#n idk that i like either??

[chococrystal]

Messy Cinder doodles surprise, figuring out how to draw him lol

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 5

Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.

Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)

I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.

(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 

“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 

Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 

The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 

“How are you feeling?” 

(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 

Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache

d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 

Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 

(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 

“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 

“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 

“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 

“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 

“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 

“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 

Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 

“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 

“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 

His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 

(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.

“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 

(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 

(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 

Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 

Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 

(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 

The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 

“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 

He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 

“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 

“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 

“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 

“The faith-” 

“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 

His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 

“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 

His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 

His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 

Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 

 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 

She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 

A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 

“What troubles you?” 

Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 

“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 

“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.

“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 

(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 

“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 

(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 

His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 

His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 

“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 

“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 

“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 

His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 

His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 

(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 

(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 

“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 

He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 

“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 

The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 

They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 

“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 

As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 

He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 

"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"

Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 

Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 

Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 

He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 

“Please be seated.” 

(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 

"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 

As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 

“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 

“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 

When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 

“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 

(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 

“Reyne.” 

“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 

He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 

“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 

“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 

(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 

“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 

Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 

“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 

Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 

Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 

His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 

He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 

“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 

“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 

“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 

“I understand the sentiment.” 

(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 

Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 

“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 

“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 

Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 

“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 

Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 

“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 

Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 

Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 

(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 

She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 

“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 

Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 

“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 

Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 

(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 

“Undo your boots.” 

(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 

Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 

Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 

“Sleep.” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.

(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 

He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 

“Come in.” 

Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 

Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 

Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 

“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 

“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 

Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 

Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 

“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 

“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 

Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 

“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 

“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 

(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 

“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 

“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 

“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 

“I never received any gifts.” 

Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 

“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 

“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 

“That is no excuse!” 

“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 

(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 

“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 

The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 

“Daemon-” 

“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”

"You're running? Again?"

"Look at him Rhea-"

"No, run. Like you always do."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.

He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 

“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 

His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 

“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 

“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 

“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 

His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”

“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 

Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 

His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 

In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 

“May I have your favor, princess.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 

“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” 

Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 

There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 

(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 

“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 

Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 

(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 

The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 

He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 

(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 

Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”

Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 

Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 

The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 

She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 

“Ābrazȳrys” 

Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 

He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 

“Done this before?” 

Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 

“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 

He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 

“Stop teasing.” 

“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

---

Translations -

Lykirī - be calm

Sōvēs - fly

Valzȳrys - husband

Ābrazȳrys - wife

Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife

[torantuga]

quick ass doodle but

i just really wanna see his reaction to todays episode's ending

[festering-bacteria]

some more shippy drawings :33 some polycule stuff n some w/ just abe n confucius bc i haven’t drawn just them yet.,,.

[meowsod]

uhhuuhuhyuuuun i got some. lil edits of the sephirah i made last niiiight

js credit me if ure going to use this 👍

[jessamine-rose]

Dottore’s lover who is salty about the death of his Segments. They know it was a necessary sacrifice for the Electro Gnosis, but they were so fond of his younger clones!!

In an act of pettiness, their home is redecorated with a family altar that has photos of the fallen Segments. His lover will regularly light incense and leave offerings of Dottore’s favorite food for them, preferably in front of the original and Omega Build. If Dottore objects, they will just say it is part of their grieving process >:/

And if this lover is Pantalone, he should also expect a grand funeral held for the Segments.

[icara-mack]

a bit late as always, but happy nov16th everyone! 4 years… happy FOUR YEARS. <3

My piece for the @sixteenth-day-event - Quackity remembers Kinoko kingdom

(and misses his fiancés. I will never be normal about this smp)

RB’s appreciated!! I post art stuff sometimes so follows are cool if you like it :0 <- I am attempting a technique I call farming subscribers. I learnt from the best (bell ringing) (tried and true Technoblade technique) <3

[somewhereincairparavel]

firm believer that jason grace likes to kiss his lover in unusual spots of their face. like the small area above an eyebrow, on the temple and not specifically the forehead, the edge/corner of their lip, etc.

[bardicious]

It feels like some people in fandom want Sam to be as fucked up and cruel as Dean, but at the end of the day they simply have to overexaggerate Sam's actions and make up shit to compete. Which, I personally don't get, their dynamic itself is what's so intriguing and loveable.

