#we do not argue or fight‚ she has no performative expectations—

[classicintp]

The answer to the second question is no, not to the point that they can't just do stuff. Even for victims of capitalism in poverty with children to take care of and mounds of debt to pay, abled or disabled, they still "just do stuff."

Life is incredibly hard right now and for a lot of people, I'm not suggesting the opposite, and a symptom of that can be this overwhelming inability to just not do stuff whether that's major depression, anxiety, chronic fatigue, or other malady, but its not "normal" in the sense that you should just accept this is how you feel now and resolve to do nothing about it. It's a serious symptom, a sign that you're not well, and you should actively seek help or treatment. And seeking help or treatment isn't easily accessible for everyone, either, I know that, even despite the breadth of information on how to ease the burden of receiving treatment you can find online. But it is important to me that if you're struggling like this that you at least acknowledge it isn't just something you need to endure until it stops. It doesn't stop, and how you feel isn't because you're too weak for the rigors life: you need to take it seriously and seek help as best as you can.

[scarlet-star-witch]

You were my man and I your girl

Aemond Taragryen x female reader

Summary: Facing the news of her impending betrothal, she makes a final, desperate act of rebellion. Though when she discovers she is to marry her dear uncle, the man she has longed for since childhood, she realizes she may have ruined their marriage before it even began

Word count: 17.5 K (I need help)

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff, Aegon being kind of a good brother, men having the audacity, jealous Aemond, reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, but no mention of who her father is

~~

“What?”

Rhaenerya winced and bowed her head at the sharp tone. She knew her daughter would not take the news lightly, but she had hoped she could understand the delicate nature of their situation. 

“Darling, I know I told you-”

“Are you alright with this?” She interrupted, turning to Daemon who was sitting stone-faced, hating the news as much as she was. 

He opened his mouth, most likely to spew insults about her soon to be betrothed, but Rhaenrya’s sharp glare quickly quieted him and she turned desperately to her raging daughter. 

“My love, please understand-”

“What is there to understand?” Her daughter continued, her eyes wide, searing with betrayal. “You told me I would have a choice, that I would never be used as some political pawn for power.”

“We are on the verge of a succession war. We all have a duty to perform and as my heir you have your own to fulfill.”

The mention of the fight for succession, the hint as to who exactly she would be marrying did not register in her mind or it would have calmed the burning fire inside her. All she could make out in the maelstrom in her mind was that she was to be married and it was not her choice. 

She remembered, just moons ago, when Jason Lannister had offered his hand. The thought of being forced into the bed of a man decades older than her, power hungry and desperate to take the titles she could give him, made her feel sick to her stomach. 

“I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She told her mother, her voice sounding weaker, knowing she was facing a losing battle. 

Rhaenerya’s face fell, her daughter’s words cutting her deeply, causing an aching pain to bloom in her chest. 

“Please, if you would just listen, you might change-”

“I might change my mind and accept the fact that I’m to be sold like a mare?” She argued and quickly turned on her heel, storming out of the room. 

Rhaenerya pinched the bridge of her nose as she exhaled loudly, her frustration clear. Daemon tapped his fingers against his thigh, his gaze remaining on the empty doorway.

“That went as well as I expected.” He spoke dryly, his expression softening slightly when he saw the tiredness in his wife’s eyes. “She’ll get over it. She’ll eventually stop arguing long enough for you to explain.”

“She’s always been stubborn, but she has never raged like this before. She’s been spending too much time with you.” 

Daemon scoffed, though he couldn’t exactly deny the claim. 

“If she had only let me finish, she would have been happy with the news. She used to be so close to Aemond, I know she’s always cared for him. She barely spoke to me when we left King’s Landing, she was so mad that I had separated them.”

“I still say she can do better than that one-eyed cunt.” 

“Daemon.” Rhaenerya hissed, fighting the urge to smack him upside the head. “It is already done. The King has accepted the betrothal and their union will finally mend the divide between our families.”

~~

Her breathing was labored as she raced through the halls, unsure of where she was heading. Outside, she heard Vermithor’s loud roar, her dragon sensing his bonded rider’s discomfort and anger. She had a fleeting thought of racing to her beloved dragon and flying across the sea, hiding away from her duties for the rest of her days.

The thought was quick to dissolve. She knew Daemon would catch her before she could get Vermithor off the grounds of Dragonstone. 

So that left her to stew in her anger at being forced to marry a man she didn’t love and probably would never love and her hurt that her mother had broken the promise she had told her years ago as a child, that she would never be used a political pawn, that her hand in marriage would never be forced.

She briefly thought of a young boy with silver hair and quickly pushed the thought away when the ache of longing overtook her. 

The thought of the old, greedy, disrespectful lord she was soon to marry made her want to throw up. This was never what she pictured for herself. 

Defeated, she trudged back to her room, her head down, a picture of broken girlhood too many women in this realm knew all too well. 

“Princess, are you alright?” 

She perked up, her eyes meeting the caring gaze of her guard, Ser Darick, standing vigil at her door. 

A twisted idea unfurled inside her, a half-hearted plan of rebellion sparked by the flames of anger that burned brightly. 

She smiled, the gesture bringing one to his own lips. She had always found him handsome, many late nights had been spent with Baela and Rhaena giggling amongst each other about his broad shoulders and silken hair. 

She had no deeper desires for him, that place in her heart was firmly held by the sweet boy she left behind years ago, but it didn’t stop her from noticing the way her guard looked at her. She knew he desired her and the anger inside of her left her wanting for one thing she could control, one thing the man who would soon own her would never have. 

“I’m afraid I need your help with something in my chambers.” She spoke sweetly. Ser Darick nodded eagerly and he followed her inside. 

She closed the door behind them, causing him to turn back to look at her, his brows furrowed in confusion as he noticed the pristine state of her chambers. 

“Princess-?”

“I see how you look at me, Ser Darick.” She stated bluntly, vindicated from the way his eyes widened and averted from her gaze. “There’s not many things in my life that I get to choose and I’d like you to help me make one last choice before my freedom is taken from me.”

“I don’t understand.” 

She untied the laces of her dress, allowing it to fall from her shoulders, leaving her in a sheer slip. The man before her choked on his breath, the hunger in his eyes making her heart race, she knew he wanted her. She stepped towards him, her hands running over the expanse of his chest. 

“We shouldn’t. I swore an oath-”

“To protect me.” She finished his sentence. “I think this is exactly the protection I need.” She smiled cheekily. 

She pulled the shift over her head, leaving her body bare to him and she knew the second he gave in as his eyes took in every inch of her body. He dropped his hand from the hilt of the sword on his hip and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him as he crashed his lips to hers. 

She smiled in between kisses, feeling like she had her power back as she undid the pieces of armor from his body. 

She steadily ignored the guilt that crept through her mind, guilt for defying her mother and her duty. Moans fell from her lips as her guard took her hard and fast, his hunger for her clear in the way he held her tightly, in the way he refused to part his lips from any inch of her body. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the image before her melt into one of the silver haired, one-eyed man she longed for. A shiver wracked her body, her toes curling at the images she conjured in her mind.

She bit her lip, stopping herself from letting the wrong name fall from her lips as she reached her peak. As the man above her shuddered to his end, her name bellowed in the quiet room, she thought of how Aemond would sound saying her name in rapture. 

As Ser Darick panted against her lips, his body collapsing against hers, she let herself indulge in the passionate touch of another and mourned for what she believed her future would hold. 

~~

Aemond was sitting stiffly in the same spot he had been for the last ten minutes, since his mother had told him the news. 

He couldn’t make sense of the emotions whirling within him. Relief was the first one he could pinpoint, but it quickly turned to guilt, soon to remorse, and then to the sham of disdain he had tried so hard to feel for her since the night he had lost his eye. 

Though no matter how hard he had tried to hate her like he hated the rest of her family, he found he could never conjure any for her. She never ridiculed him the way Aegon and her bastard brothers had, she was never a part of the cruel jokes and pranks they pulled on him. They were both young Targaryen’s without dragons and had found solace in their shared longing. Despite her own perceived shortcoming, she never wavered in the comfort she bestowed upon him. 

She spent many nights holding his hand, reassuring him he was worthy of a dragon when the teasing became too much for him to handle. She stuck up for him like no one else ever had. She even looked down upon her own brothers, scolding them for their immature teasing and jokes at his expense. 

 He remembered the worst night of his life, as his family splintered with the loss of his eye and the insults he had hurled at the Strong bastards.

But he always remembered how she had tearfully screamed at her own brother for what was done to him. He remembered when hours later, she snuck into his room, hugged him tightly and told him how proud she was that he had claimed Vhagar. 

He remembered how just a year later he had heard the news she had laid claim to the wild dragon, Vermithor. He wanted so badly to saddle his own dragon and make his way to her, to tell her how proud he was of her the same way she had praised him. 

But his mother had never had allowed it 

He could never hate her. She was never just another one of Rhaenyra’s bastard children and as much as he tried to tell himself to remain neutral, he couldn’t help but feel relieved at the news of his mother’s reluctant acceptance of their betrothal, one he had longed for but never had hope of ever coming to fruition. 

“Aemond?”

His mother’s voice broke him from his thoughts and he turned his attention towards her, attempting to remain stoic so he would not reveal his true feelings about the news. 

“Tell me if this is truly what you want. If not, I will tell Rhaenyra the betrothal is off.” 

Panic grew at the thought of his mother, or even his scheming grandfather, taking this away from him before he even got the chance to revel in it. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair.

“It’s alright, Mother. I will perform my duty.” 

Alicent smiled and reached over to place her hand over his. She adored her son and his strong sense of duty that was certainly lost to his older brother. Despite his attempts to remain stone-faced, Alicent knew her son too well, she knew what he truly longed for. 

She remembered how close he had been with Rhaenyra’s eldest child and she knew how devastated he had been when she had left for Dragonstone. Aemond had refused even meeting possible suitors for years and she could see his desire to shut her down as she mentioned the betrothal.

Until she had mentioned the Princess’ name.

It had shut him up quickly and he had stayed quiet, taking in the news with a contemplative expression that was all too familiar on her stoic boy’s face. 

But it was the slightest twitch of his lips upwards and the way he seemed to exhale in relief, every inch of his body losing its rigidity that told Alicent this was the right decision. Despite her ire for Rhaenerya and her children, the thought of an impending war was not something she wanted and it would clearly make her son happy, an emotion she did not often see him indulge in. 

She smiled and squeezed his hand. 

“They will arrive in a few day’s time. We will start preparations for the wedding as soon as possible.” 

With her parting words, Aemond was left to remain sitting, leaning on his elbow as his hand covered his mouth, trying to make sense of the emotions he was feeling that were so foreign to him. He wasn’t used to getting what he wanted. 

It didn’t seem real. 

~~

By the next morning, with an awkward passing smile to Ser Darick, she was headed towards the dining hall, her pace slow, as if she could delay greeting her family. She felt as though there was now an enormous target on her back, letting everyone she passed know what she had done the previous night. 

“Darling,”

She startled, placing a hand over her chest and plastering on a smile as she greeted her mother stiffly.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mother. I just… didn’t sleep well last night.”

Rhaenyra frowned and linked her arm through her daughter’s. “I know last night was difficult, but I think you’ll come around to it.”

She tensed, picturing the cruel, power hungry lord she’d be chained to for the rest of her life.

“Mother-”

“If you had let me finish, you would have heard that I have betrothed you to Aemond.”

She abruptly stopped in her tracks, almost causing her mother to trip over her own feet. Rhaenyra looked back at her daughter, expecting to see pure joy cross her features but she was confused to see the anguish in her expression.

She stepped towards her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her hand caressing down the length of her hair.

“Darling, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy with the news, I know how much you care for him.”

The lump in her throat grew so tight, she worried she’d choke to death before she could voice her mistake. The guilt that had already been lingering beneath her skin grew tenfold, threatening to knock her right off her feet.

“But… the Queen… she’d never agree.”

“She did.” Rhaenyra confirmed, still perplexed by her daughter’s reaction. “The King made his decree, something even she cannot dictate. With you as my heir, Aemond will be King Consort. I guess she realizes that was as good a consolation as she would get.”

It was real. She was to marry Aemond, the man she had longed for for years. She hadn’t even been reunited with him and she had already betrayed him. 

“Mother-” She paused, taking in a ragged breath, her hand holding tightly to her mother’s arm for stability. “I… I did something stupid.”

Rhaenrya’s face twisted into an expression of concern and she quickly ushered her daughter through the halls into the privacy of her chambers. She sat on her bed, her hand held tightly to her daughter’s as she tearfully explained what she had done the night before.

The first emotion to rise was a dangerous protective anger. 

Rhaenyra sprang to her feet, her hands clenched into fists and she grinded her teeth. 

“If that man did anything to pressure you-”

“Mother, stop. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask him to do.” Her daughter assured her, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment at having to explain her indiscretion. 

Her words caused her mother to sigh and begin to pace. 

“Aemond can never- Alicent can never know about this.” 

“What?”

“This betrothal is tenuous, it took months for Alicent to give in, it took months for the decree to even make it to my father. The first sign of a crack, she’ll tear it apart, her and that lecherous father of hers.” Rhaenrya ranted.

Guilt burned through her veins, the thought that her stupid decision could ruin her family made her feel sick. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. I just… the thought of being married to some old man-”

“Oh my love.” Rhaenyra took a seat next to her daughter, taking her hands in her, pressing a kiss to her shaking knuckles. “Do not blame yourself.”

“This was the path to peace and I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Rhaenyra spoke sternly, as if speaking it into existence with her mere words. She gave her daughter a weak smile, her actions all too familiar to her.  “You know I was about your age when I had the same idea of a rebellion against duty.”

Her daughter looked at her curiously, but Rhaenyra’s heavy sigh was indicative that she didn’t want to spare too many details of that fateful night when Daemon had taken her to a brothel that led her to bring Ser Criston to her bed. 

She shouldn’t have been surprised that her dragon of a daughter had rebelled just as similarly as she had all those years ago.  

A half-hearted plan began to form, one based on tenuous lies, but it was all she had. 

“We’ll switch rotations, you’ll never have to see Ser Darick again. We’ll go to King’s Landing, you will marry Aemond and they will all be none the wiser about what happened last night.”

“Will you tell Daemon?” She asked fearfully.

Rhaenyra let out an amused huff of laughter. “Not unless you want your guard tortured and torn limb from limb.”

Sensing her daughter’s lingering anxiety, she placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“No one will ever know.”

A shuddering breath escaped her. She prayed to the Seven her mother’s words were true. 

~~

Aemond stood tensely in the courtyard with his family, his hands firmly planted behind his back, the picture of royal stoicism. He just hoped no one could see how his fingers fidgeted behind his back, his nerves getting the better of him.

It had been six long years since he had seen her, since that last visit she had paid him where she had mourned his injury with him and kissed his cheek, a moment that left him wondering if he would live with a blush on his cheeks for the rest of his life.

An elbow to his side forced him out of his daze and he turned to see Aegon’s smug smirk as he gestured with his head at the oncoming carriage. 

“Creaming your pants yet?”

Aemond sneered at his brother, his jaw clenching as he turned himself to face straight ahead, steadily ignoring the amused smirk sent his way at his expense. 

His heart began to race as the carriage door opened, anticipation heavy on his shoulders. With every face he saw that wasn’t hers his impatience began to rise, holding back a glare to her brothers who exited first. 

He didn’t pay attention as his mother and Rhaenyra greeted each other awkwardly. He didn’t spare his nephews a second look. All he saw was her. He perked up the moment his gaze found her, his lips parting unknowingly, no longer holding strongly to the passive facade he had forced all day.

She had grown into a beautiful woman in the past six years. He had pictured this moment for so long and none of his late night fantasies could ever compare to the woman before him. 

He cleared his throat, straightening his posture as she stepped towards him. For years he had tried so hard to push down the feelings of longing that arose at the thought of her. For so long he had forced himself to believe she was nothing more than an enemy, a bastard girl that deserved nothing. 

But as she stood in front of him now, grown and more beautiful than he could have ever conceived, he realized it was all a farce. Every hateful thought he had forced into his head about her was nothing more than a lie. 

“Prince Aemond.” She greeted with a small curtsey, the small smile curling on her lips capturing his eye effortlessly. 

After a few seconds, he suddenly realized he hadn’t spoken a word, a brief flash of panic racing through him at the embarrassment that he had been merely staring at her like a fool.

“Princess.” He responded slightly bashfully as he bowed his head. 

The air surrounding them was awkward, both with so many things to say that had been left unsaid for years, complicated feelings that went unresolved for so long. 

But they were to be married in a mere week's time. The family drama that cut through their childhood bond did not need to be addressed, they had no choice but to accept the inevitable. 

He would be her husband no matter if he came to terms with the delusion he had forced for years. He would be her husband no matter if he had unlearned everything his mother and grandsire had instilled in him for years. 

~~

A welcome feast had been thrown in their honor. The table of royals had been a sight of strain as the ailing King gave his remarks to the room, welcoming his dear eldest daughter back to King’s Landing, lamenting the union of their divided family through the marriage of his first granddaughter and his second son. 

The stifling tension among their family remained throughout the celebration. With the secret weighing heavily on her, she felt as though she couldn’t even spare a glance at her betrothed without choking on the intense guilt she couldn’t shake. 

As the heir of the heir and a coveted Targaryen Princess, her mother’s only daughter, she was practically forced to remain on the dancefloor all night, indulging in the many noble Lords and their sons that offered their hand. 

“Mind if I cut in?”

She almost audibly sighed in relief at the sound of her brother’s voice, taking the place of the obnoxious boy who had accosted her for three dances. Since the feast began, she’d been approached by more Lords than she could count. 

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly as he began to dance with her.

“I’m fine.”

“You say the word and I’ll take you back to Dragonstone.”

“Jace.” She scolded, giving him a pointed look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Sister.” He defended. “You’re about to marry the man that tormented us as children.”

She frowned, her eyes drifting to Aemond who sat at the head table, eyeing the dancing couples with disinterest. The sight of his eye patch was like a punch to the gut, the memory of what had happened that night was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

“If I remember correctly, it was you, Lucerys and Aegon that tormented him as children.”

“He called us bastards.”

“And he lost an eye.” She reminded him tersely. “I’d say that more than evens the odds.”

Jace sighed heavily, the conversation weighing heavily on him. He wasn’t proud of his actions that night or how he had treated his uncle as children, but the guilt wasn’t enough to allow him to feel happy for this union. 

“He’s different now.” Her brother mumbled. “He seems… angry.”

“Can you blame him?” 

Jace sighed again to which she sent him a pointed look. It was as if it pained him to admit his guilt, to admit that their uncle wasn’t the villainous enemy he had built up in his head. He looked at his sister thoughtfully, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What I want doesn't matter, Jace.”

“It does. Especially if you are to be married to a man that would make you miserable.” 

She remained quiet, contemplating his words with confliction. Misery was never a feeling that followed the thought of her uncle. She knew their marriage could be great, that they could foster a beautiful love, but only if he let it and only if he never discovered her betrayal. 

As the song ended and Jace moved from her side to spare a dance with an impatient Baela, she floundered for a moment, eyeing her brother and his betrothed for a moment, their delighted smiles, the clear fondness they held for each other stirring envy within her. 

She wondered if her own marriage would bear the same smiles. 

She looked around, dread settling inside her as her gaze passed over the many other noble sons that wanted their chance to dance with her. It was the last thing she wanted. 

With a heavy breath, she pushed her way through the throng of dancing couples and slunk out onto the balcony, hoping no one had noticed her swift exit and moved to follow. It had been years since she’d been in King’s Landing, it seemed the novelty of her family had not waned. 

It was as if everyone wanted a piece of her. She loathed it. 

Only a minute later, she heard footsteps approaching and she grit her teeth, her peace seeming to be taken from her as quickly as she had gained it. She turned her head and her eyes widened at the sight of Aemond stepping out onto the balcony. 

He startled slightly when he noticed her and smiled, a gesture that was weak and awkward, though it managed to bring an equally weak smile to her own lips.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” He began, sounding slightly stilted. 

“You aren’t.” She assured him. “I can leave if you wish to be alone.”

He eyed her for a long moment, as if surprised by her request, but he just shook his head and approached her slowly so he was standing at her side. 

“This is where I seem to find myself during these events, when I need to get away. I presume you are out here for the same reason.”

“Yes, I fear my feet have grown too tired to indulge in another dance.” She replied, hoping her words didn’t sound as dour to him as they did to her own ears.

Aemond seemed to grimace, the reminder of the many lords who had taken her hand for a dance stirring something within him he didn’t quite recognize. He didn’t care for it. 

“I probably shouldn’t have left, I just…”

“Needed a minute.” Aemond supplied as she trailed off. She nodded bashfully, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly hyper aware of her appearance as she realized this was the first time she had been alone with Aemond in years.

They were no longer childhood friends, they were betrothed. It was enough to drive her nerves to a boiling point where she could no longer meet his eye.

He stepped closer to her so he was leaning against the railing next to her, mirroring her position, an act that signaled ease.

“I had an interesting conversation with your brother.”

Her eyes widened. That was the last thing she had been expecting him to say. She was surprised Lucerys even listened to her request, that he had even attempted to approach the man he had scarred.

“I have a feeling that was your doing.”

She turned her head to meet his gaze and every fear she had that she had crossed the line faded in an instant as she saw the gratitude in his expression. 

“You have no obligation to forgive him.”

Aemond huffed out a laugh and bowed his head slightly. “Those were the exact words your brother said as well.”

She inwardly cursed her brother. He wasn’t supposed to say word for word what she had asked of him. 

