you followed his instructions to the letter. Your dedication was unwavering, and though Jace remained distant, there were moments when his gaze lingered on you just a second too long or when his tone softened, if only for a moment, or he hid his laughter at your frustrated exclamations when something didn't word the way your wanted it to.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The sun was just beginning to hide over the horizon when you and Jace arrived at the stronghold of Lord Robin, a minor but strategically significant nobleman whose loyalty Rhaenyra needed. As you dismounted your dragon, without falling, you might add, you couldn't help but notice the way Lord Robin's eyes followed you with a gaze that made your skin crawl.

Inside the grand hall, the atmosphere was tense. Lord Robin welcomed you both along with your dragons with a patronizing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The initial pleasantries were exchanged, but you could feel the bad intentions in his tone. As the discussion of terms began, Jace did most of the talking, his tone authoritative, yet measured. He was every bit the prince—commanding, confident, and resolute.

But then, Lord Robin’s smile twisted into something darker. “A fine offer, my prince,” he drawled, his eyes sliding over to you. “But there is one additional term I would request.” His voice lowered, taking on an ugly undertone. “This pretty dragon rider of yours… Quite a rare beauty. I would have her and the dragon join my household, if you will. It would be a small price for my unwavering loyalty and that of my army.”

His words struck you like a blow, and the room seemed to close in around you. The suggestive way his eyes roved over your body made bile rise in your throat. You instinctively moved closer to Jace.

Lord Robin continued, oblivious to the tension he’d created. “It’s a fair trade, is it not? After all, she’s of low birth. A bastard, I hear-"

You noticed Jace stiffen at the derogatory use of the word, his jaw clenching.

"-The queen need not be troubled by such an arrangement.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the lord's sinister smile widened, his eyes narrowing as he examined you, approaching you closer. "Prince Jacaerys," he began, his tone smooth and calculated. "My offer is simple. I will either join the greens, or you may leave this lovely girl here with me, and I'll join you."

You stiffened as the lord’s hand brushed against your arm, then lower, his touch lingering in a way that made your skin crawl.

But you had a moment to think, logically, if you were handed over to Robin, it would secure a tremendous alliance for Rhaenyra against the greens. As much as the thought disgusted you, you had decided you would do it for Jace. You would do your duty for the Targaryens.

As you contemplated, what you didn't see was the way Jace’s eyes darkened, his fury barely contained as he watched the lord's hand slide further down your body. "Get your hands off her," Jace growled, shocking both of you.

The lord chuckled, amused by the prince’s anger. "Surely, a prince like you has more important matters to—"

Before he could finish, Jace surged forward, shoving the lord away from you with a force that sent him sprawling to the floor. The room fell silent as the lord's smirk dropped from the humiliation.

But before he could react, Jace’s voice rang out, cold and deadly.

"Vermax, Dracarys!"

His dragon responded instantly, flames roaring from its jaws, engulfing the lord. His screams were brief, quickly silenced as the fire consumed him. The scent of charred flesh filled the air, a reminder of the swift and brutal justice meted out by the prince.

You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. The heat of the flames still lingered in the air as you turned to Jace, trembling.

Jace didn’t spare the Lord another glance. His focus was entirely on you now. His hand, still tense from the confrontation, rested briefly on your arm, a grounding touch that sent a shiver down your spine. “We’re leaving,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

You nodded, your heart still racing from the encounter.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your flight back to Dragonstone was tense.

You grasped onto the saddle of your dragon tightly, occasionally glancing towards Jace, riding stoically, against the night wind as his gaze stayed focused on your destination.

When you landed in the dragon pit, rather unsusuccessfully you're embarrassed to say, nearly falling off your dragon from the impact, you looked to Jace for his reaction. Typically, he would give you advice or pointers regarding your technique. Tonight, silence. 

Jace jumped down from Vermax, landing flawlessly on his feet. “Follow me to the training grounds.” He commanded without looking at you and kept on his way. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts, blinking.  Training? At this hour? The entire castle would be asleep.

Regardless, you weren't one to argue with your prince, so you followed Suit, thanking your dragon for bringing you home safe and offering it a small piece of dried meat you had snuck into your gear. The dragon ate contently and followed Vermax to the Cave as you ran to keep up with Jace.

Entering the training grounds you were commanded once again. 

“Discard your riding coat.” 

He had already discarded his own, standing with two wooden staffs one held in each hand and in his loose undershirt, tucked into the waist of his breaches. The top of his was open, revealing the Hard muscle of his chest. 

Obediently, you unbuttoned your coat and removed it, leaving you in the corset you wore to Lord Robin's gathering. The cold air of the stone walls made the hairs on your arms stand up, but no more than his angry gaze.

You gulped, your breathing intensifying. He was angry. And not the usual anger where you felt he could forgive you but really angry. 

He tossed one of the wooden staffs to you, and you barely caught it. “Defend yourself.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could ask, advanced. You backed away from him. The alcohol from the party and your tiredness made your moves less than perfect. “Jace, wha-”

He trust the staff toward you, and you intercepted it with your own, barely having time to back away and add some distance between the two of you.

But Jace was faster- more experienced. In one move he'd knocked the staff out of your hands. 

“In all of our training, I seemed to have missed an important lesson,” he snarled, green eyes boring into yours. “How to defend yourself against disgusting old men who put their hands on you.”

He dropped his staff, grabbed your hands, and held them up above you against the rough wall of the training room. “Break free.”

You were panting, trying to catch your breath.

“That wretch touched you. And you let him.” He snarled.

“Yes I did! So should you have, Jacaerys!" You struggled against him. "You could have made a strategic trade off for your house."

His eyes narrowed in confusion at your words. "What?"

"I’m expendable." You elaborated. "You'd still have my dragon. Just not me. Why didn't you just take the deal—"

"Because you are mine." His eyes blazed with fury.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning, before his lips crashed down on yours. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and needy. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the weight of everything—his possessiveness, his protectiveness. It was intoxicating, consuming you completely as you melted into him, your body responding to his with a fervor you hadn’t known you possessed. You thought about kissing him for many nights, about him embracing you like this. Finally.

When he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes bore into yours before dropping to your neck. He lowered his head until his lips touched the skin under your ear, biting you there, before licking the bite.

You gasped. "What are you-"

"Leaving my mark on you." He said. "If you're not going to fight them off. They might as well see you already belong to someone."

He kept sucking and biting your neck as you grew more and more sensitive. Your heart raced, body tensed up, but at the same time, you couldn't help but crave for more. You let out a gasp, unable to believe what was happening. The feeling was indescribable.

You tried to keep still, but your body started involuntarily moving along his touch, your back pressing harder onto the rough stone walls. He bit your neck a little harder, and you cried in pain and pleasure, your mind mixed in disarray. You dreamt about this. About belonging to him.

Jace pulled away to look at the red marks he'd left all over your neck. They would bruise by morning. He couldn't help but grin at the thought. Making his claim on you was only the beginning. He wanted the whole world to know that you belonged to him. Hesitated, he surveyed your face. Your eyes appeared dazed, pupils dilated, lips parted in a soft moan.