[scourge-sympathiser]

SCOURGE SUNDAY 030/???

i didnt finish

[majorasnightmare]

okay so like. mizora

im pretty sure we're in agreement that the conditions for wylls pact were sus as fuck right? like there just happened to be a fully formed cult to tiamat rarin to go right outside baldurs gate mid ritual, and the home of high harper and nosy grandma JAHEIRA didnt notice shit?? nobody saw anything and no one could confirm wylls story despite baldurs gate having an active enough night life to sustain 7 actively hunting vampire spawn for at LEAST 200 years AND a sewer murder cult committing covert assassinations and murder sprees??? with a cult of bane conducting weapons trade deals and the knights of the shield operating a smuggling ring??? the flaming fist didnt even see anything to pointedly ignore??? not a single chickenshit recruit filed a report about observing a dragons head in the night sky with a filed dismissal by a senior officer claiming they probably drank too much. Saitama_Okay.jpg

im personally of the opinion that zariel didnt stage that particular incident but DID utilize agents to provoke tiamats cult into action while also stifling potential witnesses. we know raphael does similar because of his stupid chess themed letters to his own agents, so its not unreasonable to suspect zariel is doing the same. but i think the REAL prize of that particular operation was not the destruction of an active tiamat cult, but instead something more subtle and with a potentially higher payoff: the ear of duke ravengards son. a dragon cult getting annhilated was a bonus, and a convenient call to action besides

mizora, by karlachs admission, was part of zariels personal inner circle (by choice, as devils are ambitious creatures with a drive to climb the ladder). this means that, through mizora, zariel herself took direct personal interest in wyll ravenguard. wyll himself was only 17 years old by this point: he had yet to achieve anything of note and was drifting through noble highborn society as the odd man out, son to a lowborn duke who rised through meritocracy and raised to appreciate the down-to-earth rural pasttimes his father grew up with, like fishing. wyll himself had nothing to offer to a devil besides his heritage; baldurs gate is full enough of self sacrificing do-gooders to keep the harpers regularly staffed, and The Urge regularly sated. for mizora to target wyll specifically makes the most sense if the real target was his connection to the current grand duke of baldur's gate, a city home to a practicing diabolist, several evil cults, and itself has been a hotbed of planar activity thanks to the dead threes meddling for YEARS. that ulder also commands the flaming fist, the gates de facto policing force, is also a point to consider.

this is also reflected in wylls pact, and the terms we experience of it. wyll specifically states that the terms of his pact primarily target the evil, the monstrous, and the heartless. remember, this is BEFORE he was the blade of frontiers. he became a warlock 7 years before the game, but only became the Blade five years prior to the plot. thats a two year gap of being a warlock but not the blade, where his pact STILL primarily targeted monsters. this is. a REALLY weird pact for a devil to offer! like firstly, its overwhelmingly in wylls favor. there is very little wyll does FOR mizora, and the targets she assigns to wyll near exclusively align with his moral code. he sees no reason to doubt mizoras portrayal of karlach, and has to be prompted into sparing her even as he hesitates, because past experience has told him that mizoras targets DO deserve to be slain as judged by HIS beliefs, as indicated by his line of participating in a mummers farce, and him playing his part all too poorly. wylls upset at himself for not thinking to question mizoras target and considering his hunt of karlach to be just. clearly thats because, in every other instance, wyll believed that to be the case!

thats REALLY FUCKIN WEIRD for a devil! like yes mizora gets to take down political rivals using wyll, because wyll knows devils are evil, but. thats a really weird pact to sign in return for destroying a cult mid god summon? like you could extort a LOT more for that and be assured youd get it, cuz its ALL OF BALDURS GATE and the RETURN OF TIAMAT on the line. and it doesnt seem to be a case of poor dealmaking, unlike raphael, whos every deal overwhelmingly reeks of desperation. he'll translate astarions back if you kill yurgir, because he really really really needs you to kill yurgir before he figures out raphael played him and he gets out because of it, and the clock is rapidly ticking down on that because balthazar is already in the temple, interacting with the dark justiciar skeletons, and actively looking for yurgir because the orthons annoying him. we are literally a single step removed from balthazar casually dropping the fact theres a dark justiciar hivemind in the bodies of 100 rats and raphael getting his ass beat for setting yurgir up. raphael really really wants you to hate the emperor and free orpheus because the only bargaining chip he has is the hammer, and in the midst of THAT deal literally spells out its location for you and why youd want it, for free. raphael the crown of karsus is almost in reach but to defeat the absolute ill need the plastic card you dad keeps in his wallet, make sure you send me the 16 numbers on the front, the 3 on the back, and the expiration date! hurry raphael we dont have much time!