“I just wished to solve the rift in our family. We can’t very well expect a happy marriage if we spend our time hating each other.”

“I never hated you.” Aemond responded quickly, his brows now furrowed as he moved in closer to her. “I may have.. complicated feelings for your brothers, but I… I never felt any of that towards you.”

She felt her breath hitch, her throat feeling tighter, as if she suddenly forgot to breathe with him so close to her. 

“Are you truly content with marrying a bastard?” 

Aemond flinched, her words so unexpected, he involuntarily took a step back, asif his instincts were telling him to run far from this conversation and never look back. He spoke her name softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve whispered about our parentage our entire childhood. Am I to believe the sentiment now means nothing to you?” Her voice was cutting, but not with anger. She just sounded disappointed and somehow, Aemound found it so much worse.

“I never called you- it was never…” He stammered for a moment before sighing heavily, his teeth gritting as he looked out onto the horizon, desperately trying to find the words he needed to tell her she was never a part of the ire he held for her brothers. 

She watched him, a deep part of her feeling satisfaction to see him flounder as he was. She held much affection for Aemond, especially in their childhood, but his affliction for calling her brothers ‘Strong’ was always a source of hurt and caused many petty arguments between them before they had been separated.

“It was never about you.” He admitted quietly.

“They are my brothers, Aemond. I am not absolved from what you say about them.”

“But you are.” 

Her breath was stolen from her at the gravity of his words, at the sincerity she heard from him. She eyed him cautiously for a long moment, trying to gauge just what she felt for the man before her now, no longer the shy and sweet boy she had once known. 

She longed for him, but she wasn’t sure if the person she desperately desired even existed any more. 

But with how he looked at her, how hard he seemed to be trying to appease her, left her feeling defenseless against her own fears. 

“Why did you never write to me?” She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she regretted even posing the question. 

An expression crossed his face that she couldn’t recognize. He looked tortured, as if the mention of the part he played in their loss of friendship all those years ago brought him pain. The letters he received from her that were left unanswered had grated on him for years. 

Years ago, he had even written a letter to her to apologize for his silence, but his mother had caught him, tore the letter to shreds and warned him not to reach out to Rhaenyra’s bastard daughter, that he would only get hurt again if he dared to reconnect with them. 

“I never wished to ignore you.” He spoke softly. “It was just, after what had happened on Driftmark, my mother-”

“I understand.” She interrupted. The state of their family wasn’t the fault of themselves alone, their mothers had a complicated relationship they could barely comprehend. It was no fault of their own that they listened to the vitriol their mothers spoke in their years of hurt. 

“I never wanted to ignore you.” He repeated, as if he was desperate for her to believe him. 

The years of hurt that had cut her heart deeper and deeper with every unanswered letter she had sent slowly began to heal as she looked into his eye and saw the reverence with which he gazed at her. 

“I am willing to put the years behind me. If we are to be married, I don’t want there to be animosity between us.”

“There isn’t, at least on my part.” He assured her, looking to her hopefully, almost holding his breath for her next words.

“There is none on mine either.”

He nodded, the relief coursing through him feeling like the antidote to the years of guilt and sadness that surrounded his thoughts of her. His gaze met hers and the small smile, more genuine than the one she had greeted him with, caused his own to grow, a gesture that was no longer forced, but now one of hopeful excitement. 

The prospect of marriage no longer seemed so daunting.

~~

In the days leading up to the wedding, they didn’t see much of each other. 

She felt more lonely in the place she used to call home than she had expected. While she had her family, it was clear they were all on edge about the upcoming wedding and hadn’t exactly settled being in the Keep where the Hightower influence reigned supreme. 

She found herself taking Vermithor out daily to escape the tension among her family. 

The only peace she found was amongst the clouds, where the air was thinner, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was as if the reminder that there were things more dangerous than her own family was a comfort to her situation.

Suddenly, the earth shattering roar of a great beast sounded behind her, startling her. She turned quickly, her eyes widening as she saw the enormous figure of Vhagar taking to the skies, her gargantuan form heading towards her.

She watched the creature in awe, the great war dragon, centuries older than her, gliding through the skies like a beautiful relic. 

“It’s alright.” She soothed the dragon below her who grumbled at the unexpected presence of another. 

She kept her head turned, her eyes trailing the hulking figure that grew closer. A small smile curled on her lips as she spotted the silver hair of her betrothed atop his mighty dragon. 

As Vhagar approached, their eyes met, shared smiles passing between them. She gripped onto the reins in her hands and directed Vermithor forward, her large dragon diving towards the water below them. 

A trilled call from behind made her smile, knowing Vhagar was following suit. She looked over her shoulder, a warmth building within her as she saw Aemond guiding his dragon to follow her every move. 

The two of them didn’t share any words as they flew together in solidarity. She laughed as Vermithor let out a grumble of content. Her dragon suddenly titled, moving in closer to the dragon at his side, almost bumping the dragon beside them. 

She froze momentarily, gripping onto the reins tighter, preparing for an adverse reaction from the surly war dragon, but she could only watch in disbelief, her lips parting in awe as Vhagar crooned, a sound she had never heard from a dragon before, and bumped her head against Vermithor’s, a gesture that seemed almost affectionate.

She laughed, the warmth within her chest that had been stirring, now in full bloom. She turned to Aemond who watched the dragons with a small, amused smile. His head turned, their eyes meeting and as though a force greater than anything they had ever felt before, they couldn’t look away. 

As he looked at her, that lone blue eye encroached by a softness that was so familiar to her, she felt as though she was once again face to face with that boy she had loved all those years ago.

~~

Their wedding was a beautiful affair. 

No one would know it was a union between a fractured family. Though, it seemed as though their wedding was already stitching their broken family back together. Or it may have something to do with the amount of wine consumed. She noticed Helaena smiling happily as she danced with Jace. Aegon was drunkenly laughing with Luke who was smiling awkwardly, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else as Rhaena laughed on in his playful torment. 

Daemon sat next to his brother King, his smile soft as they spoke together intently. Her mother sat with Queen Alicent, the two of them deep in conversation, their hands finding each other as they descended into bouts of laughter like they were nothing more than two young girls again.

The sight made her happy. She knew her mother missed her old friend dearly and it looked as though Alicent had missed their friendship just as deeply. 

“Are you ready?” 

She turned on her heel to find Aemond, her husband, standing before her anxiously, his face a mask of anxious anticipation as he held his hand out to her. 

She swallowed and nodded stiffly, taking his hand as nerves as heavy as lead built within her. It was time for the bedding. Every happy thought in her head was gone in an instant as she suddenly could focus on nothing but the secret she kept from him. 

As he guided her out of the hall, her eyes met her mother, her face now serious, giving her a slow, knowing nod, reminding her to stay silent, to perform her duty and act as an untouched maiden. 

They walked in silence, the tension between them growing. 

They had been in a daze practically the entire day, their smiles shy yet glowing as they spoke their vows in the Sept, as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife. 

Their true first kiss had been years ago when they were merely eight years old. She had kissed him after he had yet another unsuccessful bout in the dragon pit and had stolen a chaste kiss as she brushed the dirt from his cheeks. 

She had never seen him turn so red before. 

They were a long way from those innocent children they had been.

“Are you alright?” He asked, startling her out of her long lost thoughts. She looked at him and was surprisingly relieved to see he looked just as nervous as she was sure she looked. 

“I am.” She assured him with an awkward smile. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He answered quickly, too quickly to portray any calmness about their current predicament. 

Their hearts were racing as they stepped inside their new marital chambers. She immediately moved to the vanity, working on removing the many pins from her hair that had been pinching her all night.

She sighed dramatically as the pressure on her skull was relieved and the sound of an amused hum, an almost sounding laugh, caught her attention. She looked over her shoulder to see Aemond watching her thoughtfully. 

The sight of him, the small upturn of his lips, the desire in his eye, should have stirred her own, but all she could feel was all consuming nerves. 

Tonight she’d have to lie to him. 

“You look beautiful.” 

His words startled her, her eyes widening slightly, not having expected the compliment. She smiled bashfully, trucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously as her gaze fell to the floor between them.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t told you that yet tonight. I haven’t told you since you’ve been back.” 

She was surprised by how forward he was, his words so sincere yet so different from the man she knew stood before her. 

It seemed she wasn’t the only one who longed for this marriage to be one of peace, to heal the wounds that had been so deeply ingrained in their family for so long. 

He approached her slowly, the look in his eye one she had never seen before. Desire. He reached out, his hand moving to her jaw, his touch light as he held her as if he were afraid she would flee. 

Her hands almost shook as she laid them across his strong chest, beginning to slowly undo the intricate buckles that covered him. 

He let her undo each one, the sound of his own heavy breath betraying his nerves. Once his chest laid bare before her did he finally pull her in close to him, his gaze locked on hers as he leaned in close before finally kissing her. 

He was soft, though as she responded to his kiss, he met her with fervor, portraying every ounce of pent up desire he’d unknowingly held for her for so long. He kissed her as if she were the very air he breathed. 

Her mind was a mess of thoughts, swirling with desire and agony as she desperately wished his lips had been the first she kissed so passionately, that his touch that tightened on her waist as he undid the laces on her gown, were the first hands to touch her so intimately. 

She couldn’t break herself from the thoughts as they moved to the bed. She couldn’t stop the heavy feeling of regret that tainted every one of his touches and fervent kisses. 

Her chest heaved, her guilt portraying as nerves for a perceived first bedding. Aemond ran his hands up the length of her thighs, his touch, which should have caused butterflies to fly rampant within her, only reminded her of the man who had touched her previously. 

He kissed her softly as he settled himself atop her. 

“I’m sorry… this- it might hurt you.”

The claw of guilt inside her turned into a fist that clenched tightly and she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“It’s alright.” She breathed out.

He kissed her again though the gesture, filled with so much affection, did little to soothe her as he intended to. 

She kept her eyes on the ceiling, the guilt keeping her from looking at her husband, from seeing the eagerness in his gaze as he took her for the first time.

He eased inside of her slowly, the sound of his breath stuttering catching her attention, almost enough to incite her own arousal if her mind wasn’t tainted with worry, of suddenly being found out and ruined before she even got to enjoy her marriage.

With hatred for herself burning hotly within her she mimicked a sound of discomfort as he settled inside her. 

“Are you alright?” He asked slightly breathlessly, his gaze looking down at her in concern. 

She nodded stiffly, her throat tight as she met his eye. She soon wondered if the guilt would stop her breathing before he could even finish. 

She tried her best to forget about the glaring guilt, she tried not to think about her night with Ser Darick, of the man who touched her before that shouldn’t have. She should’ve been in ecstasy to finally be laying with the man she had dreamed of for years, but as he moved inside her, she couldn’t help but wince, her lack of arousal keeping her from enjoying what she had desired for so long. 

It at least helped with her charade of the innocent maiden who feared the marriage bed. 

She watched her husband with barely contained emotion as his eye closed in pleasure, his lips parted with heavy breaths, the sound of his quiet moans had her wishing she could go back in time and never invite that Knight into her bed. 

As she watched him find his pleasure, as he stuttered out her name in delight, she knew she could never hurt him. She could never reveal her secret for she could never cause him pain. 

Above her, Aemond stiffened, his hips losing momentum, his grip on her hips tightening as he lost himself to his pleasure, a loud grunt falling from his lips as he reached his peak. 

She exhaled loudly, an empty feeling settling within her, the guilt and anger at herself melding into self-loathing despair. 

“I hurt you.” He breathed out, sounding pained as his hand cradled her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. 

“I’m ok.” She assured her, though with how stilted her voice sounded, she knew he didn’t believe her. 

He pulled out of her slowly and moved to lay next to her, his worried gaze never leaving hers. He moved his hand to rest at the back of her neck, gently urging her forward so his forehead could rest against hers. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and she felt her eyes sting with more tears, his affection stirring the loathing that lashed her like a whip.

She shook her head and leaned into him, grasping onto his hand, holding tightly. 

“I wish we could have had this earlier.” She whispered, the only admittance she could allow herself. 

Aemond smiled softly and kissed her again, his touch gentle and careful, as if he worried about hurting her more. 

“So do I.” 

He held her as she struggled to sort out of her emotions, unaware of the torment within her. 

~~

By the next morning, she woke from a tumultuous sleep to find herself alone in bed. 

Her heart began to race as she propped herself up, dread coursing within her veins as she suddenly feared the worst. That, somehow in the night, Aemond had figured out the truth and left in a rage, leaving her behind before she could even enjoy what they could’ve had. 

“Good morning.”

The sound of his voice broke her out of her dark thoughts and she turned abruptly to see her new husband strolling in through the open balcony doors. He smiled lightly, looking slightly bashful to see her in such a vulnerable state, as if he hadn’t laid with her just hours before. 

“The maids brought breakfast.” 

She nodded and moved to peel the covers off her, hiding her wince at the flare of discomfort at the back of her thigh from where she had given herself a small cut after her husband had fallen asleep, using the small wound to stain the sheets with her blood that would not fall between her tainted legs. 

She stood from the bed, oblivious to how Aemond’s eye followed the length of her body with intrigue as she reached for her robe. They shared small smiles, the air of awkwardness lingering as they stepped out onto the balcony together. 

She immediately moved to pour herself a cup of tea, taking a much needed sip of the hot drink, praying it would soothe her frayed nerves. As Aemond took a seat next to her, she poured a second cup, adding a spoonful of honey before sliding it over to him. 

His gaze remained on her, as if in awe, as she took another sip. 

Feeling his eye on her, she turned, her brows raising in question at the beseeched expression on his face. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked slowly and he nodded, clearing his throat, leaning his elbow on his knee as his curled fist covered his lips, covering the smile that began to grow. 

“You remembered how I take my tea in the morning.” He spoke softly. 

She felt her stomach twist, this time for reasons completely different from the regret that had been staunchly drowning her since the night before. 

“Of course I did.” She said quietly with a shrug. “I wouldn’t forget anything about you.”

Her words, the knowledge that she had thought of him just as he had thought of her, had longed for him just as he had longed for her all those years they were separated, had a warmth spreading through him he had never felt before. 

Any trepidation he had about the marriage, any qualms he had about Rhaenyra taking her place on the throne, of his nephews back in King’s Landing, shattered in an instant. Everything else seemed so inconsequential to him now that he married her, now that he got to call her his wife. 

He reached out, slightly hesitantly, his heart racing as he placed his hand over hers. 

Their eyes met and it was as if an understanding passed between them, a final puzzle piece falling into place. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

She nodded quickly and smiled as he leaned in. Their lips met in a gentle, unhurried kiss that was filled with quiet affection, the meeting of a new husband and wife who had just come to an understanding, who had put away years of complicated feelings and settled to live as the pair of childhood companions that felt nothing but love for each other.

As he kissed her, she forced herself to move past the pain in the back of her thigh. Under his assured yet gentle touch, she forced her guilt and regret to the depths of her mind, desperate to find peace with him. 

~~

Over the next couple of months, their marriage flourished in ways neither one of them had expected. Their time spent together had seemed to heal every slight from their childhood, leaving the both of them feeling lighter, no longer shrouded in the guise of hatred. 

It would take time for Aemond to come around to her brothers, but he was finding it easier to let go of the fury that used to permeate every thought of them. They were by no means friends, but it was at least becoming easier to simply look at them, to exist among them. 

One morning, as Rhaenyra and Alicent took their morning tea together in the gardens, they caught sight of the newly married couple, arm in arm, barely an inch of space between them. 

“They are quite the match.” Alicent remarked with a smile as she looked at her son, the easy expression on his face a far cry from the scowl that had become all too familiar from her second son. 

“They are.” Rhaenyra agreed, relief flowing through her as she heard her daughter’s laugh from across the yard, watching as she leaned into her husband. 

She was more than thankful her dear daughter’s secret remained. 

“I am sorry I took so long to agree to their union.” Alicent admitted almost shyly. “To see my Aemond as he is now, so carefree, so… unburdened with her. I regret that my hesitation caused him to suffer for longer than he needed to.”

Rhaenyra frowned and reached out, taking her friend’s hand, curling her fingers around her own. 

“There is nothing to forgive. They are happy now… we are happy now. That is what matters.”

Alicent smiled, her eyes filled with emotion she hadn’t let herself reveal for so long. She squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand in silent comfort. 

“I have heard the maids gossiping. It sounds as though it will not be long until there is a new babe to care for.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw dropped, a scandalized laugh escaping her as she looked at her friend, usually so demure, in disbelief. 

“Oh gods, do not let them know they are being gossiped about.” 

Alicent giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“I would never. I do not think my son would ever return to court if that were the case.”

“They are late to every dinner. Surely they know it is not much of a secret what they are doing.” Rhaenyra commented, descending them both into laughter once more.

While the both of them laughed as though they were young girls again, the two of them couldn’t help but feel as though an enormous weight had been lifted from their shoulders, allowing them to breathe easier. 

The union between their children gave them what they needed, what they were desperately hoping for. The fact that their children were just as happy with each other was everything they needed to heal themselves. 

They soon lost sight of their children and, judging by the gossip they heard from the maids, they thought they preferred not knowing exactly what they were getting up to.  

It was for the better because the second Aemond had enough of the desire raging through his body, he had dragged his wife back to their chambers, only a mere hour after they had left it for the morning. 

He couldn’t get enough of her. 

He could barely get through his day without succumbing to his fire that burned hotly for her. Their walk in the garden, their duties for the rest of the day were long forgotten as he took her roughly atop her vanity, the wooden legs shaking beneath their passionate affair.

“Aemond!” She called out, her hands tightening at the back of his head where she had fistfulls of his hair. He groaned and quickened his pace, thrusting into her with the ferocity of an animal. 

Over their time together, she had been able to relax around him, thinking less and less of that horrible night with her guard that could have ruined everything. She allowed herself to fall into him, to let herself think of nothing but him, and she couldn’t have been more thankful.

He took her daily, their union fiercely passionate, the two of them quickly becoming insatiable for each other. 

“Fuck, darling, you are perfect.” Aemond growled, his hips never faltering in their harsh rhythm as he took her roughly. 

The way he took her now and had been for weeks was a far cry from the tepid and shy man she had seen on their wedding night. 

Cries fell from her lips as she desperately held him, her only tether in the haze of pleasure he now could so easily spiral her to. 

“Don’t stop.” She begged breathlessly, her head falling back to her shoulders, her eyes shut tightly as he fucked her so hard it was all she could do to hold and enjoy the ride. 

“Never, my love, I'll never stop.” He promised her, the desperation in his voice clear. He panted heavily as his hips moved with precision, eager to reach that spot he knew ruined her completely. 

He longed to see her unravel, he longed to hear her scream for him. It had quickly become the greatest thing he had ever been fortunate enough to witness and his greatest accomplishment. 

His grip on her hips tightened, his awed gaze fluttering over her form, eager to take in every inch of her. 

Her toes curled, a high pitched moan sounding as her body tensed, as she felt herself creeping up on the crest of blinding pleasure. 

“That’s it love, cum for me. Do it for me, I need it.” He rambled, his voice rough, causing shivers to race down her spine. 

Her nails dug into his shoulders and his answering grunt of pleasure undid her completely. She screamed his name, her hips jolting against his as she reached her peak. Aemond held her tightly, his arms moving around her back to hold him to her as his hips stuttered, becoming frantic in his final moments.

“Fuck… fuck!” He yelled as he felt her tighten around him.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, planting sloppy kisses along the delicate slope before he felt the curling of hazy pleasure unfurl within him. 

His eye squeezed shut, his jaw fell slack as a breathless moan escaped him as he came. Small cries left him, his hips continuing to move, losing their intensity as he spilled inside her. 

Their shared heavy breaths echoed throughout the room as neither one of them moved an inch. He continued to hold her tightly, wrapped around her completely. He shivered against her as she began to caress the length of his back, her soft hands moving up and down gently, causing him to sigh in delight. 

After a few long moments, as they caught their breath, he pulled away, nudging his nose against hers, smirking lightly at the sight of her so thoroughly spent. He kissed her assuredly, his tongue tangling with hers, his touch still firm, as if he were still desperate for her. 

They parted with the need for air, soft smiles shared between the two, almost bashful, as if they hadn’t just fucked debauchedly as though they were in a brothel. He pulled out of her and began to clean the mess between her thighs, delighting in the way she’d twitch against his touches, thoroughly overstimulated from his hands. 

“Do you remember when you put jam in my hair?” He asked suddenly, causing her to look down at him with a raised brow in disbelief. 

“You are thinking about that now?”

The childhood memory was not forgotten but she certainly hadn’t been thinking of it after he had ravished her.

“With how you were just pulling on it, I’m beginning to think you have some kind of vendetta against my hair.” He remarked with a smirk as he pulled his breeches back up and grabbed his discarded doublet that she’d torn off him. 

She laughed and shook her head, her eyes trailing his every move, pouting almost reflexively as he dressed himself, covering up that beautiful body from her eager gaze. 

“It is beautiful. Perhaps I am trying to sabotage you out of jealousy.” She smiled coyly.

“Jealousy?” He echoed in disbelief. “Darling, you are the most stunning woman in the realm, you have little to be jealous of.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she half-heartedly rolled her eyes. Since they had become more comfortable with each other, his compliments had been never ending, never failing to make her swoon each and every time. 

“So, same time tomorrow?” She joked, to which he snorted and looked over at her, nothing but adoration in his eye. 

He stepped toward her again, pulling the fallen sleeve of her dress back in place.

“Oh, darling, I will have you again tonight, surely.” He drawled, reveling in the way she seemed to shiver against him, already eagerly anticipating the night and agonizing over the hours between. 