•••••••••••••••TBC•••••••••••••••

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[thecatsaesthetics]

Hello! Hope you're doing well. A while back you said you could write a whole thing about Alysanne being weirdly sinister about her children, especially her daughters and Baelon. I completely forgot that she did not want him to remarry after Alyssa's death which was super odd. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on those things. If you want to that is.

I think Alysanne is an incredibly interesting character, I wouldn't call her sinister because that implies she is doing harm intentionally and I don't view her that way. Alysanne is both villain and victim, and I would classify her more as a tragic character then a sinister one.

I think Alysanne fits with the tragedy that is to be born a Targaryen woman. She is groomed from birth to be her brother's counter part, she is deemed "special" as a dragon rider, she watches as her brother-husband claims that their blood line is "exceptional" and then watches as her family becomes victims to the very common diseases and deaths that happen in Westeros. Her mother dies in childbirth, her son dies an infant, her daughter dies of plague, two of her daughters die in child birth, her son dies in battle, etc.

I think in terms of Baelon, she favored him. He was "hers" whereas Aemon was for Jaehaerys. She is the one who insisted upon a marriage between Baelon and Alyssa, despite Aemon being the son and heir (and thus being in need of a sister-wife counterpart). Baelon and Alyssa relationship mirrors that of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. You can read this meta on Alyssa, which I love because this fandom has really tried to act like Alyssa and Baelon are this "perfect" Targaryen couple but if you read the text closely you can see a bunch of issues that fans ignore.

In terms of Baelon post Alyssa, I don't think Alysanne's actions are sinister but rather her protecting herself. If she truly saw herself in Baelon and Alyssa then Baelon remarrying would be a threat to her own place in this Targaryen legacy. If Alyssa can be replaced, so could she if Jaehaerys needed. Again her marriage to Jaehaerys is what defines her, she was married as a child and groomed to be his wife.

Viserra is a threat in her mind, when really Viserra's actions scream of a child in need of help. First of all, the fact that Alysanne claims that Viserra wants to be Queen because she seems to want to marriage to her brother is very telling. Baelon was not heir at this time, and even if they knew Aemon would have no more children, it still doesn't seem likely that Baelon would have succeeded. Aemon as King could have easily declared his grandson his heir if he didn't want Rhaenys.

So how could Viserra know she would become Queen if she married Baelon? She would be a second wife to a second son. It's more likely that Viserra didn't want to be sent away from family, after watching what happened to her sisters Daella and Saera. So Alysanne's claim is more reflective upon herself, and her own desire to be Queen. And the idea of someone, even her own daughter, taking that from her is hurtful. So she chooses to send Viserra into a marriage where she would likely never seen her family again, to an aging lord (who likely had sons already). It's a punishment for attempting to take what Alysanne has been told is hers, her specialness.

It's just so fucking sad, and I don't necessarily think that Alysanne wanted to be a villain and in many ways she was a victim but she caused lasting trauma on her daughters. Similar to her sister Rhaena, who is both victim and villain, it's the lasting legacy of Targaryen women. They are the counterparts to their brother-husbands and thus also are complicit in their crimes. Alysanne really highlights this, Alysanne ends up alone on Dragonstone. After being denied the right to attempt to see her only living daughter, after being denied her granddaughters birth right, after losing her last daughter to a mysterious end. She is alone, and it seems she dies alone, for all the maesters do to push the idea that Jaehaerys had this great love for her he doesn't even seem to be there when she dies. Nor do we get any indication that he mourned her death. Alysanne is alone, abandoned in a sense. A haunting reminder that Targaryen women might be placed as a "counterpart" to their husband but can never escape or be allowed the same level of power.

[ellitx]

Chapter 19: The Lord's Will

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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           The storm was strong, harsh, and maddening. The tempestuous wind annihilated the entire city— from a strong wind to a ferocious cloudburst. It was similar to how the blue dragon attacked the city and everyone presumed that was the cause, but their assumptions drowned upon discovering it was not the Stormterror causing harm to all but Barbatos the Anemo Archon.

           Aether wondered if Jean was aware that it was Venti who was causing all of this. And if she did, did he see him as Venti the Bard or Barbatos the Anemo Archon during his rampage?

           Everyone cowered in fear witnessing the strong aura of an enraged unknown being. From the center of the plaza stood a young man clad in green carrying a damsel in his arms.

           A pair of large angelic wings sprouted from his back, fluttering as feathers fell off and lifted him off the ground. Had he been the angel destined to calm the tempest storm of Mondstadt, everyone would have cheered. But that was far from Celestial.

           His figure loomed. The moon’s radiant glow cast his youthful features yet all was daubed with nothing but fury. No one can approach or stop him. Not even the Knights of Favonius.

     ��     Not even Aether.

           If one dares to approach him, they’d be thrown away like a measly rag doll. Aether could clearly see how his once bright eyes had turned dark and sinister. All that anger was pointed at him, warning him: “If you take a single step and take her from me, I will slaughter you.”

           The crowds cowered, parents holding their children close and shielding them from the sharp gales, while others bowed, kneeling even, to honor and welcome the overwhelming presence of the Anemo Archon.

           Aether, with his restricted strength and movement, turned and saw Jean from the distance. Her face was pale, her hands shaking and clutching tightly on her sword grip. He had never seen her so scared before. No, scared was not the right word.

           She had mixed feelings of confusion, fear, and uneasiness.

           But even as the Acting Grand Master, she’s ready to charge if the archon were to burst into another outrage.

           But how ironic was it that she'd attack the nation’s god who protected them for thousands of years?

           Everyone was scared, some were shocked. Not a single soul has the courage to speak.

             “O winds that sweep o'er Mondstadt's land, hear my words, my fervent command. In the realm where skies and earth collide, a love blooms fierce, none can deride.” The archon’s voice was soft yet thundering, his words echoed and reached the city’s ears.

           “This woman in my embrace, through day and night, she's my true lover, my cherished wife. A bond unbreakable, forged for life. So heed this warning: all who dare to cross the threshold of our lair, for should you trespass, face my might. Anemo's wrath shall take its flight.

           No mercy shown. No quarter given. By my hand, your fate be driven. For love is fierce, and love is strong. And for her, I shall right all wrongs. Let these words echo through the skies, a proclamation, a love that ties. Respect our realm, and you'll be free. But disturb our love, face destiny."

           With these proclamations, Venti's voice rang clear.

           A declaration of love and fear. His power as an archon was blinded with love and obsession.

           A warning to all who dared to defy.

           Pray and obey. That’s the only rule if they wish to be alive.

           And with those words, he vanished into the dark night sky, with only a few feathers left behind. The rain continued, pittering and pattering on the muddy floor. All sounds were muffled except Paimon’s cries which were crystal clear. Afraid and petrified by what happened, he mustered the strength to hush her cries. The only protection and safety he can offer from the god’s wrath.

  —

             “Is there a doctor here? Someone please help my brother!”

           “There were so many casualties… Is this still a safe place for us to live?”