comparitively mizora only ever bargains from a perceived position of strength. she can afford to make demands of wyll because he has no way to stop tiamats summoning without her. then, later, she has the easiest and most accessible source of information for wylls father knowing his life is in danger as a political prisoner. these are very strong bargaining positions! shes only ever undercut by the players presence bargaining on wylls behalf. its a quick and easy way to show that her inflated opinion of herself isnt entirely without merit, although her second pact is framed as choosing between two potential agreements, save wyll and kill ulder, or save ulder and damn wyll, when in reality shes proposing a new pact that has no authority over wyll OR ulder until signed (which is why you can save ulder because she doesnt actually have the pact given authority to insta kill him the way she implies, she can only throw thwartable assassins at him like anyone else with a grudge). shes a manipulator with plenty of skin in the game and a good amount of success behind her that justifies her position within zariels court. the point of this is make a point of highlighting how *little* mizora actually fucks with wyll *as enabled by the terms of the pact*. mizora is cruel, she is manipulative, she is condescending and rude, and she makes wylls life awful with her presence, but takes very few ACTIONS towards those ends, and relies primarily on verbally demeaning him. when he violates a clause in their pact, mizora utilizes a loophole to make karlach qualify by its terms and then punishes wyll by infusing his soul with infernal essence. thats... really it. you can watch wyll backtalk her, but she doesnt even do that leash yank she does in act 1. if you blenderize her, wyll dies by the pacts terms, but like. mizora literally also dies, and is REALLY upset by it to boot. you break wylls pact, tell mizora to fuck off with her second one, and she just kinda stomps her foot and fucks off for a bit before loitering in your camp still. as a warlock you can even mention to wyll that she very easily could have snatched his soul about the karlach thing but she doesnt.

in terms of "classic warlock struggles" we barely see mizora do anything beyond being an Unpleasant Person wyll is forced to interact with. theres none of the classic "being compelled to do something evil for self serving ends at risk of suffering The Horrors", mizora barely even tries to corrupt him. wyll is never forced by mizora into circumstances where he has to evaluate his code of ethics against an action he needs to take and decide what parts of his moral code he needs to capitulate on and what to keep, wyll keeps almost every single line in the sand he ever draws! his biggest character conflicts are actually between his OWN ideals, whether to live within the heroic persona of the Blade of Frontiers, or to accept his own capability of failings and live as Wyll Ravengard. like. being a warlock barely factors at all into those decisions and the closest it comes to mattering is choosing whether or not wyll breaks his pact or saves his father, which you can expose as a false choice by just rescuing his dad anyways. mizora exerts that little influence over wylls interior world. for a literal devil on his shoulder, bargaining from the greatest position of strength a negotiator could ask for, that is so fucking WEIRD.

okay thats a whole lotta post pointing out that mizoras motivations for even makin the damn pact in the first place needs examining, so now several paragraphs in let me actually get to what i MEANT to talk about. so firstly weve established that 17 yr old wyll doesnt have anything unique to entice a devil beyond his connection to the grand duke. weve established that the pact is weirdly in wylls favor, and that its pointedly not a Skill Issue but seems to be intentional, and furthermore that the POINT of the pact doesnt seem to be corrupting a good soul into the embrace of the Hells to make a new devil, because the pact seems to be made to allow wyll to just Be Himself comfortably without much internal conflict or moral sacrifice. we know that wyll made the pact before he became the blade of frontiers, and thus the pact was not made with the Blade of Frontiers persona in mind, which removes another layer of potential justification for the extremely loose terms of the pact. we know zariel is interested in wyll through the usage of mizora as his patron, and we know that stopping the summoning of tiamat without any external aid from the myriad conflicting interests within baldurs gate almost definitely necessitated a good amount of smokescreen work behind the scenes, but also that it most likely wasnt staged in its entirely because it benefits zariel to thwart tiamats ambitions. so. why is wyll ravengard a warlock pacted to mizora? i suggest the following hypothetical: that mizoras goal, and by extension zariels, was to have a morally agreeable framework within which to make a pact with duke ravengards son, such that hed be guaranteed to agree to it, and then to hide the evidence of the pacts circumstances to allow themselves greater reign to act within baldurs gate. that the goal was to have a devil on the shoulder of the dukes son, to push their relationship into strain so as to make ulder ravengards behavior more predictable and thus vulnerable to manipulation, and that through mizora (through wyll), zariel would have a first hand source to the inner political workings of baldurs gate, and the movements of the flaming fist and the goals they were pursuing. through the fist, zariel could keep track of the cult elements they were investigating (and thus what rivals need deposing), and through wyll and his father, zariel could monitor the movements of the gates upper class and utilize mizoras skillset to ingratiate wyll further into high society and put him in close proximity to those capable of mustering meaningful resistance to an influx of infernal influence. wylls relationship to his father prior to his pact was good, we know ulder was a firm but loving father and that wyll was generally well liked in baldurs gate in general, and that wyll openly admired his father and sought to follow in his footsteps. it is in fact extremely reasonable to suspect that such a good relationship was more than a single incident away from breaking. its in fact more reasonable to presume that a major political figure would be aware of the adage of keeping ones friends close, and enemies closer, such that you could monitor their movements. its reasonable to believe that one would assume good intentions on the part of ones son, who himself has made it known that he desires to be like you. to assume, in good faith, that even with all signs of dragoncult activity removed, that ones son clearly lost his eye and gained new scars *somehow*, through *some* kind of incident related to his new fiend pact. all of these are logical and reasonable things to assume and plan for, when you have made a point of manipulating people, of reading their intentions and catering to them like a monkeys paw.