He kissed her again and leaned his forehead against hers, as if he needed a moment longer with her before parting from her side. 

“I will find you once I am finished.” He assured her. 

As he left her to continue with his duties for the day he had steadily been ignoring, she finished cleaning herself up and fixing her disheveled hair. 

Her smile remained as she righted her dress, her legs trembling slightly as she made slow steps across their chambers. She just knew Baela would be dragging their salacious actions out of her the second she saw her. 

The giddy feeling within her crumbled into dust the moment she opened the door and came face to face with the one person she was content to never see again.

Her face fell, a look of horror overtaking her features.

“Ser Darick.” 

Her voice shook as she greeted him, which seemed to only deepen his smug grin. 

“Princess.” He bowed dutifully. “It has been too long.”

The sarcasm that laced his words cut her deeply and she averted her gaze, her heart racing wildly. The memories of that fateful night, the guilt that she had been able to push into the depths of her mind resurfaced with the force of a punch, almost enough to knock her off her feet.

She didn’t spare the man another look as she took off down the hall, her face crumbling into a deep frown as frustrated tears filled her eyes.

He would ruin everything.

~~

Her hand was clutched to her mother’s, her retelling of the day striking a need for her motherly touch. 

“I will take care of it.”

“How?”

“I will find a way.”

She remained silent, her face twisted with fear and disgust.

“What if he knows?”

“He doesn’t.”

“You cannot know that. Why would he be reassigned to me? Surely this is some plot to ruin me.” She rambled, her worried mind not allowing her to think straight. 

“The guards are spread thin here. We needed more help so guards from Dragonstone were requested here, but I… I had no idea he would be assigned to you.”

She sighed heavily, her mother’s words doing little to reassure her.

“I can’t keep lying to him.”

“Darling-”

“I love him and I can’t stand the fact that our marriage is built on a lie.”

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw, her teeth pulling her bottom lip tightly. Before she could even attempt to soothe her daughter the door opened and Daemon stepped into their shared chambers. 

Both women tensed, sitting up straighter in their seats at his unexpected arrival. 

His eyes flitted between both women curiously, immediately sensing the tension in the room.

“Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, my love.”

His wife’s words did little to soothe the awkward energy in the room.

“What are you two discussing?”

“Guard rotations.” 

Daemon looked at his step-daughter with narrowed eyes, the topic one he had not expected. His instincts were telling him something was wrong, that he was being lied to. 

“Is someone not to your liking?”

“Ser Darick has been assigned as her guard and we hoped we could find someone else for her.”

“Why?”

“No specific reason-” Rhaenyra attempted to diffuse the situation, but he had seen right through it, he knew something was amiss.

“I don’t understand. Ser Darick was your guard for years, he was loyally by your side, he watched over you, he cared for-”

Daemon’s sentence stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly realized the double meaning in his words. His eyes narrowed, the angry fire burning within him so hotly she had to turn away from his gaze. He looked to his wife, as if needing confirmation to the thought burning in his brain.

When Rhaenyra sighed disappointedly, her gaze moving away from his, he felt as though he had the answer to the horrible explanation he had conjured.

Within a second he unsheathed his sword, causing his daughter to flinch and Rhaenyra to get to her feet. 

“Daemon-”

“Where is he?”

“You need to calm down-”

“I will strike every limb from his body and string him-”

“Please stop!” She yelled, stopping her father’s detailed description of the torture he would inflict on the man he believed to have committed an egregious crime.

“You cannot seriously be protecting the man that took advantage of you. He touched you, he raped you! He should be fed to our dragons!”

“He didn’t rape me!” 

Daemon remained quiet, taking in her words slowly. His face twisted, an expression of confusion soon morphing into dread and she shifted in her seat under his intense glare.

“You didn’t.” He spat. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Daemon, please.”

“You let that guard into your bed?”

She leaned her elbows on her knees, her head falling into her hands as she breathed heavily, embarrassment washing over her like a tidal wave that threatened to drown her. She would surely welcome it. 

“It was a mistake.” Rhaenyra chimed in, trying to ease the fury in her husband. 

“Of course it was a fucking mistake.” Daemon bellowed. “How could you be so simple minded?”

She raised her head, staring plainly at the man before her. She’d heard about his tales before he had married her mother, the Prince of Flea Bottom, the many times he had been banished by the King and he had the audacity to shame her about who she bedded.

“Your hypocrisy is astounding.” 

“Don’t be cute.” Daemon scolded. He tightened his grip on his sword, his anger still burning. “I’m still going to kill him.”

“You are going to do no such thing. Rumors will spread if a guard mysteriously winds up murdered. We will solve this quietly and reassign him so he will never lay his eyes on you again and you will never tell a soul about what happened that night.” Rhaenyra countered, her eyes locked onto her daughter sternly.

She could only nod, the guilt she’d steadily buried in the face of her happiness, in the bliss she’d found with Aemond, now clawing its way forward, threatening to tear her apart piece by piece.

~~

“There you are.” Aemond greeted her with a smile, bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Their chambers had been empty when he returned from training and he knew the first place to look for her was Helaena’s chambers. 

Her heart skipped as she saw him, her mind racing, screaming at her to blurt out her secret, to spill everything that was weighing heavily on her, darkening her soul, but she found no words could escape her. 

She smiled stiffly, forcefully pushing past the overwhelming regret and sadness that threatened to choke her. 

“Are you finished with your training?”

He nodded as he took a seat next to her, his soft smile directed to the children who played at his feet. 

“I am and I suddenly found myself in desperate need of my wife’s company.” 

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but we were just about to leave.”

“Leave? Where are you going?”

“We are going to the markets in Flea Bottom.” Helaena answered happily, oblivious to the way her brother’s expression darkened at her words. 

Aemond looked to her desperately, as if pleading with her to tell him his sister was mistaken, that she wasn’t going to roam the dangerous streets of Flea Bottom. 

She sighed, taking his hand in hers.

“She wishes to find gifts for the twins’ name day.” She spoke softly so the children would not hear. 

“Send servants.”

“She wants to pick them out herself.”

Aemond exhaled loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose. He startled when his wife stood from the couch and he reached out for her hand, but she was already walking away. 

“Come with us brother.” Helaena offered, oblivious to the torment unfurling in her protective sibling. “We will be taking guards, but we will be more protected with you at our side.” 

She smiled widely and linked her arm through Helaena’s, looking to her faithful husband.

“Well, you heard her.”

Aemond let out a long sigh, the thought of his beloved and his dear sister venturing down the dangerous streets of King’s Landing loathsome, but with one look at his wife’s stare, he was powerless to refuse her wishes. 

“Just for a short visit.”

The wide smile she gave in return was all he needed to stop himself from refusing the offer. 

He followed behind the two women, their group of guards walking behind him faithfully as they made their way into the city. 

Aemond kept his eyes fleeting between his sweet sister and his beloved wife as they perused each vendor they passed. He admired his wife as her face lit up at the sight of a beautiful trinket that had caught her eye. He admired the way she smiled at each vendor, politely asking them questions, dignifying their compliments about her beauty and kindness. 

She was truly a marvel, the most beautiful sight to behold. 

“Aemond, look, isn’t this beautiful?” Helaena called out to him, breaking him from his trance as she held up a butterfly figurine. “I think Jaehaera will find this absolutely divine, she’s always admiring the butterflies in the garden.”

“She will love it.” He assured her with a small smile, following her as the ever protective brother he was as they ventured to the next vendor, caught up with another bout of glasswork she had found. 

He felt as though he had only taken his eyes off his wife for a minute when the yelling started. A fight had broken out between two vendors and the crowd around them had responded to the sudden surge of violence with equal measure.

His arm immediately went around Helaena who cowered and covered her ears as the crowd yelled and became insufferably loud. He briefly made eye contact with a man in the crowd, the lowborn recognizing the pair of royals before him and, as most disparities of power result, decided to direct his anger towards them. 

Aemond guided Helaena into the capable hands of her guard as he unsheathed his sword menacingly, warning the crowd not to try their luck with the famed one-eyed dragon prince. 

The crowd soon became raucous, screaming, shouting and pushing at anyone they could get their hands onto. 

Aemond quickly spotted his sister being scurried away from the action, though his stomach dropped when he could not spot his wife. 

He yelled her name, the sound lost in the chaos of the riotous crowd. He pushed people out of the way carelessly, elbowing his way back to where he had last seen her. His heart dropped at the sight of her absence. He became more desperate, his voice sounding weak as he stood atop a vendor’s booth, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

The longer he did not see her, the more fear encased every inch of him.

~~

A muffled scream left her as a sturdy hand latched over her mouth, a strong arm wrapped around her waist as she was carried away from the action of the riots ensuing in the streets of King’s Landing. 

She hadn’t seen Helaena or Aemond. As soon as the fighting started she had been dragged away, seemingly against her will. She had thought it was a member of the King’s Guard but as the hand stayed steadily over her mouth and the painful arm carrying her through the streets of Flea Bottom refused to recede, she became more and more fearful of who had latched onto her.

The grip on her slackened and she quickly pushed her way out of the grip, her expression a mask of derision as she faced who had manhandled her so roughly. Her face fell, an icy feeling of dread spreading through her veins as she met the gaze of Ser Darick. 

He sneered and gripped her arm again, pulling her into his side. 

“Stop struggling, Princess, we don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” He warned, though it sounded more like a threat as he pulled her along with him back to the Red Keep.

She remained still, allowing him to drag her forward, her face passive as they made their way through the halls of the Keep. She felt equal parts relief and dread as he forced her into her chambers. 

He slammed the door shut behind them, his face dark with anger, his hand still sturdily gripping her arm.

“You have brought me back, now leave.” She ordered harshly as she wrenched her arm out of his grip.

“Not until we talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” 

“You invited me into your bed, let me fuck you and then ignored me. I deserve to know why.” He argued angrily. Her face twisted with derision, at the reminder of that night she had acted so carelessly.

“I am truly sorry for how I treated you, it was wrong of me to take such liberties. But the night we had was simply a night of desperation. I am married now. I love my husband and you need to move on.” 

He scoffed, looking at her with nothing but derision.

“I don’t believe you.” 

“What?”

“That night. It didn’t mean nothing to you. It couldn’t have.” 

He stepped towards her, forcing her to take frantic steps backwards, but he was quicker. He gripped onto her shoulders, his touch strong and harsh. 

“Let go of me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, her heart racing, the beginnings of dread seeping through her, chilling the blood that ran through her veins. 

“I know you felt something that night. No one could fake that passion. I know you feel something for me. I know you have for years.” 

Her eyes widened, staring back at the man completely dumbfounded as she squirmed under his hands.

“You have gone mad.”

“I gave you pleasure that night, Princess. I made you cum under me. I made you moan for me.” He spoke earnestly, making her wince and shake her head, desperately trying to pry his hands off her.

“It meant nothing.”

“Of course it did!” 

“Get off!” She yelled as she pushed at his chest, causing him to stumble a few paces back. 

The door suddenly slammed open, her breathless and worried husband storming into their chambers. He seemed to deflate in relief when he saw her, every ounce of fear dissipating in a second, though when he noticed the guard in their chambers, his expression twisted into confusion.

“Are you hurt?” He asked worriedly, stepping towards her hurriedly, assuming she had been injured in the fight and that was the reason the guard was in the room with her alone. 

“No, I’m fine.” She assured him, her voice quivering. 

He grabbed her trembling hands in his, looking over her in concern briefly before his untrusting eye turned towards the guard who couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

The anger in his gaze did not go unnoticed by Aemond who stiffened, his hand reaching for the sword at his hip instinctively. 

The guard smiled sardonically to his wife, the sight setting the blood in his veins on fire. 

“Princess.” He bowed and turned on his heel, leaving the room. The fact that he did not address Aemond only angered him further. 

“Who was that?” Aemond questioned the second the door closed behind him. 

“He was my guard at Dragonstone.” She answered monotonously, her chest aching in fear as her waking nightmare unfurled before her.

“Did he hurt you?” Aemond’s anger flared as he looked at her questioningly, his gaze searching her frantically for any indication that her guard had stepped out of place. 

“No, he didn’t hurt me.” She spoke quietly, omitting mentioning the bruises she was sure would be blooming on her arm from his harsh grip.

He stared at her quizzically, knowing deep within him that something was wrong. The look on her face, one of muted horror, was striking and the fact that she couldn’t meet his eye had worry stirring within him so strongly his hand twitched towards his sword once again, ready to strike down the mysterious guard at her command. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I-”

“Yes, you’ve said that, but I do not believe you.” He interrupted, fighting between his confusion and his worry as she flinched at his harsh tone. He wanted to reach out to her, but something held him back, something he didn’t quite understand. 

She wrapped her arms around herself as she turned away from him. He called her name slowly, his critical eye never leaving her. 

“Who is he?”

“He is no one.”

His heart raced and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach as a multitude of answers swirled through his mind, none of them bringing any kind of peace.

“Do you love him?” He asked abruptly, jumping to the worst conclusion he could have possibly conjured.

“No, of course not!” She yelled, perturbed by the mere question. 

“Then why does he look at you as if you have a history?”

“I swear to you, Aemond, he is nothing to me.”

“So nothing has happened between you two?”

She remained quiet, her mind racing with a million different answers to the question, most lies, but only one truth, the one that spoke the loudest.

Her silence rang loud in the room and Aemond’s face shifted instantly, first to shock, then disbelief, then betrayal, and finally to fury. 

“You… you and him…” He startled slowly, trying to find the words to explain the blinding anger that overtook him so greatly it soon became hard to breathe.

The images that his mind created, visions of her tangled in the sheets with that man, her soft touch on his body, her sweet moans he relished given to him. 

“Aemond-”

“You fucked him?”

“Please-”

“Answer me. Did you fuck him?”

Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her world was crashing down around her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

“Yes.” She breathed out weakly.

A bitter laugh left him, a sound filled with so much anger it made her wince, tears beginning to burn in her eyes. 

“Aemond, please, I can explain-” She began as she approached him, reaching out for his hand, but he yanked his arm away from her, staring back at her with such vitriol it was as if a dagger had been lodged in her chest.

“Explain what? That you have been lying to me this entire time? That I married a whore?” 

Her eyes widened, his words striking her harshly. She had seen him angry before, she had seen him vindictive before, but it had never been directed at her, he had never spoken to her with such hatred, as if he were eager to hurt her. 

“It was before our marriage. I have never even looked at another man since I knew you were to be my husband.”

He shook his head, his chest heaving, an ache settling deep within him. Jealousy tore through him roughly, all he could think of was her tangled passionately with another man, and it made him see red. 

She reached for him again and he shut her down with a vicious scowl. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

She breathed heavily, her own anger beginning to rise at his stubborn refusal to listen to her. She knew if he ever found out it would cause a rift, but she had thought after the time they had spent together, that what they shared would be too special to let a mistake from the past rupture the beautiful love they had carved for themselves.

“Are you serious?” She snapped, her patience wearing thin the longer he directed his fury towards her. 

She thought of Daemon’s reaction, of Aemond’s disgusted scowl, and it made her seethe. If she had been a man no one would be batting an eye and she wanted to scream at how entirely unfair life was simply because of what lay between her legs.

“I had one night and I am penalized but you can do whatever you want with your body and I am just supposed to accept it. As if you haven’t followed Aegon to the brothels.”

“I am not my brother!” He yelled fiercely, his overt anger making her flinch. 

She stayed quiet, her anger receding as quick as it had come, leaving her with nothing but guilt. She knew she had crossed a line. 

Anybody could see how different the Targaryen brothers were, how much more accustomed to duty and honor Aemond was, how he refused to defile himself and shame his family as Aegon continued to do. 

It was deadly silent between them, neither one of them with anything productive or relatively polite to say to the other. 

With a clenched jaw, Aemond stormed out of the room without sparing her a look. 

His breath left him in uneven pants as he stormed down the hall, unaware of where he was headed. 

Images of her, his sweet wife, his beloved, wrapped up in another man’s arms replayed in his head torturously. He felt his eye sting with emotion he desperately attempted to hold at bay. 

He loved his wife, but this was agony. 

He loved her, but she had lied to him. 

He didn’t know what to make sense of the situation. He didn’t even know what to make sense of what he was feeling. 

He was at a loss as to what his marriage held. 

The only thing he could make out in the whirlwind of thoughts was pain. 

~~

He avoided her for the rest of the day and the next, choosing to sleep in his old chambers instead of returning to her. 

He couldn’t bear to face her, not after what he had yelled at her so callously, not after he had called her a whore, not after he had spent hours picturing her with that guard. 

It was agonizing to think of. 

He avoided dinner, giving flimsy excuses to the maids that dared to approach him. 

He sat out on the balcony of his old chambers, gazing out sightlessly into the night before him. The sound of his chamber doors opening had him rolling his eye, looking over his shoulder at the intruder with a scowl.

Aegon gave him an annoyed look. 

“You know you have mother worried sick? She sent me to find you, you twat.”

Aemond remained quiet as he turned to look back out onto the horizon. 

“What are you doing out here?” Aegon asked as he took a seat at his side, causing him to sigh loudly, not bothering to hide his disdain for his presence. “I figured you would be busy fucking your wife. You seem to do little else lately.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he steadily refused to meet his brother’s eyes.

“What? Has your paradise been ruined already?” Aegon joked, though when he received no reaction from Aemond, not even anger, he knew something was truly wrong. “What happened?” He asked, sounding more sincere than even he expected.

Aemond remained quiet for a long moment, dreading to say the words aloud, as if it made them more real than they already were. 

“She had a dalliance with a guard.”

“She has been unfaithful?”

“It was before she came back to King’s Landing, before the wedding.” He mumbled.

Aegon was quiet for a few seconds as he took in his brother’s words and eventually shrugged nonchalantly. 

“So?” 

Aemond glared coldly at his brother, the flippant response sparking his fury once more. 

“Finding out your wife let another man into her bed isn’t exactly comforting news.”

“It happened before she was your wife and, judging by how infatuated she seems with you, I’m willing to bet it happened before she knew you were the one she was to marry.” 

Aemond sighed loudly, no matter the circumstances, no matter whatever explanation he could think of, it did nothing to quell the green eyed beast that took over him. He had grown to deeply love his wife, the girl he had latched onto in childhood, the only one who seemed to root for him. 

The thought of her in the clutches of lust with anyone that wasn’t him was enough to incite his anger. 

He had never had a passionate, loving embrace. He certainly didn’t count what he endured on his thirteenth nameday, the moment that brought him nothing but shame. To think that she could so easily bring someone into her bed, have someone touch her lovingly, bring her pleasure, just as he could to her, stirred a fury in him he could barely comprehend.

“So, she betrayed you, what happens next?” Aegon asked, a smarmy smirk growing on his lips, striking Aemond’s anger before he could even speak of the depravities that mingled in his mind. “How about I take you down to the Silk Street and you can get back at her.”

In the blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, his face drawn tightly with fury, his angry glare locked onto his brother who laughed raucously at his reaction.

“Easy!” He yelled, shoving his brother’s hands off of him that gripped his shirt, ready to throttle him. “Gods, you have no sense of humor.”

“You know you don’t have to be here.” Aemond growled, sending his brother a final fierce scowl that silently threatened him of saying anything untoward about his marriage, before settling himself back in his seat. 

Aegon watched his brother carefully, noting the agony within him and he sighed.

“Look, you clearly care about her. She is your wife and you two have been able to build a bond which is more than many can say.”

Aemond looked at him, surprised by his honest words, surprised that he wasn’t slurring as he spoke. 

“Are you willing to give that up for a mistake she made before you loved each other?”

He looked taken aback at the question. The mere thought of letting her go was unfathomable. The thought was so horrible it turned his stomach more than his jealousy ever could. 

“I cannot stop picturing her with him.” He admitted quietly, almost shamefully. 

Aegon sighed, while he didn’t have anyone he loved as Aemond loved his wife, he had to admit, it didn't sound easy to picture the woman you loved in the arms of another man.

“So, let’s say you give up, what then? She marries someone else and warms their bed instead?” 

Aemond grit his teeth and sent a wicked glare to his brother who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Just think about it, brother. Get over it or let her go.” Aegon stated bluntly before parting from his side, leaving him to bury his head in his hands, a long slow breath falling past his lips. 

He didn’t want to let her go, he didn’t want to end what they had, he didn’t want to lose her. 

He breathed deeply again, forcing the green-eyed monster within him to retreat, to let him think clearly for once. 

He pictured her face, her teary eyes as she stared at him in disbelief as he threw horrible insults her way. He winced, his eye squeezing shut, as if the memory itself hurt him physically. 

He had to make this right. 

~~

He stepped into their shared chambers, his body rigid with nervous anticipation. He startled slightly as the sight of her was suddenly blocked, Baela having immediately got to her feet at the sight of him, standing in front of her half-sister protectively. 

“What do you think you’re doing here?” 

Aemond rolled his eye, sending a glare to the stubborn woman. 

“These are my chambers.” 

“Are they now? They haven’t seemed to be yours the past few days.” Baela responded sarcastically, forcing him to hold back a wince at the reminder of how he’d left his wife alone and worried for days on end in his fit of anger and jealousy.

He looked past Baela to find her looking back at him worriedly, wondering if this was the moment he left for good. The sight pained him deeply and he sighed heavily.

“I came here to talk.” He spoke softly, looking past her human shield, trying to appeal to his kind wife. 

“I think you’ve said plenty.” 

“Baela, it’s ok.” She said softly, hoping to stop her half-sister before she ended up in a physical fight with her husband. With how angry Baela had been on her behalf she knew it was certainly a possibility. 