           "I heard the Anemo Archon's wrath spared no one. The Knights of Favonius are overwhelmed, and there's chaos everywhere."

           “Even the Church can’t help us…”

           "I never thought I'd see the day when the Archon's protection turned into a storm of destruction.”

           In the hallowed halls of the Knights of Favonius' headquarters, poignant cries of pain and resilience played out. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and hushed murmurs, as the knights moved with purpose, tending to the myriad wounds inflicted by the recent upheaval. In makeshift infirmaries, the wounded lay on cots, their faces etched with the agony of recent events.

           Amidst the sea of suffering, the children and families sought refuge within the sturdy walls of the headquarters, clinging to one another for solace.

           The knights worked tirelessly to mend both the physical and emotional wounds inflicted by the recent chaos.

           “How are you doing, Aether?” Jean asked while washing the dressings that needed to be disinfected.

           “I’m doing well, but it still hurts like a brick…” he offered a wry smile to her while his fingers caressed his bandaged neck.

           “Please don’t push yourself. Rest as much as you can in here, however, the city is not in the best of state and our supplies may not be enough for everyone…” Jean heaved a sigh, putting aside the disinfected dressings.  “It seems our headquarters won’t be able to accommodate any more patients. The Knights of Favonius and I are trying our best to find a secured shelter.”

           “That bad, huh?” Aether frowned and leaned in, his torso bending forward, while his arms relaxed on his knees.

           Jean nodded slowly, staring out at the grim surroundings.

           "If we're lucky, perhaps when everything calms down, we'll rebuild the city..." she closed her eyes tightly, willing her thoughts away from despair.

           “I’ve already sent the emergency message to Grand Master Varka,” a familiar voice popped into the room. They both turned to see Kaeya emerging from the door holding two cloth bags. “He has decided to send three teams to bring more rations and resources on their way back. He will also come with them on their journey back to Mondstadt.”

           “Thank you, Kaeya.” The Acting Grand Master nodded appreciatively, taking the bag that had been placed on the bed next to Aether’s. He sat down, handing a portion of rations to the boy.

           As dawn painted the sky in hues of hope, the headquarters stood as nothing but a shelter. Mondstadt was in a complete disaster. Multiple houses were destroyed, the plaza was a mess, and even the villagers living outside the city were affected tremendously.

           The blonde traveler’s eyes flashed to the small figure lying on the bed. Recalling the previous night seriously made his head ache. Aether opted to take a good night’s rest.

  —

             A week has passed and the day is still the same. Rubbles and debris are still within everyone’s sight and it’s far from finished cleaning all the mess. All of the Knights were doing labor— not only that, but they also temporarily banned travelers from stepping within Mondstadt’s borders until further notice.

           It’s too dangerous for non-citizens to visit when the catastrophe is still imminent. As much as Aether wants to help, Paimon and Barbara would scold him for his recklessness, urging him to prioritize his own safety over assisting others in such perilous circumstances.

           He grouchily grumbled to himself, letting his mind drift somewhere else and possibly hoping an idea would flick the switch for him to do something. Laying on the bed will do no good, and he’s getting tired of nestling on the bed all day.

           Although he could always fall asleep if he just stayed put and waited for his eyelids to droop. But he knew deep down inside, that waiting for this catastrophe to be over wasn’t the best way to go about things either.

           Letting his mind meander in his headspace, he recalled Jean informing him of an update from the Grand Master. She was told their estimated time of arrival would be a week from now. They have contacted merchants from neighboring nations who will bring more rations to them so the knights can use them to sustain themselves while they wait. Some gave anonymous donations, gifting medicines, herbs, and bandages to aid in recovery efforts.

           Since a week had already passed, he was certain more rations should arrive by tomorrow or maybe even today. At least there won’t be any hunger pangs for these people anymore. To witness the Grand Master still aiding the nation despite his lack of presence caught Aether’s interest. If he’s able to live up to those standards, then there’s no doubt he’ll do great things once he comes back. A flash of hope filled his heart, giving him a feeling of motivation. Hopefully, the news about the arrival of the Grand Master will lighten up everyone’s mood.

           As much as he wants to join in helping the knights, he can’t neglect what is important to him as well. He knows Barbara nor Paimon wouldn’t approve of his idea. But if no one sees him, then there wouldn't be a problem.

           It’s almost night time and everyone’s too preoccupied with healing the wounded.

           Aether stirred from his bed, the call of restlessness drawing him. With quiet determination, he quietly left his room, ensuring his steps wouldn’t make a noise. Once he got through the front door, he made his way through the sleeping city streets, guided only by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the clouds. His destination: the bell tower of the church.

           His silhouette moved against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. With practiced ease, he scaled the rough walls of the church, his fingers finding purchase in the worn stone as he ascended higher and higher.

           The chill of the night air brushed his skin as he continued climbing, each foothold bringing him closer to his destination. At last, he reached the towering bell tower, its shadow stretching out like a dark sentinel against the starry heavens. With a final push, he pulled himself up onto the narrow ledge, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

           Leaning against the pillar to take a breather, he wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead and turned around to admire the night sky. Though the past few days were packed with dread and anguish, the luminous light of the crescent moon almost had him forget his purpose for climbing all the way here to the top.

           From his vantage point high above the city streets, he could see the familiar tower in the distance, its ominous presence casting a long shadow over the land. Aether’s golden eyes narrowed, searching for any signs of the god and his “lover” he claimed. The distance between them stretched out so far that his hope for spotting you from where he was was futile, just as he suspected.

           Forcing away the uneasy feeling in his stomach, he turned his attention to the watch tower from the Knights’ headquarters. A silhouette moving caught his attention and Aether decided to return to his room lest he’d be caught by the knights lurking in the bell tower in the middle of the night.

  —

             Two weeks after the catastrophe, there was a small progress within the city. Several are still wounded yet they’re gradually recovering. The Knights utilized the Church for civilians who lost their homes and few kindhearted volunteers assisted the Knights and members of the Church to feed the displaced families.

           Aether’s neck had already recovered, the mark was gone but the sensation of his perpetrator’s fingers still haunted him till this day. Caressing his neck brings bitterness within him he wasn’t able to save you from the god.

           What if Venti, in a fit of rage or madness, had done something irreversible, something that could have harmed you irreparably? The mere thought sent a shiver down Aether's spine, and he vehemently shook his head, trying to dispel the dark imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.

           "No," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Venti wouldn't do that. He couldn’t."

           But deep down, beneath the layers of denial and hope, Aether harbored a nagging doubt. Even if Venti wouldn't physically harm you, the emotional toll of his actions could be just as devastating. And that was a truth Aether couldn't bear to face.

           With a sigh, he stood up from his bed and began pacing around the room. He spotted some villagers going in and out of the city gate behind the thickly curtained windows. What struck his attention were the carriages loaded with debris, and people carrying some vegetables and fruits. Perhaps to make soup for those who are still recovering.

           Somehow it stirred his heart a little to see the citizens still helping each other even after being scarred by disaster. Maybe they know it will bring more danger to move away from their homes right now, but they’re hoping for a miracle where everything will return to normal.