that ulder ravengard would not just chastise wyll, but banish him from baldur's gate entirely, must have been a horrible shock, not just for wyll, but for mizora. i doubt the uneventful two year gap between taking the pact and becoming the blade was purposeful. it makes more sense to interpet that as mizora simply having no fucking idea what to do with her warlock now, as the pact she dictated (designed so that wyll never felt it was unjust enough to make a point of breaking it, no matter how often he thought of doing so, because it was so in favor of him and aligned with his moral code), simply had no vehicles for any of the usual courses of action. cant force wyll into tricky moral quandries, because she can only ask him to kill evil, infernal, monstrous, or heartless beasts. cant ostracize him through the pact to isolate and grind him down, wyll cant talk about it. what do you even do? now your both stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the pact to show for it

and heres where i veer into hot take interpretation country. i think mizora genuinely likes wyll. when you blenderize her in moonrise towers (before reloading a previous save ofc), her screams are oddly... genuine? confused, frightened, upset. its odd than an otherwise vindictive and catty individual isnt angry upon being killed, but confused and hurt sounding. i think in a lot of ways mizora both relies on the consistency of wylls moral code, while also considering it a hinderance, not to her plans (thoroughly derailed thanks to one ulder ravengard) but to wylls own personal development as a person. shes a devil, she doesnt have the kind of personality where she can be genuine and vulnerable and kind. but she was stuck as the only authority figure wyll had to rely on, for seven whole years, after being kicked out of the only life he ever knew and the only home he ever had. i think in a weird fucked up way, she really does want whats best for him, its just that her opinion of that is filtered through the lens of Literally Being A Devil. none of this is to say she was *good* to wyll. how wyll feels about mizora is pretty blatantly stated, and would be a much shorter post, and im not here to interrogate that or question it, because being stuck with a devil who can use your eye to spy on you is just an awful experience even without regular verbal degradation on top of it. im mostly just intrigued by the other end of that relationship. mizora clearly cares enough about keeping wyll as a warlock to go as far as trying to make a second pact with him if you succeed in negotiating the first one to be broken. which, as weve established above, is really weird because Wyll himself brings next to nothing a devil would value to the table. Mizora isnt trying to corrupt him into breaking his ethics, really the only thing she pushes is sacrificing his father instead, a decision a recruited minthara finds value in as "patricide is often the first step to greatness". i think mizora might have ulterior motives for wanting ulder ravengard dead, and i think its because she believes that wylls love for his father is holding him back. any time wyll is selfish in pushing back on her, mizora indicates some measure of being impressed on wylls behalf. if you encourage wyll to not sign the second pact, mizora taunts him with his fathers death but still says shes genuinely impressed that hes choosing himself over his father