Baela looked back at her questioningly, to which she nodded, silently assuring her she would be ok. 

With a sour expression, Baela left her side, her glare darkening as she passed the one eyed prince.

“If I see any more tears fall from her eyes, not even Vhagar will save you from me.” She threatened before stepping out of their chambers. 

Aemond let out a long breath. The sight of his wife upset cut him deeply, he knew he would let Baela inflict whatever pain she wanted on him if he hurt her any more. 

He looked at her, subtly wincing as he noticed she was looking away, refusing to meet his gaze. He moved forward slowly, never taking his eye off her as he approached. He sat on the opposite couch, making sure to leave space between them.

He didn’t think she’d be comfortable with anything else and he didn’t think he deserved to be so close to her, not after what he had said to her just days ago. 

“I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve my words.” He started quietly. 

She remained quiet, her gaze yet to meet his. The longer she didn’t look at him, the quicker his heart raced.

“I want to understand. I know you have no feelings for this man, but… it may kill me, but I want to know what happened between you two.”

“Why would that change things?” She asked stiffly.

“What?”

“You know I have no love for this man, you know I only care for you. So what more do you need to know?”

Aemond swallowed against the lump that grew in his throat. Aegon’s words came back to him, that her dalliance could have happened before she even knew they were to be married. 

“I need to know that I wasn’t the cause of this.”

She turned to him fully, her brows furrowed as she looked at him in bewilderment. She was sure a piece of her heart had shattered. He thought she had chosen to jump into bed with a guard because the news of her marriage to him was so horrible she was desperate to seek comfort. 

She let out a shaking breath and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. 

“Do you remember Lady Eleanor?”

Aemond looked confused for a moment at the sudden turn in conversation, but took a moment to think deeply before nodding. 

“She was your friend when we were children.” He answered softly. “I remember I could scarcely find any time with you without her presence.”

She smiled at the onslaught of memories that rushed through her mind, all hazed in the happiness of childhood innocence, though she was quick to be reminded of the grief that rose at the mere thought of her old friend. 

“She was married off to a Tully Lord. The man was older than her father. His past three wives all died mysteriously, no one dared to question why.” She explained stiffly. “I could tell from her letters that she wasn’t happy.”

Aemond watched her, frowning slightly at the dull tone of her voice, of the tortured look in her eyes, as if she was recounting something too painful to ever speak of again. He sat up straighter, longing to reach out to her, but he held back, suddenly reminding himself of the rift between them. 

“She birthed him a daughter, just as his previous wives had. The next day they found her body by the river.” She spoke quietly, her voice growing hoarse with emotion. “They could barely recognize her, she was black and blue, every bone broken by his hands.”

Aemond shifted in his seat, an unsettled feeling growing within him. He remembered the annoying little girl who followed his niece around and now felt nothing but horror at the memory of her. 

“Her husband faced no punishment. No one dared to question why yet another young girl was dead. I don’t even know what happened to the babe, if she-” She stopped abruptly, unable to finish the thought. 

Her vision blurred with tears which only began to steadily slip down her cheeks as she felt his hand take hers, their fingers intertwining. 

“His name was in consideration for my hand in marriage.” She admitted, finally bringing her gaze to reach her husband’s, immediately noticing the dread that shrouded him.

Despite the fact that they were married and had been for months, the mere prospect of her being forced into marriage with a man so barbaric left him feeling sick. 

She let out a shaking breath, pulling her hand from his as she wiped her tears furiously, forcing her expression into a mask of indifference, refusing to show him her weakness. 

“I’m sure that changes nothing for you, but I figured you should know.” She spoke hoarsely. “My night with Ser Darick meant nothing. I had no idea you were my betrothed. I thought I’d have one more night for myself before I was forced to be a silent, battered wife who would wind up dead in a matter of months.”

Aemond exhaled shakily, his gaze watching her curiously. Her sadness cut him deeply and while he could never understand the fear she felt, the fear almost every woman in the realm faced at the prospect of marriage, he couldn’t help but ache for her, for what she feared. 

The thought of her so scared, resigning herself to be abused, forced into a marriage with a man that would treat her horribly, had his hands clenching into fists, forcing back the desire to draw blood from men that weren’t even present.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, her teary eyes finally meeting his, causing the lump in his throat to swell.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“No, I do. I betrayed you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I acted as nothing more than a lowly street whore.” 

Aemond clenched his jaw, a flash of pain striking him deeply. His previous words he had thrown at her in anger caught up to him, hurting him as if they had been directed at himself. The guilt that overcame him was overpowering, enough to knock him off kilter, enough to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I didn’t mean it.” He told her, his voice weak, portraying his pain.

“You said it.” 

His chest ached yet again at the sadness in her voice, her teary eyed gaze hurting him like a sword to the heart. 

“I was angry and I didn’t mean a word of what I said. I let my jealousy rule me.” He explained to her, reaching out to take her hand in his again. “But you mean more to me than my anger, you mean more to me than a single mistake.”

Her eyes narrowed, derision crossing her features, as if she didn’t believe him, as if his forgiveness was too good to be true. As she shook her head, he felt his heart crack yet again. 

“You’ve forced yourself to feel nothing but derision for me for years, I’m sure you can do it again.” She spoke tersely, her eyes betraying her hurt as they brimmed with tears. “I’ll tell my mother we wish for an annulment.”

“Stop.” He demanded angrily, looking at her with barely contained hurt.

“I’m sure your mother will be thrilled.”

“Love, please-”

“You can be married to a pure maiden within the next moon.”

“Stop!” He yelled, finally cutting off her frantic rambles. She looked at him with wide, tearful eyes, the sight causing his chest to hurt in ways he couldn’t even fathom. 

He breathed heavily for a moment, allowing his anger to fade. 

“I won’t let you end this. I care about you too much to let you go.” 

Her heart jumped at his words, her emotions beginning to stir once again. She let out a trembling breath, a glaringly bitter thought in her head she couldn’t move past from.

“Please, do not hate me for asking…” She started quietly, swallowing thickly as she looked to him hesitantly “Do you forgive me because you wish for power? Because you will one day be consort, because your heir will sit the throne?”

Aemond tensed, his gaze full of bewilderment. He had to admit, maybe in the beginning, the prospect of being consort enticed him, but now, it wasn’t even a thought in his head.

It hadn’t been since the moment she stepped out of that carriage and their eyes met for the first time in years. 

“I forgive you because I love you.” Aemond answered, as if it was the most simple explanation he could have given. 

Her breath caught in her throat, completely taken aback by his admission, one he gave freely, the genuine look in his eye making her crumble within. 

“You love me?” She choked out and he smiled sadly, the sight of her reluctance to believe it causing the ache in his chest to throb once more. He moved to sit closer to her, taking her hand in his.

“I have loved you for a long time. Much longer than I would like to admit.” He spoke with a soft laugh. “The things you did for me in our childhood…” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “Sometimes it felt like you were the only one who cared.”

She frowned, her hand holding his tightly, her heart aching to hear him so vulnerable.

“I could never turn my back on you. I could never let you walk away from our marriage, not for anything.” 

He was more than surprised when her lips descended on his with a fierce kiss, one that was filled with hunger, longing, and relief. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, responding to her kiss with equal fervor, moaning against her as her hands winded through his hair, the gesture so intimate, so familiar to their last months together. 

They pulled away, breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She whispered, sounding pained, as if she would have to repent for his forgiveness for the rest of her life. 

He shook his head and held her tighter. He leaned his forehead against hers, swallowing thickly against the small ounce of doubt that creeped within him.

“He truly means nothing to you?”

She seemed pained by his question, her expression twisting as she placed her hand against his cheek as she looked at him with reverence. 

“He is nothing to me. I have not had a single thought of him since I’ve loved you.” 

He perked up, his wide eye searching hers, as if looking for any sign of dishonesty. But he found none. 

He wouldn’t, for she loved him just as he loved her. 

He crashed his lips to hers, his hands holding her tightly as he pulled her onto his lap, eager to place his touch upon her and equally as eager for her greedy hands to bestow their pleasure upon him. 

He preened under her gentle caresses, her hardened tugs at his hair, her eager hips that grinded against his. He longed for everything she was willing to give him. 

He could feel the jealousy that had blinded him, that green-eyed monster that threatened to ruin it all, fade to nothing while he was in her arms. 

He would not let a single mistake tear apart what they had, what had been growing since their childhood. 

He loved her and she loved him. 

It was all he needed.

~~

They mended back together with ease. With Ser Darick transferred, no longer a glaring reminder of her indiscretion, they were able to put the incident past them. 

Her brothers questioned what had happened, why there seemed to be a rift in her marriage then, as quickly as it had come, disappeared as she and her husband soon proved themselves as a united front, more infatuated with each other than ever. 

She didn’t give them any answers. She only assured them she was happy, that Aemond treated her well and that their marriage was a success. 

They were back to the blissful, wonderstruck and obsessed couple they had been before her secret had been revealed. 

Until the dinner for the King’s nameday. 

Her arm was locked with her husband’s as they stepped into the dining hall, their smiles mirroring each other as they spoke quietly. 

Aemond suddenly stopped in his tracks, his body becoming stiff as stone. She looked up at him, her smile falling at the sight of the murderous rage in his eye. 

She followed his gaze and paled instantly, her stomach twisting with fear as she found Ser Darick’s smirking face staring back at her. She swallowed against the lump that grew in her throat and held tighter to Aemond’s arm. 

“Let’s sit.” She spoke quietly, having to basically drag him along with her to take their seats at the table. 

Aemond’s glare remained on the man as he took his seat, his eye cold and unflinching. His wife had told him about that day the guard confronted her, explaining his strange possessiveness, the harsh way he held her. 

He wanted to kill the guard the second he saw the bruises on her arms, but she held onto him tightly, begging him not to leave her alone, begging him to drop the matter completely. 

She so desperately wanted to forget the entire thing and she knew if Aemond killed him, it would invite questions she dreaded to answer. 

The fury he felt at the sight of her bruises, at how scared she had been because of that guard, hadn’t left him. He had kissed every mark on her body, though it did little to soothe the storm inside of him, the desire to draw blood from the man that dared to hurt her. 

His fingers tapped erratically atop the table, his deadly scowl never wavering from the man who smugly smirked back at him, inciting his rage. 

Her hand covered his, startling him out of his haze of anger. He looked over at her and she gave him a weak smile, her eyes pleading with him to not act on his anger. There was a look of regret in her gaze, as her guilt returned tenfold, as if she were the one angering him. 

The sight tore his anger away in an instant and he intertwined their fingers, squeezing her hand comfortingly, silently assuring her, promising her he wasn’t upset with her, that her guilt was for naught. 

“I love you.” She mouthed to him, wanting to remind him in the face of her dreaded mistake and he smiled, mouthing the words back to her. 

The days they had spent together over the past weeks were enough to heal him of the fierce jealousy that had wracked him at the news of her night with her guard. She had spent night after night worshiping him, bestowing pleasure upon him that left his mind spinning, proving to him over and over again that he was the only one she wanted, he was the only one she had eyes for, and he was the only one she would pleasure so intently. 

Their thoughts of that damned guard were gone swiftly as the King was carried into the room, the sight of his decaying and weak body stealing their attention completely. 

King Viserys smiled, a sad yet relieved looking gesture as he looked at the table full of his family, smiling faces around him, easy conversation flowing, no sight of derision or hatred he had seen just months ago that had broken his heart. 

He raised his cup of wine with a shaking hand. 

“A toast to my family.” He began with a hoarse voice. “To my daughter, Rhaenyra, who will make a fine Queen. And to my dear grandchild.”

She perked up at the sound of her name, seemingly growing bashful under the King’s eye. 

“My beautiful darling and my dear son. May your union be fruitful and prosper with a love the realm has not yet seen.” Viserys toasted them with a warm smile. “My dear you will make a wonderful Queen after your mother. You will be a fair, peaceful ruler and a wonderful mother when the time comes.”

A bitter scoff echoed through the room, causing everyone to tense, their gazes searching over the faces of those present to find the culprit. 

Her throat went dry, embarrassment washing over her as she noticed Ser Darick rolling his eyes. Beside her, Aemond stiffened, the murderous glare glinting in his eye once again. He gripped the arms of the chair he sat on, mere seconds away from getting to his feet to beat the guard into oblivion. 

“Is there a problem, Ser?” The King questioned, looking at the guard incredulously. 

Ser Darick didn’t even seem intimidated to have the attention of the most powerful man in Westeros. He seemed to preen under all their gazes, straightening his shoulders as if he were of importance. 

“Apologies for my interruption, Your Grace.” The guard began, his sickly sweet smile never wavering as his eyes landed back on the culprit of his anger, the shaken girl who seemed to shrink under his harsh gaze. 

Aemond clenched his jaw, his hand twitching, desperate to reach for the dagger at his hip.

“You are kind to dole out praises to a whore.” 

Chaos erupted in a matter of seconds. Viserys’ face darkened and he struggled to get to his feet, his voice hoarse as he called for his guards to seize Ser Darick. 

Daemon sprung to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way, his expression dark and full of hatred as he approached the dead man walking, swiftly pulling the sword from his hip. 

But it was Aemond that acted quickest. 

He ignored his wife’s warning as he got to his feet with agile precision, his steps heavy as he marched his way toward the guard. He pulled the dagger from his belt, his teeth grit as he stared the man down with nothing but pure hatred. 

With a swift kick to Ser Darick's hand, Aemond disarmed him before he could pull his sword. Aemond gripped the front of his armor, dragging him forward harshly and swiftly plunged his dagger into the man’s neck without hesitation. 

Gasps and screams sounded behind him at the violent display, but he paid no mind to it. 

He watched with satisfaction as the man’s eyes went dull, the life leaving him slowly as he bled out, finally erasing the smug smile from his face. 

He eased his grip, letting him drop to the floor. 

He turned, coming face to face with Daemon, who had his sword drawn and at the ready. His uncle eyed the dead guard at their feet, with slight disdain for the mere fact that he hadn’t been the one to end his life, before slowly raising his gaze to him, staring at him for a long moment before nodding, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. 

Aemond nodded back, a dark and twisted respect blooming between them in that moment. 

He turned, ignoring the chaos that continued as his family watched on in horror and confusion, a mix of questions, admonishments him for his brashness, praises for his actions, but he heard none of it.

He stepped towards his trembling wife and quickly guided her into his arms, holding her tightly. 

Her eyes were wide, shocked by the violent display, though she couldn’t deny the immediate relief that coursed through her. 

“Thank you.” She whispered shakily.

Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms tightening around her, his silent promise to always protect her. 

~~

Hope you enjoy and sorry it's so long, I can't stop myself xx

[kopilot-pop]

[New Jeans x Oldest Member! Reader] - #1

-imagine.

Summary: You’re the oldest member in NJ. With that title comes alot of responsibilities, from being the support beam for your (not so official) leader to protecting your maknae from rude interviewers. (This is just a bunch of moments of a very protective/warm Y/n.)

Warnings: sickness, fighting(?), protectiveness, cursing, rude people, etc.

A/N: Hey, it’s been a while. So sorry for disappearing for like… 20 days..? I’m back with another NJ fic because alot of people liked the bodyguard one haha. It’s mostly platonic love from Y/n btw. Oh, and lil background info; Y/n's is a 03(a year older than Hanni/Minji) and used to be a dancer before being casted by Hybe.

———————————————————————

#1

“What do you mean she has to come?!”

‘Oh god..’

Minji is furious to say the least.

You’re currently holding a sick Haerin in your arms, rocking her back and forth. The poor girl has been feeling off for a few days at this point and on the day of an important performance, her fever had become unbearable.

Last night, Minji woke up to Haerin crying in pain and woke you up in a panic. Since then, 3 hours has passed and the girl’s fever doesn’t seem to want to go down. Minji quickly went to call the manager to adjust the schedule while you decided to keep watch on Haerin.

“She can’t even stand straight oppa! You seriously can’t expect her to-”

“Listen Minji. This is an important schedule and the producers aren’t gonna be happy if the whole team doesn’t show up. As much as I want to help, it’s just not possible!”

“Ugh!”

Due to all the yelling, the younger girl stirred awake. She stayed quiet, but it was clear to you that she was listening to the conversation.

“Unnie-”

“No. You’re not going to the festival.” You cut her off before she could say anything.

“I.. I can go..! It’s fi-” Haerin fell back into your arms in a coughing fit. After a stern look from you, she finally sighed and snuggled into your chest. Soon after Minji came in - grumbling in frustration.

“I can’t believe him! He-“

“Hey, sweetie, calm down first.” You put Haerin back down on her bed, tucking her in.

“How do you expect me to be calm?! They’re forcing Haerin to perform in this condition! To make things worse, the performance is in the morning, the weather forecast even says it could rain, and, and-” Haerin sat up in the bed, covering herself in the thick blankets. Her wide eyes looked back and forward you and Minji worriedly.

“WOAH, woah, Min, you need to calm down. You’re stressing out Haerin here.”

“Speaking of Haerin- you! Why would you hide the fact that you were sick?! If you told us sooner we could’ve-”

“Kim Minji.”

The moment you saw Haerin’s eyes become watery you decided to shut everything down. Minji, realising her mistake, immediately stopped talking and looked away. You decided to grab her arm and pull her out of the room to talk.

After a few moments of silence, she decided to talk.

“Unnie… I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to be sorry to me. Minji. I know you’re stressed out from all the schedules and practices, and I understand you’re just worried for Haerin. However, that doesn’t mean you can let your frustrations out onto your members.”

“…”

“I know you’re just trying your best and I really appreciate it, but you need to calm down.”

“I just… I’m just worried….” The shorter girl slowly came up to you. You hold her in a tight hug as she sobs quietly into your shoulder.

“Hey, I know, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll give the producers a call, okay? Go get some sleep with Haerin.”

“Mmph..” You wipe away her tears with your sleeve and give her a smile. Minji decides to give you a final hug and go back to her shared room with Haerin.

———————————————————————

#2

“Nope.”

“Y/N!!”

You’re currently in a tiny meeting with the producer of a well known music show. Since you’ve been in the entertainment business for a while, you recognized alot of their faces - including the fuming man you’ve been arguing with for about 20 minutes now.

“Hyein’s 15. I’m not letting you put her in that and that’s final.”

“It’s just a damn skirt-”

“Nope.”

“The fans would want-”

“Nope.”

“We’ve had other idols-“

“Nope.”

“For gods sake! This isn’t about you! The stylists already prepared everything and we aren’t going to change things just because YOU think ‘the skirt’s too short’.”

This whole debacle started with a slight comment from Hyein. She’s preparing for a solo special stage on Music Bank, and you decided to tag along for support..

(1 Hour Ago)

“Hey! You really came!!”

Hyein - in her tall glory - came running towards you, capturing you in a tight hug.

“Oof- Hey bub, good to see you too.”

You give her a slight pat on her head, holding her tightly to your body.

“Hehe, oh-! Have you seen my makeup for today?! It’s really pretty, with jewels, and…”

You watched as the younger girl went on and on about her excitement. It was her first ever stage alone, and you knew the amount of practice and effort she put on just for this moment.

“- and, and the jacket! It’s pink and so cute! Everything’s amazing - well, there is the skirt - but the dancers are just amazing!!”

“Whoah- what? What about the skirt?”

(1 Hour Later)

So you’re now in the waiting room, arguing, while Hyein is practicing in a different room with dancers.

You are extremely protective over your members, and everybody in the building probably knew that. A video of you almost physically fighting with a rude staff (that decided it was okay to threaten Hanni) went viral in the past, so the staffs were looking between you and the producer nervously.

It didn’t help that your face was gradually becoming more sour as the man went on about ‘pleasing the crowd’.

“What do you mean this isn’t about me? That’s your excuse? Hyein’s my teammate, she’s our maknae, and you’re trying to put her in and outfit she’s clearly uncomfortable in - for what? To appeal to disgusting perverts sitting in the crowd just waiting for a wardrobe malfunction?!”

“Of course n-”

“Listen. I’m not telling you to completely change everything in the crowd, all I’m telling you, is to let our stylist change the skirt to the pants she already prepared just in case. I genuinely don't see a single problem with that."

"I-.."

"Unless you're one of the 'perverts in the crowd'."

"How dare y-!"

"I'll take that as a no."

You quickly pushed past the fumbling man - bowing to the stressed staff members - and let out a deep sigh to calm yourself.

You promised to help Hyein rehearse after all.

———————————————————————

#3

There is no doubt in your mind that Danielle is one of the sweetest human beings in the world - and you hate it.

Not that you hate Danielle, god no, it's just that you absolutely hate the people around her that try to take advantage of her sweet personality.

Thankfully, she has scary dog privileges (you).

"Um...haha.. really...?"

You were getting drinks for the group at the vending machine when you faintly heard the younger girls voice from the hallway. In your mind she was supposed to be with the makeup artist, so why was she here?

"Yes! I really, really like you Danielle!"

You dropped the drinks in your hands and sped to where the conversation was.

Near the bathroom you could see Dani gripping onto your jacket(she was cold), nervously smiling at another idol practically cornering her and... confessing his love..?

"I took a long time trying to build up the courage to ask you.. and I was hoping that maybe we could go on a date some time?"

"I'm really flattered... but.. um.."

You could tell she was uncomfortable. She was stuttering, trying her best to form a refusal, but you knew your Dani hated saying no - especially when she knew the other person would be heartbroken by it.

You hesitated choosing between stepping in and just watching until either Dani says something or the boy leaves, but that was all thrown out the window when he decided to grab her before she could back away.

"Hey."

The young boy visibly froze up at your deep voice.