           The majority of the food supplies were already eaten during the crisis and a lot of residents are starving. Yet there are still people who have gone through so much more difficult hardships than what he has to go through.

           Staying inside will do no good. Aether strode to the door and opened it with determination, but the purpose of venturing crumbled to dust when a deaconess’s familiar blue optics glared at him.

           “Where do you think you’re going?”

           Aether swallowed the lump sitting in his throat, a cold sweat threatening to unveil, as he evaded her skeptical glare. “Just going outside to take a breather,” he answered immediately.

           Barbara’s frown wouldn’t expunge and he stood firmly in his place. When she took one big step, he panicked and backed off a little. If she continues walking forward, then there’s no turning back.

           Thankfully, she stopped before him. She looked annoyed and then glanced at Paimon standing beside the door, munching on a piece of bread. Was she with Barbara all this time?

           “He’s been stuck inside for a week. As long as he doesn’t do anything reckless, Paimon’s sure it’ll be fine.”

           Barbara heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose at Paimon’s nonchalant and indifferent behavior. Deciding to give in, she allowed Aether only on the condition he’d be back before it set.

           She sure has gone stern with him but the kindness within her still remains pure. It didn’t take long for Aether to prepare. He only needed his sword and his flying companion. Barbara told him to bring some medicines in case he got wounded, but she hoped he’d return unscathed.

           As Aether stood at the city gate, Paimon floated next to him, her eyes scanning the lush greenery beyond. The landscape seemed unchanged, yet subtle alterations were evident – barricades now dotted certain sections of the road, blocking any passage beyond the city limits.

           The crops at Springvale Village lay sparse and withered, stark evidence of the devastation wrought by recent events. Despite the desolation, however, the villagers toiled tirelessly, their hands calloused and backs bent as they labored to revive the once-lush fields and replenish dwindling supplies. With each passing day, small signs of progress emerged amid the barren earth, a small glimpse of hope amidst the ruins.

           Aether’s feet controlled his body, aimlessly wandering the prairie of the nation of the wind. Paimon was silent, quite unusual of her, but he didn’t ask her. She was lost in thought and so was he, but his mind drifted to the abducted maiden.

           Paimon followed him along, sometimes leaving a few comments here and there not to go to the forest lest they’d be attacked by hilichurls.

           He hadn’t realized they stopped at Stormterror’s lair. Before him was the ever-so-familiar wind barrier. It still kept him from entering further, a warning that the Anemo Archon and his dragon inhabited the empty land.

           His body took over before his mind could stop him. He rushed and slammed his hand against the barrier, screaming at an empty space. “Venti, please! You don’t have to do all of these!! I know you’re a good person but if you lock [Name] there, it’s no longer freedom!”

             No response. That couldn’t mean anything good. He pounded his fist again, the barrier rippling from the pressure, yet he felt nothing in return. Oddly, he heard something behind the barrier… But what?

           Over and over, the traveler kept on banging, crying out for Venti to release you. Paimon watched in silence, her eyes darting to him and the tower as she feared what would happen next. The pain and the stress his actions brought into the fairy's mind might make her stop him at this instant, another unintended consequence that could lead them down a different path.

           She closed her eyes, blocking out the reverberation of Aether's yells. He needed to be calm, she knew. All of this chaos and emotion were only building up more anger in Venti and she wouldn't want that.

           They were starting to disturb the wind spirits who lived nearby. Eventually, the cry ceased after a long while and the emptiness returned. His palm burned red where it touched the barrier; only moments later did he realize how close he came to harming someone.

           If only he wasn't damaged greatly, he'd still have time to save you. No, even if he was wounded, he should have been able to bring you back. How had things turned out like this? He wasn't prepared for anything of this sort. This... is not what you deserve.

           "Aether… we should just go. Venti won’t even spare us a glance." Paimon pleaded.

           "We can’t just leave [Name] there! What if something happens to her?" He shouted in return, glancing back at the pillar. It almost seemed as though she was holding her breath now, but she finally exhaled, turning to face him once more. "Stepping in again will make it even worse! Paimon will be devastated if Paimon loses you!" Her voice cracked, quivering and wavering betraying the fear and concern she struggled to contain.

           She sniffled, averting her gaze as she wiped the tears off her cheeks with her arm. They know Venti has his own reasons for keeping you in there with him, but is that really the right way to treat you? More so, he abandoned his people after the mess he made.

           Nothing will change if he stays in the tower and keeps you locked there with him.

           Aether's hands slipped, knocking his forehead on the barrier’s surface. It was too much for him, trying to figure out what to do when he should be doing his best to stay alive himself.

           There's nothing Venti will gain from it if they did so; perhaps nothing except for their— or worse, your— demise.

           “Pardon me, but are you here to offer your prayers to the Anemo Archon as well?” A voice joined in, halting his silent mourns.

           An old man who appeared out of nowhere drew near, seemingly unconcerned about their whereabouts. But they did not expect to see behind that man a flock of people holding bouquets of flowers, wines, and baskets of bread. Despite how dangerous the area is, they radiated in contrast to the gloomy atmosphere surrounding them.

           "What the...?" Paimon muttered as one of the old men set down his offerings near the barriers. He made eye contact with Paimon and she offered him a wry smile, watching everyone follow along the man's gesture to place down their gifts on the other side of the wall on what seemed to be like a shrine. Was that there all along?

           A robed priest walked towards the shrine, chanting and making prayer gestures. It was clearly evident from their actions that these were believers, using the lair as a sacred place of worship that those who visited hoped to receive some form of blessing.

           Aether had multiple questions he wanted to ask the old man, but for now, he kept quiet while everyone prayed and whispered their wishes.

           It was strange watching the group of believers praying in front of the gates, with little awareness that the person Paimon and Aether were talking about was on the other side, practically begging for the god these believers were praying for to free the girl he took.

           It seemed as though the old man sensed their watchful and peering gaze. "Please do not anger the Anemo Archon... for he may be merciful to some but harsh to others..." he said.

           "Harsh to others?" Paimon spoke aloud. The man stared back at her for a moment before answering, "Lord Barbatos is a benevolent archon, but witnessing his wrath during the Ludi Harpastum left many an unfortunate soul destroyed and exiled forever from his land."

           It sounded familiar, a promise, that would let people make offerings in exchange for good luck. The air was tense between them and Aether was at a loss for words.

           “We only wish for peace and harmony. People deserve to live their lives freely with no worries of imminent danger or threat.” The elder answered, tightly holding the cross hanging on his neck to seek guidance. “But if we worship and follow the Lord’s will, he might become merciful. It’s the only way for everyone to be saved.”

           “Will?” Paimon echoed.

           “Lord Barbatos added a will that will significantly change the scripture and history of Mondstadt,” the robed priest added. He stood up and brushed away the wrinkles of his clothes and took out a thick book from his robe. “We found this book on the altar while sheltering everyone. The Church has yet to read the full scripture but we can discern it’s about his spouse.”

           “The night after the festival was already a warning to us,” the old man’s voice trembled. “We dare not to anger him. So please, Honorary Knight, do not accumulate Lord Barbatos’s wrath.”