genuinely i think what mizora wants is for wyll to become a more assertive person. a more selfish, self interested, less heroic, less self sacrificing individual. i think mizora considers wylls tendency to bend over backwards to help people to be actively detrimental to him, and i think shes invested in his growth as a person by virtue of being a guide and companion for seven of the loneliest years of wylls life, and in a fucked up devil kind of way i think she invests her pride into it. that, with her plans so thoroughly mangled, the LEAST she can do is forge wyll into a warlock worth the cost. wyll has so much potential he refuses to take, as minthara (another ambitious prideful character) will note, and its explicitly because he would rather give something up than take for himself. i think thats part of why mizora is so cruel and demeaning towards him, to try and push wyll to be pettier or more spiteful, instead of endlessly self sacrificing for the benefit of others, and this is even consistent with her punishment of wyll! she turns him into a devil and specifically notes that he wont be able to be the heroic persona The Blade of Frontiers anymore! ie the facade thats swallowed up wyll ravengard completely at the beginning of the story! i think her investment in wyll as a person is why shes so upset if you kill her at moonrise, because i think she genuinely thought that wyll would always save her and turning him into a lemure was a kind of bluff she didnt expect to cash in.

this would also explain why the terms of her second pact are so comically extreme. eternal damnation and serving zariel forever in return for maybe possibly getting to save ulder from a dangerous situation where he might die anyways from the absolute crisis and WILL die in a few decades from old age even if all goes well? its almost like shes taunting wyll. give it up, give up everything youve ever worked for and sacrifice everything you want to achieve to lock yourself into the worst evil you can think of for someone who banished you who might not even survive anyways. make this overwhelmingly stupid self sacrifice because thats just what you do wyll, never think of yourself or whats best for you, only other people, trade away all of eternity for the CHANCE of someone else getting another day, if THAT. this contract is so blatantly overwhelmingly unfair i DARE you to think so little of yourself youd agree to it. of course she wont congratulate him for choosing himself over his father, shes a devil and she has to rub salt in the wound, but that doesnt mean she disapproves of the choice. the only way wyll ever gets away from her is by thinking of himself and mizora takes every chance she gets to punish him for sacrificing himself and i think its because she knows he can do more if he just takes it for himself instead of passing it up. its the only kind of affection a devil can have. and every time i sit there and talk wyll through breaking his pact at moonrise and bully mizora into giving him a rapier (one of the best in the game, made specifically for wyll, made specifically out of his pact, when she doesnt have to give him anything and least of all something good, how its a reward specifically for wanting more from her and demanding it and not letting a circumstance where you have power over her go), i keep seeing hints of it underneath the surface.

a genuine devilish compassion for a warlock who rightfully loathes her, a loathing she encourages whenever she can. does wyll need an enemy to keep him from getting complacent? something to strive for thats just for his own benefit? it doesnt benefit anyone else for wyll to break his pact. most people benefit from him keeping it. its why he HAS kept it, all these years, despite hating mizora. i think mizoras taken it upon herself to do what the duke refuses to, and thats making sure Wyll becomes someone who can thrive in the world as she understands it. someone who has the ambition to reach higher, someone selfish enough to step on somebody else to get what they need, someone who refuses to get themselves killed just for somebody elses sake, somebody who doesnt give unless they receive in equal or greater value. someone who sees a situation where they have power, where someone needs them, and gets all they can out of it. and if not for people they want to protect, then at LEAST exploiting the people they HATE. does mizora demean him so much so that wyll is more comfortable firing back? so that wyll doesnt have to feel like hes becoming a worse person if he treats her as bad as he gets? if he treats his help as conditional, for her and only her, does he get to walk away feeling like he hasnt done anything wrong because he knows mizora does worse, and more often, and at least wyll will eventually help?

when he breaks his pact, and tells her no, he wont sign another, when he saves his father anyways, when he tells her off and gets everything he wants without sacrificing a damn thing, underneath the bluster and rage, is mizora proud of him?

things to consider sometime.

[lolkitkatbar]

You know what? Fuck you!

*un-testosterones your N*

[measlyscrapofseafood]

kings & their knights

[ria-starstruck]

and also "putting everyone in a simulation will make it all ok 👍" and also "let's park next to this random system's sun" and also "we can't live on our own planet because of our own folly" and so on

[asmodeusamaryllis]

Praying to every single god out there that love trio is translated as that in the anime n we don't get stuck with something like 'super duper ultimate friendship trio'

[in-a-mountain-pool]

Hi everyone, my name is Emily, and I am SO over the head!canon that Michael Gavey likes bimbofication, and I think it's a bit anti feminist, and weirdly not in character. But hey ho, everyone is allowed an opinion, I'm just feeling a bit icky about it today and I'm looking for reassurance that it's not only me~