He was tall for his age, but still alot shorter than you. He nervously turned around and the moment he saw your face he could tell you were not happy.

"Oh! Um hello su-"

"We need to prepare for the stage Dani. Come on."

You lightly slapped his arm way and pulled her into yours, quickly making your way to your group's waiting room.

As soon as the door shut, you were finally able to check on her.

"You okay? He didn't do anything did he?"

"I'm fine unnie! Thank you so much.. I just didn't know how to tell him I wasn't looking to date anyone... He's one of my new friends, and I didn't really want to lose him, and I didn't want him to feel bad - oh no! I just left him there! Oh, maybe I should go back-" The younger girl started to ramble her worries, making you slightly panic.

"Hey! It's okay! He's gonna be fine.. And Dani! You can't always say y-........ nevermind.." You sighed.

You definitely hate how her puppy eyes make you weak, too.

———————————————————————

#4

It's a casual day off at the New Jeans house.

Just like any other break day, you decided to take a long nap on the couch. Quiet, peaceful, and not a single soul wanting to bother y-

"Nevermind..." You sighed.

That thought was shattered into pieces when you woke up on the couch with Hanni on top of you.

You have a warm body in general and all the girls usually used you like a heater whenever they were cold, huddling into you like baby penguins surrounding their mother.

That included cuddling into your arms whenever they caught you taking a nap on the couch.

So when you stirred awake, you weren't surprised to find Hanni (Y/n Heater's #1 fan) lying on top of you, spread like a flying squirrel.

'Ah, who cares.'

You decided to just go back to sleep, right hand holding the younger steady just in case she falls like last time.

-

You woke back up abut 30 minutes later to find that your chest has gotten heavier.

You tiredly opened one eye to see that another body - Hyein - has been added to your napping form. You were honestly used to this by now, and decided go back to sleep - already expecting at least one more addition to the pile when you wake back up.

-

"Unnie..."

'There it is.'

20 minutes later, you woke back up to the sound of a soft voice calling for you.

You lazily opened your eyes to see Danielle standing next to you awkwardly.

"Hmm? Need somethin' sunshine?"

"...Can I join..?"

You stared at her in disbelief before letting out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah sure, might be a tight squeeze though- oof!"

The moment you approved she rammed into your side, squeezing next to Hanni. She was slightly hanging off the edge, so in a second you held on tight to her arms - just in case.

You let out content sigh while falling back asleep.

-

It was 4 hours after you started you nap when you awoke for the 4th time.

You opened your eyes to see two lumps on the floor next to the couch. Minji was awake, watching the TV on a low volume, while Haerin was lying on the floor with her head in Minji's lap - lightly snoring.

"She's practically purring, huh?"

Minji - slightly jumped by your voice - let out a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, she seemed tired."

"Hmm... aren't you?"

"I just enjoy seeing you guys like this."

"This? This is basically going to the gym. Have you ever carried 3 bodies on your chest?"

She let out a giggle.

"No, but what I meant is that I enjoy seeing you guys happy like this."

"Hah."

"Don't laugh! I mean it."

She lightly leaned back for her head to rest on your shoulder.

"It's peaceful. And I love it."

———————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading. Love y'all <3

[lunar-and-ardent]

The relationship of Tecna and Timmy is so romantic.

It may be not as visible, because the show has couples being romantic in a more classical way, but Timmy and Tecna actually have so many tender, gentle and vulnerable moments. They are so sweet together, and awkward, and then out of nowhere hit you with the deepest scenes imaginable. They are so Jane-Austen's-characters'-coded lol.

Like this short scene of a game from season 2 (first gif)??? This is so romantic and sensual, you wouldn't expect it from them.

Their conflict in the second season was that Tecna at first cared about rather performative bravery (literal fighting, close combat) + wanted something more than just talking about their hyperfixation. Timmy, on the other hand, thought in a more logical way: he knew his strengths, and that he's better at strategy and computers, and wasn't interested in posing as a hero just to feel good about himself (this scene where he realizes he isn't strong enough against Trix and so he gives away the Codex). He also wanted to get closer to Tecna, so it makes sense he tried to connect on their common hobby, at first not realizing that Tecna, with her emotional growth, started to want a little more than this. And you can understand them both, and both have good points.

And Timmy is a freaking badass. He always thinks logically (I'd argue that even more than Tecna, like this scene with Codex, where she called him a coward for not doing something that was doomed from the start), and so the scene in the third season hits so much. You know which one. All Winx cry and Riven tries to comfort Timmy (I really like the fact it's Riven who does that btw, but this is a material for another post), trying to bring reason to him, politely saying that there's no way Tecna is still alive, and Timmy says in a calm and sure way that he knows she is alive. If Timmy says something like that, you know he's right.

I guess the scene from the second season, when Winx go to fight Lord Darkar and specialists stay at the back, sums up their relationship in the best way: Timmy stays inside the ship, because it is his role to navigate it, and he and Tecna look at each other, just sighing each other's names (though they cannot hear it). Their love is so, so deep. And a relationship like the one they have wouldn't fit everyone, since both of them don't need to spend as much time together as others, nor do they have to say as much (but if they say how much they love each other, oh they say it), and they both share their hyperfixation/special interest, but all of this works perfectly for them. They're a match made in heaven. And come to think of that, we have this popular fanon that Tecna is on the spectrum of autism, but I wonder if there is any fanon like this for Timmy? I also feel like being demisexual or graysexual fits them both (maybe I just like the idea of Tecna, a character whose main arc is understanding and expressing emotions, feeling sexual desire only to someone who she has a strong connection with, I guess it feels kinda poetic to me).

[oh-stars]

Eternity

Love is being willing to wait for them.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 2085 words | CW: anxiety, sort of unrequited love | Rating: T

--

“Can we talk?” Eddie whispers, a hand on Steve’s elbow, “Just us?” 

Steve nods, a tight smile on his face that he hopes doesn’t come off as uncomfortable as it feels. “Later?” He motions to the bowl of popcorn he’s carrying. “I can come over after?”

“Later,” Eddie says, his eyes warm and bright as he gives the tiniest smile in return. He doesn’t seem to notice how tense Steve’s body is as he squeezes his arm and leaves him in the kitchen, slinking back into the Wheeler basement. 

It takes all of three seconds before Steve’s face is falling and his heart is threatening to explode. He knows what this is about. Knows that when he heads over to the Munson trailer, he’ll have to face the music. 

Over the past few months, Eddie Munson has filled a gaping hole in Steve’s chest – with his wicked sense of humor and strong convictions that flip the norm inside out. He’s given Steve something he’s been missing for so long, long before he and Tommy H stopped hanging out and the social pressure became too much: a friend. 

But he’s more than that, isn’t he? 

Steve takes a deep breath and shoves everything into a box deep in his mind, like he’s been doing since he saved Eddie back in March (since Dave Easom used him to train the new lifeguards, his bare chest rubbing against Steve’s back, strong arms holding him up as big hands held him tightly). He has to perform, has to be the guy everyone expects him to be, just a little while longer. 

Robin pats the seat beside her when he finds his way back to the basement. 

He hands her the bowl and drops down onto the creaky couch. “What’d I miss?” 

“Jeff came up with this plan for the guys to split up, but Nancy thinks splitting up is a bad idea and will lead to a trap. And since they know that one of the pathways is an illusion, she’s not sure it's worth the risk. They’ve been arguing in circles and I’m pretty sure their in-fighting was a part of Eddie’s plan all along,” she says in between bites of popcorn. “Honestly, they all need to listen to Erica and just trick the wizard into revealing the illusion so they eliminate one of their choices.” 

“So more of the same?” Steve asks. 

Robin hums. “Precisely.” 

Steve slouches and rests his head on her shoulder. She wiggles under him and the next thing he knows, he’s laying on top of her while her non-buttery hand runs through his hair and she shovels popcorn into her mouth with the other. 

The drill of the game and the soothing motions of Robin’s hand in his hair lull Steve into that space between consciousness and sleep he both loves and hates. His thoughts wander, circling Eddie like a flock of vultures ready to swoop in and rip the false sense of security Steve has. 

Because he knows Eddie wants to talk about them. And Steve wants there to be a Them, but… 

How can he give himself over to another person when time after time everyone has proven he’s unable to provide in a relationship? When he doesn’t know how to open himself up and be vulnerable with the person who is meant to know everything? He’s just a bullshit version of who he thinks he’s supposed to be – he doesn’t know how to be a real person. 

And Eddie deserves that! He deserves to have someone who can be there for him wholly and with enthusiasm. 

Steve’s just not sure he can do that. Not when he’s barely acknowledging the flutter in his stomach when Eddie says his name or looks his way. Not when he genuinely feels like he could be sick when he thinks of his father finding out. Not when all he wants to do is hold Eddie’s hand while they walk down on Main Street, but they can’t without risking their goddamn lives. 

Eddie can barely exist on his own, was already the town pariah for his music and clothing choices, for the things he’s interested in that were completely harmless long before the murderer propaganda started. Being in a public relationship with a man is not going to do him any favors. 

And Steve’s not sure he can sneak around. That’s just… He doesn’t know how to contain himself in small increments; he’s either all in or burying it all deep for no one to find. 

He buries his head into Robin’s shoulder. She has an idea about his feelings and the labels he refuses to give himself. She knows how flustered Eddie makes him, is ready to tease him for falling for the man whenever Steve is, but until then, she’s a rock. Solid and steady, offering support when needed, but letting Steve process it at his own speed. 

“I need to come over tonight,” he whispers to Robin. “Eddie wants to talk.” 

“Oh,” Robin says, cupping the back of Steve’s head briefly. “I’ll have all your favorites ready for you when you get to my house.” 

Steve doesn’t have to say anything or force a smile. She gets it. 

The game ends too quickly and the kids are dropped off to their respective destinations even quicker, so Steve makes his way over to Forest Hills and tries to capture whatever confidence has escaped him over the last few weeks. Wayne’s truck is gone when he pulls up, but the lights on the van are still on, Eddie must have just gotten home. 

He can do this. 

Steve climbs out of the Beemer and pockets his keys. He makes it up two steps before Eddie’s opening the door for him, grinning way too big for the heartbreak Steve’s about to give him. 

Because that’s what this is: Steve’s about to break Eddie’s heart. 

He wants to be able to be with Eddie fully, but he knows that’s not fair. Not when someone else could give him more before Steve’s able to. 

“You got here quick,” Eddie says as they settle on the couch. He’s so open with his body language: back against the corner of the couch, one leg crossed over the other so his ankle dangles off his knee, arm along the back of the couch, elbow propping his head up on the arm of the chair. There’s this easy going smile on his face too, like he’s luxuriating in whatever he’s experiencing. 

“Yeah,” he says. Steve doesn’t feel too bad about still wearing his shoes, needing them for a quick escape, when Eddie’s boots are still on his feet, laces undone. He doesn’t let himself lean back into the couch, no matter how much it wants to suck him in. 

Eddie waits a full beat before he jumps up, shifting so his body faces Steve and his hands are in his lap, fingers worrying around one another. “So,” he draws out, “I have something I need to tell you.” 

Part of Steve feels like he should stop Eddie, to cushion some of the blow before Eddie puts his heart on the line, but he can’t. He’s frozen in place and foolishly thinking there’s still time for Eddie to say something else. For all he knows, Eddie’s about to invite him to play Dungeons & Dragons or something! 

Who is he kidding? 

“Okay,” Steve says, feeling like he’s outside of himself. 

Eddie clears his throat and pushes his shoulders back as he reaches for Steve’s hand. “You have been a really great friend, probably the best I’ve had who knows my secret. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I… I can’t imagine my life without you, man.” 

“Eddie,” Steve whispers. 

“No, no, just hear me out,” Eddie says, scooting closer. “I’m alive because of you. And I was able to recover and stay alive because of you. I… Dude, I’ve shared more with you than I’ve ever been comfortable sharing with anyone.” His voice drops down to a whisper as it trembles a little. Eddie blinks harshly and looks up to the popcorn ceiling. “I’m tired of running, Steve, so I’m just going to say it. There’s… something here, Stevie. I can feel it. And maybe it’s one-sided and I’m projecting how I feel onto you, but I don’t think so. I think you can feel it, too.” 

Steve feels himself shifting back, his leg bouncing with the need to go. 

Eddie takes another deep breath and moves so they’re eyes are locked. “I love you, Steve Harrington.” 

His eyes are watering. How long has he waited for someone to say those words first? And now he can’t even accept them. 

“Eddie, I…” 

Eddie’s smile dims as his eyes grow softer. “I know,” he says softly. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” 

“It is,” Eddie says, squeezing Steve’s hands. He’s so close their knees knock against one another. Steve feels like his body is about to split down the middle, one half needing to be closer to him and the other wanting to get as far away as possible. “Because we’re going to be okay.”

Steve cocks his head to the side. “What?” 

Eddie just nods like it’s the most obvious statement possible. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Steve and Eddie will be okay. “Do you trust me?” Eddie asks, his voice a little stronger. 

“Of course,” Steve says quickly. 

That gets the bright smile back on Eddie’s face. “I didn’t tell you how I feel for you to act on it,” he admits. “I needed to tell you so you knew, in case you were scared to say it first, but I don’t expect you to get down on one knee and profess your undying love to me. But our friendship is special and strong enough that I think I can tell you about my feelings and it won’t change things too much. I know you won’t hate me for it and maybe you’ll reciprocate one day, maybe you won’t,” Eddie shrugs, “but at least I’m being honest with you.” 

Steve has to look away. “And if I can’t?” 

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” 

“Be honest with you?” Steve says through the lump in his throat. 

There’s a big, heavy pause as Eddie pulls away from him slightly. Not enough to leave the bubble they’ve created, but Steve feels his absence anyway. “Are you… are you keeping the truth from me to hurt me?” 

“No,” Steve says, looking back to see a very pensive Eddie. 

“Are you doing it to deceive someone or something?”

“I’m not like that,” Steve says. 

Eddie nods. “I know, I know. But if those things are true, and you’re keeping the truth because you need to for yourself, then we’re okay. I’ll always be here; so whenever you’re ready to tell me whatever it is, I’ll be here to listen.” 

“Even if it takes forever?” Steve whispers. 

“Baby, I’d wait an eternity to hear what you have to say.” 

Steve turns his body fully to Eddie and fills his chest with the same air Eddie’s breathing, the air that's fueling him to push through the nerves and put himself out there. “I’m working through things. You said you’ve, um, known you liked boys since you were a kid?” 

Eddie nods, takes Steve’s hand in his again. 

“And you’ve never done the relationship thing, have you?” 

“Not exactly a large dating pool for kids like me,” Eddie says with a hollow laugh. 

Steve nods, biting at his lip. “I, um.” He clears his throat. “I need time to, like, figure my shit out. Because you’re not… wrong. It’s not one-sided,” he admits, glancing up to see the surprise and hope fill Eddie’s eyes. “But I’m not… I need time.” 

“So take it,” Eddie says. “However long you need.” 

“I can’t ask you to wait for me–” 

“You’re not,” Eddie says as he takes Steve’s face in his. He runs his thumb along Steve’s cheek. “I’m offering it. I’ll wait as long as you need.” 

Steve just nods, leaning into Eddie’s touch. He’s going to have a lot to talk with Robin about tonight. Eddie may be willing to wait until the end of time for him, but Steve wants to feel this – the hope, the energy shared between them, the love that lies in the undercurrent of every word, action, and breath – as soon as possible. 

“Thank you,” he whispers as he kisses the palm of Eddie’s hand. 

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

[black-dhalias]

To Belong

Leah Clearwater X Vampire!Reader

It wasn’t supposed to be like this—you were a lover of the arts and prospective ballerina. You were an artist. A performer and perfectionist. A lover, not really a fighter at all. You were graceful and kind, and you were good. You had a million and one dreams, and a future with so many hopes.

And in a flash, you had none of it.

When you felt the venom pound through your veins, you had hoped for death. The flurry of red hair was all you could remember of those last moments, that, and that you were going to be late for your audition.

“Smell this.” You do and pass the short along, the humans scent clings to it and now to you—without a doubt, all you knew these last months was orders. Do as your told and make it to the next day. You only knew bloodlust, no more dreams to keep your sanity together.

Everything was different, even the temporary sun of Seattle seemed to sing a different song. You had no dance left in you at all. Yet despite the subtle knowledge that you’re going to die before the end of this, you continue to follow the rules.

You just can’t bring yourself to care at all, you already lost everything—Riley made sure you knew that much. In the end, there’s nothing left of your life to return to. You move with the others—you don’t belong here though. You never belonged with them. You stop, the moment Riley separates from the group—the moment you heard the onslaught of growls. You stop completely in your tracks.

You don’t want to die.

You back into the rocks and drop down, knowing only one thing—that this is not your fight. “My name is Y/N.” You close your eyes. “I’m 18 years old.” Knees brace against your chest. “I was a ballet dancer. I died.” The sound of shattering bodies makes you squint harder, every sound sends a ricochet through you.

Make it go away.

“My name is Y/N. I died, and I just want to go home.” It has to go away, you don’t want this. You wish they would have just killed you.

“Hi Y/N.” You look up at the man with golden blonde hair and striking gold eyes. You would be crying, you want to cry. You don’t move, preparing yourself to die.

“I’m sorry—I-I don’t—” You shake your head, “I can’t—I don’t want to do this.” You are pleading with the gods more than him, wishing they’ll have mercy on you when it’s all done. You used to believe in god.

“Shhhh….” He soothes, “it’s okay… We won’t hurt you…” you follow him hesitantly, anxious to even be walking… You are their enemy, but they do not attack—they watch you with feverish pity, you hat their pity even more.

You did not expect the wolves, but in spite of your fear—you cannot look away from one of the smaller gray wolves. And if you weren’t on edge. You would almost say that they were watching you.

It all came down to a trade, Bree died and you lived—the insistence of the Cullens had saved you. Even though you came here to kill their human, they defended you. One of them even argued it had to be you. They were convincing enough.

Days turned to weeks and then weeks into months—the diet came easier than it sounded. Your eyes had begun to shift to a deep shade of gold. You almost hated yourself a little less. You put on a smile and walk in the direction of the stairs before stopping at the sight of—well you’ve never met her. Yet those eyes are familiar. Hair cropped short and dark, lips full and god those eyes.

“Sorry, I had to meet you.” Her apology is confusing, you tilt your head as you stop yourself from moving. You want to be close, but something in the way she is away—it makes you think that she doesn’t want you close.

“I know you.”

“Yeah we met once.” You nod, finally taking. A step forward and she steps back to match.

“The battle…” She nods, arms around her torso. “You were the little wolf.” This time she hesitates and does not move as you take another step down.

“Like I said, I had to meet you just once.” She swallows, studying how you move and every facet of your appearance. It’s a little like seeing the sun after years of being in the dark. Leah did not know what it meant to long for something, not in this way, until she had spent months battling every instinct. While a part of her is drawn to you, the other half is furious at the universe.

If she would have gone to Seattle a day before you were turned, bumped into you just once. Leah would have been there, but now you are a vampire. You were everything she was supposed to hate. And despite you being a stranger and a bloodsucker—she hates you less than most.

“I’m Y/N—” Leah knew your name, she had obsessed over you for months—hours googling you. Your missing persons report and family posts, they were shocking and painful. They were full of blistered memories from people who knew you better, but they pained Leah.

“Leah.” You smile and Leah loses herself for a moment, had tried to tell herself that she would feel nothing because you weren’t human. But she feels every second of your presence. In another universe. But Leah was certain the moment you smiled, that even in this universe—she chooses you.

“Well Leah, we have officially met now.” Yeah and now she doesn’t know what to say, and she rocks onto the balls of her feet. You can hear how hard her heart pounds, racing. “I do have to go right now, but I can give you my number?” Leah nods, takes it down and follows you out of the house. You don’t seem like a vampire at all, you seem oddly human.

“Bye Leah.” Then you are gone and Leah is on the porch, in quiet and calm.

“Bye.”

How long are you supposed to wait? When is it appropriate for Leah to hit send on a message? She had rewrote it a hundred times already. An hour. Leah hits send… Oh, god it was too quick. She begins to panic, rolling over in bed.

‘Hey! I was just about to text you!’

Her lips form into a smile, all of these good things and at the same time, the worry mounts once more. What is she supposed to say?

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to bother you since you rushed out.’

Read, god she really hopes you feel anxious too, terrified that she is reading too much into this. Terrified of even thinking about the one thing that she knows for certain—that she is already caught up in you.

You smile at your phone, leaning into the couch.

‘You don’t bother me at all.’

You type it all so fast and hit send. You almost don’t hate yourself as you go back and forth with her.

‘Good lol. So what’re you up to?’

That was the beginning of one long conversation—no one ever said good night or good morning, everything just continued. Over and over, on the daily. Leah had wrecked her sleep schedule just to see your name grace her screen.

It made everyday worth while.

It was late, your voice echoes over speaker… Leah was hushed, her voice groggy as she tells you about her day.

“Leah?” She hmmms and you continue. “Get some rest. We-”

Leah interjects: “Just talk—I just—”

“Okay.” You rummage through the shelves as quickly as possible, and return to the. All before she even knows you are gone.

“Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number 4 Privot drive, we’re proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” You hear her laugh on the other end of the call, sleep intertwined with the sound.

“Harry Potter, really?” You kind of chuckle, pausing as you listen.

“I never read it.” You were so odd with how you said it, like it was the simplest thing in the world. She never questioned it further and as your voice lulled her to sleep—you can help your smile.