           Numerous times he encountered you, it always didn’t end well and the archon is always there to step in.

           He frowned and bit his lips. His fingers dug through his skin. It made him uncomfortable that the church never dared to question the sudden addition of sacred scripture and the will of the Anemo Archon.

           Perhaps because he is the archon, they obeyed his orders.

           Sighing heavily, he turned back to the barrier and placed his hand upon it.

           Under his breath, he whispered his prayers for your safety. The wind may have brought it to Venti, but the wind may have not. And regardless if it angered the archon, he’d still find a way to get you out of there.

taglist: @trust-the-oxygen @so-uncute

sorry for the very long wait for an update >.> this chapter and the next one have been sitting on my drafts for months and I didn't have the time to edit and fix it. but I finally have done it!

the next chapter was supposed to be the chapter 19, however after I reread the story, there was a big plot hole and it'd be very confusing how it got there so I had to add this chapter to fix the plot hole lol

also!! i did major edits on the previous chapters regarding Decarabian. i changed his title from “previous Anemo Archon” to “God of Storms” since he wasn't technically an anemo archon back then

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my sweet angel babies! Thank you all for the love and kind words! Here is another chapter, now there are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what I am talking about hehe. Enjoy ! &lt;3

Chapter 87: The Other Woman

Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.

Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your pregnancy, that he would make himself present. 

And yet, he hadn't. 

And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as surprised once more. 

Was this a test? 

The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?

Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?

When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to you to strike him.

Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.

When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water, concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark. 

A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places, and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.

Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.

You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose bushes that you paused in thought. 

Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush, bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from. 

You smirked.

You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.

You were waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him.

For your shadow.

To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.

To beg. To plead. To apologise.

Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.

It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you had anticipated. 

Aemond had come to straight to you. 

Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to disrobe. 

The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.

Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.

“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was behind you.

At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed, “You’re back.” 

His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”

Those were the first words from his lips.

His first words after coming back from his whore.

You saw red. 

Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from the steady rolling waves of the beach. 

“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.

Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.

You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.

And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.

Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.

Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.

He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your lips that you nibbled on gently. 

To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all together.

The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him. 

“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my duties, and that was all.”

You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.

“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.” 

His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you. 

You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches. 

You hoped that your parents received the raven.

And even prayed to the Gods that they did. 

What would happened?

Would it be done?

Would she be killed?

How would you know if it had happened?

What if they didn’t get your raven?

You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you knew they had gotten your raven.

When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.

He would talk to you, and you would listen. 

For a time. 

Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands. You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing. 

With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine, sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced red, anger simmering beneath your skin. 

Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.

You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.

You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.

Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face. How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where his eye once sat. If only you ha-

“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue. 

“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.

You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.

Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you. Never to you.

You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we shall see if you are struck down or not.

Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I will not see her again, I gave you my word.

You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.

You will never see that whore or your bastard child again. 

And it will be because of me.

Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her, shouldn’t you?”

The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none passed his lips.

"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.

"No."

"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the inside of your cheeks.

"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"

"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."

Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."

Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."

Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.

"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have sired yours?"

"That child is mine." He growled.

"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."

"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."

"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."

Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.

In disgust.

In anger.

In rage.

"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have explained all.

"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.

His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."

You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.

"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.

Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.

"Sorry, was it something important?"

Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.

You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an apology to his mother."

Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.

"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you, eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.

"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"

Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow.

Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.

Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick waves cascade down your back.

Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited. 

When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him, tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight. 

You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness, and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff. 

A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.

DRAGONSTONE POV

A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the Queen.

Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.

"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.

Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.

His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to cradle his face.

"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.

"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands rubbing against the flesh of her hips.

As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.

Both silver heads turned sharply.

It was late.

And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.

The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she called out to the knight to enter.

Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off, light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife, always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.

To be there and support her.

As one.

"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.

There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's hands tightening on the page.

Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."

The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband, who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she felt her own burn her just as hotly.

"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one tight fist.

Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of what his wife had said.

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling just beneath.

"Before the Council can talk me out of it."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Please note that a character currently needs at least 3 submissions to make it into the poll

That said:

Has 3 Submissions or more:

Has 2 Submissions:

Animal Crossing New Horizons' Player Character - Animal Crossing New Horizons

Arthur Pendragon - BBC Merlin

Bakugou Katsuki - My Hero Academia

BEOWULF - BEOWULF

Bloom Peters - Winx Club

Claire - Ship It

Dawson Leery - Dawson’s Creek

Duck Dodgers - Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2 century

Eikichi Onizuka - Great Teacher Onizuka

Elizabeth - Bioshock Burial at Sea

Elric of Melniborne - The Elric Saga

Emiya Shirou - Fate Stay Night

Eren Jaegar - Shingeki no Kyojin

Ezra Bridger - Star Wars Rebels

Hazel Lancester - The Fault In Our Stars

Jack Torrance - The Shining

James Bond - James Bond

Jaune Arc - RWBY

John Proctor - The Crucible

Odysseus - The Odyssey

Oliver Armstrong - Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Peppa Pig - Peppa Pig

Piper - Orange is the new Black

Rhaenyra Targaryen - House of the Dragon

Riley Matthews - Girl Meets World

Roy Musang - Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Sasuke - Naruto

Sheldon Cooper - Big Bang Theory

Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan) - Scum Villain’s Self Saving System

Snow Villiers - Final Fantasy 13

Wade Watts - Ready Player One

William Afton - FNaF Ultimate Custom Night

Zack Morris - Saved by the Bell

Has 1 Submission

Ahsoka - Ahsoka Disney+

Ahsoka Tano - Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Akiyama Shun - Ryu Ga Gotoku/Yakuza

Aragorn - Lord of the Rings

Arek - So This Is Ever After

Ataru Moroboshi - Urusei Yatsura

August Landry - One Last Stop

Ayin - Lobotomy Corporation

Beatrice "Tris" Prior - Divergent

Betty Cooper - Riverdale

Bill Dickey - The Eltingville Club/Welcome to Eltingville

Billy Buddy/Dr. Horrible - Dr. Horrible's Sing Along

Billy Hatcher - Billy Hatcher and the giant egg

Black Star - Soul Eater

Blake - Pokemon Adventures Black 2 and White 2

Bubsy - Bubsy 3D

Caleb Widogast - Critical Role

character Tommy - Dream SMP

Charley Pollard - Doctor Who

Charlie - Charlie's Inferno - That Handsome Devil

Choromatsu Matsuno - Osomatsu-san

Claire Danvers - Morganville Vampires

Clear Sky/Skystar - Warrior Cats

Colin Bridgerton - Bridgerton

Corrin - Fire Emblem Fates

Cory Matthews - Boy Meets World

Dal - Star Trek Prodigy

Damian Wayne - DC

Damon Salvatore - The Vampire Diaries

Daniel X - The Dangerous Days of Daniel X

Data - Star Trek The Next Generation

Dorrigo Evans - The Narrow Road to the Deep North book

Doug Eiffel - Wolf 359

Drizzt Do'Urden - Legend of Drizzt

Dr. Hanna Heath - People of the Book

Ellison Oswalt - Sinister

Emma Nelson - Degrassi: The Next Generation

Equality 7-2521 - Anthem

Frankie Landau Banks - The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks

Galadriel Higgins - The Scholomance Trilogy

Geralt of Rivia - The Last Wish, The Witcher books

Go Siwon - A Guy Like You

Hamlet - Hamlet

Haruto Kirishima - A Town Where You Live

Haruyuki Arita - Accel World

Heathcliff - Wuthering Heights

Hermione Granger - Harry Potter

Homer Simpson - The Simpson

Howard Roark - The Fountainhead

Humbert Humbert - Lolita

James Bond - The Sean Connery James Bond Movies

James Holden - The Expanse book series

Jaypaw - Warrior Cats

Jean-Luc Picard - Star Trek The Next Generation

Jeff Winger - Community

Jim Hopper - Stranger Things

JJ - Cocomelon

Joaquin Monegro - Abel Sánchez

Jon Snow - ASoIaF

Jotaro Kujo - Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

Joy - Inside Out

Jughead Jones - Riverdale

Kade - Down to Earth Webtoon

Kazuya Tsukasa - Kamen Rider Decade

Kai - The Witch King

Kang Jinha - A Guy Like You

Katara - Avatar the Last Airbender

Katnis - Hunger Games

Kaz Kaan - Neo Yokio

Keiichi Maebara - Higurashi when they cry

Kelsier - Mistborn

Khai - Theory of Love - Thai BL Show

King Arthur - King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

Korra - Avatar: Legend of Korra

Koyomi Araragi - The Monogatari series

Kun-chan - Mirai

Lelouch Lamperouge - Code Geass

Leroy Jethro Gibbs - NCIS

Lily Blossom Bloom - It Ends With Us

Lionblaze - Warriors (Power of Three and Omen of the Stars)

Luna - Retro

Luffy - One Piece

Lyn - Fire Emblem

Makoto Naegi - Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc

Mal - Firefly

Manaow - Love Senior

Mark Watney - The Martian

Mary Poppins - Walt Disney's Mary Poppins

Merlin - BBC Merlin

Meursault - The Stranger

Mia - La La Land

Michael Burnham - Star Trek: Discovery

Mike Wheeler - Stranger Things

Miyo Sasaki - A Whisker Away

Mordecai - Regular Show

Nancy Botwin - Weeds

Natsuki Subaru - Re:Zero

Nick Carraway - The Great Gatsby

Nicole - Class of 09

Nightheart - Warrior Cats

North Italy - Hetalia

Okajima ""Rock"" Rokuro - Black Lagoon (Anime)

Okazaki Tomoya - Clannad

Okonkwo - Things Fall Apart (Chinua Achebe)

Otis Milburn - Sex Education

Patrick Bateman - American Psycho

Piper McLean - Heroes of Olympus

Pippa Fitz-Amobi - A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder

Ramona Flowers - Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World

Ramsey Snow - Game of Thrones

Rebecca Bunch - Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV show)

Remy the Rat - Ratatouille

Richard Cypher - Sword of Truth

Robert Langdon - The Da Vinci Code

Rodion Raskolnikov - Crime and Punishment

Rorschach - Watchmen

Rory Gilmore - Gilmore Girls

Ruby - Max & Ruby

Ryo Saeba - City Hunter

Sabrina Grimm - The Sisters Grimm

Sabrina Spellman - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Sami Reese - Little White Lie

Satou Kazuma - Konosuba

Senku Ishigami - Doctor Stone

Serena - Pokemon

Sherlock Holmes - BBC Sherlock

Shiori - Six Crimson Cranes

Shrek - Shrek

Souji Tendou - Kamen Rider Kabuto

Spike Witwicky - Transformers IDW comics

Star Butterfly - Star vs The Forces of Evil

Stiles Stilinski - Teen Wolf

Sydney Atherton - The Beetle

Tai Kamiya - Digimon Adventure

Takao - Garden of Words

Tara Webster - Dance Academy

Tarl Cabot - The Gor Chronicles

Teriella Rufeon - My Husband Changes Every Night

The Beheaded - Dead Cells

Tom Wachowski - The Sonic Movies

Traveller - Genshin Impact

Ukiyo Ace - Kamen Rider Geats

Vanellope von Schweetz - Ralph Breaks the internet

Velvet Crowe - Tales of Bersia

Violetta - Disney's Violetta

Winston Smith - 1984

Wolverine - X-Men

Wreck it Ralph - Ralph Breaks the Internet

Yu/Ai - Final Fantasy Unlimited

Yuri Zhivago - Doctor Zhivago

Yuusaku Godai - Maison Ikkoku

Available for Resubmission (needs at least 1 resubmission to participate)

Aang - Avatar: The Last Airbender

Achilles - The Iliad

Adrien Agreste - Miraculous Ladybug

Alex Eagleston - YIIK

Anakin Skywalker - Star Wars

Aquamarin Hoshino - Oshi No Ko

Ash Ketchum - Pokemon

Atsuko Kagiri/Akko - Little Witch Academia

Batman - DC

Beca Mitchell - Pitch Perfect

Blitzo - Helluva Boss

Brambleclaw - Warrior Cats

Claire Fraser - Outlander

Coriolanus Snow - The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Dr. Heinrich Faust - Goethes Faust

Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way - My Immortal

Edward Elric - Fullmetal Alchemist

Eragon - Eragon/Inheritance Cycle

Erika Shinohara - Ookami shoujo to kuro ouji

Frank Reagan - Blue Bloods

Frasier Crane - Frasier

Gregory - FNaF Security Breach

Harry Dresden - The Dresden Files

Harry DuBois - Disco Elysium

Holden Caulfield - The Catcher in the Rye

Joker - Persona 5

Katarina Claes - My Next Life as a Villainess

Kiris - On the Emperor's Lap

Kohaku - Dr. Stone

Kvothe - The Kingkiller Chronicles

Kyouya Sata - Ookami shoujo to kuro ouji

Mal - Descendants

Naofumi Iwatani - The Rising of the Shield Hero

Navier - Remarried Princess

Nesta Archeron - A Court of Thorns and Roses

Peter Pan - Peter Pan

Pucca - Pucca

Rand al'Thor - Wheel of Time

Rey - Star Wars

Rintaro Okabe - Steins;Gate

Scott McCall - Teen Wolf

Skullduggery Pleasant - Skullduggery Pleasant

Sophie Foster - Keeper of the Lost Cities

Stolas - Helluva Boss

Stuart Little - Stuart Little

The Tenth Doctor - Doctor Who

Tim Jackson Drake - DC

Tom Paris - Star Trek: Voyager

Tori Vega - Victorious

Wanda Maximoff - MCU

Wei (Ying) Wuxian - Mo Dao Zu Shi

Xander Harris - Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Y/N - Fanfiction

Currently unavailable for a new Round:

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius/Celaena Sardothien - Throne of Glass