Seth tosses a cream colored envelope in her direction as they sit at the table, his other hand holding the muffin he’s devouring. While the letter itself is unexpected, the scent on it is familiar and known. She tears into the envelope quickly, watching an invitation fall out with messy writing in the corner.

Her eyes draw to the signature first— Y/N.

Leah wonders if you know what you do to her head, the mess you have caused and the inhibitions you have broken. Nothing about you was simple, and it drove her wild. She had only been talking to you actively for a month, but it was like she had known you for years.

Hey Leah!

Not sure if you’ll come, but I really could use some company at this wedding. And I’d rather it be you.

Love Y/N

It was that easy. Leah suddenly was invited to a wedding for people she barely tolerates and she’ll be there with a smile. She hadn’t seen you since you gave her your phone number, and since then—you had consumed her every waking thought.

“So you’re going?” Leah glances up at Seth, shrugging her shoulders—trying to seem nonchalant.

“Yeah, I guess.” Seth rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his muffin.

“Ya know, you imprinted on her. It’s okay to, ya know—be excited about getting to go with her.” Leah again shrugs, really looking at the way your writing jumps out. Your name. “You’re impossible, Leah.”

.

.

Leah tucks her hair behind her ears, trying her best to not to look as giddy as she feels. She had ruined her sleep to talk to you, and spent half her day waiting for your name to brighten up her phone.

‘I’m here’—Leah hits send, almost instantly the message is read and she smiles. Watching those three little dots…. Anticipation…. They disappear, and her heart drops.

“Leah!” She looks up and spots you at the top of the stairs—stunning. This definitely beats phone calls and text messages, because you just exist and Leah is absolutely enamored. “Oh I’m glad you made it!” You were halfway down the stairs before Leah could bring herself to even notice how beautiful you looked. Your hair done up, and eyes glittering the brightest shade of gold—like rich caramel, or amber. Or how you were wearing slacks with a vibrant maroon button down, and somehow was both feminine and masculine. Lips shaded a brilliant red.

“I see now why you had me wear maroon—” The way your expression seems to lift, eyes brightening… Leah is certain that you would be blushing.

“I thought the color would suit you.”

“Or you just wanted us to match?” You again, get that look as she points out exactly what you were thinking. You liked Leah, a lot more than anticipated and enjoyed the closeness.

“The color does look nice on you. I wouldn’t peg you as someone to like dresses.” She kind of half shrugs, again trying to seem as nonchalant as she can be. However, unconsciously—as she rocks on her heels, you note the way the dress moves just a little. You wonder if she’d make your heart race? Would she? Could she?

You don’t know where the confidence comes from—where you found the nerve to grab her hand as you lead her into the wedding. You knew next to no one here, besides her and the Cullens; everyone else was a stranger. Sure you knew Seth’s voice from the times he’d interrupt Leah on the phone. Sure you knew of people, but you didn’t know any of them.

Which made it that much easier, because she was pretty much the only person you needed nowadays. At first, Leah is hesitant to accept the way your hand felt—it was cold, but it was not uncomfortable. It was firm, but again, not uncomfortable. Nothing about you made her uncomfortable at all.

Being near you was as easy as breathing for Leah.

The Cullens took you in, and protected you when the Volturi wanted nothing more than to kill you. They gave you a home when you were certain you had nothing left to have.

“We’re outnumbered.” You tense up, you aren’t a newborn anymore, but you are close enough and you draw in on that strength.

“By a lot.” For family right? That’s what this is all about, and even as you stand adjacent to Alice—you wonder where you would be without them? Dead. That’s the only answer.

“I won’t let them hurt my family.” You tighten your stance, preparing yourself all at once for the oncoming assault.

“Neither will I.” It’s the four of you versus everyone else, just you against the wolves and it seems like every time you are certain you can breathe. Another wolf takes their place.

Even when the others arrive, you are left pinned—hands barred on either side of a wolves jaw. Screaming for help. You turn your head to the side, saving yourself from the teeth—hair tangling with the dirt. You hear a growl, eyes opening to see Leah moving quickly. For a moment, you are back at the battle field. The moment that changed everything, and gave you a second chance.

Once Leah is in front of you, the wolves redirect their attacks—avoiding you at every turn.

Leah’s body is wrapped almost entirely around you, spooning you close as her arms lazily hang over your shoulders. Her cheek pressing against the side of your head. Something about the way her heart beats, it soothes your soul.

“Why’d they stop attacking me?” Every muscle in her body seems to tense, just slightly, but enough for you to notice the change.

“Because I’d kick all their butts before they got to you.” You smile lightly, enjoying the sound of her voice as she smiles back—laughing just a little. But the way the sound catches in her throat, it tells you that there’s more to it.

“Cute, but really? Why? It made no sense, one second I was a prime rib and the next—it was like they were avoiding me.”

“Are you really questioning why they didn’t want to kill you anymore?” You kind of shifts your body so that you are facing her, still leaning into her—her fingers ghosting over your face to brush the hair out of your face.

“Yeah because I think there’s something you’re not telling me.” Leah purses her lips, you can see the thoughts physically forming in her head—like she’s trying to come up with a good story. You see her kind of give in, face relaxing as she sighs—tightening her grasp on you.

Nervous, you try to soothe her worries—laying across her chest, head tucked into the spot between her neck and shoulder. Arms wound around her as you listen to the lull of her heart. Even with the way the air catches in her throat, the sudden shift in her demeanor.

“I imprinted.” Your brow contorts, only hearing of imprinting one time before—sacred. That’s how Edward described it. “And if they hurt you, they would have broken everything we believe in.” Leah’s throat tightens, she had wondered many times of things would be different? What would have happened if you were human? Would she care more? Would she know you?

“Do you love me?” It was that simple, you didn’t ask the big questions or the complicated ones. Your eyes were wide and for a moment she just studied your expression, it was a half as second.

“Imprint or not, I’d love you either way.” Maybe it would have taken longer, but it didn’t matter because she has you now. Your sweet smile, it’s all Leah needs to know that much. She would have found you eventually.

“Good.” You hum out the word, smiling as you lean in to place a soft kiss on her lips.

[washingtonmarvel]

Since my first post about Charmion only scratched the surface, I thought I'd give some more info about a few different aspects of her story here. I hope everyone finds it worth reading.

First, Charmion was a marketing genius. She was one of the most photographed people in show business, her flexed arms ubiquitous in the newspapers of the era, and she gave out free pinback buttons with her image on them at each show. Charmion herself reported in 1905 that she’d given out a quarter of a million buttons over the previous year. I don't know how accurate that number is, but there was definitely a huge number produced and you can often find them for pretty affordable prices on eBay to this day. Charmion would also sometimes give away chocolates, clothes, and other souvenirs to the women in the audience.

Second, during her travels, Charmion made time to personally advise women who needed help with their fitness goals. During her time in New Orleans in 1902, for example, she let it be known that the hours of 5 to 7 would be set aside for any woman wanting a “conference” with her to discuss matters relating to “physical culture.”

Third, Charmion could be considered one of the first female bodybuilders. Through rigorous workouts (including curling fifty-to-seventy-pound dumbbells and one-hour bag-punching sessions), Charmion intentionally tried to build her muscles as large as possible, which was incredibly rare for a woman in that era. Even circus strongwomen, who showed off their strength publicly, often downplayed their muscularity, but Charmion was eager to show off her muscles and actively tried to grow them. Apparently, it worked. By her own account, when she began her career the (already very fit) Charmion weighed 98 pounds at a height of 5’1”. She afterward gained enough muscle that by 1902, she was a solid 130 pounds. Charmion would’ve also felt at home with modern bodybuilders in the sense that on-stage posing was a major part of her performances. After she had finished disrobing on the trapeze, she would conclude her show by standing onstage and flexing her biceps before turning around and displaying her back muscles. The audiences were as flabbergasted as you’d expect. “When she hunches her back,” said one newspaper, “it looks like a cage of boa-constrictors interlaced in a snake-fight”; “her shoulders and arms appear a knotted mass of muscles,” said another.

The less pleasant aspects of Charmion's story are the misogyny and prudishness that Charmion dealt with with throughout her career. There were attempts (some successful, some not) to ban her act in New York, New Orleans, London, and Berlin, and she had to contend with right-wing attacks throughout her career. Here are a few newspaper quotations to show the kind of opposition she encountered:

Times Herald (Washington, D. C.), May 10, 1898: “Her performance is a simple attempt to provoke all the lower passions of which mankind is capable, without passing the limit the law has placed on such an exhibition. It is for this reason that Charmion is revoltingly disgusting, coarse and disagreeable. It is because of this that no man, who realizes what he is doing, or respects himself, will care to take his mother or sister to the National Theater this week.”

Sioux City Journal, May 15, 1898: “Charmion’s object in her trapeze act is indecency.”

The Times (Washington, D. C.), May 15, 1898: “It seems revolting to think that men would go to a place of amusement with the sole idea of witnessing such a performance, but that women should willingly accompany them is nothing less than disgusting.”

The Courier and Argus (Dundee, Scotland), Aug. 5, 1898: “…it is scarcely possible to conceal the fact that Charmion’s performance takes us very much nearer to the frank indecencies of the Parisian variety theatres than we have hitherto strayed.”

Daily Gleaner (Fredericton, New Brunswick), Oct. 26, 1898: “we hail with gratification the drastic criticism by a section of the New York press of such debasing performances as those first given by a woman called Charmion…Charmion’s act had grace and beauty to recommend it, and except that it was performed by a woman it was no worse than the undressing act of the equestriam [sic] acrobat in the circus; but it was the natural forerunner of the others, and so should never have been permitted in a theatre making pretence to decency.”

The Times, January 1, 1899: “Charmion’s ‘turn’ was revolting.”

Toronto Saturday Night, January 18, 1902 [speaking about Charmion disrobing on the trapeze] “There is an unpleasant suggestiveness inseparable from such an act.”

The Kansas City Star, September 19, 1904: “Her turn is offensive to modesty.”

As infuriating as these comments are, the happy irony of the conservative attacks on Charmion is that they only made her more powerful. As even her critics sometimes admitted, the controversy stirred up by those critics served to make her act more intriguing and helped increase her popularity. For a woman devoted to liberating women from the constraints placed on them by the society, her message must have been even more meaningful because so many men tried to constrain her and she overcame that adversity. You can see how little success her critics had by the fact she was one of the most popular vaudeville stars in the world, sometimes earning the equivalent of almost $20,000 per week in today’s money.

Of course, not all men disapproved of Charmion’s act, and she had her fair share of male fans. But almost all her critics were men. And though there must have been lesser-known female critics, there’s only one example I can find of a woman (at least initially) disapproving of her. That woman was Elizabeth Grannis, president of the Purity League, an organization that supported the kind of repression and prudishness that Charmion fought against her whole career. Grannis, with a committee of Purity League members, attended a performance one day in 1901 to “judge for themselves” whether the act was as “impure" as alleged. After the performance (during which Charmion daringly threw a garter into Grannis’s box), a local newspaper said, surprisingly, that Grannis “was pleased by the things done and undone by the actress” and “was delighted with the actress’ control of her muscular system.” Charmion, likely not a fan of the Purity League, was not mollified by the praise. Asked about Grannis later, she bluntly said, “I scarcely approve of her.”

If you all are still interested, I’ll share more posts about Charmion. I’m mildly obsessed with her and there’s loads more fun facts and stories about her. Thanks for reading.

[vir-tanadahl]

The Herald and the Wolf

Summary: AU. After Felassan fails to secure the eluvian password, Solas summons him to Haven to assist in addressing the rising threat of Corypheus. When the situation takes a dire turn, Felassan accompanies Solas in joining the Inquisition. It isn’t long before Felassan recognizes that Marel Lavellan holds the key to saving this world—and possibly to altering Solas’s own plans. Find on Ao3!

Chapter 3: Herald of Reluctance

The lush greenery of the Hinterlands stretched out before the party, sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above. As they approached the Inquisition’s makeshift camp, Scout Harding stepped forward, her face lighting up as she spotted them. "Herald of Andraste!" Harding exclaimed, a wide smile on her face. "I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach."

Marel stiffened, gripping her staff tighter. "I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that," she replied, her tone polite but firm. Harding hesitated, her smile faltering slightly. "Right, of course. It’s just—well, it’s not every day you meet someone who’s saved the world. But don’t worry, you won’t get any back talk from me."

Harding cleared her throat, steadying herself. "The situation is dire," she said grimly. "We came to secure horses from Dennet, Redcliffe's horsemaster. His herd is the best, but the mage-templar fighting has cut us off."

"Then we’d best get moving," Marel said, her voice steady despite the growing weight on her shoulders. Harding nodded. "Good luck. We’re counting on you." With that, she turned back to her scouts, leaving the party to prepare for their journey.

The party moved along the winding dirt path, the Hinterlands coming alive with the sounds of birds and distant rustling. It was a brief moment of peace before the chaos they knew awaited them. "I’ll say one thing about these Andraste-worshiping folks," Varric said, breaking the silence. "They’re enthusiastic. That whole ‘Herald of Andraste’ chant? Catchy, if you’re into that sort of thing."

Marel shot him a flat look. "I’m not."

"It is not about what you prefer," Cassandra interjected sharply, "the people see you as a sign of hope. You could try to honor that."

Marel stopped mid-step, turning to face Cassandra. "Honor it? I never asked for this. I don’t believe in the Maker, and Andraste isn’t my goddess. I’m Dalish—I follow the elven gods. Do you really think I should lie to these people?"

Felassan, leaning casually on his staff, grinned. "Ah, but aren’t lies the foundation of most faiths? You’re already halfway to being a prophet." Cassandra's eyes narrowed as she glared at Felassan. "You are not helping," Cassandra snapped, her tone sharp.

Marel glanced at Felassan, her annoyance tempered by the faintest hint of amusement. "You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to argue that point."

Solas, walking beside them, spoke with his usual calm. "The truth is often irrelevant in the face of perception. They see what they wish to see. Fighting it may be futile."

"So, you think I should just go along with this?" Marel snapped, her voice rising as she threw up her hands in frustration. She paced a few steps, her movements sharp and restless.

"Pretend to be their ‘Herald’? After everything?" She turned back, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and disbelief. "I barely escaped with my life after that explosion, and now they expect me to—what?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed on. "Lead their prayers? Perform miracles?" Her hands fell to her sides, clenched into fists as the weight of it all pressed down on her.

"You are the only one who survived that explosion," Cassandra said firmly. "The mark on your hand proves that you have a connection to what happened. Whether you like it or not, you are the Herald."

"No," Marel snapped, stepping closer to Cassandra, her voice sharp. "I am Marel Lavellan of Clan Lavellan. First to Keeper Deshanna. Not the Herald of your Maker. My people have endured centuries of your kind’s disregard for our beliefs, and now you want me to carry your banner?"

Felassan shot a sidelong glance at Solas, whose serene gaze met his own with maddening composure. There was no need for words; the faint lift of Solas’s brow and the quiet, almost imperceptible curve of his lips spoke volumes: As I expected.

"This is not about your pride or your faith," Cassandra shot back, her voice rising. "This is about saving lives. If calling you the Herald keeps people from falling into despair, then you must endure it."

"Whoa, whoa," Varric said, stepping between them with his hands raised. "Let’s save the fireworks for the bandits, yeah? Marel, I get it—you don’t want the title. Cassandra, you’re all about duty. But can we agree that yelling at each other isn’t going to get us to Giselle any faster?"

Felassan, undeterred by the pointed look from Solas, responded with a broad, unrepentant grin. “And here I thought we’d all get along splendidly. Disappointing," he said, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. Marel sighed, shooting a glare at Felassan before turning back to Cassandra. "I’ll help because I must. Because I’m the only one who can close these rifts. But don’t expect me to embrace this role you’ve thrust on me."

"That is all I ask," Cassandra replied, her tone clipped but with a hint of relenting. Marel frowned but gave a small nod. "Let’s just keep moving."

As the group made their way along the rough dirt path, they soon came upon the Crossroads. In the distance, they could see a group of Inquisition soldiers locked in a fierce battle against templars Cassandra drew her sword and barked orders, quickly recognizing the templars were protecting refugees. Varric readied his crossbow, quipping, "Looks like they need help."

The battle raged fiercely. Cassandra parried blows, shouting, "We are not apostates!" Felassan, ever wry, added, "Depends who you ask—helpful?" As the last templar fell, rebel mages surged in. Solas raised his staff, urging calm, but a fiery blast narrowly missed Varric. Marel swiftly cast a protective barrier. "Focus! More incoming!" Marel yelled. When the dust settled, Cassandra scanned the field and declared, "It's over."

Felassan slid into step beside Marel, his usual lighthearted demeanor tempered by the somber scene. His voice, quieter than usual, carried a wry edge. “Tell me,” he said, his tone laced with curiosity and mischief, “do you always end up in the middle of everyone else’s messes, or is this a talent you’ve recently acquired?”

Marel glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s a gift,” she replied dryly, the smallest spark of humor breaking through her otherwise pensive expression. The crossroads of the Hinterlands was a scene of quiet chaos. Refugees crowded around makeshift tents, their faces drawn and pale. Inquisition soldiers worked tirelessly to secure the area, and amidst it all, Mother Giselle knelt beside a wounded man. Her presence radiated calm, even in the midst of such turmoil.

The mage gently suggested using their healing powers to help the wounded soldier, but he hesitated, fearing their magic. Giselle reassured him and urged him to allow them to alleviate his pain. Marel approached, her boots crunching against the dirt, drawing Giselle’s attention. The Mother rose gracefully, inclining her head.

“You must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste,” Giselle said, her tone warm but tempered with careful observation. Her eyes lingered on Marel, searching for something beneath the surface.

“Not by any choice of mine,” Marel replied sharply, her voice tight as her shoulders squared against the invisible weight pressing down on her. The title hung heavy, a burden she hadn’t asked for. Giselle’s expression softened, and she offered a small, knowing smile. “We seldom have much say in our fate, I’m sad to say,” she said gently.

Marel’s eyes narrowed, her tension sharpening into suspicion. “So you agree with them?” she asked, her tone edged with challenge, daring Giselle to defend the title she wanted no part of.

“I do not presume to know the Maker’s intentions, for any of us,” Giselle answered. “But I did not ask you to come simply to debate with me.”

Marel crossed her arms. “Then why am I here?”

Walking through the crossroads, Marel and Giselle saw the injured and grieving. It was a heavy sight. The wounded moaned and the dead were laid out in rows. Giselle explained that some people were using the Chantry's denouncement for personal gain, while others were simply afraid of losing more good people.

“Fear makes us desperate,” Giselle continued, “but hopefully not beyond reason. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightening tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

Marel frowned, her uncertainty etched across her face as doubt crept into her voice. “And that won’t just make it worse?”

“Because you are both a mage and an elf?” Giselle asked, her steps slowing as she turned to meet Marel’s gaze directly. Her tone was gentle, but her words struck with quiet precision. Marel hesitated for a moment before nodding, her lips pressing into a thin, tense line. “That too,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, the weight of her own fears hanging in the air between them.

Giselle’s tone softened. “Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need.”

“You make it sound simple,” Marel said bitterly.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…” Giselle said, her hands clasped tightly. “But I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us.”

Marel swallowed hard, the weight of the words settling over her like a heavy mantle.

“I will inform Sister Leliana of potential Chantry allies in Haven,” said Mother Giselle before striding off, leaving Marel alone with the wounded and desperate. As Marel rejoined her companions, her expression was guarded, her emotions a storm beneath the surface. “I suppose we should deal with the apostate mages and rogue templars while we’re here,” she said flatly.

Corporal Vale's concerned face was stoic as they approached. He reported that the apostate mages and rogue templars had been located in nearby camps, but there were also strange disturbances at elven ruins to the west where the Veil felt weaker.

Solas leaned in, his expression intent. “According to my research, the ancient elves may have established wards in this area. If we can locate the artifacts they used, it may help strengthen the Veil.”

Marel exchanged a look with Cassandra. “If it can stabilize the area, we can’t ignore it,” Marel told her. Vale nodded. “Be careful. The ruins are infested with demons. We’ve already lost two scouts,” he informed the group.

The group set out, following Solas’s guidance. The ruins emerged from the dense forest like jagged teeth, the air humming with an unnatural energy. As they approached, the sound of combat echoed ahead. A lone elf fought desperately against a pair of demons, her staff glowing as she cast shimmering spells.

Without hesitation, the group rushed in to assist. The last demon dissolved into ash as the elf turned, breathing heavily. Her vallaslin marked her face, and her dark eyes studied them warily. “Andaran atish’an,” she greeted, straightening. “I did not expect to see another of Dalish blood here. My name is Mihris.”

Marel stepped forward, her staff lowering slightly. “Andaran atish’an, Mihris. It’s been some time since we last crossed paths,” she greeted. Recognition flickered across Mihris’s face, and her expression soured. “Marel Lavellan. The Herald of Andraste, no less.” Her tone dripped with disdain. “Strange, isn’t it, how quickly some of us find our place among shemlen circles.”

Marel held her ground, her tone calm. “I didn’t choose this path, Mihris. Surely you of all people can understand that circumstances sometimes leave us little choice.”

“Oh, I understand,” Mihris replied, her voice sharp. “Though I wouldn’t have expected to see you here, aiding shemlen in their work.”

Before Marel could speak, Solas stepped forward, his posture steady and composed. "This work benefits all who call Thedas home—Dalish and human alike," he said, his voice smooth and measured. His gaze fixed on Mihris, unwavering. "If you’ve survived this far, then you must have seen how the tears in the Veil touch us all."

Mihris turned her gaze to him. “And who are you to speak of the Veil, shemlen?” Her voice cutting. Felassan strolled up beside Solas, his grin casual yet mischievous. “Shemlen? Oh, this is going to be fun,” he drawled, folding his arms as if settling in for entertainment.

Mihris’s expression sharpened instantly, her narrowed eyes locking onto him. “You,” she hissed, her tone laced with recognition and disdain. “I remember you. Felassan.” Her posture stiffened, as though bracing for whatever trouble his presence might bring. Felassan’s faint smile widened. “And here I thought our meeting might have faded into memory.”

“Hardly,” Mihris snapped. “You were there. You saw what was happening to my clan, and you did nothing.”

Marel stepped between them, her voice firm. “Mihris—”

“No, Marel,” Mihris interrupted, her anger flaring. “He stood by while my clan was destroyed. Do you think I’d forget that?”

Felassan’s tone remained calm, though a sharp edge crept into his voice. “I saw a clan tearing itself apart with ambition and fear. I cannot stop people from making mistakes, Mihris. Nor can you.” The tension in the ruin was as palpable as the flickering instability of the Veil around them.

Mihris stood with her staff planted firmly on the ground, before she turned her gaze sharp and unwavering onto Marel. “If every First thought like you, our people would already be dust,” Mihris declared, her tone laced with disdain.

Marel’s expression hardened. “If every First thought like you, Mihris, none of us would be here to remember the past at all,” her voice remained calm, resolute.

Mihris scoffed, taking a step closer. “I wonder, Marel. Did Fen’Harel believe he was doing the right thing, too? Did he tell himself it was for the greater good as he betrayed his people?”

“You compare me to a myth, Mihris?” Marel replied, her voice cold. “How desperate you must be.”

“It’s not desperation; it’s truth.” Mihris’s words came out like a lash. “You sit in a position of power, yet you abandon your own people, just as he did.”

Marel’s grip tightened on her staff, but she refused to flinch. “If you can’t see the difference between betrayal and building a future, Mihris, perhaps that’s why your path led to ruin.”

Mihris’s face twisted in a mix of anger and grief. “You think you’re better than me? That your path is righteous? You stand here among humans, championing their cause, while our people scrape by, clinging to scraps of a history you’ve turned your back on.”

Before Marel could respond, Solas’s voice cut through the heated exchange, calm yet piercing. “What you call betrayal,” he said, his tone steady yet piercing, “others might call necessity. The burden of leadership,” he continued, his gaze sharp and unyielding,”often demands choices that appear cruel to those unwilling to see the greater picture.” His words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike, challenging the assumptions laid bare in the argument.

Felassan, standing off to the side, grinned faintly. “Marel and Fen’Harel?” he mused, his tone light with a hint of mischief. “Now, there’s a tale the bards would love. Though,” he added, a sly glint in his eyes,” I suspect the wolf would insist on doing things his way. He’s particular like that.” His gaze flicked toward Solas, the grin widening ever so slightly, as if daring him to respond.

Marel exhaled sharply, some of the tension in her posture dissipating. “The Wolf and the Herald,” sshe said, her tone laced with dry humor. Her gaze flicked briefly toward Felassan before returning to the distance. “Do you think the bards would cast us as allies, rivals, or something more... interesting?” Her voice dipped just enough to suggest the absurdity of the idea.

“Perhaps the Dread Wolf does guide you, Marel,” Mihris snapped, her voice dripping with venom. “It would explain how easily you’ve abandoned your own people, just as he did.”

Marel stepped forward, her movements deliberate, her gaze unwavering. When she spoke, her voice was calm but edged with steel, “I’ll take advice from Fen’Harel if it means making a difference. Better that than sitting idle and casting blame.” Her words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, daring anyone to challenge her resolve.

Mihris flinched, her composure slipping momentarily. Her hands clenched around her staff as Marel’s words struck a nerve.

Cassandra exhaled sharply, the weight of her frustration evident in the taut line of her shoulders. "Enough," she commanded, her voice slicing through the rising tension. Her piercing gaze darted between Marel and Mihris, firm and unrelenting. "This is no time for petty grievances or childish insults." Straightening to her full height, her tone hardened, brooking no argument.

Marel glanced at Cassandra, her expression momentarily tight before she let out a slow breath, her tone softening as she turned back to Mihris. “I understand your pain, Mihris,” she said gently, her voice steady but tinged with compassion. “What happened to your clan… it was terrible. But turning that pain against me, against others, won’t change what you’ve lost.” She paused, meeting Mihris’s gaze with quiet sincerity. “It won’t bring them back.”

For a moment, the ruin was silent except for the faint hum of the Veil’s weakness. Mihris looked away, her voice lowering. “No. It won’t.” Her gaze shifted toward the crumbling entrance of the ruin. “I had heard of an artifact that could help with the Veil. It’s inside,” Her tone shifted, quiet but resolute, as if clinging to this one last hope.

The air inside the ruin was thick with the acrid scent of lingering magic and demonic energy. Flickering wisps of light danced along the walls, casting long shadows as the group made their way deeper. Every so often, demons emerged from cracks in the Veil, forcing the group into quick, fierce skirmishes.

After dispatching a handful of lesser demons, the party paused to catch their breath. Mihris, leaning on her staff, cast a pointed look at Felassan. “It’s good to see that not all Dalish have forgotten what’s important,” she said, her tone edged with approval. “Some of our people still believe in preserving our heritage. Like your clan, Felassan. I assume they’re proud to have one of their own standing with Marel in this… endeavor.” Her words lingered, a mix of admiration and subtle curiosity woven into the statement.

Mihris seemed to be offering Marel an olive branch, using her interactions with the only other elf in the group bearing the vallaslin as a subtle gesture of solidarity.

Mischief sparkled in Felassan's eyes at her comments. “Oh, they’re incredibly supportive,” he said smoothly, his tone light but laced with subtle irony. “Unity behind a greater cause? It’s practically our clan’s motto.” The corners of his mouth quirked slightly.

Mihris nodded earnestly, her gaze shifting between Marel and Felassan with a spark of approval. “As it should be,” she said, her tone firm with conviction. “Too many of our people lose sight of the greater struggle. It’s reassuring to know Marel has allies like you—ones who still honor what it means to be Dalish.” Her eyes lingered on Felassan for a moment, as if weighing the sincerity of his presence.

Marel recalled Felassan’s casual dismissal of clan ties. She tilted her head slightly, her diplomatic smile hiding a flicker of unease. “Yes, Felassan’s…connection to his ‘clan’ has been invaluable,” the words flow off her tongue. “I’ve learned a great deal from his perspective.”

Felassan cast a fleeting glance at Solas, a sly smile curving his lips with understated amusement. "My clan holds cooperation in the highest regard," he remarked lightly, his tone carrying a hint of mischief. "We've always been a rather… close-knit bunch."

Mihris, oblivious to the undertone. "Exactly! That's what we need—clans working together, standing united. If only more followed your example," she nodded with a pleased smile.

Solas stepped forward slightly, his expression calm but his voice carrying a faint edge of irony, “I imagine Felassan’s ‘clan’ must be unique indeed. Few could offer the… distinct insights he brings to the table.”

The shift in Mihris’s demeanor was instantaneous. Her scornful gaze locked onto Solas. “Shemlen,” she spat, “A city elf, playing at wisdom you have no right to claim. No vallaslin, no clan—do you even call yourself elvhen?”

Solas’s face remained impassive, but his voice turned quiet and piercing. “I call myself many things, Mihris. Elvhen is only one of them. The question is not what I call myself, but why you feel the need to deny what you cannot understand.”

“Deny?” Mihris’s voice rose with anger. “You deny yourself. You deny your place among the elvhen by refusing to honor our traditions!”

Solas’s tone sharpened slightly, his posture as steady as his words. “I do not deny my place, Mihris. I know it intimately. It is you who cling to marks and symbols as though they alone make you elvhen. Does your vallaslin define you? Or do you define it?” he asked her.

Felassan chuckled, stepping forward with his usual irreverence. “Careful, Solas. You’ll give her a crisis if you keep asking questions like that.”

Mihris whirled on Felassan, her anger spilling over. “I don’t need advice from either of you. At least I know who I am.”

“Do you?” Solas’s question was soft, yet it carried the weight of a blade sliding into its sheath. The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the distant crackle of Veil breaches. Finally, Varric let out a long sigh, slinging Bianca onto his shoulder. “You elves just don’t know how to play nicely, do you?”

Marel gave him a faint smile, but her voice was subdued. “Maybe we don’t. But when the world hasn’t been kind to you, it’s hard to remember how to be kind back,” she said with a gentle tone

Solas studied her, his head tilting just enough to signal a shift in thought. A flicker of regret softened his sharp features. “Kindness, like wisdom, is seldom easy to come by," he said gently. "And I fear I have offered neither here.”

Mihris crossed her arms, her anger simmering but unspoken. Marel turned to her, her voice steady but measured. “The Veil isn’t going to stabilize itself. If we’re going to argue philosophy, let’s at least make sure we all live to continue it.”

Without waiting for a response, Marel strode deeper into the ruins. The others followed, though the weight of the exchange lingered. The path through the ruin was treacherous, but no more so than the unresolved conflict brewing within the group.

The group entered the heart of the ruins, the air heavy with the hum of ancient magic. Veilfire torches flickered along the walls, illuminating carvings of elven glyphs and faded murals depicting figures reaching toward the stars. At the center of the chamber stood a crystalline artifact, pulsating faintly with light, as though resonating with the instability of the Veil.

“There,” Mihris said, pointing at the crystal with an almost reverent expression. “If we activate that crystal, it should react to the strength of the Veil. The wards will strengthen, and this area will stabilize.”

Marel stepped forward cautiously, her staff glowing faintly in her grip. The group tensed as they prepared for any reaction the artifact might trigger. Marel placed her hand on the surface of the crystal, and with a murmured incantation, activated it.

The chamber erupted in light. Pulses of energy radiated outward, weaving into the faint breaches in the Veil that dotted the ruin. The ground rumbled as the magic settled into place, leaving a calm stillness in its wake.

Solas stepped forward, studying the artifact with his usual intensity. “Yes, the wards are working,” he said, his voice carrying a note of approval. “The Veil is stabilizing. This area should be safer for travelers now.”

“Well,” Mihris said, her tone turning sharp as she moved toward a nearby alcove. “That should prove useful. And it seems the ancestors left something for me as well.” She bent down and retrieved a small, intricately-carved box from beneath a stone pedestal, her expression lighting up with triumph, “Interesting. I believe our alliance is concluded. Go in peace.”

Marel’s gaze flicked to the box in Mihris’s hands, then to Solas. Without words, she made eye contact with him, silently communicating her concerns. Whatever Mihris had found, it might hold more significance than the Dalish mage realized. Solas inclined his head subtly, understanding her unspoken request.

He stepped toward Mihris, his tone low and calm. “Ma halani, ma glandival. Vir enasalin.” His Elvhen words carried a quiet weight: You were victorious because you wished for our help.

Mihris paused, her hands tightening around the box. For a moment, her defiant expression faltered. She glanced at Marel, then at the artifact behind her, as though weighing the larger implications.

“I…” Mihris hesitated, then sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Perhaps you’re right.” She extended the box toward Marel, her reluctance clear. “Here. Take it. Use it well, for whatever purpose your Inquisition sees fit.”

Marel accepted the box with a nod, her voice soft but steady. “Thank you, Mihris. This will help more than you know.”

Mihris took a step back, her expression guarded but respectful. “Go with Mythal’s blessing,” she said, her voice quieter now, as though she’d lost some of the fire that had driven her before.

“Farewell, Mihris,” Marel replied, inclining her head.

As the group turned to leave, the chamber seemed to hum with the echoes of their departure, the ancient magic settling once more into silence.

Solas lingered for a moment, gazing at the artifact with a distant expression. The group emerged from the ruins into the cool twilight of the Hinterlands, the stars just beginning to prick the darkening sky.

The air felt lighter, as though the artifact’s influence had truly stabilized the Veil in this area. Despite the calm around them, tension lingered among the companions as they walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Felassan broke the quiet with a dramatic sigh, spreading his arms wide as though addressing an invisible audience. “Ah, Marel! I never would have guessed you’d stoop so low as to lie! I’m scandalized.”

Marel turned to him, crossing her arms and raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “I didn’t lie. She obviously believed you have a clan, though you told me you don’t. It was a half-truth. There’s a difference,” she tried to explain.

Felassan’s grin widened, mischief dancing in his eyes as his tone turned mockingly serious. “Ah, yes. The moral high ground of half-truths. And perhaps the Dread Wolf himself whispers in your ear, guiding you down this conveniently ambiguous path,” he added with a playful tilt of his head. Marel rolled her eyes, pivoting to walk ahead of the group. “You’re impossible,” she retorted.

Felassan watched her go, his smile softening into something more genuine. He turned to Solas, his tone quieter but laced with deliberate mischief. “She’s quite something, isn’t she? You must be proud.”

Solas’s expression darkened, his glare sharp. “Felassan," his voice low. Felassan’s smirk deepened, but he dropped the subject with an exaggerated shrug. Marel, noticing the brief exchange, stopped and glanced back.

“What happened to Clan Virnehn, Felassan?” she asked, her voice steady but curious. “All we know is that they tried to summon something and it went wrong.”

The playfulness left Felassan’s demeanor, replaced by a faint shadow of regret. He shrugged lightly, though the wry smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes. “The one you would call Keeper wanted to reclaim the past so badly he summoned Imshael, one of the Forbidden Ones. He hoped it could reactivate the eluvians, and Imshael delivered—a Keystone to unlock the entire network. But, of course, it came with a price: a body for the demon to possess.”

Felassan paused, his tone darkening as the smile slipped away. “Thelhen refused and imprisoned Imshael. Seemed like the right call—until Imshael tricked a chevalier into freeing it. Once loose, it slaughtered Thelhen and most of the clan.”

Marel’s expression tightened, her vivid green eyes narrowing as she processed Felassan’s words. “He didn’t kill the children,” she whispered softly. Felassan looked at her with surprise. “How did you know that?” he questioned.

Imshael entrusted the children to another clan for their safety, but while the receiving clan accepted them, their generosity came at a steep cost—they jeopardized the survival of that clan's own people as the harsh winter approached.

Marel, however, was guided by a prophetic dream that revealed the children’s plight. She dreamt of wandering through the Emerald Graves, where snow fell heavily, representing the encroaching winter. She stumbled upon child-sized graves, hearing faint cries from within. Digging desperately, she uncovered graves filled with emeralds, glinting with a hungry, unnatural light—a warning of the dire consequences of scarcity and hunger.

Her expression grew unreadable, her voice steady but quiet, like the calm before a storm. “I dreamt it,” she began, her tone carrying the weight of something half-remembered, half-feared. “A forest in the heart of winter. The air was bitter, yet the trees bore leaves—emerald green, glowing against the cold.”

She hesitated, her gaze drifting somewhere far away. “There were graves. Small ones. Too small. Each was marked with an emerald, shimmering like embers in the dark.”

Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “I touched one, and it crumbled to dust beneath my fingers. The forest began to change after that—to wither. The life bled out of it, and the silence became absolute.”

Her eyes shifted to Felassan, sharp with a mix of confusion and unease. “That’s when I saw it. A hart, its eyes hollow, its body skeletal. It stood motionless, watching me. Then it turned and vanished into the dying woods.” The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning and unease.

Moved by the urgency of her vision, Marel persuaded the Keeper to allow her to take two hunters to track the children’s whereabouts. Following the trail of her dream, they found the clan that had taken in the surviving children of Clan Virnehn just before winter’s onset. Marel’s arrival proved timely, as she facilitated an agreement to divide the children between the two clans, ensuring their survival while alleviating the burden of starvation. Her intervention not only saved the children but also prevented disaster for both clans

“They reached for a shattered past, risking everything for what could never be again,” she whispered, her voice edged with sorrow. “And in doing so, they nearly lost the ones who could build what comes next—the future of the People." And with that, she left the ruins without another word.

[skaruresonic]

I'm reminded of the split opinion on whether Sonic Gens and Mania are suitable "first games" for people who want to approach the series.

I personally don't think so, because the appeal of those games is precisely revisiting old levels in a new format, with a new design: you're not going to get the subtle jokes as a newcomer (and Mania can get very obscure with it). But some do think they're nice pastiches for newcomers to at least get an idea of Sonic's history as a franchise, and it helps that they're both solid games.

I assumed Shadow Gens would be the same, but you make a good point, because this game has an actual story. For veterans, it's more of the same thing, if you know Shadow's story this adds very little new, and it's mostly a repeat of what he already went through in ShTH. But newcomers who want to learn more about the cool black hedgehog from the new movie would still be confused: why did Shadow become a hero? Who is Black Doom, why is he obsessed with Shadow, why does Shadow hate him? Let's not even talk about things like Mephiles' boss fight lol. (although personally I find Gerald's mention of the time portals of '06 rather cute)

So I guess this game is for veterans who just want to soak in the Shadow vibes once more, but this time with Good Writing™

If you based your knowledge only on the information provided by SxS Gens - so no supplementary material, no Dark Beginnings, no manga, no movie, no paratext - you would learn the vaguest and broadest strokes of maybe two games, SA2 and ShTH, at most. But nothing specific.

Everything else would just come off as garbled nonsense. Hell, it appeared that way to me and I've been a Sonic fan for (checks notes) 22 years. God I'm old.

I approached this game not with my purist hardhat on (though that wasn't always the case given some lines here and there lmao) but from the perspective of a newcomer who knew nothing about Shadow's past. If everyone was going to argue that this game's existence is necessary on that basis, I thought, how well would it perform as an introductory piece?

From that perspective, I don't think the game does a very good job in giving us a crash course on Shadow's history. Gerald and Maria do nothing - I hate to say it but they're ultimately window-dressing. They don't accomplish anything that, for instance, a posthumous diary or recording could have just as easily provided.

(Tbf, the NPCs in Gens also pretty much did nothing but cheer Sonic on, but it's not like, given this sheer gravitas as seeing your dead loved ones return to life via the power of timey-wimey shenanigans.)

I was actually surprised at how little plot progression there is, given my previous expectations of there being, you know, a coherent story. The plot doesn't really kick in until you've completed 4 out of the 6 available levels, and by then you've pretty much halfway done lol.

Shit happens in weird, patchwork, nonsensical ways. We get boss fights for characters that don't matter but not a boss fight against Sonic, AKA the guy we play as in Gens proper and in a context that echoes a game dynamic where we get to fight each character as the opponent. Shadow is the ultimate life form who gets his ass handily kicked by Sonic. Maria has a delayed response at the news of Shadow's heritage; she's not instantly shocked the first time, but when Gerald says it for a second time she suddenly becomes distressed. Omega claims they showed Metal "mercy" at the end of Heroes, despite questioning whether he should destroy Metal or Sonic to prove his strength. We have to fight Mephiles even though he doesn't matter because reasons.

Characters appear who aren't relevant to the plot, but are given the screen treatment as though the game expects the player to know who they are and why they might (or might not) be relevant.

---

Who is Black Doom, why is he obsessed with Shadow, why does Shadow hate him?

>>gets Silent Hill 3 flashbacks as Black Doom waxes poetic about "possessing" Shadow

---

Let's not even talk about things like Mephiles' boss fight lol.

No. Let's. :P

Mephiles' boss is one great big time-wasting in-joke that amounts to an MCU-esque "Well, that just happened." I can easily see newcomers mistaking him for one of Black Doom's minions or something, especially given that his boss arena is found in a cave under Chaos Island and not in Kingdom Valley. Because the latter is where you find Metal Overlord instead.

Yeah, this would definitely confuse newcomers.

As I've said before, the game does the "don't think about a polar bear" thing by bringing up the matter of Shadow's blood, only to backpedal immediately afterwards with "his blood doesn't matter, I swear." At times I felt like I was playing Parasite Eve with talk of mutations and what-not.

And like, sure, the game does stress that Shadow determines his own destiny, but if that's the case, why bring up his blood eighty million times? Why turn it into a friggin' gameplay mechanic? The guy turns into a squid FFS

Oh, and I forgot to mention: the light of God that shone down on IDW!Sonic during his Sermon on the Rock also shines down on Maria when she tells Shadow the reason she gave him his name. Just in case you couldn't get The Symbolism. Very subtle, much cinematic, felt like I was playing SA2 all over again.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Steve Harrington with Head Trauma Fic Recs

one of my favorite Stranger Things tropes, here is a list of Steve having head trauma and/or suffering from migraines.

as always this list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own  discretion! :)

Misjudged Your Limits by kikisifi13 - Rated T

"According to Robin, the first signs that Steve was getting a migraine were the little things, things that would seem normal if they were coming from anyone else. Steve had walked into Family Video that morning fifteen minutes late, wearing sunglasses and clutching a thermos of coffee. And sure, it was summer. But the knowing glance that Robin shot Eddie told him this wasn’t that."

After being beaten up one too many times, Steve Harrington has some head trauma to show for it. This also means migraines, which he tries his best to avoid displaying. 3 months into dating Eddie Munson, that particular situation becomes unavoidable, and when Steve is forced to be vulnerable, Eddie doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do. Cue Robin leading Eddie through Caring For Steve's Migraines: A Comprehensive Guide.

TW: headaches, nausea, vomiting

Odds and Ends by kikisifi13 - Rated T

The plan is this: Steve is supposed to take the kids to see the newest Star Trek movie this Friday. The problem is this: Steve is due for a migraine.

basically the kids thought his migraines weren't a big deal, and now they DEFINITELY do hehe well, with a little help from Eddie and Robin. and Max. she knows what's up.