Alexander Hamilton - Hamilton

Artemis Fowl - Artemis Fowl

Bella Swan - Twilight

Bloom Peters - Fate: The Winx Saga

Bojack Horseman - Bojack Horseman

Caillou - Caillou

Charlie Morningstar - Hazbin Hotel

Clary Fray/Fairchild - Shadowhunters

Daphne Bridgerton - Bridgerton

Dean Winchester - Supernatural

Dr Gregory House - House MD

Elena Gilbert - Vampire Diaries

Elsa - Frozen

Evan Hansen - Dear Evan Hansen

Ferris Bueller - Ferris Bueller's Day off

Feyre Archeron - A Court Of Thorns And Roses

Gray Wing - Warrior Cats

Harry Potter - Harry Potter

Heywood Floyd - Space Odyssey

Izuku (Deku) Midoriya - Boku no Hero Academia

Jimmy - Mouthwashing

Kazuya Kinoshita - Rent-a-Girlfriend

Kirito - Sword Art Online

Light Yagami - Death Note

Makoto Itou - School Days

Marinette Dupain-Cheng - Miraculous Ladybug

Meliodas - Seven Deadly Sins

Oscar - Shark Tale

Owen Grady - Jurassic World

Peter Griffin - Family Guy

Quentin Coldwater - The Magicians (books)

Rachel Berry - Glee

Richard Rahl - Seeker of Truth/Legend of the Seeker

Robin - Teen Titans Go

Ross Geller - Friends

Scott Pilgrim - Scott Pilgrim

Ted Mosby - How I Met Your Mother

Tony Stark - MCU

Velma - Velma

Victor Frankenstein - Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus

Walter White - Breaking Bad

Yukitero "Yukki" Amano - Future Diary

Zoey Redbird - The House of Night

[bestmiisongs]

AND THE WINNER OF THE BEST MIITOPIA SONG POLLS IS...!

The Darkest Lord!

(probably to no one's surprise)

As for when the next tournament, the Tomodachi Life one, is... Uh, I dunno, give me a few months to set it up better than I set this one up lol

Thank you to everyone who voted and I'll see you at the next one! <3

All songs ranked by elimination order under cut vvv

The Darkest Lord

The Great Sages Theme

Manor Macabre

Outing: Skygazing

Ending: We Saved the World!

In That Holiday Mood

Title: New Lumos

Horse: First Encounter

Battle: The Sky Scraper

Battle: Neksdor

Stage: New Lumos

Map: The Sky Scraper

Haven Hollow

Browsing the Journal

Makeup: Eyes

Outing: Shopping

Title: Nimbus

Boss: The Dark Lord's Wrath

Battle: Now's our chance!

Battle: Powdered Peaks

Stage: The Great Pyramid

Stage: Neksdor Desert

Map: Realm of the Fey

Arrival: Elven Forest

A Past Fraught With Sorrow

The Fab Fairies Dance

Choose a Mii

Wishing Upon a Star

Inn Workout

Stable: High Spirits

Stable: Shock

Outing: Cinema - Puzzled

Outing: Gym - The Burn!

Outing: Karaoke 3

Party Time!

Title: Greenhorne

The Spoils of War

Boss: Darker Lord's Left Hand

Boss Battle Time III

Battle: New Lumos

Battle: Karkaton

Pre-battle: Calamity Bringer

Stage: Nimbus

Stage: Ghontu Cave

Stage: Karkaton Peak

Stage: Nightmare Tower

Stage: Arid Frontier

Map: New Lumos

Map: Miitopia

Arrival: The Sky Scraper

Arrival: Powdered Peaks

Villa: Grand Opening

The Darkest Hour

Ballad of the Fairies: Eldest

The Princess's Theme

Put a Smile on Your Face

Opening: A Simple Traveler

Quiz: Congratulations!

Got an amiibo?

Roulette: Gold Prize

Look What I Bought!

Getting Changed

Wig: Cowlick

Stable: A New Beginning?

Outing: Cinema - Looong

Outing: Cinema - Watching 2

Outing: Cooking Class

Outing: Park

Outing: Café

Outing: Seaside Relaxation

Title: Otherworld

Title: Nimbus

Title: Karkaton

The Spoils of War

Boss: Darkest Lord's Final Form

Boss: Darker Lord's Left Hand

Boss: The Dark Lord

Boss Battle Time II

Battle: Now's Our Chance!

Battle: Galados Isle

Battle: Nimbus

Battle: Peculia

Battle: Realm of the Fey

Battle: Greenhorne

Pre-battle: Imminent Clash

Stage: Galados Isle

Stage: The Sky Scraper

Stage: Darker Lord's Domain

Stage: Sterile Plant

Stage: Sinister Plant

Stage: Peculia

Stage: Dark Lord's Castle

Stage: Lotus Lake

Stage: Elven Forest

Stage: Easin Hills

Stage: Subterranean

Map: Strange Place

Map: Nimbus

Map: Powdered Peaks

Map: Neksdor

Arrival: Nimbus

Arrival: Greenhorne

Open Up!

Purging the Dark Curse

Fly, Dragon Riders!

The Desert Prince's Theme

A Happy Ending

Divine Theme

Opening: Rise of the Monsters

Opening: Miitopia at Peace

Travelers' Hub

Greenhorne

Quiz: Final Question

Delivery!

A Pioneer's Pride

Rock, Paper, Scissors!

Roulette: Bronze Prize

Spin The Roulette?

Zonked

Let's Make Up

One Questionnaire, Please!

A Lively Inn

People's Profiles

Wigs

Blush / Eyebrows

Makeup / Eye Shadow / Eyelashes / Lipstick / Other

Stable: Sadness

Stable: Excitement

Stable: Delicious!

Stable: Horse Bonding

Horse: To the Rescue!

Outing: Cinema - That's All...

Outing: Cinema - Very Looong

Outing: Cinema - Scary/Mystery

Outing: Cinema - Action

Outing: Cinema - Thrilling

Outing: Cinema - Viewing 1

Outing: Cinema The Curtains Part!

Outing: Gym - Barbell Blast

Outing: Gym

Outing: Botanical Garden

Outing: Library

Outing: Ranch

Outing: Museum

Outing: Karaoke 1

Outing: Karaoke 2

Outing: Fishing Spot

Outing: Seaside Fever

Outing: Time Together

Title: Galados Isle

Title: The Sky Scraper

Title: Peculia

Title: Powdered Peaks

Title: Realm of the Fey

Title: Neksdor

The Power of Friendship

Boss Battle: Evil Sage (Menu)

Boss: Darkest Lord's Final Form (Menu)

Boss: The Darkest Lord (Menu)

Boss: Darker Lord's Right Hand (Menu)

Boss: Darker Lord's Left Hand (Menu)

Boss: The Dark Lord's Wrath (Menu)

Boss: The Dark Lord (Menu)

Boss Battle III (Menu)

Boss Battle II (Menu)

Boss Battle I (Menu)

Battle: Now's Our Chance! (Menu)

Battle: New Lumos (Menu)

Battle: Galados Isle (Menu)

Battle: The Sky Scraper (Menu)

Battle: Nimbus (Menu)