So Let It Out And Let It In by fangirlandtheories - Rated T

"Steve and his Dad get into a fight so he instinctively seeks out Eddie, only realizing too late that he's in the middle of DnD night with the kids, forcing him to be vulnerable in front of them." Anon request from Tumblr. *** “Hey, Steve, you’re kinda freaking us out dude.” Mike was slowly rising from his seat as he watched Steve’s eyes start to flutter. “Why’s your voice sound like that?”

medicinal by peaktotheocean - Rated T

 “I’ve got a friend who is having a ton of migraine issues," Robin blurted out. Eddie's head rose to look at her. That was a new one. "We heard weed helps. Any truth to it?” She asked hopefully.

Uncle Wayne always used to joke that Eddie was too curious for his own good. Eddie just never thought he'd agree with the assessment while selling weed to Robin Buckley of all people.

Sticky Notes by voidpacifist - Rated M

"It's the only music I can hear," Steve answers honestly. Something soft passes over Eddie's face at the admission. It's not pity. Steve saw pity in the librarians eyes as he and Dustin and Robin checked out all those books on ASL. Steve knows what self righteous sympathy does to a person's face, and it isn't doing that to Eddie's. No, Eddie's expression is maybe closest to understanding.

-

Steve's hearing was already dwindling on the precipice of "not good" after his run-in with Billy Hargrove in 1984. Less than a year and one Russian interrogation later, he loses the totality of his hearing in his left ear, and most of it in his right. To help himself readjust to a world with minimal sound, he starts seeking noise in a way he never expected to — by attending Corroded Coffin's performances at the Hideout.

Eddie wants to know what the hell is up with "King Steve" suddenly showing up to his shows. His questioning doesn't go to plan, and instead he lands himself an unexpected new friend.

-

pre!S3 —> post!S4

 yesterdays shatter, tomorrows don't matter by yellowmarshmallow - Rated M

There were only so many times someone could hit you in the head before you got lasting problems. Steve found that the number was about three.

But now Robin and the kids insist he should look after himself, and with Eddie making it his mission to make sure he does, Steve isn't sure he's in a place to argue.

Maybe being loved isn't so bad.

Stuck in My Head by schrijverr - Rated T

Between Jonathan, Billy and the Russians, Steve’s brain has taken enough damage for it to be permanent. He tries to deal with it, but with the Upside Down coming back, he can’t keep doing it alone. So, he confides in Eddie, the most unlikely person, but the only one who doesn’t yet count on him to be strong. The secret gives them a bond that helps them grow closer together as Eddie has Steve’s back and shows him he’s worth something.

[badassbutterfly1987]

Shades of Magic: Hunger Games AU

(Technically a Catching Fire AU)

Lila Bard has always been a survivor. Scrappy and vicious and more durable than anyone else expected. So, once the initial bout of angry swearing is out of her system, she slumps back onto the couch. “They’re trying to kill us. We broke the rules and this is how they do it. One last spectacle for the districts.”

There was only ever supposed to be one victor, never two. They’d defied that with their pretend love story and holding knives to their own throats. Two victors, they had declared. You get two victors or none.

She had hoped this would be the end. One last performance, one last fight, and then finally return to Barron. Return to the Grey Districts.

Neither of them should be here, Alucard especially. Red District-born, only kicked down to her level because of political shenanigans.

“Not just us, Bard,” Alucard drawls. “Every victor. Take them out before they can be swayed by rebellion.”

She can, grudgingly, see the logic. Efficient and more entertaining for the masses. Before it had been children and barely adults in the arena, now it will be experienced killers from every district. “So we’re fucked.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Alucard fidgets with the coin in his hand. “On the bright side, you’ll get to see what the Red districts look like first.”

...

“No, no, this isn’t right,” Rhy insists. “You did your time, they can’t make you do this again!”

Kell doesn’t argue; they both know this is happening either way. Osaron wants the victors to fight and die in the Quarter Quells and that is what he will get.

It doesn’t matter that they belong to the highest family in Arnes, in the most successful Red District. It doesn’t matter that Rhy is treated as the beloved prince of his people. It hadn’t protected them when they were 14.

He volunteered in Rhy’s place back then, prepared to die for him. He can kill for him again.

“Maybe I won’t get picked,” Kell offers. “The Red Districts, Arnes especially, has produced dozens of victors. I like our odds.”

...

Holland is told of the plot before the others, one of the few benefits of being sponsored by the Danes; they know when to keep him in the loop. At least it gives him time to think up a plan.

“Nasi can’t go back to the arena,” Vortalis says as he moves an ost piece. “She was lucky last year; that won’t save her a second time.”

Vortalis had hunted down and killed half of the other tributes his year; Holland had managed to kill three; Nasi had spent most of the game hiding in the trees and killed one person.

She is still under her bed after hearing the news, refusing to speak or come out.

“Ojka has already agreed to volunteer in her place.” Holland knows he will hate this next part. “I will volunteer as well.”

“Holland-“

“You can’t fight the way you used to,” he interrupts, moving a piece. “I still can.”

Vor moves slower now, weakened by half-healed injuries and the passing decades. Holland can't sleep alone at night without having nightmares but violence comes easily to him now, both his sponsors and former mentor ensured that.

“Besides, you can sway our benefactors more if you’re working on the outside.”

They both know he isn’t speaking only of the Capitol’s elite. The whispers of rebellion have only grown louder over the years. This might be enough for something to change.

Vortalis gives a grim smile then, gripping his hand. “Then we’d best start on figuring out the competition.”

[swifty-fox]

Okay, so I'm rereading the chapter of KFAK in which they're at the party (when a new chapter uploads I'll reread other parts as well) and it's interesting trying to parse what's going through John's head in this chapter. Is he envious of Gale, for knowing who he is and what he wants and being able to compartmentalize all of it behind a facade that he gets to share with someone who also knows who *she* is and what she wants? John mentioned being annoyed with his mother clearly being impatient for him to find a wife and he's making a show of flirting with women all while struggling with his feelings for Gale and his realization that Gale has feelings for him, and is maybe confused and frustrated with how Gale's able to bury all of it and find a convenient lavender arrangement with a woman who understands and accepts him? When I first read this chapter I read it as John resenting Gale for leaving him behind and calling him a coward and was shocked, but if it's him not knowing how else to vent his frustration that Gale seems to be so cool and composed over everything he's repressed then it was still a hurtful thing to say but seems more in line with him and what we find out about him later. Sorry for the ramble I just kind of went, "ooOOh!" when looking back at it.

There's a lot of scenes I want to explore from John's POV in the sequel fic, especially those times where he and Gale are apart!

But yeah John definitely can hold his feelings and motivations very close to his heart when he wants to, which is a direct contrast to how he is with everything else, which is what throws Gale off a bit. he isn't used to not being able to read John and that's why he also starts pulling away. He's confused and hurt and questioning himself

I think at that point John is still considering his own sexuality only in the VAGUEST of terms, if it all. He understands that things feel wrong, that he's feeling 'broken' but chalks it more up to what he went through in the war (which is not entirely incorrect. He IS traumatized)

I do think he's looking at Gale with a very 'minemineminemine' mindset, especially when James is hanging off him and that kinda shocks him. He's hurt at not being chosen over a hookup but also what do you expect John is he going to just sit there faithfully like a dog for you to get your rocks off? His feelings aren't logical, he understands this, but he lashes out anyways. And maybe there is some small part of him that does resent Gale for getting out and him not. Especially considering what he now went through to protect Gale. Is it fair of him to feel that way? Not necessarily but is it understandable? Sure. He may not even realize he feels that way and that's part of the problem.

These boys don't have therapy!!

But I can say, John did not even sleep with Eunice. They got a little hot and heavy but when it came time to perform he choked. Blamed it on too much to drink but ultimately they ended up just talking about nothing much in particular before the sound of the fight interrupted them.

I think John's just...in a bad fucking mindset that day. If we look at the timeline, he spends most of the morning trying to be sober. He fails at that which is gonna lead to some self-resentment. paired with Gale poking fun at him about it, even if it's smoothed over. That's strike one on his bad mood.

Then he goes out with his mother and like he said, was having girls thrown at him. He feels like his mom is trying to force him to be fixed and better and normal. Not even in a sexuality sense per se, but just 'i have seen manmade horrors beyond any of these girls comprehension how am I supposed to marry them and love them and put that whole part of me aside' How is he expected to come home from war and pretend to not be damaged. GOSH John if only you had a FATHER you could talk to about that who KNOWS FIRSTHAND.

Third thing is seeing Gale with James and having Feelings about it. It's them arguing in the car. it's Gale's PALPABLE disappointment in him for drinking again. So he lashes out at Gale. He's only human. But yes some of it is "how are you so calm, how are you so composed how are you so put together all the time do you ever feel anything?"

meanwhile we know Gale feels so much all the fucking time he just doesn't know how to let it out

sorry this got so long LOL

[redhatmeg]

So now we get to the controversial part of Sanji's subplot: him calling Robin for help while being held hostage by Black Maria.

Earlier Sanji asked Black Maria what she's going to do with Robin, and the spider-woman told him about various tortures she's going to perform on Robin. She even describes traps she prepared for the archeologist.

Now, giving the various declarations of protection Sanji said throughout the series, and his strong sense of camraderie and defience, one would expect for him to never yield. The other women even think that he will say: "Screw you!"

But he doesn't. He calls for help, which from outsider's perspective looks probably pathetic, as if Sanji was preferring to save his own skin than not get Robin captured.

The thing is... Robin is fucking badass. She can handle herself and I would argue that she would perfectly suit with Monstrous Trio (making them a Monstrous Quartet, hehe) with how she effortlessly handles most of the bad guys. She also is smart enough to detect traps, so really they underestimate her (which is weird considering that she's called Demon Child).

I would say that he could ask for help anyone else, not necesserily Robin (he was, after all, okay with Zoro fighting Monet, so a guy friend could do too), but maybe he didn't know if they are busy with something more pressing than him falling into a trap. Besides, maybe he also wanted to show his enemies that Robin will mop the floor with them.

But I've heard this scene is controversial because people had seen Sanji's inability to hit a female opponent as something he has to overcome; as some kind of mental obstacle. Therefore him calling Robin for help is him refusing to fight with Black Maria and delegating someone else to do it.

However, I think it's like with characters who have no-kill rule. Yes, it would probably be easier and the character in question would avoid many troubles on the way if they broke the rule... but it's a moral issue, a line that, if crossed, would change them drastically and maybe even break them. Besides, there is always a deep reason for the rule that is rooted with the character's origin and way of thinking. With Sanji, it's Zeff's teachings... but also Germa's disregard for human life in general (we could see that Sanji's brothers also share his pervert reactions to women, but they treat them poorly, like tools; they even beaten up a female chef just to screw with Sanji). He doesn't want to be a man who hits women, even if said women want to kill him.

And I get why people are frustrated that he gets a female oppontent he can't fight yet again, but I don't want him to break his moral code. I don't want him to lose part of what he is. Especially because, other than that, he's still one of the heavy hitters of Straw Hat crew. Let him call for help once in a blue moon.

Also, he's not running away after he gets saved. He runs to save the samurai. He's still fighting.

[beardedmrbean]

So there we have it. Laid bare for all to see, the pernicious effect of our national fixation with “diversity, equality and inclusion” (DEI). Aviva’s chief executive Amanda Blanc this week told MPs on the Treasury Select Committee that there is no senior “non-diverse” (white male) hire made at the company without her personal approval. There is no need, she implicitly admitted, to sign off on the appointments of non-white people and women. Most people would call that clear evidence of discrimination.

But don’t expect the Left-wing mob, usually so vocal in its condemnation of racism and sexism in all its ugly forms, to sharpen its pitchforks this time. Social media is not awash with calls for Blanc’s resignation, nor have demands for a boycott been issued. Others have suffered obloquy for far less: advertisers refused to be associated with GB News due to concerns over “bias”. McDonald’s was targeted after a location offered free food for the Israeli military.

Performative progressivism, as has long been suspected, doesn’t extend to campaigning against discrimination against white people or men. Perhaps we should thank the exquisitely named Blanc for giving the game away: rarely is the true purpose of DEI – not to, rightly, fight against hateful racism and sexism, but to position us all on an intersectional pyramid of victimhood, white men placed bottom – put so bluntly.

We have been drip-fed stories about “values” and “diversity”, when really those espousing it mean “conformity” with a particular worldview. Underpinned by the Equality Act, arguably one of the worst pieces of legislation foisted on the British public, DEI has marched through our institutions, stifling freedom of expression and stymieing economic growth along the way. Entire sections of annual reports are now devoted towards these activities: HS2’s 2022 statement was 52 pages long, much of it keenly explaining how many men had been excluded from the doomed project.

And make no mistake: the DEI industry is doing all it can to avoid becoming a victim of its own success. Thus, despite the clear evidence of the massive progress made in recent decades, we are warned ad nauseam that the country has never been so bigoted: English cricket is systemically racist, along with constabularies, the fire brigade, our criminal justice system and virtually any other area of public life. Women are still widely described as victims of the patriarchy.

Often, this is based on demonstrably false assumptions. Feminist activists noisily complain that the gender pay gap is widening, while other groups try to steal their oxygen with such absurdities as the “gender obesity penalty gap”, the “gender sleep gap” and the “gender play gap”.

Anyone who bothered to look at the gender pay gap data would observe that it is now negligible for those aged 22-39, with men pulling away later in life largely because of compensating differentials and free choice. Some women go part-time when they become mothers, many opt for less dangerous work, which is why workplace injuries are suffered overwhelmingly by men.

The average male life expectancy is 79 years, compared to 82.6 years for women. Less than 5 per cent of those in prison in the UK are female. When Tory MP Ben Bradley tried to ask an “equalities” question about white working-class boys in Parliament in 2020, he was warned that it may be turned down because it did not appear to be a question about protected characteristics. Yet this group are more likely than any of their peers to achieve less in school, less likely to go on to higher or further education and less likely to secure a well-paid career.

And now we discover that those who do buck the trend might not make it past the filters of the Diversity Queen at Aviva. This isn’t to argue that we should extend equality legislation to take in ever-wider groups, though the DEI gang are certainly trying, with “neuro-diversity” and “social class” their newest frontiers. Rather to insist that companies stop the smug virtue signalling and focus on the bottom line.

One could ask whether such granular involvement in recruitment is the best use of Blanc’s time, as boss of a FTSE 100 company. Is this the level of commitment to shareholder returns they were expecting, given there is little evidence of a causal link between diversity and profit?

Neither skin colour nor reproductive organs determine business acumen. Bosses should hire the best people for the role, irrespective of identity. Those who don’t are in the wrong job.

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @heniareth! Here is another piece of my Act 2 fic. This one is titled "Signifying Nothing" after:

“Has she said anything to any of you?” Varric asked in a low voice. 

All of Hawke’s friends had crowded into her foyer ahead of the funeral---save Merrill, who sat with Hawke now. Varric had stopped by the empty mansion the night before, thrust a pile of clothes into Fenris’s arms, and walked out without much elaboration. There’d been a note inside—for Hawke—and that had been that. Now, Fenris was intensely uncomfortable without his breastplate or gauntlets. The tunic was faintly abrasive against his skin, especially against the lyrium brands, but he’d worn them for her sake. 

He only wished there was something more he could do.

“No,” Aveline said, looking equally uncomfortable out of her guardsmans’ uniform. “Not a word.”

“Not since that room,” Isabela said, arms crossed.

“Nor I,” Anders added quietly. He stood near Isabela, his face cleanly shaved for once, though he wore his usual robes. 

Fenris narrowed his eyes, but restrained the words he would have said. It would help none of them to argue now, much as he’d like to find something to fight about. 

“She asked me to perform the ceremony,” Sebastian said, but shook his head, “I told her that Elthina had offered to handle it personally, but she…”

“Didn’t like that?” Varric asked, when the other man didn’t continue. 

“I do not know,” Sebastian said after a moment, grimacing, “She…had nothing else to say.”

“Huh,” Varric said after a long pause. “Fenris?” 

Of all people, Hawke was least likely to speak to him. They’d barely spoken directly to each other in over a month, save the necessities; she hardly ever looked directly at him. No, that was a generous interpretation. She never looked at him. Not anymore. 

But—she’d spoken to him the night Leandra died. Spoken to him in a voice as distant as her gaze, as if she wasn’t speaking on purpose at all. He’d sat with her in silence for a long time that night, clutched by some unspeakable fear that if he walked through the door again he would return to find her gone to some place he could not follow. 

Fenris shook his head, his mouth sealing into an unhappy line, and Varric scowled in response. 

“She’s not acting like herself,” he said, “is all I’m saying. Has anyone heard Hawke stay quiet for any length of time?”

“She’s just lost her mother,” Sebastian said, frowning. “Do not expect her to be herself for some time yet. She will need space to—”

“Hang that,” Isabela interjected, scowling. “She doesn’t need space, are you mad? She’ll light Hightown on fire or jump ship to Orlais, do something extreme.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Anders asked, folding his arms, “Perhaps we should just get her drunk and find her someone to lie with, isn’t that what you were about to—”

“Oh, sod off,” Isabela said, making a rude gesture in his direction.

“None of this is anything we should be discussing here,” Aveline said firmly. “Save it for outside or after the funeral. She doesn’t need to hear—”

Hawke stepped into the room with a soft susurration of fabric. Everyone stopped talking at once. 

“Hey,” Varric said first. “We’re all ready whenever you are, Hawke.” 

Hawke said nothing. She wore the traditional black and red, the hem of the skirt brushing against the ground, the red sash harsh as a wound around her waist. A comb in her hair held the veil in place and the fine black cloth obscured most of her features from view. 

“Here you are, Hawke,” Merrill said behind her, and pressed a piece of cloth against Hawke’s limp hand. After a moment, her fingers curled around it. Merrill stepped around her into the room and looked around. 

“Are we meant to be doing something else?” she said. “Or do we go now?”

“We—” Aveline began, but Maria—Hawke—was already moving, drifting toward the front door and swinging it open. She stepped out into the brightness of the street beyond, a black smudge against the paler stone beneath, and for a moment the rest of them hesitated. 

“You see what I mean?” Varric hissed, fidgeting with the front of his dark tunic. He didn’t wait for an answer. He followed instead, pausing at Hawke’s side for only a moment before she drifted on again. There was something subtly wrong about the way she was moving, something that prickled along the hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck. 

“Give her room,” Isabela muttered as they walked. “Stupid idea. Look at her.” 

Fenris didn’t have anything to say to that. He shook his head, mouth set in a grim line, and followed.

Tagging in turn (no pressure! but i'd love to see what you're working on c:) : @star--nymph @greypetrel @vakarians-babe @ndostairlyrium @brother-genitivi @daggerbean @dungeons-and-dragon-age @transprincecaspian @jtownnn @dungeons-and-dragon-age @zenstrike and YOU, if there's something you're excited about!

[anitalianfrie]

Always happy to talk about it so ... what are we thinking for girl Vale? 👀

So. To me girl vale is very much one of the boys™. Girl who likes to race on motorbikes? Especially when she's young, like in elementary and middle school, all her friends are boys. I know that uccio/vale codependency really reminds middle school gay girl friendship, but I think that uccio would still be a boy. Because otherwise they would be they're own unit, and vale had loads of friends when he was young. So. I think they would have been those kids who like in kindergarten wanted to get married and then simply grew into a brother/sister (codependent) relationship. Uccio aside.

When vale is younger like, in 125cc and before, she's often confused with a boy because she's really tomboyish. She is naturally but also being in a male dominated field she kinda puts on a performance both in the paddock and at home (again. All her friends are boys. She tries to fit in). At this point everybody knows she's a lesbian. Not really, because she doesn't advertise it, but everybody knows she isn't interested in boys (they don't know she's interest in girls per se, but still).

Then she starts to win, smashing everyone and everything in her way, but of course everybody still underestimates her because she's a girl, of course she will never get to 500cc. (cue to vale reaching 500cc in two years). I don't know how her parents would take her having to leave school to race, she would probably have to argue a lot more that vale actually did, because 1) she's a woman 2) not even her parents believe completely she will make it.

But anyway once she gets to 500cc she's very much under the spotlight and she can't really do the same things she did before. She's expected to be masculine, hard racing and knowing the engines and the bike and being rough, but also feminine, a proper woman, dresses and makeup and mannerism, and she doesn't really know how to do that because she never did it before. Also on the sexuality side, on one hand she's expected to be a lesbian because woman in racing=lesbian, but on the other hand everybody asks her about boyfriends (even more than racing) because that's all a woman gets reduced to.

At first in 500cc everybody still underestimates her and while she fights with biaggi she's often openly hated by the media. But she's still charming and funny and enough masculine (and sexy, she has to start selling herself like that) to find support and a dedicated following. After she starts winning, it's over for everyone else. She's the new coming of jesus christ for Italy.

People start calling for her retirement when she goes to ducati (not everyone, but men often do. Fucking men) but she doesn't give a shit.

And then. Cue to Marc (Mar? Marcia? I haven't decided yet) entering the grid. After vale getting to motogp girls started to take interest more into racing, but the majority of them is too young to be competing yet at high level (cue to bez and cele). Marc is the second girl to ever get to motogp. She's the second coming of valentina. They get closer because they're always paired together etc etc and of course two raging lesbian in close proximity? They fuck. A lot. Marc is in love with vale. It's horrible and messy. Sepang it's 1000 times worse because vale thinks that Marc helping Jorge goes against the sacred pact of girls in motor racing and says so in the press conference and everybody hates her (especially women bc they call her a fake feminist (yay misogyny)).

Vale probably comes out after retirement and in my heart there's a rosquez reconciliation.