Battle: Peculia (Menu)

Battle: Powdered Peaks (Menu)

Battle: Karkaton (Battle Menu)

Battle: Realm of the Fey (Battle Menu)

Battle: Neksdor (Battle Menu)

Battle: Greenhorne (Battle Menu)

Pre-battle: Be Brave

Pre-battle: Daunting Opponent

Stage: Midland Marsh

Stage: Otherworld

Meanwhile…

Stage: Eerie Road

Stage: Tschilly Peak

Stage: Ghontu Cave

Stage: Karkaton

Stage: Karkaton Ascent

Stage: Bigg Forest

Stage: Underground Maze

Stage: Wetland Way

Stage: Castle View

Stage: Strange Grove

Map: Horrific Place

Map: Galados Isle

Map: Otherworld

Title: Miitopia

Map: Peculia

Map: Dark Lord's Castle

Map: Karkaton

Map: Greenhorne

Arrival: Galados Isle

Arrival: Peculia

Arrival: Karkaton

Arrival: Neksdor Desert

Arrival: Nightmare Tower

A New Recruit

Who Put This Door Here?

Ending: We're a Team

Ending: Divine Words

End of the Dark Curse

Origin of the Curse

The Path to Victory

The Unrelenting Dark Curse

Dominic the Dragon

Ballad of the Fairies: Complete

Ballad of the Fairies: Middle

Ballad of the Fairies: Youngest

The Genie's Theme

The Nobleboy's Theme

The King's Theme

Losing Face

Your First Battle

Divine Blessing

The Darker Lord's Theme

Dark Lord's Theme

Opening: Run Away!

Opening: Who...?

Opening: A Shadow Looms

Opening: End Of Peace

A Troubled Town

Elven Retreat

Neksdor Town

Greenhorne Castle

Assigning Mii Roles

Quiz: Better Luck Next Time

Quiz: Pondering

Quiz: Challenge

Bon Appétit!

Itinerant Gentleman

A Cozy Campfire

Catalogue Orders

Rock, Paper, Scissors!

Roulette: Silver Prize

Roulette: Runner Up

Round and Around…

Take Care

Look What I Bought...

Suprise Present

Got My Eye on You…

Spotpass, Anyone? (3DS) / Mii Characters in Miitopia (Switch)

Inn-Time Events

Mmmmm!

[beaft]

formative influences/things that live in my heart (inspired by @feytouched's syllabus)

movies

alice (1988) by jan svankmejer

the double (2013) by richard ayoade

nosferatu (1979) by werner herzog

withnail and i (1987) by bruce robinson

books

the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson

the lord of the rings by j. r. r. tolkien

deathless by catherynne valente

autobiography of red by anne carson

grief is the thing with feathers by max porter

the little prince by antoine de saint-exupéry

a series of unfortunate events by lemony snicket

artworks

eine kleine nachtmusik by dorothea tanning

tell me the way by kay nielsen

the garden of earthly delights by hieronymous bosch

st george and the dragon by paolo uccello

poems

the love song of j. alfred prufrock by t. s. eliot

sunlight on the garden by louis macneice

pyramid scheme by hera lindsey bird

i had a dream about you by richard siken

i'm not a religious person but by chen chen

songs

if you're feeling sinister by belle and sebastian

quick! by the magnetic fields

go long by joanna newsom

spaceboy by smashing pumpkins

that unwanted animal by the amazing devil

pennsylvania furnace by lingua ignota

miscellaneous

sleeping beauty concept art by eyvind earle

jeremy miranda's winter paintings

the site-specific installations of rune guneriussen

colleen moore's fairy dollhouse

bird and blend's "campfires and vampires" tea

snowflakes are dancing by isao tomita (the whole album)

viktor wynd's wunderkabinet

in the realms of the unreal by henry darger

jean-paul gaultier 2007 collection

[addamvelaryon]

Time to talk about the Dragonpit again…

The doors of the Dragonpit were made of bronze and iron. It’s an odd dichotomy that the metals of winter served as protection to the creatures of the long summer. During the Storming of the Dragonpit, when the rioters tried to break into the structure, they could not bypass those doors. Instead, they had to find other means of getting to the dragons inside:

Bronze and iron were the metals of winter, dark and strong to fight against the cold.

.

The Shepherd’s lambs smashed through the doors (the towering main gates, sheathed in bronze and iron, were too strong to assault, but the building had a score of lesser entrances) and came clambering through windows.

I’ve often mentioned that the Dragonpit exists in juxtaposition with the Wall, so this is a very neat detail to me. The purpose of the Dragonpit was to house and protect the creatures of fire inside from dangers outside. Whereas, the Wall serves to protect those behind it from the dangers of the creatures of ice on the other side.

Protection of the realm is the ultimate objective for the black clad sentinels of the Wall, the Night’s Watch. Their vows, which liken them to fire, state as much:

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.”

Just like the Night’s Watch, the Dragonkeepers are protectors who armor themselves in black:

The king decreed that all the dragons should be guarded night and day, regardless of where they laired. A new order of guards was created for this purpose: the Dragonkeepers, seventy-seven strong and clad in suits of gleaming black armor, their helms crested by a row of dragon scales that continued, diminishing, down their backs.

.

Empty suits of armor stood sentinel along the walls. They were relics of the Targaryens, black steel with dragon scales cresting their helms, now dusty and forgotten.

Just as the Night’s Watch is willing to give their life in order to protect the realm, the Dragonkeepers do the same for the dragons. But both groups have their numbers greatly reduced so they are no longer able to keep their watch to their full ability:

The Dragonpit had its own contingent of guards, the Dragonkeepers, but those proud warriors were only seven-and-seventy in number, and fewer than fifty had the watch that night. Though their swords drank deep of the blood of the attackers, the numbers were against them.

Service in the Dragonpit concerns protecting the dragons. It is also simultaneously about protecting the city (aka the realm):

It had long been the custom for at least one dragonrider to reside at the pit, so as to be able to rise to the defense of the city should the need arise. As Rhaenyra preferred to keep her sons by her side, that duty fell to Addam Velaryon.

GRRM is so on the nose describing the Dragonkeepers as “stood sentinel along the walls” and “had the watch that night”. I'm not even going to get into all the parallels between Addam and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow, because those are obvious enough.

When the Dragonpit fell, the Dragonkeepers were slaughtered by an uncontrollable violent mass of people (wights) who were led by a sinister figure (White Walker) determined to destroy the creatures of fire. When the Wall falls, the members of the Night’s Watch will probably be killed in like manner.

At the end of the war, all the dragons were dead except for Morning (the false dawn). Shortly afterwards, Westeros was subjected to the onset of a cruel winter that swept over the realm:

This period was soon known as the False Dawn.

[…]

And a terrible, hard winter—first declared by the Conclave in Oldtown in 130 AC, on Maiden’s Day—had taken a firm grip on the realm, and would last for six cruel years.

I believe it’s very deliberate that the dragons are connected to the state of the realm.

After all, the Dance of the Dragons is just Song of Ice and Fire writ small. What happened before will perforce happen again.